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Chapter Text

It was roughly a quarter to ten and Aziraphale Fell was on the verge of tears. This was becoming a fairly common occurrence. It was stupid, really. He shouldn’t feel so upset. After all, he had finally gone and gotten himself a job.

True, the head chef Gabriel had laughed at him when he showed up in his tartan suit last week, asking if Eden was looking for an extra pair of hands in the kitchen, but to be fair, he wasn’t exactly qualified for the position. Aziraphale knew it was a long shot: the truth was while he spent countless hours watching videos of baked goods on Instagram, the blond was far from a decent chef himself.

Aziraphale had handed Gabriel an envelope his mother had given him with his information in it. She had moved out of the city shortly after Aziraphale finished college, but had always been there to help him. When she heard that he was looking for a job in a Parisian restaurant, she had mailed him the envelope and pointed him in the direction of Eden– one of the best restaurants in all of France. Even with the envelope, Gabriel had initially refused to hire him as a chef, caving only when Michael halfheartedly mentioned that the kitchen could use a garbage boy.

The rest of his first week on the job had been awful, filled with one mishap after another, and incessant teasing from the more established chefs. Teasing he would pretend to laugh along with until he was able to find a moment alone. That’s when the tears would inevitably start falling.

Some of the taunting may have been warranted. After all, Aziraphale had messed up the trash collection not once, not twice, but three times in the seven days he’d been hired and now… 

What he had just done was not merely inconvenient– it was downright unforgivable.

Aziraphale, clumsy thing that he was, had knocked an entire pitcher of sugar into a pot of soup simmering on the stove. 

It had been an accident.

A silly, tragic, accident that was bound to be his undoing.

He had tried to fix it, tossing cinnamon and salt into the pot with abandon before his pounding heart overcame him, forcing him to retreat to the corner of the kitchen where he stood now, seconds away from bawling his eyes out.

They would fire him for this.

They would have to.

Messing around in the kitchen… Ruining the soup…

Aziraphale pressed his hand to his mouth, cutting off a strangled sob.

Would it be better to turn himself in? To apologize? Oh, but they would yell at him–

Aziraphale’s frantic train of thought derailed as something flickered in his periphery. He followed the movement instinctively and that’s when he saw it.

Something impossible.

Something cartoonish.

Something miraculous enough to make his jaw drop.

It was a snake– a brilliant black creature, roughly two feet long– and it was cooking . The serpent stood on its tail, balancing itself with remarkable agility that defied Aziraphale’s understanding of physics. It had a wooden ladle in its mouth and was using it to stir– To sauté– 

“Oh my god ,” Aziraphale whispered, bringing his fingers to his lips.

With those words the creature stopped its ministrations, turning to look at him. Aziraphale found himself shivering as serpentine eyes met his. The sight wasn’t creepy , per se, it’s just that there was something eerily human about the snake’s sharp amber gaze. Unfortunately, he didn’t have time to reflect on the ridiculousness of his current situation because the next moment another chef, Uriel, was whisking the soup away, bringing it out of the kitchen to be served.

“No, no, no. Oh god. Oh god!” Aziraphale turned, bumping straight into Gabriel.

“Hey, watch it sunshine. What are you babbling about? We pay you to clean, Aziraphale, not to pace the kitchen muttering under your breath like a lunatic.”

Aziraphale shifted his weight from foot to foot. He held the head chef’s gaze for only a second before breaking down.

“I messed up the soup!” he cried.

Gabriel’s fake smile faltered at that.

“You what?”

“I– I– I didn’t mean to! It was an accident,” Aziraphale tried to explain. “I was just walking by and I knocked something off the shelf and I tried to fix it but–”

Gabriel stopped him, holding up a hand.

“Now, Aziraphale, let me tell you something. We don’t do ‘accidents’ here.”

“I know– I know–” Azirphale babbled.

“No, I don’t think you do. There’s no room for mistakes at Eden; that means there’s no room for you.”

Yes, this was it. He was about to be fired.

That was when the kitchen doors flew open, revealing a breathless Uriel.

“She loves it,” the chef exclaimed, shaking their head. “Shax has always been strict about reviews but she– She wants to know who made it.”

Gabriel looked between Uriel and Aziraphale, raising an eyebrow.

Then he cleared his throat and Aziraphale braced himself, praying that he would survive this emotional rollercoaster of a Wednesday night.

That’s when the head chef shrieked .

“Snake! Snake! There’s a snake in the kitchen!”

Aziraphale followed Gabriel’s trembling finger to the pans that hung over the stove only to find that, sure enough, the same black snake from earlier was tucked away in a pot, flitting its tongue in and out of its mouth lazily.

“Well?” Uriel snapped, glaring at Aziraphale and thrusting a picnic basket into his hands. “Are you just going to stand here like an idiot? Do something.”

“I– I–” Aziraphale swallowed. “Alright.”

He stepped closer to the snake, reaching out a tentative hand to gently bring the creature down into the basket. The serpent didn’t put up a fight. Instead, it seemed more than happy to curl up, relaxing against the soft fabric.

“What am I supposed to do with it?” Aziraphale asked, looking to the head chef.

Gabriel rolled his eyes.

“Take care of it.”

“Care for it? I have no experience handling snakes… ” Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he brought a hand to his mouth in horror. “Oh, do you mean–”

“Kill the stupid thing. Or dump it outside, I don’t care. I just want it out of my kitchen.”

Aziraphale nodded frantically, grabbing his toque before dashing out of the restaurant. The fresh air was a relief after the hours of standing and cleaning and scurrying around the kitchen. The solitude was also comforting. Out here, outside Eden, there were no chefs to yell at him or tease him or lecture him on all the ways he was inherently incompetent.

Aziraphale walked on in silence for a few minutes along the river that ran through the city before crouching down and opening the basket. He shuddered, shaking his head as he remembered Gabriel’s cruelly flippant words. 

How could anyone ever think to harm such a beautiful creature?

Really, Aziraphale had never seen such a gorgeous snake. And inexplicably, the serpent also appeared to be an excellent chef.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Aziraphale promised, fully aware of how ridiculous it was that he was talking to a snake .

Still, there was a boldness in the wily serpent’s eyes– An intelligence so fierce that Aziraphale felt it must understand what he was saying.

“Really, I promise. You’re safe now. Thank you so much for saving me tonight. You have no idea how…” Aziraphale trailed off. Venting to a snake was a new low he was not prepared to sink to this evening. “Anyway, I know you don’t care about all that, but I had to make my appreciation known. Go on, my dear, slither away.”

The snake did, slowly sliding out of the picnic basket and onto the ground. As it sauntered away, slinking into the shadows, Eden’s garbage boy assumed the whole serpent chef thing was behind him.

He was, of course, mistaken.

A minute later, the snake returned, reentering the basket and coiling its lithe form into a spiral.

Aziraphale stared at it and in response the serpent lowered its head, closing its eyes. The next moment it opened its mouth and…

For the first time all week, Aziraphale laughed.

“Did you just yawn?”

The snake opened one eye for a moment before closing it again with a wiggle that looked suspiciously like an armless shrug.

Aziraphale had never been good at making responsible decisions, especially when he was, for all intents and purposes, emotionally hungover. That’s why instead of abandoning the picnic basket by the river, he picked it up, smiling down at the little chef inside it.

“Oh, you’re a sleepy snake, aren’t you? Well, I suppose– I suppose I’ll just take you home.”

Chapter Text

All things considered, the second half of Aziraphale’s evening had gone much better than the first. He had, for some reason, ended up bringing the snake chef back to his apartment. It really should have been pathetic, the way he had showed the serpent around, pointing out his favorite snacks and his reading nook before leaving the picnic basket on the couch with its lid open.

He had then changed into pajamas, falling asleep quickly, eager to put the mess of the day behind him.

Now it was Thursday and Aziraphale woke up feeling rested for the first time all week, thrilled that it was his day off. However, the bliss only lasted a few minutes before he sprung to his feet, gasping.

Yesterday–

The soup– 

The snake – 

Aziraphale must have made the whole thing up. Maybe he had miraculously fixed the soup himself. That was in the realm of possibility, at least. But a cooking snake? A snake he had brought home to his apartment?

No.

It couldn’t be true.

It was simply too ridiculous.

Aziraphale stumbled into the kitchen in a daze, wondering if there would really be a basketful of snake waiting for him. He braced himself as he glanced at the couch. Sure enough, there was an overturned picnic basket on the floor, but more importantly… 

Aziraphale shrieked.

There was a man there– a ginger – draped across his couch. The stranger wore a cropped Queen t-shirt and impossibly tight black jeans.

With Aziraphale’s scream the figure sat up– or attempted to anyway, taking on a slightly less horizontal position on the sofa with a lazy grin.

“Mornin’ angel.”

“W-what?” Aziraphale stammered. “What are you doing in my apartment?”

The man laughed at that, flopping back over before removing his sunglasses in a remarkably liquid motion.

“You saved me last night, remember?”

Azirphale stared up at the apartment ceiling, taking a moment’s silence to reflect on what his life had come to. Snake chefs invading the kitchen… An unfairly gorgeous ginger in his home… 

“I–” whatever he was going to say was forgotten as Aziraphale met the strange man’s eyes.

Hazel eyes so light they were practically golden.

Eden’s garbage boy looked down at the discarded picnic basket, then back up at the man before shaking his head in disbelief.

“No, you can’t be!”

“Oh but I am,” the man drawled, teasing. “Anthony J. Crowley at your service. I go by Crowley.”

“You’re the snake!” Aziraphale cried out, more accusatory than anxious.

The snake– The man– Crowley grinned, a forked tongue flicking out of the corner of his mouth.

“Yup. And you’re staring at me. What is it? I know this is a lot to spring on you… I’ll leave if you want me to.”

“Oh no, you can stay,” Aziraphale murmured, still not quite believing the new reality he was caught up in. “It’s just– Your tongue.”

“My–” Crowley cut himself off, his eyes widening. “Oh, sorry, that happens sometimes. When I’m distracted, I glitch. I get caught up in my thoughts a lot, especially when I’m planning things out. I’m a big fan.”

“A big fan?” Aziraphale repeated as Crowley tapped his chin until his tongue was human shaped again.

“Of scheming,” Crowley clarified.

“Scheming.”

“Yup.”

Aziraphale’s head was spinning and really, after yesterday’s debacle, this was just too much . Crowley seemed to sense this, popping up from the couch and leading the frazzled blond to the breakfast table.

Aziraphale smiled at the familiar box in front of him.

“Give Me Coffee Or Give Me Death.”

Crowley nodded, pulling out a chair and gesturing for him to sit.

Aziraphale complied eagerly, settling in and admitting the pastries Crowley had so kindly picked out for him. He popped one of the treats into his mouth before asking the first of his many questions.

“So you slithered out and got these, then?”

Crowley snickered at that, draping himself across the table and watching Aziraphale eat.

“Food first, then I’ll tell you everything.”

Aziraphale nodded before digging in. He was hungrier than usual, considering he had missed dinner last night and these pastries were just so delicious. Aziraphale polished off the treats slowly, pausing every few bites to glance up at Crowley. The redhead was watching him intently, the soft smile on his face growing every time Aziraphale sighed or dabbed at his lips or wriggled in his seat.

“All done?”

Aziraphale nodded, pushing the empty box aside.

“Great. Um, I haven’t done this in a while. Where should I start?”

“The whole snake thing,” Azirphale prompted.

“Oh. Yup. Makes sense. Okay, so most boys go through puberty around twelve or so. I did too, but I also inexplicably started transforming into a snake. For over half my life, I’ve turned into a snake between sunrise and sunset. The transformation varies a bit with the seasons, but not much. Winter or summer, I can’t exactly take anyone home for the night, you know?”

Aziraphale flushed, nodding.

