#again apologies to my ace!aziracrow enjoyers but top Aziraphale is a necessity in my life from time to time

[hikarry]

Anthony J. Crowley

But with reading glasses

"Aziraphale, why do you wear reading glasses anyway? Your vision is perfect."

The angel sighs, closing his book and taking off his glasses, glancing up at the demon beside him.

"It's not about my vision. I just like them." The glasses on his hands glint in the light of the desk. "I believe you would say it's a matter of style. Feeling good with what you are wearing."

"Is that why you've been wearing the same clothes since the 40's? Because of style?"

Aziraphale chuckles, putting the glasses back on and getting up from the armchair. How his demon could be thick skulled sometimes.

"I wear these clothes and the glasses for the same reason you wear those probably extremely uncomfortable tight jeans, my dear." Crowley recoils slightly when Aziraphale suddenly lifts his hand, but leans into his touch when said warm hand meets his cheek. "Because you feel like yourself when you wear them. Somewhere in the 6000 years we've been sharing the world with the humans, we started caring about what we cover ourselves with and what little trinkets we wear to compliment said covers like they do." The smile that takes over the angel's face is warm, and yet still bastardly. "We are more like them than you would like to admit." More than both of them would like to admit, to be fair. "Anyway." Aziraphale walks past him, towards the hook on the wall where they keep their jackets. "Do you want to stop by Nina's? I'm really craving those new jelly donuts she received on monday."

Not that it matters to whatever the author is trying to write here, but they did go to Nina's and Aziraphale did have his donut along with tea while Crowley watched him in silence over the rim of his mug filled with 6 shots of the blackest expresso.

It was 2 weeks later, one day when they decided to go back down to Soho to check on Muriel and the girls, that the weirdst...? Maybe weird isn't the right words to describe it. I will let Aziraphale showcase whatever he felt by himself.

He had left Crowley at the bookshop with Muriel to go check on the Record shop where Maggie was moving some records around, rearranging the shop for the tenth time that week, with the lack of anything better to do. Truth be told, nowadays her most usual costumer was Crowley himself, who would stop by from time to time to check on vinyls he apparently needed for his endless collection. She still wasn't sure if he actually needed the records, or if that was his way of being nice.

Regardless, when Aziraphale came back to the bookshop with a Vivaldi secured in both his hands, he quickly spotted Muriel cleaning the dust off one of the shelves in the front, but no sign of Crowley.

"Muriel, my dear, did Crowley step out to Nina's again?"

She stopped what she was doing to offer him her full attention and the smile she wore 24/7 no matter the time of the day.

"No, Mr. Aziraphale. I saw Mr. Crowley walk into the backroom. Apparently he found something interesting in the box of new arrivals."

"Thanks, dear."

Aziraphale offered her a polite smile back before properly entering the bookshop and walking into the backroom, where he quickly found Crowley not sitting on his couch, as it had been the norm since the 1800's, but instead on the armchair Aziraphale used to occupy. Back relaxed leaning against the backrest of the chair, one skinny leg crossed over the other and a book opened in front of his face.

Floriography: An Illustrated Guide to the Victorian Language of Flowers

"Since when do you have an interest in flower language?"

"Since you told me fucking Wilde used to offer you green carnations every other blue moon." Crowley dropped the book, looking up at the angel. "Do you have any idea what green carnations mean in flower language? Hell, it was Oscar himself that created the stupid meaning for the stupid flower."

Uhum. Yeah. No. Aziraphale didn't hear a single word of whatever Crowley had said after he dropped the book, Instead, he dropped the Vivaldi along with his jaw, his heart beating fast for less than holy reasons and his hands tingling to touch, touch, touch...

"The bloody bastard was hitting on you!" Crowley closed the book with a bang. "I'm never sleeping for a century again." He grumbled. "Forget a century. I'm never sleeping for a whole year and leaving you to your own devices."

"My dear-"

"Sure, we were not technically officially together together back then, but, come on, Aziraphale. Wilde?"

"Crowley-"

"All this years all it took was a mediocre flower for you to fall head over heels over someone?" He put the book to the side, laying it on the small table beside the armchair, and got up. "You know who has technically been a gardener for millenia?" He waved at himself. "Me! I've been dealing with plants and flowers at least since around they put Jesus on a stick. If all it took to get your attention was offering you a bouquet every other week, you could have given me some type of hint? Hell! I should have been the one creating this bloody ridiculous flower language! I know more about flowers than Wilde or any other human that has ever stepped on this bloody planet-"

"Crowley!"

The demon stopped ranting and waving his hands dramatically, dropping them to the sides and looking at Aziraphale, who was still exactly in the same place he had been for the last 4 minutes.

"What?"

The angel waved in his general direction.

"What is that on your face?"

Crowley reached out to his own face, as if he had forgotten there was anything at all out of the ordinary in it, his fingertips meeting the temples of the reading glasses.

"Ah." He took the glasses off, turning them around on his hand. "Just decided to give these a try. Thought they would make reading more interesting."

Aziraphale had walked up to him, stepping over the record and standing a few centimeters away from the demon, taking the glasses off his hand. Crowley looked down at him, an eyebrow raised in confusion, and was about to open his mouth to say something when Aziraphale put the glasses back on his face, taking a step back and biting his lower lip.

"...Okay? Angel, what's-?"

"Get the keys for the Bentley. We are going home." That was clearly an order, which Aziraphale expected Crowley to follow without second guessing as he turned around, picked up the record from the floor, and walked towards the exit of the backroom.

"Wow, wow! Wait up!" Gently, Crowley held Aziraphale's free wrist, forcing him to stop walking and turn around to face him. "What the bloody heavens is going through your head? You said you wanted to go through the new arrivals with-"

Without any previous announcement or any type of gentleness, Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's silly lil grey tie and pulled it down, so the demon's face was mere centimeters away from his own.

"I'm two second away from pushing you against that shelf and turning you into the biggest mess of our existences, but Muriel is too close and too innocent to witness such behavior." He pulled on the tie again, pulling a very still very focused and breathing very heavily demon ever closer. "So you better get in that car and drive us back home before I show you what I learned in all my years in the discreet gentlemen's club." He finally let go of the tie, allowing Crowley to straight himself up, but the demon didn't move an inch. "And don't you dare take those glasses off until I say you can." He smiled and patted his cheek. "Yes?"

The only noise that left Crowley's throat was some type of high pitched shaky little thing, before he reached out to the back pocket of his jeans and fished for the car keys.

All this to say: that's a vision I pretty much support. We need more reading glasses Crowley in the fandom.