Сука

Aziraphale and Crowley were together. Metatron had never offered Aziraphale the position of Supreme Archangel, and so there had never been a reason for them to part. They had simply stayed together, exactly where they belonged. That evening, they had gone to the theatre. By the time the performance ended, winter had settled over London, turning the streets dark and bitterly cold. Normally, they would have driven back to the bookshop in Crowley’s Bentley, but the car was in the shop for repairs. So instead, they walked. Hand in hand. Aziraphale chatted happily beside him, occasionally making some comment about the performance they had just seen, while Crowley listened with the faintest smile tugging at his lips. Their footsteps echoed softly against the pavement as they made their way through the chilly streets. Crowley was only half-listening when he noticed it. His angel was trembling. It was subtle at first, just the slightest shiver running through Aziraphale’s shoulders. But Crowley noticed immediately. He stopped walking. Aziraphale, still distracted by whatever he had been saying, took another step before realizing Crowley was no longer beside him. “Crowley?” “Hold on.” Before Aziraphale could ask what was wrong, Crowley was already pulling off his scarf. “Crowley, what are you doing?” “Keep still, angel.” Crowley wrapped the scarf around Aziraphale’s neck, then pulled it higher, covering part of his face and tucking the fabric carefully around his cheeks. Aziraphale blinked at him. “But you’ll be cold.” “I’ll survive.” “Crowley, honestly, you’re already freezing.” “Angel.” “But you need the scarf more than I do.” Crowley gave him a look. Aziraphale fell silent. “Good,” Crowley muttered. He adjusted the scarf again, wrapping it more securely around Aziraphale until practically everything but his eyes was protected from the cold. “And your hands.” “My hands?” Crowley took off his gloves. Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Absolutely not.” Crowley ignored him and took one of Aziraphale’s hands, carefully pulling the glove onto it. “Crowley.” Then the other. “Crowley, you cannot possibly—” “Shush.” “But you’ll freeze!” “I said I’ll survive.” “You are being ridiculous.” “And you’re being cold.” Crowley tugged the gloves snugly over Aziraphale’s fingers, then took both of his hands in his own for a moment, checking that they were warm enough. He didn’t care if his own fingers went numb. He didn’t care if the cold bit through his coat or if the winter wind made his nose and ears ache. He simply refused to let his angel freeze. Aziraphale stared at him for a moment. There was something unbearably tender about the whole thing. Crowley, pretending he didn't care while practically wrapping Aziraphale up like a precious parcel, sacrificing his own warmth without even thinking twice about it. “Oh, Crowley…” “Don’t start.” “I haven’t said anything.” “You were going to.” Aziraphale smiled. Instead of arguing, he stepped closer. He tucked himself against Crowley’s side and buried his face into the warmth of his demon’s coat, breathing in that familiar, pleasant scent that always seemed to belong exclusively to Crowley. Crowley went still for half a second. Then his arm slipped around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Better?” “Mmm.” “That a yes?” Aziraphale nodded, pressing himself a little closer. Crowley sighed, but there was no irritation in it. “Come on, angel. The bookshop’s not going to walk itself home.” Aziraphale smiled against his coat. And together they continued down the quiet winter street, hand in hand, Crowley cold and pretending he wasn't, and Aziraphale wrapped up in his scarf and gloves, perfectly content to steal every bit of warmth his demon had to offer.