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People bustled by the innocuous bookshop, paying no mind to its not-so-innocuous owner stood at the front doors. A plastic bag full of groceries sat at his feet whilst he fussed with the key.
"Oh, don't tell me it's buggered..." he muttered, but any worry melted away when it turned in the lock as smoothly as it had those two hundred-odd years ago.
He hummed proudly, picking the bag back up and opening the door.
Crowley was staying today, reluctantly left with free reign of the shop whilst he went to the Coop. Co-op, rather. Aziraphale couldn't help holding his breath: perhaps the demon would have toppled the shelves, vandalised the covers or pawned off his most valuable editions for peanuts. Thankfully, it was exactly as he'd left it, save for one detail.
"I don't want to set the world on fire..." a voice crooned from somewhere in the midst of the shop.
That was queer. He didn't remember leaving music on. Unless Crowley had?
"I just want to start..."
Hang on a tick.
"...a flame in your heart."
That was Crowley!
He would have clocked it sooner, but Crowley had, since its invention, vehemently refused to participate in any sort of musical merriment. He'd never understood why, but it all fell into place: he was embarrassed.
"In my life, I have but one desire..."
He wasn't half-bad. In fact, he was good.
An impish smile pulled at Aziraphale's lips - if he stayed absloutely silent, Crowley would be none-the-wiser to his presence.
"...and that, dear, is you, no other will do."
He stood utterly still, listening to these sweet declarations and inexplicably felt a blush rise to his face. It was the excitement, he reasoned.
"I've lost all ambition, or worldly- ANGEL!"
The demon squeaked, nearly stumbling back into a large pile of books. Aziraphale grinned.
"Hello, Crowley!"
Crowley managed to catch himself on a tall, teetering stack. His cheeks were burning as red as his hair.
"How long have you been there?" he asked lowly, though his voice lacked its usual confidence.
"Oh, long enough, my dear." Aziraphale said with infuriating glee.
It was clear Crowley couldn't think of a rebuttal, and instead groaned, hid his face in his hands and began to pace.
Aziraphale revelled in his fluster: it was usually Crowley teasing him, him spluttering and blushing and burying his face in his hands. He hardly needed to do anything, either. He'd just stood there.
"Stop fretting, Crowley. It was lovely."
"Lovely? Oh, Satan..." Crowley grumbled.
"It was!" Aziraphale inisted.
Rather than continued protest, as Aziraphale expected, Crowley peered through his fingers.
"Really?" he asked doubtfully.
"Yes, really."
Slowly, he removed his hands: his sunglasses were slipped back on.
"Well, I am brilliant, I suppose." he muttered, hardly loud enough to hear. Before Aziraphale could tease him further, he found a far-flung shelf and pretended to busy himself.
Aziraphale didn't broach the topic for the rest of the evening. Seeing Crowley avoid his gaze, cheeks still pink, was enough. For now. He made sure to file it under 'Making fun of Crowley on a rainy day' in his mind.