“Anyway, yeah, I don’t know why it happens. It’s not genetic and I haven’t heard of anyone else with this… condition. But whatever, I’ve learned how to manage it. Get the occasional day job. Explore Paris at night in snake form. Make sure I’m somewhere secluded in the early morning, cause when I transform back I’ll be naked.”

“Naked!”

Crowley snorted, waving a dismissive hand.

“Yeah, werewolf rules: I don’t get to spontaneously generate clothing just because my body doesn’t feel like being a snake anymore. That wouldn’t make any sense.”

As opposed to the rest of this, which was perfectly sensical.

“That’s why I borrowed your outfit this morning– one of the posh beige ones in your closet– and went out and bought myself some suitable clothes. And while I was in town I figured I’d get you something sweet. It’s the least I could do after you saved my life, angel.”

Crowley paused, crossing and uncrossing his legs before turning to Aziraphale with a raised eyebrow.

“Questions?”

“So many questions. Too many questions.”

Crowley cackled again and Aziraphale smiled. The ginger’s laugh was a delightful sound in an apartment where Aziraphale was so used to silence.

“No such thing. Ask away, please.”

Aziraphale paused, thinking his situation over. Honestly his inquiries really fell into two simple categories: Crowley’s snake life and Crowley’s personal life.

“Right. Well, when you’re a serpent, can you still understand what people are saying? Can you talk to other snakes?”

Crowley shrugged.

“Yeah, I can understand people when I’m in snake form, but I can’t talk to other snakes, and any humans I try to chat with will just hear hissing. That leads us right to the heart of the issue: you’re cute, but you can’t cook for shit. Let me help you, angel.”

Aziraphale scoffed, fidgeting in his seat.

“Why ‘angel’?”

At that, the serpent’s face turned bright red.

“I– Um– Ngk . Well, last night– You and your rosy cheeks and fluffy white hair– I was a snake and you saved me from Eden – And really, you’re ridiculously pretty–” Crowley stammered before cutting himself off. “It’s just a nickname. I can stop if you don’t like it.”

Aziraphale smirked, equally surprised and pleased by how cute Crowley was when he was flustered.

“Don’t worry, my dear boy, I love it.”

Crowley sighed with relief, his face slowly returning to its normal color, the freckles adorning his cheeks all the more noticeable now that he was no longer blushing furiously.

“Right. Well, anyway, I was saying ,” he shot Aziraphale a halfhearted glare as the blond giggled, “we should work as a team. Your bosses– the ones who wanted you to kill me– seemed pretty pissed about the soup. Then they were surprised when Shax actually liked it. I suspect they’re going to want a repeat performance.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened at that, his fingers tapping anxiously against the kitchen table. Crowley– who was apparently not only crafty but also observant– brought his hand to Aziraphale’s to comfort him. The effect was immediate: the worry that had been building slowly within the blond fizzled, leaving only a sense of undirected determination.

“Hey, it’s alright, that’s why I’m here. We’re going to figure this out together.”

Aziraphale blinked, soothed by Crowley’s gentle tone. For someone who allegedly spent half his time as a snake, the man’s hands were soft and remarkably warm. Aziraphale was about to ask the ginger if he struggled with temperatures in serpent form when something occurred to him.

“You say you want to help me, and really, that’s very kind of you, but what are you getting out of this?”

Crowley’s hands twitched at the question and his face did something very strange before he trained his features back into a cool showy smile.

“Who’s to say I’m getting anything out of it? Maybe I’m just bored.”

Aziraphale raised an incredulous eyebrow and Crowley relented.

“Fine. You got me. The truth is, it’s nice to be accepted for once. After all, with my, um, condition, it’s kind of hard to make and keep friends. I’ve been on my own for a while and that’s been fine but… I’m lonely, Aziraphale. There are people I cared about, people I’ve shown this part of myself to, and it didn’t end well. But you–  Well, again, you saved me last night and you seem to be pretty chill with the whole snake thing.”

“I’m still… processing,” Aziraphale admitted. “But it’s horrible that people would abandon you because of this. I mean, now that I’ve seen the real you–”

Aziraphale stopped, praises poised on the tips of his tongue.

Now that I’ve seen the real you, I don’t ever want to let you out of my sight.

Now that I’ve seen the real you, I am enraptured.

Now that I’ve seen the real you, I have found and lost my religion, may my fallen god forgive me.

Crowley leaned forward, cocking an eyebrow.

“Well?”

“Well, I think you’re lovely,” Aziraphale offered, not trusting himself to say anything more. He had known this man for less than twenty-four hours, after all.

“You’re one to talk,” Crowley murmured fondly, the tips of his ears burning before he cleared his throat. “Anyway, what were we scheming about?”

“The soup.”

Crowley snapped his fingers, leaping to his feet.

“Yes, the soup! Good soup. So, any chance you know morse code?”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“I’m terribly sorry, my dear boy, but I don’t.”

The blond had, in fact, started to read up on it last year, back when he had grown inexplicably interested in cyphers and foreign languages… but didn’t remember much more than the code for ‘SOS’.

“Don’t worry, we’ll figure out a system. In fact I was thinking–” Crowley shook his head. “You’re going to say I’m stupid.”

“I would never call you stupid,” Azirphale declared fervently. “Silly, maybe, but never stupid.”

Because a declaration like that would not only be mean, but also unequivocally wrong : as a snake, Crowley had proven himself to be wily– both cute and clever. And as a man… the ginger slouching before him, crossing and uncrossing his lanky arms, was a paragon of brilliance in Aziraphale’s eyes.

“Well,” Crowley continued, a mischievous glint in his eye, “I was thinking I could curl up under that thick chef hat you wear. If I’m coiled I should be able to fit and I can use my tail to tap you and keep you from making a mess of things. What do you think?”

Aziraphale turned the prospect over in his head.

It seemed…

Honestly, it seemed too good to be true.

The past week in Eden had been truly hellish. Aziraphale was desperate for any ally in the kitchen and Crowley… Well, a partnership with Anthony J. Crowley would be nothing short of deus ex machina. Or serpens ex machina, rather.

However, Aziraphale, bibliophile that he was, did have to make one quick correction.

“My good fellow, it is called a toque !”

“The massive hats have names?”

“Of course they have names!” Aziraphale cried.

“What– How– Never mind.”

As Crowley rolled his eyes and turned away, murmuring something about ridiculous angels under his breath, Aziraphale couldn’t deny the pang of fondness that rang through him. The feeling was so sudden, so strong, that he missed Crowley’s question.

“Hmm?”

“I asked, are you in or are you out, angel?”

“Oh, I’m in .”

Chapter Text

From a purely sensory standpoint, Aziraphale found there was something surprisingly delightful about having a snake curled up in his hair. It must have been Crowley’s weight. Or maybe his temperature– being a cold-blooded creature, Aziraphale’s secret co-chef was cool against his head.

That’s right: Aziraphale Fell had smuggled a snake into the finest restaurant in Paris and his coworkers had no idea .

Really, it was just ridiculous.

 Still, putting the absurdity of the situation aside, there was an undeniable thrill that came with having a secret. Yes, every few minutes Aziraphale would feel the serpent shifting under his toque or hear him hissing pleasantly to himself and would be very tempted to giggle.

Crowley’s hunch about Gabriel having Aziraphale repeat the soup was spot-on: not only did the higher-ranking chefs want him to replicate his performance from Wednesday night, they also wanted him to cook other dishes.

The angel of Eden had been on his feet for hours now, sizzling it up with his favorite snake, and things were going quite well. This was a relief, but not a surprise: after all, he and Crowley had spent the entire night before practicing.

Aziraphale, Crowley had established, would have to speak out loud– ostensibly to himself– and go over every stage of the cooking process. He would ask questions and Crowley would answer them accordingly with head pats.

One tap on the head would mean ‘yes’, two would mean ‘no’, three would mean ‘say that again’, and four would mean ‘start over’.

“And five successive taps would mean what?” Aziraphale had asked, perched on the edge of the couch as Crowley strutted in front of him, his freckled forehead wrinkled in thought. “‘You did such a good job, here, have a little kiss on the nose?’”

Crowley had been dead serious when he responded, “Yes, of course.”

Now, by Aziraphale’s count, he had only had to restart two dishes this evening; the others had been salvaged by the wily old serpent tucked away underneath his toque. And Crowley had given Aziraphale six little kisses on the nose so far: two for the soup, three for the canapés, and one for the apple tart he had just finished preparing.

Not that he had been keeping track or anything.

Gabriel and the other chefs had been watching him incredulously the entire night. They assumed that Wednesday’s soup was a fluke and they would get a chance to tease Aziraphale by putting him to the test.

But Crowley…

God, that snake was truly a brilliant chef! Aziraphale would have to ask him where he learned to cook after he transformed back.

Saraqael popped into the kitchen, nodding to Aziraphale.

“Shax is out there. She wants to talk to you about your soup from the other night.”

Aziraphale started at that, clenching and unclenching his fists. Shax was a food critic almost as infamous as Beelzebub, the self-proclaimed Duke of Hell of Paris’s culinary scene. She wasn’t cruel per se, but she also wouldn’t hesitate to leave a scathing review. And Eden… Well, Eden was still a luxury restaurant, of course, but the past few years hadn’t treated the establishment kindly. Five years ago, Beelzebub had left an egregious review, causing the restaurant to lose a Michelin star. Then, last summer, Espinoza Eden, the eccentric founder and former head chef passed away, meaning tradition called for the loss of another star.

Eden was a phenomenal restaurant, but its golden age had long since passed.

One more bad review…

Aziraphale shuddered just thinking about it.

He couldn’t be the reason Eden lost its final star. He just couldn’t .

As his anxiety started to pick up, he felt Crowley shift under his hat. A moment later, a small serpent head was tapping against his hair five times. Aziraphale smiled and turned to Saraqael, gathering his courage. He could do this.

“I’ll be right out.”

Eden was quite a lovely restaurant. It was a perfect place for quaint candlelit dinners, or luncheons shared with old friends. There was something inherently romantic about the atmosphere– in fact, Aziraphale predicted he would be witness to at least five proposals before the year was up.

Of course, Aziraphale didn’t have time to appreciate the ambiance at the moment. He had to face Shax, and before that… Before that, he had to deal with the nuisance at hand: two men were in the corner of the restaurant, lounging at a table that wasn’t theirs and tapping a menu against said table loudly.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, considering the best way to approach them. Confrontation– especially with disgruntled customers– wasn’t exactly his specialty. Fortunately (or unfortunately) the Regulars, as Eden’s chefs dubbed the two strange men, spoke first.

“You, chef boy, get over here.”

Aziraphale complied.

“Right, listen up. Now me and Ligur are exploratory eaters. We come in here once a week and look at your fancy schmancy menu and–”

The other man groaned.

“Get to it, Hastur!”

Hastur groaned, sticking out his tongue like a child before turning back to Aziraphale with a sneer.

“Where are the fucking snakes?”

“E-excuse me?”

“You have new soups every week, a wine menu that changes by the day, but no snakes? It’s bullshit.”

Aziraphale frowned, his worry quickly shifting into protective anger.

“Do you mean to tell me-”

Ligur cut him off.

“We want to eat an ooey-gooey snake! Cover it in caramel and whipped cream like a crépe and just eat it up.”

Oh, absolutely not.

Crowley did not like that.

“Did you just hiss at me?” Ligur exclaimed as Crowley thrashed around on top of Aziraphale’s head.

“Just something in my throat,” Aziraphale lied smoothly.

It took all of his self-control not to yell at Hastur and Ligur or dash off to the break room and hold Crowley close, the poor thing.

Instead he cleared his throat, holding his chin up high.

“Now, really, I doubt you two even have a reservation here. Please make yourselves scarce. I’d hate to have to take extreme sanctions.”

