The nice and accurate oneshots of Good omens

Hot cocoa and celestial harmonies

After a long day Crowley had decided to crash at the bookshop for it had always felt more like a home to him than his flat had anyway. The sign that hung upon the bookshop door had been turned to closed though this never applied to Crowley. He discarded his glasses almost immediately on entering and settled into his usual chair by the window. The afternoon sun still shone brightly, warming him as he curled up somehow managing to fit his lanky frame into the padded wooden structure. What could he say? Old coldblooded habits die hard. He'd nap until his angel appeared from whatever he was doing; clever old humans, he thought, inventing such glorious things like sleep.

Aziraphale, who had been organising then reorganising some of his most prized books, padded softly down the stairs. In one arm he held a couple of pristine novels, in the other a ceramic mug containing some steaming cocoa. His gaze scanned the room, knowing he'd see his wiley demon somewhere. He could always sense his presence. Ultimately, his gaze settled upon Crowley's sleeping form in the chair beside the window. He would've moved that chair ages ago if it wasn't for the fact it was Crowley's favourite, not that he could ever get the demon to admit it. Aziraphale discarded his belongings onto one of the cluttered desks, before approaching the sleeping demon. Crowley had been staying at the bookshop a lot more since arma-nuuh-gedon, not that Aziraphale had noticed. The angel was shockingly naïve in this respect.

Aziraphale placed his hand on the demon's shoulder, 'Why, my dear boy, what are you doing here?' After a brief pause he adds: 'Surely curling up into the chair like that can not be comfortable.' Crowley stirs as the angel touches his arm, 'Ngk, 'sss warm here, used to be a snake remember? In Eden.' He adds helpfully. 'Yes, I'm aware, what a serpent you were too, so full of wiles.' Aziraphale walks back over to his desk, humming tunelessly, he grasps his mug. As the angel takes a sip of his drink, Crowley untangles his limbs and rises a little unsteadily from the chair. He saunters over to the desk, 'Cocoa, really angel?' there's no malice in his words, a mild jest at his angel. 'Just because I have taste-' Aziraphale starts before he's cut off by Crowley's laughter. 'Fine, let me rephrase it.' He sighs a little but isn't actually bothered by the demon's interruption 'Just because I don't solely drink black coffee and red wine.' A small smile pulls at the edge of his mouth, giving away the angels façade of mild annoyance.

***

A little back and forth later, in which mainly light hearted bickering had ensued, the pair migrated to the cosy little back room of the bookshop. They assumed their regular positions: Aziraphale in his plush armchair, back straight and legs crossed, Crowley splayed across the couch, he really couldn't have taken up more space if he tried but he was comfortable and that was all the mattered. Between the pair was a small heater, which had immediately been turned on as they walked into the room. Aziraphale knew his demon well. The fireplace lay cold and untouched, neither had wanted to touch it since the incident.

From his position on the couch, Crowley let his gaze fall on Aziraphale, on his angel. To Crowley, he was perfect, 6,000 years had only solidified that fact in his mind. His beautiful perfect angel. Even now, as he drank his hot chocolate, as he drummed his fingers against the mug's ceramic surface while rambling on about something or other. Crowley hadn't known it was possible to love someone this much. How did the humans cope when he, a demon, was struggling? Crowley's respect for the species had only increased in recent weeks. There was another thing: his voice. Who needs celestial harmonies when he could let his angel's words wash over him? God, Satan?, how he loved his angel. Crowley's inner monologue was cut off short when Aziraphale asked him a question. 'Well dear?' his angel enquired. Shit. Playing it cool, Crowley stretched himself out on the couch 'Could you say that again?' He hoped his voice sounded normal.

'Oh Crowley...' Aziraphale twittered 'Were you not listening to a thing I said?' He sounded mildly annoyed but there was something more than that. A sadness, disappointment maybe? This broke Crowley's heart, so much that, against his better judgement, he decided to tell the angel the truth. 'No, no I was listening but I got distracted. Your voice is so beautiful and I just love hearing it.' Crowley's cheeks glowed as he came to the end of his sentence. God damn things, couldn't just let me play it off cool. He threw his arm over his eyes, in a way he hoped seemed casual. 'You really think so?' he heard his angel hesitantly ask from across the room. 'Whole heartedly.' came Crowley's reply, 'Now what was it you asked?'

He didn't receive a response for Aziraphale didn't care for the answer anymore. Crowley, his wiley old demon, cared for him and that was all that mattered.