Chapter Text
The Ritz has always, to Aziraphale, been such a breathtaking place.
Perhaps it's the chandeliers, sparkling in the air and swaying slightly, casting the place in a dim light. Or maybe it's the buzzing of conversation around him, a gentle lull drifting over their soft chairs. Either way, it's a very romantic place. Aziraphale could sit there all day, a pot of tea and a lovely stack of cakes sitting comfortably in front of him, with nothing to worry about at all except the chance of rain later, clouds drifting past the windows in dark shades of grey.
Most of all, though, there's nothing more delightful to Aziraphale than the company of someone else, an easy conversation or a bright smile beside him so much more thrilling than eating on his own. And right now, Crowley is the most pleasant company indeed, leaning his cheek on his hand and watching Aziraphale with a smile like he's the cat that got the cream.
Every now and then Crowley takes a large swig of wine, though it's only 3 in the afternoon, and Aziraphale would've scolded him if he didn't have his own glass, too. There's nothing worse than a hypocrite, after all. And alright, perhaps the burn of alcohol down his throat is a little exciting, perhaps sitting across from a demon with their knees touching is a bit thrilling, perhaps sitting here with his friend is so much more interesting than a dull afternoon by himself.
Yes, Aziraphale decides, biting into his fourth scone, The Ritz has always been such a breathtaking place.
"What're you thinking so hard about, angel?" Crowley drawls, and Aziraphale looks back at him with a gentle gaze, all of Crowley's edges faded by the low light and the smile tugging at the edges of his mouth.
"Oh, nothing, nothing really," Aziraphale averts his gaze, looks down into the swirling pot of tea, watches steam rise from it a little in delicate grey smoke, "This is just... well it's not half bad, is it?"
"Not half bad? We've got expensive wine, heaven and hell aren't looming over our shoulders, and the world isn't ending." Crowley smiles wider, running his finger along the rim of his wine glass. "What else could you possibly want?"
Aziraphale pauses as if it's a real question, and then he meets Crowley's gaze and pulls a soft, pleading kind of face that he knows will make Crowley do anything for him. Already, he knows Crowley will say yes to anything he asks, but he leans across the table anyway, tilts his head just a little, revels in the amused smile on Crowley's face.
"Could you, perhaps," He asks in an innocent sort of way, "Buy me more scones...?”
"You're kidding. You could literally miracle some right-"
"Well, yes, but it isn't the same as homemade, really, is it-"
"You could miracle them any way you wanted, you-"
"Now, now, calm down, there's really no need for-"
"I just bought you three plates!"
"Oh, just one more." Aziraphale smiles to himself. He's already won. "Please, Crowley."
Crowley grumbles to himself, but he raises his hand, and before Aziraphale can even blink a waiter is slipping over to them with a polite smile. Aziraphale watches smugly when the waiter leaves to get him more scones. Another battle won. Much easier than a war against hell, he thinks, already anticipating the smell of homemade baking and the soft scent of scones.
"Why, thank you very much."
"I could have them poisoned, you know."
"You wouldn't!"
"I wouldn't be so sure, if I were you." Crowley mutters.
"Well, that's not very nice now, is it?" Aziraphale takes a sip of his wine. "And we were having such a pleasant evening."
"You were having such a nice evening. I'm the one paying for it."
"Well, you're a demon, Crowley, dear, it's not like I'm draining your life savings."
"Is it too late to bring back the apocalypse?" But Crowley is grinning and the air is warm and everything, everything is perfect, Aziraphale thinks, as comforting and lovely as the home he made in his bookshop. "It was less expensive."
"But we all could've died." Aziraphale points out.
"Yes, well, tit for tat."
Oh, heaven is nothing, really, not compared to evenings like this. The closeness of Crowley, being able to see his long, pale fingers wrapped around his wine glass and a familiar fond smile tugging at his cheeks. And the light, casting them in that dull, romantic glow Aziraphale loves so much, making him feel like he's a human on a date and not a very old, very tired angel rebelling against his own nature.