The one on the right– Hastur– snickered.

“What? A soft thing like you? I’m so scared.”

He stepped forward, jabbing Aziraphale in the chest with his thumb before turning and gesturing for Ligur to follow.

“We’ll be back, and when we do, snake better be on the fucking menu.”

“Ugh,” Aziraphale huffed as Crowley hissed. “The nerve of some people.”

The black serpent shifted around under his hat, giving him six taps.

“I don’t know what that means, dearest,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley then gave him four taps.

“Start over? Oh, right! Shax.”

One tap.

“Alright.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, calming himself before walking over to the other end of the restaurant where the renowned food critic sat, dressed impeccably as always in a crimson ensemble.

Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“Hello. I, um, heard you wanted to speak with me?”

Shax nodded, looking him up and down.

“You made my dinner, yes? And the soup the other night?”

Azirphale nodded.

“Aren’t you the garbage boy?”

Aziraphale swallowed, not quite sure how to respond to the question. Crowley gave him a little tap on the head.

“Y-yes. Well, I just started cooking on Wednesday. Roles in the kitchen can be pretty flexible, but what am I saying? I’m sure you already know that considering this is your career and–”

Shax raised an eyebrow and Aziraphale stopped his nervous rambling.

“Right, well, you actually did a decent job. I’ll have to write a good review, which is my least favorite part of this job, so thanks a lot for that.”

Aziraphale blushed, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

Was that… a veiled compliment? From one of the toughest food critics in Paris?

“You– You liked it,” he whispered.

“I did. Now run along before I take it back,” Shax smirked.

Aziraphale nodded, smiling as he walked back to the kitchen in a daze.

“Gabriel,” he called, “I’m going on break.”

The head chef rolled his eyes.

“Sure, whatever. Just be back and ready in fifteen minutes. We could use an extra pair of hands in the kitchen, especially since you’ve miraculously transformed into a mediocre cook overnight.”

Two minutes later Aziraphale was outside, sitting on a bench just down the road from Eden. There were some people around, but none of them were close enough to see Crowley, so the chef took off his toque, bringing his hand to his head in an unspoken offer.

Crowley accepted, and a moment later Aziraphale had a lapful of snake.

“Ah, that tickles!”

The serpent’s golden eyes glistened at that.

“We did wonderfully tonight, you and I.”

The snake nodded, bopping its tiny head in an adorable gesture.

“We did wonderfully tonight and it’s not fair,” Aziraphale announced, speaking quietly to ensure he wasn’t overheard by others. No one could hear him, obviously, but it was still best to get in the habit of being cautious when he had his toque off. Especially if his arrangement with Crowley was going to become a Thing .

The serpent cocked its head to the side, sticking out its tongue in confusion.

“The head pats, I mean. Silly thing, you’ve given me so many and I haven’t given you any back.”

With that, Aziraphale brought his thumb to Crowley’s head, giving him five gentle taps in succession.

“You’ve done such a good job, darling, and I’m so, so, proud of you.”

Chapter Text

On Valentine’s Day, Aziraphale took Crowley to the Eiffel Tower. It was a tragic, foolish, self-destructive choice but the temptation was impossible to resist, especially when the serpentine chef told him he hadn’t been in years.

It was a gorgeous day and Crowley, kind as he always was, had insisted on buying Aziraphale cotton candy. (Because apparently the blond looked ‘absolutely adorable’ when he was snacking.) He had finished it a few minutes ago and now the two men were sitting on a bench, enjoying each other’s company along with the beautiful view in front of them.

The past few months had been… Well, they had been perfect, really.

Perfect except for one thing: Aziraphale could no longer deny that he had feelings for Crowley. Feelings that grew stronger by the day. Maybe it was premature to call it love, but the angel of Eden had never known anyone so kind and clever. He had never had somebody like this: a co-conspirator who would snicker and wink at him and whisk him away to art museums. A partner in crime who treated him with such gentleness and care. A man who saw his silliness and adored him for it.

Of course, Crowley didn’t feel the same way, and Aziraphale didn’t expect him to. That wouldn’t be fair. If the ginger wanted more– if he felt more– he would let Aziraphale know. After all, the man who sauntered around their shared apartment shirtless would surely be brave enough to make the first move.

It was fine. Aziraphale could live with a stalemate.

Romance, he reasoned, wouldn’t work out anyway. Different types of relationships came with different expectations. Different responsibilities. Besides, he could have Crowley’s days, but not his nights. Not in public. That meant no shared dinners. No stargazing. No moonlit walks along the Seine.

So what they had now would have to be enough.

After all, putting the crushing weight of longing aside, Aziraphale’s short time with Crowley was slowly but surely becoming the best era of his life so far.

The ginger cleared his throat, flopping his head against Aziraphale’s shoulder, effectively derailing his train of thought.

“Thanks for taking me, angel. The tower’s gorgeous.”

Aziraphale swallowed, the words slipping from him before he could help himself.

“It looks even prettier at night.”

Crowley sighed at that.

“We can’t go then, angel, you know that. Not while I’m in snake form.”

“I could hide you,” the blond offered.

And he could. Really, it would be so easy to keep Crowley tucked away in a basket or under the folds of a coat.

“Yes, but I couldn’t hold you. Not like this.”

Aziraphale shifted his weight as Crowley snuggled closer, enveloping the angel of Eden in his arms. They had never talked about it– this proximity between them that had given way to a softer way of living. Crowley had always been kind to Aziraphale, but he had become much more affectionate these past few weeks, giving him head pats in human form and surprising him with hugs the blond would crave for hours afterward. It really was a delightful surprise. After all, who knew a man who spent half his time as a snake would be so… cuddly?

And speaking of snakes– 

Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“Dearest, the other day… Well, you know how I always stay up reading.”

Crowley grinned.

“Of course. I fall asleep in snake form and when I wake up in the morning and check on you, you’re still snoozing. Sleepy angel.”

Aziraphale smiled at Crowley’s soft tone, but continued. It was probably nothing but he had to ask…

“Last night– Well, this morning, technically– I woke up around nine and went to get a glass of water before going back to sleep and–”

Aziraphale cut himself off, inhaling sharply.

“Maybe I was still half asleep, but I could have sworn I saw you draped across my sofa still in snake form. While the sun was up.”

Crowley stiffened at that, before nodding.

“Yeah. Yeah, that was weird. It’s nothing to worry about, though. The whole snake schedule’s usually so reliable… It makes sense that once every twelve years or so I’d have a one-off. Honestly, a glitch like that should have happened sooner.”

Aziraphale paled. So he hadn’t imagined it: Crowley had been stuck– trapped in his snake form– well into the morning. And if that could happen… 

“Crowley!”

The ginger slouched deeper into Aziraphale.

“Oh, I know what you’re going to say. ‘What if his curse, or condition, or whatever this snakey business is, only gets worse?’ What if he stays trapped in serpent form forever?’ I’m telling you, don’t worry about it.”

“I–”

“Don’t,” Crowley warned.

“My dear boy–”

Crowley brought his finger to Aziraphale’s lips.

“I can hear you thinking, angel, and I’m telling you, don’t worry about it. Let me take care of you, yeah?”

Aziraphale nodded, melting as Crowley’s kindness turned him into a useless lovesick puddle for the umpteenth time that day.

“I don’t like the way they treat you at Eden,” the ginger murmured after a beat of silence. “You deserve better than that– so much better– and you know it.”

Aziraphale sighed.

“I don’t feel like having this argument again.”

Crowley shrugged.

“Fine, then we won’t. But I was thinking last week– I was in my snake form and you were asleep. You should know that you snore and it’s absolutely adorable– What if we started our own restaurant?”

The words were spoken quickly, flippantly, but when Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes they were wide. Vulnerable. When Aziraphale didn’t object, he continued more confidently.

“I mean, just think about it: we could work days and nights and I could help you openly. We wouldn’t have to follow their rules or put up with any of that bullshit. It would be a haven just for the two of us.”

“What… What would we name it?” Aziraphale ventured cautiously.

Crowley smirked.

“Well, you’re the literary one. Any ideas?”

Aziraphale scrunched his nose, thinking.

“A.Z. Fell & Co,” he determined after a moment.

Crowley shook his head.

“Eh, that’s not it. It’s charming– suits you, anyway– but I’m looking for something more… us. ‘A.Z. Fell & Co.’ sounds like the name of an old bookshop.”

“I like old bookshops.”

The ginger chuckled at that.

“Of course you do.”

“They’re pretty .”

“I'll take you to one sometime. Other suggestions?” Crowley prompted.

“Alpha Centauri,” Aziraphale decided, watching his partner’s eyes widen with glee.

“Ooh, I like the sound of that. Stylish.”

“Like tartan,” the angel of Eden supplied helpfully.

“Oh don’t you start–” Crowley warned, unable to keep from cackling.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, picturing their restaurant– picturing Alpha Centauri. Yes, it sounded wonderful. Wonderful and thoroughly unattainable. Still, he let himself bask in the fantasy for a few moments. During the past few months, the angel of Eden had garnered a reputation as one of Paris’s up and coming chefs– a reputation he felt was only partially deserved. After all, he couldn’t exactly publicly credit Crowley, who was the real culinary talent behind their operation. The idea of being able to showcase him to the world like the brilliant treasure he was… To shout out ‘This is my other half, we are a unit!’... To have a place just for the two of them… 

“It’s a lovely thought, Alpha Centauri,” Aziraphale finally whispered while the ginger shifted, lifting his head to turn and face him. In the process, Crowley’s slender fingers brushed against Aziraphale’s– a movement that practically set the poor man’s heart on fire.

“Yes,” Crowley repeated, his bright eyes dipping to Aziraphale’s lips. “Lovely.”

Aziraphale swallowed, an uncontrollable blush overcoming him.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Crowley.”

Chapter Text

Aziraphale was slumped over on his couch, sobbing while he hugged Crowley. It was the first time the gorgeous ginger was sitting in his lap and the angel of Eden couldn’t even appreciate it.

“I hate it Crowley,” he sniffled, clutching his pliant partner even closer. “I have good reviews, apparently I’m one of the best chefs in the city, and yet–”

Crowley brought a hand to his hair, soothing him.

“It’s okay, angel. Let it out.”

Aziraphale didn’t need any encouragement. He nodded, doubling over with a new wave of sobs.

“I’m not a garbage boy anymore- I’m listed as a chef on the payroll-but the others are still so mean! No matter how good I am, no matter how well I cook, they’re never going to like me.”

The angel of Eden paused, wiping away his tears and bringing a trembling hand to Crowley’s necktie. Aziraphale's co-conspirator was wearing one of his favorite outfits: impossibly tight jeans, a dark shirt, and a black jacket paired with an accessory that was just perfect for fidgeting with.

Still, the blond started when Crowley looked at him, raising an eyebrow and proclaiming, “You’re right, they’re not.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale mumbled, his voice wobbly.

He had expected reassurance. Not… Whatever this was.

“Really,” Crowley continued, “they shouldn’t have hired you.”

Aziraphale sat up at that, too incredulous to keep crying.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not trying to be mean, angel– you know I could never be mean to you– but you need to understand what you’ve gotten yourself into: You showed up at Eden with no culinary training whatsoever and asked to be hired as a chef. Gabriel and his goons should have laughed you out of the restaurant; I imagine they nearly did. But a few weeks back you told me you brought them an envelope, remember?”

Aziraphale shrugged.

“Yes, it was my mother’s. I assumed it had the paperwork they needed or something of that sort.”

Crowley waved a hand.

“‘Paperwork'? I guess you could call it that. Angel, they treat you terribly because they’re terrified of you.”

“My dear boy, I’m in no mood to be teased– ” Aziraphale warned before Crowley cut him off with a groan.

