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Crowley tried not to smile as he watched Aziraphale practically vibrate with excitement as he perused the cakes and pastries on display. He’d spoken of little else since Crowley had arrived at the bookshop, his head seemingly full of the new bakery in the neighbourhood and how simply scrumptious everything looked. Crowley, as obliging as ever while pretending to be quite put out about it, suggested they check it out. Aziraphale had sent him the kind of smile that could have him tripping all over himself to keep it in place.
Now, Crowley tuned out Aziraphale’s ongoing monologue about the merits of the different choices he could make and instead enjoyed the ambient irritation he could feel from the long line of impatient people behind them. The delicious flavour of low-level malice was more irresistible to his palate than any cake he could choose.
“Oh, look at that chocolate tart, Crowley!” Aziraphale gasped. “With real chocolate shavings on top, oh, I think I’ll have that!”
“Good choice, angel,” Crowley replied automatically. “Tea?”
Aziraphale nodded happily and started scanning the room for a place to sit while Crowley finished their order. He’d already planned to have the largest, strongest cup of coffee they could give him and he looked forward to scandalising Aziraphale with his choice. Perhaps he would slurp obnoxiously at his coffee as he drank.
It really was the simple things in life sometimes.
“Did you see his coat?”
The voice was snide and pitched to carry, while the speaker was clearly pretending to want to be discreet.
“And his trousers! Who the hell wears shit like that these days?”
The second voice was gleeful and equally unsubtle.
“I mean, I’ve seen some tragic cases, but that guy takes the cake!”
“Literally, if you go by how he looks.”
As the two mystery speakers devolved into nasty giggles, Crowley spun slowly on the spot for maximum dramatic effect. He stared down at the humans, dressed in thoroughly conventional clothes that were undoubtedly very expensive. Crowley sneered as he recognised the type. Never had an individual thought of their own and so eager to follow trends that they never learned how to lead them.
“Excusssse me,” he hissed, allowing a slight sibilance to enter his voice. “Didn’t your parentssss ever tell you?” He lowered his glasses slightly, so the yellow was clearly visible. “If you don’t have anything nice to ssssay,” he took a step closer until he towered over them both. He savoured their fear for a moment, letting it wash over him before he continued, “don’t ssssay anything at all.”
They gaped at him in silence for a moment before he waved his hand impatiently at them both.
“Now, shoo,” he said in his usual tone. “I won’t have you ruining my afternoon with your bullshit.”
He didn’t stay to watch them scramble out the door, he simply continued to where Aziraphale was sitting in a fortuitously available window seat, admiring the view.
“What was that all about, Crowley?” Aziraphale asked mildly as Crowley sat down.
“Nothing, angel,” Crowley said dismissively. “Just sowing a little mild discord. Need to keep my hand in, you know how it is.”
“Hmm.” Aziraphale turned gentle eyes towards Crowley, and he suddenly felt pinned to the spot. “Because it sounded like you threatening a couple of teenagers for being a little nasty about your clothes.”
“My clothes?” Crowley shot back. “Angel, they wouldn’t dare say anything nasty about my clothes. I’ll have you know that these are the very height of fashion!” He gestured down his body and Aziraphale followed the movement of his hand with interest. “Those kids were being nasty about you!”
“Indeed?”
“Obviously!”
“And you leapt to my rescue?” Aziraphale queried sweetly. “My dear, you shouldn’t have.”
Crowley, sensing a trap, slumped down in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Yeah, well.”
“I’ve always known you were so much nicer than anyone gave you credit for.”
Crowley groaned and slumped even lower in his seat, almost parallel with the floor now.
“Shut up.”
“You really are too good to me, Crowley.”
“Angel, please—”
“And I am truly very grateful to you, my dear.”
“Have mercy, Aziraphale,” Crowley muttered, his cheeks flushing slightly in a most inconvenient betrayal. “Your lot are supposed to love mercy.”
“My lot are supposed to love everything,” Aziraphale said cheerfully. “Even rude teenagers who make loud personal remarks in public.”
“Do you?” Crowley shot back. “Love them, I mean?”
“I love them as I love all creatures,” Aziraphale said pompously. “Unreservedly and from a safe distance.”
Crowley snorted and thought it safe to sit up a little to his more usual slouch.
“You, on the other hand,” Aziraphale continued mercilessly, “I love in entirely your own way.”
“Aziraphale!”
“I shan’t hide it, my dear, even if it does embarrass you to hear me say it.”
Crowley didn’t reply but sent a quiet curse in the direction of the teenagers who’d been so rude to his angel. If he was going to have to sit here and accept both compliments and declarations of love, someone was going to have to suffer for it.
Aziraphale reached out a hand and placed it on Crowley’s knee, squeezing affectionately. After a few moments of haughty silence, Crowley dropped his own hand to rest on top of Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale smiled brightly at him and returned his attention to the window. Crowley sighed and sipped slowly at his coffee, hiding his own smile behind his cup.