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“Crowley? Are you awake?”
Was he awake? What kind of a stupid question was that? Course he was awake. How could anybody sleep while Aziraphale puttered around the bookshop making all kinds of noise?
Not that Crowley minded, really. He was only napping on the couch because it gave him an excuse to be here in the bookshop. He wasn’t tired, and he obviously didn’t need sleep. It was nice, though, just resting and listening to the angel muttering to himself while he moved things around.
“Ngk,” said Crowley.
“Ah. You are awake. Excellent. I could use your expert eye.”
“My wot?” Crowley cracked one eyelid. The bookshop was sparkling. “What’re you doing? Redecorating?”
“Decking the Halls, my dear boy! For the holidays.”
Crowley slithered upright, blinking until his eyes fully opened. “Angel. What have you done?”
Sparkling, it turned out, was a dire understatement. Every window had been trimmed with pine boughs and fairy lights. Wreaths of holly with berries bright as stoplights adorned bookshelves. Fake icicles (at least he hoped they were fake) hung from lamps, tables, and statues, catching the light and scattering it in all directions.
The worst offender was a large Christmas tree, right by the entrance. Candles—battery operated, of course—glowed among its branches, illuminating scores of colored bulbs, plastic doodads, and popcorn strings. The light-up star at the top outshone the Bentley’s headlights. Crowley had to squint.
“What is this?” he asked. “You don’t decorate for Christmas.” He cocked his head to one side. “Although… if this is a new ploy to keep customers away, well done. Can’t even see the door from here.”
Aziraphale closed the distance between them in two rapid strides. He took hold of Crowley’s wrist and tugged him toward the center of the bookshop.
“That is precisely why I need you. I’m not at all certain the positioning of the decorations is correct. I need a second opinion.” The angel released Crowley and made a sweeping gesture with one arm. “Well? What do you think? Take your time to look everything up and down.”
“I think you’re up to something, ’s what I think.”
Crowley stalked toward the Christmas tree and circled it slowly, scrutinizing the assortment of ornaments. Tiny teapots, naturally. Glass bonbons. A little crocheted angel and demon that were unmistakably himself and Aziraphale from the time of Job. That beard had been a choice all right, but he had made an excellent cobbler/midwife. Aziraphale had been bloody adorable, as always.
Crowley had to cough to mask his gasp of delight when he spied a little mechanical nightingale nestled carefully among the branches. A key jutted from the bird’s side. Crowley wound it with a flick of his fingers, and the nightingale began to sing.
He scowled at the sweetness. Had Aziraphale done this all for him? He didn’t think he’d said anything to imply that his festive spirit needed bolstering. Though, to be fair, they’d gotten rather drunk last night, and he’d probably been spouting nonsense. It had been hard to put together a single coherent thought the moment Aziraphale had taken hold of his hand and twined their fingers together.
They’d held hands for hours. Crowley could feel himself blushing just thinking about it.
“Crowley, I didn’t mean for you to go wandering about the place.”
Aziraphale sounded annoyed. Maybe the decorations weren’t for Crowley, then. Maybe the Whickber Street Traders and Shopkeepers Association was having a holiday decoration contest. If the prize was cake or a gift card to a fancy restaurant, the angel would pull out all the stops to win. Never mind that he could just miracle himself a cake at any time. He’d want to win the human way.
“You have to view it from the correct vantage point,” Aziraphale insisted, coming up behind Crowley. He put a hand on Crowley’s back and urged him away from the Christmas tree, back toward the center of the room.
Crowley turned around to face Aziraphale, crossing his arms and glowering. “It looks fine. Whole lotta holiday cheer.”
“If you could just back up a few steps for the whole effect?” Aziraphale’s lower lip puffed out in his well-honed pout. His eyes widened, lashes fluttering. The absolute bastard.
“Fine.” Crowley took two steps back. He waved both arms at the display around him. “Still looks the same. Can you tell me what this is all about now?”
Aziraphale made a “back up” motion with his hands. “Just a touch further?”
Crowley complied.
“And a little to the left? There. Perfect. Now, what do you think?”
Crowley stood in the exact center of the bookshop, right in the middle of the rug that covered the celestial portal imprinted on the floor. A shiver ran through him. The portal wasn’t active, probably wouldn’t ever work again, in fact, but this spot had been the site of some pretty significant events in their life. Crowley glanced up, just in case Someone was watching.
Oh.
Oh.
A cheerful ball of green leaves and white berries hung from the ceiling. Mistletoe. A kissing ball. And he was standing directly beneath it.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale sounded uncertain, and Crowley wasn’t going to stand for that.
“Get over here, angel.”
Aziraphale was at his side in an instant. Soft fingers caressed Crowley’s cheek as their eyes met.
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah. I do.”
“I’m so glad.”
Aziraphale leaned in. He was just enough of a bastard to be worth kissing. So Crowley did.