“Aziraphale, they hired you to be the garbage boy because you’re supposed to kiss your friends and fuck your enemies. Or however that saying goes.” 

“Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, you mean,” Aziraphale corrected instinctively before raising his eyebrows. “Terrified of me? Why would they be terrified of me?”

Crowley cackled at that.

“Why wouldn’t they be? I’m not but that’s only because I know how soft you are. Soft and fluffy. And pretty. Pretty little angel… No, you’re not spooky at all.” 

A dreamy look came into the snake man’s eyes and Aziraphale snapped his fingers.

“Crowley, why are they terrified of me?”

The ginger shifted in Aziraphale’s lap, drawing impossibly closer before smirking.

“Espinoza Eden’s secret heir showing up on the doorstep of his restaurant with documentation of his parentage? They’d be idiots not to be scared. You could burn them if you wanted to, Aziraphale. Burn them to the ground.”

Aziraphale shot to his feet, rolling a startled Crowley to the other end of the sofa.

“What?!”

Crowley flushed, his eyes wide.

“You didn’t know? Just– Look!” he shoved his phone toward the bamboozled blond.

Aziraphale stared at it, his heart pounding wildly in his chest because the picture of the late chef looked just like him. Sure, his facial features were a bit sharper, but the man had his hair. His eyes. His smile.

Aziraphale sank back onto the couch in a daze, flipping through photo after photo until he could deny it no longer: Espinoza Eden was undoubtedly his father.

Aziraphale’s mother had raised him on her own and that had been fine by him. She was the one who had cared for him, supported him, and helped him when the pressures of the outside world grew to be too much.

Growing up without a dad would distressing for some children, but Aziraphale had never really noticed the absence. He had asked questions as a kid, of course, but quickly moved on to other interests, like Oscar Wilde, Baroque architecture, and the Book of Revelation. Aziraphale had always vaguely known that his father was famous, but assumed he was a celebrity from overseas. To know he had lived in Paris this whole time… 

“Are you alright, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, inching closer.

Aziraphale nodded because strangely enough, he was. This new knowledge was shocking, true, but he found it intriguing rather than upsetting.

“I am. It’s a lot to process but… Crowley, this means I own the restaurant.”

Crowley nodded.

“Exactly. And all this time they’ve been keeping it from you. You gave Gabriel that envelope months ago- Where would he hide it? Or would he have destroyed it?”

Aziraphale shook his head, tapping his fingers against the couch cushions. Gabriel was more cruel than he was clever; while the head chef could have- and likely should have- burned the envelope after hiring Aziraphale, keeping it under his employee’s nose was just too good of a thrill for a bully like him to pass up.

“It will be in his office, in his desk. Gabriel keeps the bottom shelf locked but I overheard Uriel saying he hides the keys under his spare toque. Apparently we aren’t the only ones using hats for legally dubious activities.”

Crowley laughed, sitting up and running a hand through his hair.

“Ooh, perfect. We have a few hours to plan so what do you say we put our time to good use?”

“I don’t know…” Aziraphale murmured.

“If I sneak into his office and get this in writing, we could bring it straight to the press. Or better yet, bring Gabriel to his knees. Teach him not to be mean to my ang- Er, teach him not to be mean to you."

Aziraphale wiggled, considering it. Crowley had always been so good at tempting him. Nurturing him, really. Encouraging him to take what he wanted. What he needed. What he deserved.

“Maybe.”

The second the word left his lips, Crowley was back on his lap, winking and whispering in his ear.

“Do it.”

The man made a good argument.

Azirphale rolled his eyes, pouting dramatically before conceding.

“Alright, fine, foul fiend. You’re a demon, you know that, right?”

Crowley shrugged, grinning.

“Your demon. You love it.”

I love you.

Aziraphale bit his lip before the traitorous words could leave his mouth, squeezing his eyes shut. It wouldn’t do to go and confess his feelings for Crowley. Really, it wouldn’t be fair to jeopardize the arrangement they had on the off chance that what he felt was reciprocated. It would be downright tragic to throw away such a wonderful and caring friendship just because Aziraphale had the audacity to fall in love.

The blond opened his eyes once he trusted himself not to ruin everything and shrieked.

Crowley was still there in his lap but his eyes were no longer hazel; instead they were gold with slit pupils. Snake pupils. And Crowley's tongue– it was sticking out of his mouth the way it often did when the ginger was scheming, but right now it was forked .

And the sun wasn’t supposed to set for another hour.

“Crowley you’re– You’re–” Aziraphale stuck out his own tongue, hissing in a desperate attempt to convey his growing panic.

“Snaking out?” Crowley groaned, slumping against Aziraphale’s chest. “Ugh, not again. I thought this was over.”

Not again?

“Crowley.”

The noodly demon went limp in his lap.

“Crowley, look at me.”

The ginger sighed, complying.

“How long has this been happening?”

“Since around Valentine’s Day. I’ve been staying in snake form longer into the mornings and in the early evenings before sunset I’ve started… Well, I’ve started glitching. I–” Crowley’s voice wobbled, “I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale hugged him, frowning.

“Oh dearest, you have nothing to apologize for, I only wish you told me sooner. Crowley, did you think… Were you worried I would leave?”

There was a long moment of silence. Then Crowley nodded, his head bobbing against Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Oh you poor, silly thing, I’m not going to leave you. I–”

I love you.

“I love being with you. Always. No matter what form or shape you take.”

There was a quiet sniffle against Aziraphale’s shoulder. Then a small voice.

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

— 

After another hour of cuddles and reassurance, Crowley had transformed and left for Eden. Now all Aziraphale had to do was sit and wait. Well, sit and worry, rather.

There was no guarantee that Crowley would be able to get into Eden undetected and if those awful Regulars were there… Aziraphale shuddered at the thought. They wanted to eat Crowley, for someone’s sake. And his co-chefs were no better: Uriel and Michael would likely kill his precious serpent on sight. Really, maybe Crowley was right– maybe they should start their own restaurant, just the two of them. Build something new. Something better.

Alpha Centauri… 

Aziraphale sighed, bringing his fingers to his lips.

“I know you’re right, but I’m not ready for that, Crowley. Not yet. You say I’m soft, but really I’m just scared. You’ve always been the brave one between us, you know. Saving me time and time again and I can’t even… I can’t even tell you I love you.”

Aziraphale’s soliloquizing was cut off by a sharp knock at the door. He jumped to his feet with a start, the blood draining from his face as he immediately assumed the worst. Was it Hastur and Ligur? Gabriel? If they hurt Crowley–  If they had so much as touched him–  

The knocking continued, this time accompanied by a frantic voice.

“Angel? Angel, it’s me, open up. Please, I can’t–”

Aziraphale threw open the door, his jaw dropping as he locked eyes with a very panicked and very naked Crowley.

“W-what– It’s nighttime and– And–”

“I know, Aziraphale,” Crowley snapped, “just let me in!”

Aziraphale did, trying and failing to contain his blushing as Crowley fought his way back into his pair of jeans, opting not to wear a shirt. Once the ginger was partially dressed, he threw an envelope down on the kitchen table, clearing his throat and lifting his lips into a cavalier smile for Aziraphale’s benefit.

“Got the envelope and remarkably fast too. What’s that song you like? ‘I sauntered here from Eden just to hide outside your door?’ No, that’s not right–”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale started.

Crowley snapped his fingers.

“Slithered.”

“Crowley– ”

“It’s slithered, not sauntered.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “We need to… We need to fix this.”

“There’s nothing to ‘fix’! This is part of me, angel. It wasn’t my choice, but I’m not just going to give it up, and you said it didn’t matter if I were a snake or a man or both. That you weren’t going to leave me.”

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed, “I’m not asking for that, my dear boy. I would never ask for you to change. I’m asking for– Well, this isn’t manageable and you know that.”

Crowley sneered at that, sticking out a still-forked tongue.

“What are we going to do when this gets worse? Hide cropped Queen shirts in every Parisian avenue? Like it or not, your transformations are growing more unpredictable. Crowley, I need to know that you’re safe and you can’t be safe when this is happening to you.”

“I– That’s–” Crowley huffed, serpentine eyes flitting up toward the ceiling. “That’s fair.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh at that.

“Oh, are we talking about fair? My dearest, you’ve helped me all this time and asked for nothing in return. You are the hidden talent behind our cooking operation. You are the shoulder I cry on and the ear I trust with my secrets. For the kindness you have brought into my life I, Aziraphale Fell, am forever in your debt.”

The serpent opened his mouth to object and that simply wouldn’t do.

“Let me stop you there. I already know what you’re going to say: that what we have– this wonderful thing we have– isn’t transactional. That you’re with me and helping me because you like it. That I help you in my own ways. I know that, but still, let me take care of you, Crowley.”

The ginger frowned and Aziraphale played his trump card: the angel of Eden had discovered back in December that a simple ‘pretty please’ was enough to get almost anything he wanted from his silly snake.

“Please, my dear boy. I can’t be happy if you’re hurting.”

“Ugh, fine. But first, you’re going to get rid of Gabriel,” Crowley drawled, gesturing to the stolen envelope with a smirk. “And I’m going to watch.”

Chapter Text

Aziraphale had been able to wring the rest of Crowley’s story out of him with some strategically timed hugs and cuddles. (Deep down, the angel of Eden knew he should probably just ask the ginger out. And he would... eventually. Perhaps in six business years or so.) Apparently, his sweet snake's mission had had a lot of ups and downs. For starters, Crowley had been spotted by Hastur and Ligur who had, predictably enough, completely lost their shit. The two obnoxious men had dubbed his serpent form ‘Crawly’ and were now hell-bent on eating him, preferably with some sort of sugary topping.

The ginger had told his co-chef all this while cackling, but Aziraphale was worried; if the Regulars had seen a live snake on the restaurant premises there would be no getting rid of them.

Gabriel, fortunately, hadn’t spotted the sneaky snake. The wily serpent had been able to find the key to his desk drawer easily, though maneuvering it with his mouth was quite the difficult feat. Crowley had left the restaurant with Aziraphale's envelope a full half hour ahead of schedule, eager to tell the blond all about his daring escapades. That was when he transformed back into a human in the middle of the road. The rest of the night had been a struggle to get back to their shared apartment unnoticed.

Now Aziraphale stood in the doorway of head chef Gabriel’s office, clutching his mother's envelope in his hands. He and Crowley had practiced this confrontation several times, so while Aziraphale was rightfully nervous, he was also prepared .

“Gabriel?”

“Huh?” the head chef looked up from his laptop, glaring as he locked eyes with the secret heir to Eden. “Oh, it’s you. What are you doing here so early?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat.

“I’m not one for veiled threats so I'm going to speak plainly: I found the envelope I gave you when I first took this job and realized what you’ve been hiding from me. I am Espinoza Eden’s son and you stole my restaurant. I’d like it back now.”

Gabriel scoffed at that, not bothering to deny the accusation.

“Or what?”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.

“Or I’ll be forced to take legal action.”

Gabriel frowned. Then he leapt to his feet, snatching the envelope from Aziraphale’s hands and tearing it into pieces.

“‘I’ll be forced to take legal action.’ God, Aziraphale, you’re just pathetic. I don’t think scraps of paper are going to hold up in court.”

Aziraphale’s lower lip wobbled as he shifted from foot to foot.

“I– I– I’m–” he started, his eyes wide.

“Sorry? You should be.”

Aziraphale smirked, standing up straight and cocking his head to the side.

“I’m much smarter than you think I am, Gabriel. I mean, really– you didn’t think I would be foolish enough to bring the real envelope here, did you? After all the effort that went into stealing it?”

The head chef blinked, glancing down at the torn papers on the floor. He obviously hadn’t considered that.

Aziraphale nodded toward the office window, his voice dangerously cavalier.