The scones come, pretty and plump on a plate and smelling absolutely divine. They're a lot nicer than the last batch, Aziraphale thinks, biting into the warm filling and humming in appreciation. He looks up at Crowley shyly, his eyes just flickering up once, wondering if Crowley had made them so nice on purpose. It wouldn't be the first time Crowley's done something like that, but still Aziraphale's cheeks warm slightly at the thought.
But Crowley isn't looking at him anymore, he's staring into the crowds of people instead, and then his mouth slightly twitches and Aziraphale knows that whatever he says next will be decidedly not good.
"Oh dear ," Aziraphale says, "You've got an idea."
Crowley turns to him.
"My genius knows no limits." Crowley takes the scone straight from Aziraphale's hand, biting into the other half with a flourish as if he's rewarding himself, "I've come up with a foolproof solution to all of our problems."
"No plan you've ever come up with has been foolproof, I'm afraid."
"No, I think you'll like this one, angel."
Aziraphale already doesn't like it. He stares pointedly at his scone in Crowley's, instead.
"Oh, sorry, open wide." Crowley says. Aziraphale opens his mouth, and Crowley puts the rest of the scone in it. "How do you feel about free food?"
"I rather think it's a good thing." He says, his voice muffled by the scone.
"I thought you might say that. And really, a little lying won't be a problem, will it?"
"Well, that depends-"
Aziraphale doesn't like where this is going.
"Crowley. Come on, out with it."
"Do you know," Crowley begins, slowly, "That if you propose at a restaurant, you get free food?"
Aziraphale almost chokes on his scone.
"Propose? W-Why- I've never heard of such a thing. Is that real?" He says, after he's finished coughing.
Crowley snaps his fingers.
"Well, if it wasn't before, it is now."
"Crowley!" Aziraphale hisses.
"Oh, come on, you've done much worse than that in your time, angel."
Aziraphale flushes.
"Very well," He mutters, "What's your... plan?"
"That part was obvious," Crowley spreads his arms wide, far too proud of himself, "I'll propose to you, and we'll get more scones. Simple."
Aziraphale should point out that there's really no need for any of this, because they're literally an angel and a demon, and they could just summon the scones out of thin air (or, if you're fussy and like them properly baked like Aziraphale, miracle yourself some money to pay for them). He also should point out that he's a little full now, his trousers straining a little, and frankly doing something as silly as that just to get some free food is pointless anyway, especially for entities that don't even need to eat or drink.
He doesn't say any of that. He just says, instead, with a frown,
"Absolutely not."
"Oh, come on, Aziraphale, why not?"
"W-Well, it's- it's- it's improper!"
"Improper? " Crowley laughs. "You can't be serious."
"We should pay for food, that's basic decency-"
"Now, really," Crowley drawls, "Let's not forget the times you left without leaving a tip, hm, angel? And let's not pretend that you don't always pay for your lovely expensive food, now, do you-"
"That's enough!" Aziraphale's flush has spread down his neck. "There's really no need for this, Crowley."
"Come on, let's have some fun. You don't even have to say anything."
"I suppose your acting isn’t that bad...” Aziraphale grumbles.
Crowley bumps their knees together.
"Come on, just this once. It'll be fine. Just think of all the scones."
Aziraphale might say it's the wine or the food or the hazy light, but really the reason he agrees to this bizarre, humiliating, ridiculous plan is because Crowley has this warm affection in his voice, and he's alight with happiness, and there's nothing wrong with keeping that rare cheer there for just a little longer, is there?
"Well, alright, I suppose." Aziraphale grumbles. "But just this once, Crowley!"
"Yeah, yeah." Crowley drains the rest of his glass. "It's show time, angel."
"God forbid." Aziraphale mutters to himself.
Crowley looks over the top of his sunglasses and winks at Aziraphale. Then he's jumping on top of the table, and Aziraphale feels a thrill of dread down his spine, even though he has to admit that Crowley does look rather comical standing there like that, looking down at Aziraphale with a hand clutched over his heart.
"Gabriel my love," He croons, loudly, so that the rest of The Ritz can hear him. Aziraphale sets his jaw. Gabriel. Couldn't he have picked a better fake name?
"We have been together for three years," Crowley announces, dramatically, and Aziraphale fights the powerful urge to roll his eyes. "Three heavenly years. Truly, the forces of hell couldn't keep us apart.
