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The air was pleasantly warm.
Perfectly warm, actually. But that wasn’t a miracle, or well, not one of his doing. He had acquired a divine little wood burning stove, jolly green enameled on cast iron and embellishments gilded to perfection. It was splendid. Heated his game room right up on blustery nights like this. Between the fire and the Chateau Lafitte, everything was cozy, comfortable, and perfect.
The only thing that could possibly make it better would be a snack. The question, then, is what sort of snack is he craving? Well the options were truly limitless. Something sweet, perhaps? A nice custard tart or ice cream? Oh, maybe a pudding? No, no that would be too heavy. And now that he’s thinking of it, he perhaps didn’t want something sweet.
There’s always the fruit. He went down to the markets at Brixton earlier this week and he still had some luscious wares. But well…it was a warm and cozy evening and he wanted a warm and cozy snack.
Something gooey. Now that he thought of it.
Something savory and crunchy.
Something…
“-ngel? ANGEL!”
Aziraphale nearly jumped right out of his waistcoat. Crowely was staring at him over the top of his red tinted sunglasses. It was definitely more of a glare, but Aziraphale had long since learned that scowls and glares did not mean much. They were just another way for his friend to show his affection without words. Crowley was never really upset with him.
"Yes, dear?"
Crowely sighed loudly. "I said, you're on a completely other planet."
"I'm feeling a mite peckish."
"It's your turn." Crowley gestured broadly at the green velvet table between them and the spread of cards and chips. They didn't use money. What had they any use for it? Usually the loser owed the winner some sort of favor. After so many years of playing various games with each other the score was rather even.
Neither of them ever mentioned it.
"I could go for a snack. What about you?" Aziraphale didn't wait for an answer, pushing up from the table with a pleasant groan. He didn't need to make the noise, it was simply fun.
"I don't want a snack!" Crowley threw his cards down with a clatter and took up his glass, finished it off and thanked Aziraphale when he topped it back up.
"A nice toasty sound like just the thing. Don't you agree?" Crowley mumbled something unintelligible, but Aziraphale was already in the little kitchen just down the hall. Crowley's apartment was bigger. Modern. But Aziraphale's was cozy. Homey. Lived in. And even though Crowley claimed it was unnecessary and "over the top", he never made a fuss about spending most of his evenings there.
The kitchen was painted a warm red, with cream and gold accents and natural wood. He had wanted the real human experience. He went shopping. He kept his food in the pantry and fridge and dealt with the consequences of spoilage as it came. It forced him to be proactive in his living. Kept him on his toes!
Yes, first things first. He needed bread. There had been a lovely loaf of rye at the market. Fresh baked! The rich swirls and fragrance had been plaguing his memories for most of the day, he just hadn't had a reason to actually partake. Until now. He opened the small pantry where he kept the bread and dried foods and pulled down the neatly packed little loaf. And frowned.
The loaf. Which was perfect and delicious looking. Was uncut. He had the right knives for the job. Of course he did! He had taken up baking during the pandemic, along with a fair share of the humans. It had really bolstered him, getting online and chatting about his own woes and triumphs with so many others. It's just...well, he's rather hungry, and more than a little floaty from the wine. And...no one will know. It's so small!
Leaning to peek around the door to make sure no demon had come upon from the hall, Azirapheal quickly pulled some magic down to himself and, Oh! Would you look at that! The bread was actually cut after all. Good job! Luckily there were slices of cheese already from when he had cut just a bit too much for a cheese board the other day. They didn't quite fit the bread, there was some overlap, but well, what was the fun in being perfect?
He passed the door on his way to the stove, Crowley's voice as he faintly sang a song drifted down the hall to him. It was something odd, one of his bebop things about...bicycles? Hm...
The stove was next to a window which had been kept open to let in some fresh air earlier in the day. Before the rain. Now it was snugly closed. Though, it seemed to have done its damage, as the fire on the burner would not light when he turned spark on.
"Drat!" He exclaimed, quite loudly.
"What was that?" Crowley called from the other room.
"The pilot light is out!" Aziraphale yelled back, already searching the small cupboard above the stove for the matches.
"The Pilot's Night Out?" Crowley asked quizzically...then, "Never heard of it!"
"No. The pilot light is out! I need matches!" There hadn't been any in the cupboard. A gross oversight on his part for sure.
"Hatchets?!" Crowley bellowed, "who uses hatchets anymore?"
"No, never mind!" Azraphale huffed. The bread was so small a thing, and he hadn't used any magic on the cheese, which was so good of him really. What was a little fire? It was nothing! Fire was made every day by normal, natural means. One didn't even need a knife or tools to do it! Well, human's needed tools to do it, but nature didn't.
He was getting off course.
Swaying a little on his feet he pulled, just the tiniest, teeniest, bit of magic down to start the pilot light. Fire lit, the pan went on the stove, then a large pat of butter. Once it was melted he dipped the bread flat sides down into it and then added the cheese. He placed one slice of buttered bread over the cheese and began the delicate task of flipping the sandwich until it was all nice and toasted to perfection.
Then he tipped it onto a nice china plate with a dazzling poesy pattern and frilled edges, sliced it diagonally for presentation and headed back out of the room. In the game room Crowley had taken off his glasses, the now empty bottle of wine near his elbow as he built a magnificent castle from the cards.
It even had spires! How about that?
"Ready for another game? Oh dear, are we out of wine?" Aziraphale set the sandwich between them on the table. Crowley wouldn't eat it, but he liked to offer. "Let me just pop back down to the-"
"No bother," Crowley said with a bright smile, his glasses were now tucked into the pocket of his black shirt, golden yellow eyes glinting with mischief. He made a quick flick of a pulling motion up and suddenly the bottles were filled once again. "There we go!"
Aziraphale sat down, a frown on his face. "We shouldn't do that for things we are very well capable of doing ourselves. I have more wine in the cellar."
"And now you still have more wine in the cellar," Crowley said in a mocking way. With a little smile and tap of his finger he sent the whole castle of cards toppling down. "Besides, they expect me to use my miracles on things like making more booze appear. We're fine."
"I suppose..." Crowley had already begun to shuffle and dole out the cards for another game, so Aziraphale let it slide. Really they ought to be more careful. It wasn't worth calling attention to themselves like that.
Unless it was something they really needed.
Of course.
"Did you find your hatchet?" Crowley asked, sipping from his cup once more.
"My hatchet? Oh heavens. I didn't say hatchet," Aziraphale laughed heartily, "why would one need a hatchet in the kitchen. To make toasties?"
"I don't know what you do in there!" Crowley said, gesturing wildly, "you cut things, right? Hatchets cut things. You could have used one." He then sent on a whole tangent about having seen people cutting all manner of things with hatchets throughout their long lives.
Aziraphale sat with his sandwich, enjoying the warm gooey cheese, the flaky buttery bread. And listened. Cards forgotten between them as the storm blustered on outside the windows.
Beyond grateful for all of life's little miracles.