“You see him?” he drawled, gesturing to the man standing outside.

“Who’s–”

Aziraphale smiled, a lovesick sigh escaping his lips before he could catch himself.

“That’s Crowley. He’s–”

My life.

My love.

My everything.

“He’s quite the agile thing and I’ve told him to go straight to the press with the real envelope if you don’t step down as head chef. You probably want to have a say in how this story’s told. After all, I assume you’ll be looking for a job at another one of Paris’s esteemed restaurants.”

Crowley waved, wiggling the real envelope between his fingers, and Aziraphale found himself lifting his left hand before remembering that the whole point of this encounter was to act tough . To stand up for himself for a change. Giving his crush a cute little wave wouldn’t be a great selling point for his performance.

“You’re threatening me,” Gabriel whispered, looking back and forth between the window and Aziraphale with wild eyes. “You’re actually threatening me.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help it– he giggled a little at that. It felt good– scarily good– to take back the power like this. To face his bully at last.

“Quite right. Do keep up.”

“Are you shitting me? I’m the head chef fucking Gabriel!”

“And I am your usurper. Now I kindly suggest you get the fuck out of my office and remove yourself from my life. Immediately.”

Gabriel gasped at that before moving to frantically collect his things. Aziraphale watched. The truth was, Gabriel was an excellent chef and as mean as he was, he had talent. He would be able to land a job in practically any kitchen in France. That was important to Aziraphale– this wasn’t revenge, not truly. He wasn’t doing this out of anger; he was doing this for himself.

After all, as Crowley had told him countless times since their arrangement began, he deserved to work in an environment that appreciated him.

“You think you can do this?” Gabriel spat, halfway out the door. “Run a restaurant? You’re soft, Aziraphale– you don’t have what it takes and you know it.”

“Perhaps,” Aziraphale conceded. It was something he had worried about. “But I’m not doing this alone.”

“Oh, really? If you think you have a single ally in that kitchen, you’re dead wrong, sunshine. It’s only a question of who can tolerate you long enough to supplant you,” Gabriel retorted.

“And who’s to say my allies are in the kitchen?”

Gabriel snorted, following Aziraphale’s traitorous gaze to the window.

“Oh please. Your boyfriend in the dark glasses might be good for pushing papers, but I doubt he has a single culinary bone in his body.”

That was the last straw. Aziraphale doubled over, laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. Gabriel couldn’t be more wrong– in fact, Aziraphale suspected his beloved serpent’s cooking skills far surpassed the former head chef’s.

The heir to Eden took a moment to collect his breath, waiting until his lungs were functioning normally once again before he turned to bid his enemy adieu.

“Goodbye, Gabriel.”

Aziraphale watched him storm off from the office window, waiting until he was out of sight to leave the restaurant and embrace Crowley.

“Thank you, my dearest. Thank you so, so, much.”

Crowley flushed in his grip, muttering, “Oh please, it was nothing.”

Aziraphale shook his head.

“It wasn’t and you know it. You spent all afternoon coaching me and caring for me and really– I couldn’t have done this without you.”

Crowley shrugged, flopping against Aziraphale the way he always did. Really, even while he was in human form there was something remarkably lithe about his movements.

“Well, the scheming certainly paid off. Looks like you gave our former head chef a real talking-to.”

“You could hear me from out there?” Aziraphale asked.

The truth was, Aziraphale didn’t know much about snakes, and Crowley was obviously not a normal snake. Even after living with him for months, the blond wasn’t sure how well the serpent could see in dark environments, or how his hearing fared compared to his keen sense of smell and taste.

Crowley shook his head.

“I transform into a snake at night; I don’t have superhearing. But no, I saw you threatening him and honestly? It was hot, angel.”

Aziraphale flushed.

“No– Well, I– That certainly wasn’t my intention.”

Crowley smirked, lowering his sunglasses so his co-chef could see him wink.

“Take the compliment, Aziraphale.”

The blond swayed from foot to foot, irreversibly flustered. Thankfully a distraction was, quite literally, on the horizon.

“Oh, my dear boy, the sun’s starting to set. Shall we get you somewhere safe?”

Crowley shrugged, flicking out his tongue.

His tongue which was not yet forked.

“Nah, it’s alright. I should be able to watch for a minute or two. In fact, I think this is the first sunset we’ve shared together.”

Aziraphale wrinkled his forehead. 

“Really? How is that even possible?”

The ginger made an unintelligible sound in reply and Aziraphale chuckled. It did make sense considering he had gotten to work an hour early to confront Gabriel. Usually he and Crowley would go out during the day, then return to the apartment to rest together before the inevitable transformation.

“Well, we’re together now and it’s really quite beautiful tonight. That shade of yellow there matches your eyes almost perfectly and it’s shining just like they do when you laugh and–  Oh. Hello, darling,” Aziraphale smiled down at snake Crowley. His serpentine form would never fail to be downright adorable. “Are you ready to cook?”

Chapter Text

Crowley was nervous, Aziraphale could tell that much. After all, the chatty serpent had been silent during the entire drive out of the city. The drive in the vintage Bentley which now belonged to Aziraphale. Apparently.

The past week had been… hectic to put it lightly. Gabriel, in all of his flawed hubris, went to the press himself, saying he discovered Aziraphale was Espinoza Eden’s secret son, and had graciously chosen to give the restaurant over to him. The press had been quick to come after the frazzled chef, ambushing him and Crowley outside their apartment the next morning, the Eden Estate’s legal team hot on their tail.

It turns out that Espinoza Eden had left his son not only his restaurant, but also a great deal of money, a cottage in Nice, and a luxury car from the 1930s. A car that Crowley always drove too fast and Aziraphale always drove too slow. After days of back-to-back interviews on his parentage and experience in Eden, Aziraphale had finally been able to make his getaway.

Yes, Aziraphale told Crowley he would help him with his snakey situation and he was determined to do so. They had been at it all weekend, visiting occultist after occultist and witch after witch. The last supernatural expert they had seen was a certain Madame Tracy. She had been alright– eccentric, which was to be expected, but ultimately harmless. Her husband, Sergeant Shadwell, however, was utterly intolerable. Hell, he had done nothing but call Aziraphale slurs from the moment he stepped through the door- something Crowley did not care for.

Aziraphale hoped that he and Crowley would have better luck in the suburbs. According to Tumblr, Anathema Device was a practical occultist who accepted walk-in appointments and was supposed to be very good indeed. (Or as her website said, 'nice and accurate'.)

Aziraphale glanced at Crowley who was fidgeting with his necktie as they stood on Anathema’s doorstep. Before the blond could wrestle up the nerve to knock or offer his beloved serpent a hug, the door opened, revealing a mildly disheveled man in a button-up shirt. He peered at them over his glasses, smiling.

“Aziraphale Fell and Anthony J. Crowley, right? I’m Newton Pulsifer-Device. My wife’s been expecting you. Actually, you’re ten minutes late.”

Crowley blinked at that, his pupils shifting into slits as he glared.

“ Actually , we don’t have an appointment.”

Newton chuckled at that, stepping inside and gesturing for the two silly chefs to follow him.

“Obviously, you haven’t met my wife. Anathema, they’re here!”

“I know,” a voice called from down the hall. “Bring Aziraphale and his grumpy boyfriend to the kitchen.”

Aziraphale gasped at Crowley, a furious blush overtaking the blond's face in an instant. Likewise, Crowley’s mouth hung open, his tongue switching rapidly between snake form and human form as he glitched.

“I–” he started

“I–” Aziraphale stammered.

Newton laughed.

“I guess that’s my cue. Darling, I thought we talked about spoilers!”

He led the two terminally flustered men through a corridor into the kitchen where Anathema was waiting for them. From first glance, she seemed different from her husband– sharper and more serious.

“I’m just telling them what they need to hear. Now come on, sit down.”

Crowley swallowed, glancing at Aziraphale who took his hand in his, leading him to the kitchen table.

“Right,” Anathema started, looking down at a large book on the table in front of her. “Anthony J. Crowley, you’re twenty-four years old and started turning into a snake– specifically a Mexican black kingsnake– between sunset and sunrise when you were twelve. You’ve had the occasional glitch in the past, usually involving your eyes and tongue, but recently your transformations have started becoming unpredictable. You’re here because you want help but have difficulty asking for it, correct?”

Crowley slouched farther back in his chair, his fingers still intertwined with Aziraphale’s. He mumbled something incoherent under his breath.

“Dearest,” Aziraphale prompted.

“Ok, yes, fine. Correct.”

Anathema looked up from her book, adjusting her glasses.

“Alright, well your condition is rare, but not unheard of. I just need to determine a few more specifics.”

Aziraphale watched, fascinated as the witch– the practical occultist, technically speaking–  reached into her coat, pulling out a square of something that looked and smelled an awful lot like chocolate.

“What is this?” Crowley asked, sticking out his tongue as he sniffed it. “A ‘cure?'”

“It’s a diagnostic test. Eat it.”

Crowley crossed his arms, turning to Aziraphale who rolled his eyes.

“I don’t trust this.”

“Oh, for somebody’s sake,” the blond huffed, reaching across the table and popping the square into his mouth. “See? It’s perfectly safe. Quite delicious, actually. Do you have any more of these, Ms. Device?”

“Angel!” Crowley cried before turning to Anathema with a deadly glare. “I swear, if anything happens to him–”

“He’ll be perfectly fine. It’s a diagnostic tool and only works on people with serpentine proclivities. I knew that would happen so I have another one for you. Now eat it.”

Crowley sighed, leaning against Aziraphale as he took the second square from Anathema’s hand, squeezing the blond’s wrist. Aziraphale squeezed back and Crowley ate the chocolate.

The effect was instantaneous: Crowley sat up straight, his eyes rapidly switching from human form to snake form and back again before he flopped over on Anathema’s kitchen table, fast asleep.

Aziraphale watched, struck by just how cuddly Crowley looked like this. He was soft. Cozy. Adorable. Really, it should be a crime to be so downright delectable.

“You’ve never seen him sleeping as a human, have you?” Anathema mused aloud, the humor audible in her voice.

Aziraphale shook his head reverently.

“He’s just lovely.”

“Well enjoy the view while you can, because it won’t last long. Now that I know what he is, I know exactly what to give him. Instant sleep and sweet dreams, hmm? Yes, I have just the thing."

With that she stood, rummaging through the cabinet behind her. There were rows of jars there, each filled with beautiful glimmering liquids. Some were monochromatic while others were home to a whole host of hues.

Anathema pulled out a small bottle roughly the size of Aziraphale’s hand. The angel of Eden could have sworn the liquid inside was a bottled sunset– it glittered as the practical occultist shook it, turning crimson, then pink, then violet, before finally fading into a shade of gold identical to that of Crowley’s snake eyes.

“Right,” Anathema declared as she set the bottle down on the table, “do you want to wake him, or should I?”

“Wake him–”

“Too slow.”

The practical occultist snapped her fingers and Crowley awoke with a silly smile on his face.

“Yes, I’ll do whatever you want. Oh you pretty, pretty, angel–” he cut himself off, sitting up with a start. “Did I talk in my sleep? Oh god, tell me I didn’t talk in my sleep.”

Anathema laughed.

“Don’t worry, I know exactly what you were dreaming about–”

Crowley went limp against the kitchen chair.

“And he didn’t hear a word.”

“Oh thank fuck ,” the ginger exclaimed breathlessly.

“Anyway,” Anathema continued before Aziraphale could begin to question or process any of that , “I have the perfect potion for you. Now before you throw a hissy fit– if you’ll excuse my self-indulgent pun– hear me out: the liquid in this vial only needs to be taken once. As soon as it’s in your system you’ll be able to control when you transform into a snake and for how long. This could be helpful when it comes to future escapades in the kitchen–”

“You know about that?!” Aziraphale cried.