Aziraphale's mouth will not twitch. It will not.
"If I were to part from you, it really would be the the end of the world. " Aziraphale bites his lip.
Crowley drops to one knee on the table, and Aziraphale is trying very, very hard not to giggle. It's decidedly the hardest thing he's ever done.
"My God, I can't bear it any longer!" Crowley pretends to have a voice crack, "I must be with you forever, Gabriel. Will you marry me?"
Aziraphale, his face red with the attempt not to burst into giggle, his eyes filled with tears of laughter, simply nods, and the room erupts into applause. Even the waiters are clapping, and as Crowley sits down, he looks over his sunglasses at Aziraphale with twinkling eyes as if to say I told you so, his mouth pressed tightly shut to suppress his own grin.
A waiter rushes over to their table, with, Aziraphale notices, mortified, tears in his eyes.
"That was so beautiful." The waiter murmurs, wiping his eyes.
Crowley nods very seriously, and Aziraphale is hysterical, being driven mad by the urge not to laugh or push Crowley off his chair.
"Here, let me get you more wine, on the house," The waiter says, "And more of those scones too, of course! Congratulations to the happy couple!"
"Gabriel," Aziraphale says, when the waiter is gone and he's sure he can open his mouth without chuckling, "Really, Crowley?"
"That bastard," Crowley lifts his glass as if in a toast, "Just saved us a hundred quid."
*
In the dark, cold street of London, they can finally, finally laugh. Rain falls gently, landing on the tip of Aziraphale's nose, but he's too busy giggling, leaning into Crowley's side, the memory of Crowley crooning Gabriel, my love playing on loop in his mind. The street lamps make the tear tracks of laughter on his cheeks glitter.
"Ridiculous," He says, "Absolutely ridiculous. I've never been more embarrassed in my entire life."
"Your face, " Crowley's laughing, too, clutching his stomach, "Gold."
"I suppose it was rather funny. And we did get free food, like you promised."
"Even if we didn't, it was so worth it. I made that waiter cry.”
"I can't believe you," Aziraphale grins, tucks himself closer to Crowley's side when the rain picks up, with the convenient excuse in his mind that he's only finding somewhere to smother his laughter. "You are the worst person I've ever met."
"Liar." Crowley throws an arm around his shoulders. "You love it."
"I really wouldn't go that far-"
"I would. Did you like my references to the apocalypse?"
"Oh, yes, very subtle."
"I was just improvising, too! Incredible!"
"You really should stop- stop tooting your own horn, you know."
"What was that?"
"I said you should stop tooting your own horn."
Crowley laughs again.
“Come on, angel, say it was a good idea. You know it was."
"Well," Aziraphale says, carefully, his bright, happy face safely hidden by the dark. "It wasn't half bad."
They walk together like this, close and grinning, a little wet from the rain, their stomachs full and their spirits higher than they've been in centuries. Truth be told, it was the most pleasant of evenings, and Aziraphale wants to hide his face in Crowley's shoulder and murmur t hank you against his neck. A rather embarrassing thought, but it sticks nonetheless, whispering to him like the gentle, rainy wind.
"I know you said just once," Crowley says, slowly, "But that would work again. Not at The Ritz, of course, but other places. All that free food..."
Aziraphale doesn't say anything.
"You had fun, angel, I know you did."
He knows without looking at his face that Crowley is grinning, plans already settling in his mind. He pinches Crowley's side.
"Crowley, I’m not going through that again."
"Ow!"
"Oh, sorry," Aziraphale rubs Crowley's side, soothing the spot he just pinched with a gentle brush of his fingers, "But my point still stands."
Crowley stops, takes off his sunglasses, and lifts Aziraphale's face to meet his eyes. He smiles gently at Aziraphale, his eyes alight under the glow of the street lamps, yellow eyes sparkling.
"Please, Aziraphale."
"That's cheating. Now, stop that, Crowley, that's really not fair," Aziraphale mutters, ducking his head, "Yes, yes, alright, you win, stop pulling that face."
"I win!"
"There's really no need to be so insufferable about it."
"Get used to it," Crowley place his arm back around Aziraphale's shoulders, triumphant. "Welcome to married life, angel."