“I’m a practical occultist, darling; this is quite literally in my job description. So the potion will be helpful for that as well as any… future romantic ventures. Now really, Crowley, I’m surprised you’ve been able to manage your condition as long as you have without any help. You’re lucky the glitches have only started to pick up now, likely due to… hormonal changes and strong emotions. We can call it that for now, even though there’s a four letter word that would be a much better fit.”

Snek? No, that's not how you spell it... 

Crowley slumped farther back against his chair, his face beet red in an instant.

“Witches are a dime a dozen,” Anathema continued smoothly, “but it’s hard to find someone useful when it comes to matters of the serpentine kind.”

“Well, we’re very grateful,” Aziraphale murmured in appreciation, “and will be sure to leave a generous tip.”

Anathema nodded.

“Right, well it was nice to meet you both. I expect an invitation to the wedding.”

“What?!”

The practical occultist cleared her throat, chuckling.

“Excuse me, I meant feel free to linger here as long as you like. I’ll have my husband give you my Venmo when you’re ready to leave.”

With that Anathema turned on her heel and left. The moment she was out of sight Crowley sighed, turning the golden potion over in his hands. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Vulnerable.

“I don’t know about this, angel. I’ll need some time to think about it. I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale shook his head, lifting Crowley’s trembling hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles gently– an action that was met with a soft hiss.

“Ngk.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, my dear Crowley,” Aziraphale promised him. “Take as long as you need.”

Chapter Text

Crowley, much to Aziraphale’s delight, loved holding hands. Aziraphale had discovered this a month ago and had spent every available opportunity indulging him. One such opportunity had been this morning, when the two chefs went on an outing to the Louvre. Really, with Crowley’s left hand in his, and his right  wound around his waist, it was dangerously easy to pretend they were a couple. Especially when every few minutes the ginger would lean in close, whispering snarky jokes about the art in Aziraphale's ear.

The whole day had been wonderful so far, and there were still a few hours left before they had to go to Eden. That was just enough time to go out and get a little treat. Aziraphale was about to ask Crowley if they could try the new crêperie down the road, knowing full well that his sweet snake wouldn’t be able to pass up the opportunity to watch him snacking.

Sure enough, when he turned to look at his co-chef, the ginger was already gazing at him with kind eyes, giving his hand a little squeeze. Aziraphale knew from the crook of Crowley’s smile that he was about to lean forward and offer to take him out for an early dessert before the angel of Eden even had to ask.

That’s when a blinding flash went off, the sound of a camera shutter piercing the quiet calm of the afternoon.

Aziraphale glared at the paparazzi as Crowley jumped away from him, shoving his sunglasses over his eyes. These weren’t professional reporters, the blond could tell that much. No, they were teenagers with fancy equipment, likely borrowed from their school’s AV club. That said, he should let their indiscretion go; then again, they had startled his precious serpent.

“Excuse me,” Aziraphale started, crossing his arms, “but it’s very rude to take a photo of someone without asking for permission first.”

The two boys holding the camera turned to the boy standing between them, who was inexplicably clutching a tiny dog in his arms. He then turned to the girl on his left.

“Pepper?”

The girl sighed, wrinkling her nose.

“He’s right, you know: it’s rude and we really should have asked first. You didn’t think this through, did you, Adam? This is why you guys should have put me in charge of the project.”

The boy– Adam, apparently– sighed.

“Oh come on, Pepper, I’m doing my best. After all, this is better than Brian and Wensleydale’s idea.” He glanced at Aziraphale, shaking his head. “They wanted us to get a reservation at Eden and ask you questions there. Ridiculous, right?”

“Look kid,” Crowley snapped, stepping between Aziraphale and the teens, “Aziraphale and I are busy, so if you have questions just shoot him an email like the rest of his adoring fans. Now if you’ll excuse us, my ang- um, partner and I will be going.”

The boy on the left began to sniffle, his lower lip wobbling.

“We can’t email him! The project is due tomorrow and we’ve had weeks and weeks to do it and–” he turned to Adam, lifting his chin defiantly. “And we’re going to fail now and it’s all your fault.”

“Hey! It’s a group project; if we fail, that’s on all of us.”

“You made yourself our leader!”

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, raising an expectant eyebrow. The ginger groaned, muttering something under his breath about fourteen-year-olds. Then he snapped his fingers.

“Alright, fine, you get three questions. I was something of a procrastinator myself back in high school. Often had to cram my homework in right after sunrise.”

Pepper’s eyes widened with shock.

“What, so you would work from sunrise until you had to go to school?”

“Yup.”

Brian and Wensleydale gaped at him.

“Wow.”

Aziraphale giggled. His teenage inquisitors had no way of knowing that Crowley’s procrastination wasn’t a bad habit; if his transformations had started when he was twelve, that meant the noodly chef had spent most of his education unable to work at night. While Crowley had been able to stir and season soup on his own in snake form, Azirphale doubted he would be dexterous enough to write legibly while he was a serpent.

“Three questions, right,” Adam mumbled. “Alright, what was it like finding out that Espinoza Eden was your father?”

Aziraphale smiled in relief- he had been asked this question enough times to have an answer at the ready.

“Well, it was surprising, of course, but I wasn’t upset. While I wish my father and I had a relationship while he was alive, I can truly say I had a wonderful childhood. And of course, I’m grateful for the inheritance he left me, which includes the renowned restaurant Eden where I currently work.”

“Okay, my turn,” Brian declared, taking a step forward. “Do you have a muse?”

In the corner of his vision, Aziraphale noticed Crowley go stock-still. He swallowed. Did he have a muse? Of course he had a muse! More than that, he had a partner! A gorgeous ginger co-conspirator who never failed to amaze and amuse him. But if he told them that…  The blond shook his head. That was he and Crowley’s secret. Their arrangement. He wasn’t going to jeopardize it now. Not for a bunch of high school kids, anyway.

“I cook for myself,” he murmured, stealing a glance at Crowley, “but I always try to make my food with love.”

Pepper followed his gaze, looking the floppy man at his side up and down.

“What’s his deal?”

Aziraphale cocked his head to the side, his face heating up rapidly. He wasn’t expecting this. Obviously the press had seen him together with Crowley and had made certain… assumptions . Assumptions Aziraphale was much too gleeful about to correct. But most of the time the media was focused on his cooking and his connection to the late owner of Eden.

Which was why they had never directly asked .

“Is he, like, your boyfriend or something?”

“My– My–”

Crowley turned instantly, his face unreadable behind his sunglasses.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Aziraphale managed to choke out in a rush. “He’s– We’re– We’re friends.”

We have to be friends.

Pepper raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. That’s when the boy in the back– the one who looked like he had been assigned accountant at birth– raised his hand, taking a cautious step toward the two men.

“Then why does he keep looking at you like that?”

“L-like what?” Aziraphale stammered.

“Like he’s in love with you.”

Crowley stormed forward at that, gesturing for Aziraphale to follow.

“Alright, that’s enough. You got your three questions. You won’t fail the project. Goodbye. Come on, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale nodded, following Crowley in a daze. His co-chef had gotten so defensive… The impromptu interview must have made him uncomfortable. Maybe Crowley had been able to ignore the implication that they were dating before, when it was tucked away under bylines and squirreled into the endnotes of op-eds.

To have it thrown in his face, however– 

Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand, stopping him.

He had to fix this. Now.

“My dear, I know that was unexpected, but they’re just teenagers. I’m sure they didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know they didn’t mean anything,” Crowley muttered.

“Right,” Aziraphale babbled desperately. “Well, still, it was a bit overwhelming. Maybe we could take a bit more us time before we go back to the apartment. Earlier I was thinking we could go for crêpes–”

Oh wait. That sounded like something a couple would do.

“Not like a date or anything,” Aziraphale quickly clarified, his heart hammering traitorously in his chest. “Like a friend date, I mean. Or how about that coffee shop we both like? You could get your six shots of espresso–”

Crowley cut him off.

“No. I need to go home. Now.”

“O-okay,” Aziraphale said, wringing his hands together anxiously.

He had upset Crowley, he could tell that much.

The walk back home was a type of quiet Aziraphale had never experienced before. It was strikingly different from the familiar silence he and Crowley often shared in the mornings when they were cozied up together on the sofa, too sleepy to do anything but hold each other. 

No. 

This was cold. 

Cold and undeniably awkward .

By the time they made it back to the apartment, Aziraphale was on the brink of tears and trying his best to hide it. He would go to his room and cry on his own seeing as Crowley obviously wanted nothing to do with him. Except… Except when Aziraphale looked back at his co-chef he had taken off his sunglasses, his hazel eyes wide and wet.

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed. “You’re upset.”

“No,” the serpent lied, his voice coming out in a wobble, “I’m not. It’s fine. I'm fine.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale chided, another wave of emotion surging in his chest.

“Don’t,” Crowley protested halfheartedly, shaking his head. “I don’t want to talk about this. I can’t talk about this.”

“Why not? My dear boy, I come to you when I’m upset all the time and– If you’re mad at me, I can take it. Just talk to me. Please.”

Crowley’s lips twitched at that, curling into a weak smile before drooping downward.

“Oh angel, I’m not– I’m not mad at you.”

“Then why can’t you talk to me?”

“Because I’ll say too much !” Crowley cried, running a desperate hand through his hair, his eyes flickering back and forth between the ceiling and the floor.

And really, Aziraphale couldn’t bear seeing his precious serpent so distressed. In an instant he closed the distance between himself and Crowley, wrapping the poor thing up in a loving embrace.

“Please, my dearest,” he whispered, “let me help you.”

Crowley flopped forward, surrendering to the hug for a moment before leaping away with a groan.

“Ngk. Fine, you want to know what’s wrong? This is what’s wrong. What even are we, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale wrinkled his forehead, his heart pounding in his chest both in fear and anticipation.

What even are we?

“I-Is this because I didn’t credit you earlier? You’re right, that was unfair of me. You’re my partner, Crowley, and I rely on you in more ways than one, but I thought it was best to keep things a secret given your serpentine condition and… Did I assume incorrectly? Should I have told them the truth?”

To Aziraphale’s shock, Crowley began to laugh . It was a giggle that crescendoed into a cackle before dying out.

“You think this is about the credit? Angel, I don’t give two shits who they think the real chef is.”

Aziraphale wrung his hands together. That was kind of Crowley to say, but… 

“It’s you.”

The ginger shook his head as he began pacing the room, flexing his fingers at his sides.

“No. No, no, no. It’s both of us and it always has been. We’re a team. A group. A group of the two of us–” the serpent chef cut himself off with a hiss that devolved into a whimper. “And you told them we were friends .”

Aziraphale’s heart was racing. He and Crowley were friends. They had to be. For Aziraphale to ask for any more… For him to jeopardize their arrangement… He could never do that.

“And we are–” he started, stretching the lie as far as he could.

“ No . I’m sorry, Aziraphale, but you don’t get to do this to me. You don’t get to change my life for the better. You don’t get to make me fall in love with you– I’m fucking smitten for god’s sake– and then go and tell the world we’re friends .”

Aziraphale’s heart was hammering out of his chest as the impossibility of what Crowley had just said hit him at last.

“Y-you don’t love me,” he found himself whispering.

“I do,” Crowley snapped.

“Prove it.”

Those two words that slipped from Aziraphale’s mouth were stupid.

Reckless. 

Selfish.

With them, Crowley was crossing their shared living room, grabbing Aziraphale by his lapels and bringing the angel’s lips to his.

It was heaven.

It was hell.

It was fire and it was fury and it was over all too soon, leaving Aziraphale gasping for more.

Do that again , he begged silently. Please do that again .

Instead he met Crowley’s eyes.

Eyes that were wide.

Terrified.

Guilty.

Aziraphale couldn’t bear to hold his gaze. Not when it was clear that he regretted the kiss. Crowley must have regretted the kiss and now he thought everything was ruined. But it didn’t have to be. If they could pretend this didn’t happen, then maybe they could start over…

Aziraphale desperately wanted to kiss Crowley again; instead he brought his hand to his partner’s chest, caressing his necktie before meeting the serpent’s wide frightened eyes.

Yes, it was going to break Aziraphale’s heart in a thousand different ways, but they could move past this.

It’s okay.

It’s alright.

You didn’t ruin anything.

I just asked for too much and because you’re so kind– too kind– you gave it to me. 

This never has to happen again if you don’t want it to.

But you don’t need to regret it.

You don’t need to suffer.

You did nothing wrong.

All these thoughts and more raced through Aziraphale’s mind– a disheveled mind that was still grappling with the fact that his crush had just kissed him with tongue– but instead of saying them, three words escaped his lips in an addled adrenaline-fueled rush.

“I forgive you.”

He watched Crowley’s eyes widen. Then water. Then darken as he snapped his sunglasses over them, turning on his heel.

“Don’t bother.”

Aziraphale collapsed onto the couch as his partner stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him and leaving Anathema’s golden potion abandoned on the kitchen counter. In the span of one afternoon, the angel of Eden had lost everything.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale made it through his shift at Eden in a daze. His toque felt so empty without his lovely little snake tucked away beneath it. Really, it was a miracle that he was even able to cook at all– it seemed his co-chef’s lessons from the past few months had stuck.

Aziraphale sighed, fighting a wave of tears as he thought back to that dreadful afternoon. He and Crowley had a wonderful thing and he had ruined it. The ginger’s kiss had meant he liked Aziraphale back – something the angel of Eden had been daydreaming about since Valentine’s Day. They could have been together– They could have been a real couple– Had a real romantic relationship-

Except now Crowley was gone.

Maybe forever. 

The angel of Eden gasped as he realized Crowley had left Anathema’s potion in his apartment. Regardless of whether or not he chose to use it, having the option – the choice – was everything. Aziraphale needed to find a way to get it back to him but had no idea how to go about it. After all, he and his little chef spent so much time together that they never bothered to exchange phone numbers.

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale blinked, looking up to see Michael standing in front of him. Ever since he usurped Eden, the other chefs had been… not kind to him, per se, but accepting. He was no longer bullied, but it was undeniable that they weren’t fond of him.

Crowley, once again, had been right: Eden couldn’t be something permanent. It had been a place for Aziraphale to get started, to connect to his roots, and to learn how to cook. But in order to grow not merely as a chef, but as a person… He would need to leave.

“It’s your turn to close up tonight. Are you alright?”

The blond nodded halfheartedly.

“I’m fine.”

Michael cocked an eyebrow, clearly not believing him.

“Right, well get some rest. The customers notice when you feel sad. In fact, that couple that comes in here every week–”

“Hmm?”

“You know, Maggie and Nina, the coffee shop lesbians. They hope you feel better soon– they say your soup is usually made with love but tonight… Tonight it wasn’t.”

Aziraphale’s lower lip wobbled. Somehow he was able to hold off the tears until Michael left. He made the soup without love… Of course he had; he made the soup without Crowley .

The angel of Eden sniffled hopelessly, clutching his empty toque in his hands. That’s when he heard it– a noise coming from outside the kitchen. There was somebody (or multiple somebodies) there shuffling around, knocking things over.

Customers who had overstayed their welcome, perhaps?

Aziraphale stood, wiping his tears away.

He would politely but firmly tell them to go. After all, it was about time he went home himself and slept. It had been an emotional roller coaster of a day and the exhaustion of the ride was hitting him at last. Honestly, if the blond laid down now he would probably sleep well into tomorrow afternoon.

Aziraphale followed the sound slowly, taking care to keep quiet as he left the kitchen. Still, it was hard to stifle a groan as he identified Eden’s unwanted customers in the dim light: Hastur and Ligur. The Regulars were clearly searching for something, crawling under tables and carelessly tossing expensive centerpieces aside as they babbled to themselves.

“It’s gotta be here,” Ligur grunted, chucking a chair to the floor.

“I know, I know, I’ll keep searching– Ooh, hello Crawly.”

Hastur cackled and it was truly an awful sound.

“I’ve got you now, you sneaky little snake.”

“Oh,” Ligur crooned, cracking his neck, “he’s going to be delicious .”

No.

They couldn’t mean–

Aziraphale gasped as he saw it: Crowley in snake form. He must have come back to Eden to check on Aziraphale– To talk to him–

And now he was caught, pinned to the table by unforgiving hands as he thrashed and squirmed to no avail. Crowley– wily old serpent that he was– was remarkably agile, but still, he was no match for Eden’s notorious Regulars.

The blond watched in horror as his sweet snake writhed, hissing and snapping at Ligur’s fingers as Hastur pulled something out of a bag.

Was that– 

It couldn’t be.

Aziraphale’s fear quickly morphed into anger, then rage, as Hastur popped open a can of whipped cream, squirting it onto Crowley before dousing the poor snake in caramel.

The angel of Eden was not naturally confrontational; it had taken hours of Crowley’s coaching before he could stand up to Gabriel. And yet…

And yet now he was striding across the restaurant, knocking the bottle of caramel out of Hastur’s hands without a second thought.

“Unhand that serpent!” he cried.

Eden’s Regulars flinched, startled but unafraid. Then Hastur laughed.

“Or what?”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow, his lips twisting into a dark smile.

“Or you’ll be my new secret ingredient.”

The words- true nonsense, really- were enough to give the two men pause.

“New secret ingredient… ” Ligur elbowed Hastur. “Does that mean–”

“Y-you’re a– You’re a cannibal!”

What?! That was an absolutely preposterous assertion. But if it was what it took to save Crowley… Aziraphale glanced down at his precious serpent who was quivering against the table, terrified. His eyes were so wide– So vulnerable– 

Yes, Aziraphale would protect him at all costs.

“Quite right,” he confessed, his wild grin widening. “It amuses me every time the two of you come in here and claim to be ‘exploratory eaters’. Really, you know nothing about the culinary arts, but at least you’ll make a delectable addition to our upcoming spring menu.”

Hastur looked at Ligur, then back at Aziraphale.

“You’re joking– You must be joking!”

Aziraphale continued as if he hadn’t heard him.

“Or perhaps I’ll eat you myself. I would like that. I think I’ve earned a little indulgence after all the time I’ve spent cooking for others.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow haughtily and Ligur cracked, bolting for the door.

“Yeah, fuck this! I’m out.”

“Hey, wait! Don’t leave me alone with him,” Hastur snapped, sprinting after him and leaving the can of whipped cream and caramel abandoned on the floor.

Aziraphale watched the Regulars leave with a satisfied little huff, making sure they were truly gone before turning to tend to Crowley.

“Oh, you poor, poor dear–” he started, reaching down to touch the serpent.

Crowley lashed out, biting the soft spot between Aziraphale’s thumb and forefinger before coiling up into himself. Azirahale withdrew his hand, his heart aching in his chest. His partner must be scared out of his mind. 

The angel of Eden stepped back, taking a minute to turn on his phone flashlight.

“Look, it’s me. I’m here, dearest. I have you now and I’m going to take care of you. Can I– Can I touch you, my darling boy? Help get you cleaned up?”

There was a pause. Then a tiny wobble of the black serpent’s head nodding.

Aziraphale sighed, scooping Crowley up and bringing him to the kitchen sink, carefully washing away the sticky sugary toppings while making sure the water was warm enough for his serpentine charge.

They couldn’t get home soon enough. From the first day of their arrangement, Crowley had insisted on sleeping on the couch in the living room. He was chivalrous like that, calling the idea of Aziraphale taking the sofa ‘completely and utterly unthinkable’. 

Not as unthinkable as sharing his bed, of course. That really would have killed them both. Or at least, once it would have. But now… Now Aziraphale needed Crowley safe. Needed him close.

So he tucked his snake into bed, wrapping the poor thing up and petting him gently until he fell asleep.

“I’m sorry,” Aziraphale whispered to his precious sleeping serpent. “Crowley, I’m so, so, sorry.”

Chapter Text

For the first time in forever, Aziraphale called in sick to work. He wasn’t opposed to taking time off when he was actually ill, but the chef’s anxiety, ironically enough, made him hesitant to take a mental health day.

Today, however, it was utterly nonnegotiable.

Yesterday had been one emotional jump scare after another culminating with Hastur and Ligur trying to eat Crowley.

Crowley who was currently curled up next to Aziraphale in bed, sniffling while the blond rubbed soothing circles into his back. He had been caring for his sweet snake all day, starting shortly after sunrise when the ginger woke up in human form, distressed and disoriented.

Aziraphale, who had barely slept himself, had him take a shower and made sure he changed into his favorite pajamas– a smooth silk set his serpent loved wearing– before serving him breakfast.

After picking at his food, Crowley had returned to bed, and proceeded to spend the rest of the morning lost to the throes of slumber. He had woken up an hour ago for good, changing into real clothes and finally taking the time to process what had happened to him last night. 

Because, really, it must have been traumatizing.

To be manhandled like that– 

To be powerless before people who were eager to harm you–

To eat you–

“Angel,” Crowley sobbed, burrowing deeper into Aziraphale’s chest with a whimper that made the chef’s heart hurt. “Angel.”

“I know, I know. Let it out. Just let it all out.”

— 

An hour later, they were cozied up together on the sofa, Crowley watching The Golden Girls while Aziraphale watched him. His beloved seemed to be in much better spirits now, eating the snacks Aziraphale had brought out for him, and giggling every few minutes at some joke one of the characters made.

The angel of Eden was relieved– so relieved– that Crowley was alright but his other worries were beginning to catch up with him at last. Now that his co-chef was out of harm’s way, he had no reason to stay in Aziraphale’s apartment. Not after their fight. Not after Aziraphale had ruined everything.

It was only a matter of time before he got up and left–

A click put a stop to Aziraphale’s racing thoughts. It was Crowley, turning off the TV and slithering his way into the blond’s lap.

“I’m ready, angel.”

“Hmm?”

“To talk about it.”

Aziraphale wrinkled his forehead.

“But my dear boy, we’ve already talked about… Oh.”

Oh.

So this was it: the inevitable conversation. Aziraphale steeled himself, taking a deep breath before the words tumbled out, his mouth outpacing his brain as it so often did.

“Oh Crowley, I’m so, so, sorry. I wasn’t thinking and you kissed me and I’ve thought about kissing you for so long but I thought I tricked you into it and– I was so cruel. I made you cry and you don’t deserve that. You deserve to be cherished and cared for and held . I love you, my sweet, silly snake, but I don’t expect you to love me back. That wouldn’t be fair of me. Still, you deserve to know.”

Crowley’s jaw dropped.

“I–”

Aziraphale blinked, holding his tears back stubbornly.

“If you wish to leave you may, but to tell you the truth I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life with you. We could open our own restaurant, just like we were talking about. We could cook together. We could spend the summers in our cottage and the winters in each other’s arms and– And I know it’s selfish but I need you to know just how badly I want this. Want you. My lovely serpent, I–”

Aziraphale cut himself off, finally finding the courage to meet Crowley’s gaze. When he did, the ginger was grinning, his eyes bright and shining like the glow of a star system light years away. The next thing Aziraphale knew, a cool hand was caressing his cheek.

“Oh, angel. May I?”

Aziraphale blinked.

“Kiss you,” Crowley clarified, his voice soft. “I should have asked you before.”

Aziraphale nodded, leaning forward to bring his lips to Crowley’s and it was just wonderful . Really, the angel of Eden had always been something of a hedonist when it came to his co-conspirator. He had craved Crowley’s touch, couldn’t get enough of his head pats and hugs and cuddles, but now this…. Aziraphale had just discovered his newest obsession.

“My darling Crowley,” he sighed, flushing as he finally pulled away, “I think I’m addicted to kissing you.”

The ginger snorted at that, doubling over.

“Really, Crowley, I’m serious! I could do it all day.”

The ginger- infernal tempter that he was- grinned.

“And maybe one day you will, you insatiable angel, but for now we need to take inventory. You love me and I love you and you’re ready to leave Eden. That just leaves…”

He trailed off, glancing over at the golden potion on the kitchen counter.

“You don’t have to,” Aziraphale reminded him gently. “We can find a way to make this work, make it manageable again, if that’s what you’re more comfortable with.”

Crowley shook his head.

“No, it’s alright, I just needed some time to get used to the idea. Besides, now that we’re together–” he flushed, mumbling something to himself.

“What was that, my dear?”

“I said I want to fall asleep cuddling you; that’s kind of hard when I’m down a pair of hands.”

It was all Aziraphale could do not to melt into a puddle after hearing that . Crowley, devious serpent that he was, took notice.

“Oh, you like that don’t you, angel? You want me to wrap you up in blankets? Get you real cozy and snuggle with you all night?”

Aziraphale, who was currently struggling to form coherent thoughts, was saved by his ringing phone.

“Aziraphale Fell speaking. Oh, Uriel?” The chef’s eyes widened and he nodded, tapping his fingers against the pliant pile of Crowley in his lap. “Right, perfect. Yes, I’ll be there… I’m already making quite the miraculous recovery. Goodbye now.”

Aziraphale hung up, turning to Crowley in shock.

“It’s Beelzebub. They’re coming to Eden tomorrow night to review the restaurant and Uriel wants me– well, wants us – to cook for them.”

Crowley smirked, flitting his currently-human tongue out of the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, so the Duke of Hell is coming to pay Eden a visit? This should be fun.”

Aziraphale chuckled at that– it was ironic, but also…

“Crowley,” he whispered, tugging on his co-chef’s necktie, “this is going to be my last time cooking for Eden. From tomorrow night onwards, everything I do will be for us.”

“In that case, angel,” Crowley snickered, pulling Aziraphale in for a quick kiss before mussing his hair, “if we’re going to go out, let’s go out with style.”

Chapter Text

Aziraphale had never been more focused in his life: he and Crowley had come to the kitchen with a mission– to make their last night at Eden a night to remember– and he was damned if he wasn’t going to complete it. The other chefs, bubbling with anxiety over Beelzebub’s visit, did their best to stay out of his way.

Strangely enough, Aziraphale found he wasn’t worried. No, instead he actually felt confident. Crowley was certainly helping with that, giving him frequent head pats and offering up little nose kisses every few minutes.

Yes, Aziraphale had never met a kinder person. (Well, part-time person, part-time snake, technically speaking.) Or a better chef for that matter.

In truth, the angel of Eden honestly didn’t care about Beelzebub’s review– a fact that would have shocked the man he was months ago. No, he wasn’t cooking for the Duke of Hell; instead, for the first time in forever, he was cooking for himself. Himself and his lovely serpent.

Aziraphale finished the apple tart he had baked, topping it with a small tuft of whipped cream as he hummed to himself.

(Not the whipped cream Hastur had left at the restaurant the other night, of course; Aziraphale had standards .)

Instead of ordering off the menu like a normal food critic would, Beelzebub had told Aziraphale to surprise him, and he did. Crowley’s pleased hiss from underneath his toque showed that the irony was not lost on his sweet snake: the angel of Eden was going to offer the Duke of Hell forbidden fruit.

“Alright,” Aziraphale whispered. “Ready?”

He was answered with a single tap against his blond curls.

With it, Aziraphale stood, holding the dish in one hand, and went out into the restaurant to give Beelzebub their dessert. The moment itself passed in a blur: the Duke of Hell bit into the apple tart, their face unreadable for a moment before they gasped, taking another bite and turning to Aziraphale with a reluctant smirk.

“Unfortunately,” they conceded, “I can find no faults with the dish. Well done.”

Aziraphale made his way to the break room, the praise ringing in his ears. And he was proud. Prouder than he had been in his entire life. After all, he had grown and changed so much in the past year, learning how to be brave and confident and cook food with love.

Really, he only had Crowley to thank for that.

So he did.

Aziraphale popped off his toque, gently setting the black serpent beneath it down on the table as he poured himself a glass of wine, setting a bowl up for Crowley and pouring Anathema’s potion into it.

The liquid was beautiful, shifting from a deep gold to a soft yellow similar to the color of Chardonnay. Aziraphale absentmindedly wondered what it would taste like…

Crowley hissed, shaking his serpentine head.

Aziraphale huffed.

“I was only thinking about it. Anyway, I have your clothes right here darling,” he said, gesturing to the bag by his feet, “and I’d like us to toast, whenever you’re ready.”

Crowley nodded, slithering forward.

Aziraphale lifted his glass, smiling.

“A toast to the softest, nicest, most wonderful snake and brilliant person I’ve had the fortune of meeting. You have brought joy, light, and love into my life. So much love.”

Crowley hissed in protest, coiling into himself. If he were in human form, Aziraphale suspected his co-chef would be blushing. Silly thing.

“Oh, stop it, you are nice. So here, a toast. To us.”

Aziraphale paused to dab at his misty eyes.

“To us and to the world.”

He clinked his glass against Crowley’s bowl before downing his wine. His partner, being a snake at the moment, drank slower, flitting his tongue in and out of his mouth as he sipped the potion.

Aziraphale shifted in his seat, looking at Crowley as he finished the last drops of the golden liquid.

“Well, do we just wait or…”

The angel of Eden never got to finish his question. A moment later, the door to the break room flew open and Hastur and Ligur burst in, shoving a young adult in a white constable costume in front of them.

“There you are, Crawly,” Hastur drawled, licking his lips as he leered at the black serpent. “We’ve been looking for you.”

“Yes, and we brought a police officer!” Ligur exclaimed, turning to Aziraphale giddily.

“No, Muriel’s a health inspector,” Hastur corrected him with a snort.

The police officer and/ or health inspector in question-Muriel– greeted the blond and his little chef with a small wave.

“That– That is a cosplayer,” Aziraphale protested weakly. But the Regulars weren’t having any of it.

“Oh, fuck you, Aziraphale Fell! We’re shutting this place down. Because of, um, snakes.”

“Yeah, snakes!”

“And cannibalism!”

Ligur smirked.

“That too.”

Hastur turned to Muriel, raising an eyebrow.

“Well? Is that enough evidence for you, inspector constable?”

Muriel laughed, shifting from foot to foot.

“Like I told you, I really just play D&D…” 

Hastur shrugged, glaring at Aziraphale triumphantly.

“We’re going to take this place off the map, snake charmer, and eat your little friend too. Now come on, Ligur, we have a lot to discuss.”

Aziraphale watched the Regulars leave, dragging Muriel off with them, utterly flabbergasted.

“Wow, I really can’t believe– Oh.”

Aziraphale’s words died on his lips as he turned to find a very human and very naked Crowley splayed out on the break room table behind him.

“ Oh .”

Crowley smirked.

“Enjoying the view, angel?”

“Quite a lot, actually,” Aziraphale admitted, blushing as Crowley rooted through the bag, throwing on his shirt, necktie, and blazer before fighting his way into a pair of jeans.

“Right,” the ginger said, “as funny as that was, this restaurant is probably getting shut down– I’m pretty sure the D&D kid took a picture of me.”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Yes, I fear you’re right… Still, before it does, we’re going to receive an excellent review from Beelzebub–”

“Go out with style,” Crowley interrupted, snapping his fingers.

“We’re going to receive an excellent review and there’s something I need to make sure they include in it.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“Hmm?”

In lieu of answering, Azirapahle shot to his feet, dragging Crowley out of the break room, through the kitchen, and into the restaurant. He shot the ginger a wink before grabbing a champagne glass off the nearest table, clinking it with a fork.

“Excuse me? I won’t interrupt your dinner for long– there’s just something I need to say.”

He waited, patient as the customers quieted.

“You all know me: I’m Aziraphale Fell, owner and head chef of Eden. You might not know him, though,” Aziraphale nodded to the ginger at his side. “This is Anthony J. Crowley. He’s my partner. My muse. My everything. When you write your review, Your Disgrace, make sure the world knows I never could have done it without him.”

With that, Aziraphale leaned forward on his tiptoes, grabbing Crowley’s necktie and kissing him in front of the whole restaurant.

“Oh, you bastard ,” Crowley whispered, dazed when Aziraphale finally pulled away, Eden’s diners clapping and cheering around them.

“Always,” Aziraphale chuckled before leaning forward and giving his partner a little kiss on the nose. “What do you propose we do now, my dearest?”

“Ngk. Well, someone once told me the Eiffel Tower looked so much prettier at night…”

Aziraphale reached up, running a hand through Crowley’s hair.

“An excellent idea, my darling Crowley.”

Chapter Text

From Eden to Alpha Centauri: a Year in the Life of Secret Espinoza Heir, Aziraphale Fell

Most restaurants in Paris say I, Beelzebub, am callous and insatiable. They would be partially right: while I am not unforgiving, I do have standards . Having taste can be a curse at times– the thing is, I don’t merely like food; I love it. If I don’t love it, I don’t swallow.

That’s why in my early days as a food critic, I dubbed myself the Duke of Hell. It was a shortcut for telling the restaurants I was reviewing what they now know well: I am hard to satisfy and nearly impossible to impress. Garnering my favor is a difficult task, but not a Sisyphean one. While I may leave scathing reviews the majority of the time, I know how to recognize a gem when I see one. Aziraphale Fell is one such gem.

Shortly after I ate at Eden last winter, the restaurant had a closing scare. The chefs worked their way through it, and though I still dine there, what was once the crowning jewel of the culinary scene has been usurped by a quainter, more hamish establishment.

Aziraphale Fell has used Espinoza Eden’s inheritance to open up a new restaurant with his partner Anthony J. Crowley, and it truly is the best restaurant in the country. Alpha Centauri serves a wide variety of cuisines, offering something for nearly every type of eater. You can choose to sit upstairs, and look at the stars through the restaurant’s glass dome ceiling, or you can elect to dine downstairs in the bookshop.

While the view of the night sky is wonderful, I enjoy taking my lunch visits among the stacks of novels not because I’m fond of literature, but rather because I have a penchant for the cold-blooded. That’s right: it seems the dynamic duo have gotten themselves a pet snake. It’s a lovely thing, and if you stop by the restaurant at noon, you’ll likely spot the former angel of Eden gushing over it, giving the creature little pats on the head or caressing it while it suns itself. (Though oddly enough, Mr. Crowley and the serpent have never been seen together at the same time…)

The food is delicious, the company is pleasant, and I must say, ever since Alpha Centauri opened, I’ve been eating better than I have in years. Aziraphale Fell and his partner Anthony J. Crowley are truly an inspiration. They both claim each other as their respective muses and say that they learn from each other in and out of the kitchen and help each other grow.

They proposed to each other last week, and plan to marry in June before sauntering off to their countryside cottage for the summer. While my heart rejoices at this news- and yes, I do have a heart, contrary to popular belief- my stomach is far less enthusiastic about the imminent marriage of my favorite chefs. Still, I know I’ll come to appreciate Alpha Centauri more than I would have now that it’s only going to be open on a seasonal basis.

I’ve been incredibly impressed by Fell and Crowley’s blossoming culinary careers and am eager to see how their cooking styles will evolve as they spend more time together in the kitchen. What will Paris’s ineffable husbands cook up for us next? Only time will tell.

This is Beelzebub, Duke of Hell, signing off.