Chapter Text
Aziraphale had not planned to take up knitting. It had been a sudden impulse, one that struck as he was aimlessly browsing a shop. He hadn’t really meant to go in the shop, either, but there were so many pretty colors of yarn in the window…
And, well. He’d never been very good at resisting his impulses.
To start, he bought entirely too much yarn in too many different colors. And several different books about a variety of projects. And an overwhelming menagerie of needles, looms, and other tools. And once he arrived back at his bookshop, he’d searched until he found all his old craft books.
He’d meant to read each book from cover to cover before beginning, to be thorough and educate himself about all the different techniques. But then he found a pattern for socks that he very much liked, and he had so much fluffy, warm, soft red yarn.
And that had been the end of that.
Perhaps the trouble was that he was a bit bored, now that he was free of Heaven’s control. It was very nice, of course, and it left him with plenty of time to read and socialize. But it wasn’t as though he could spend every free second with Crowley.
Not having any assignments or eternal wars hanging over his head also meant that pesky emotions kept cropping up. Anxiety about his purpose. A slowly simmering horror at all the things Heaven had condoned and encouraged. And some truly uncomfortable anger at those who had tried to destroy the Earth.
But Aziraphale did not much feel like tackling any of those feelings just yet. So, instead of dealing with them now, he knitted.
First, several practice pairs of socks, just to make sure he understood what he was doing. And then another pair, this one from the absolute finest yarn he could find in Crowley’s favorite shade of red. He made each stitch with care and love in mind, often smiling to himself as he worked.
Oh, how he hoped Crowley would like them. Aziraphale looked the socks over once more, checking for any spots of inconsistent tension or lumps or anything that might be uncomfortable for his best friend. But no, it was all as comfortable as he could possibly make it.
Chest a bit tight, Aziraphale carefully settled the socks in a shimmery silver tissue paper, and then into a glossy black box. A sleek red bow finished the gift off. He sat with it clutched in his hands, waiting for Crowley to arrive.
It wasn’t long before Crowley burst in with his usual flair. “Hey, angel!” he called, throwing the door open and sauntering in. He spread his arms wide, jerked his head in the direction of the Bentley, and grinned. “Ready for a day out on the town?”
“Oh, almost.” Aziraphale rose, hands suddenly shaking. A trickle of sweat ran down the back of his neck and soaked into his collar. “Um, one thing…”
Crowley’s posture shifted all at once. Pulling in, gathering energy. Like he was coiling up, prepared to deal with any threat. “What’s wrong?”
Oh, he was such a dear. “No, no, nothing like that. I just, um… I have a, well…”
Aziraphale shuffled over to him, still clutching the box. Crowley’s gaze, intense even through the sunglasses, hadn’t left his face. “A what? Come on, angel, spit it out.”
“A—Oh. Um.” Goodness, why was he feeling so shy and silly? This was Crowley, his dearest friend, who had never been cruel about any of his endeavors. And they’d given each other lots of presents! “It’s a present.”
He held it out, still shaking rather more than was reasonable. Crowley looked down, startled, and then took the box. “Ooh, for me?”
“Well, it’s certainly not for your ferns,” Aziraphale snapped.
At that, Crowley grinned. He unwrapped the gift, made a soft, surprised noise, and pulled the socks out. “Whoa. Did you make these, angel?”
Oh goodness, was it that apparent? Were they that bad? “Oh, I-I-I did. But if you don’t like… Well, you see, I was walking past a shop one day, and I saw all these beautiful yarns! So I bought, well, just about everything, and-and I made several pairs of socks. To practice! Because I wanted them to be good, you see.”
Crowley was staring at him, expression odd, socks still clutched in his hand.
Aziraphale rushed to continue. “I knitted so many pairs, truly ridiculous! But I-I wanted them to be comfy for you, and I know your feet get rather sensitive and sore sometimes because of them, um. The scarring, from the church. But if they—the socks, I mean—if they’re not good, I-I understand—”
“Can I kiss you?” Crowley interrupted.
Aziraphale paused, his planned explanation fading away. “You…?”
A faint red crept into Crowley’s cheeks, which looked rather nice with the socks. “Demons can’t say thank you, y’know. But we can show it. And I really, really wanna show it.”
Demons were perfectly capable of saying thank you. And yet, Aziraphale found himself nodding. And then moving closer. And then tilting his head to meet Crowley’s affection.
It was a careful kiss, sweet and chaste. Just a tender press of their lips together, Crowley’s long fingers curling around the back of his neck to draw him closer. Aziraphale let out a faint whimper of need and his hand settle against Crowley’s chest. Oh my.
Crowley gently broke the kiss, but he didn’t pull away. He gave a shy smile, gazing at Aziraphale. “Sorry. I get a little impulsive sometimes, and I really love the socks. They’re so cool. My favorite color, too.”
“Oh, please don’t apologize! I-I enjoyed that very much, Crowley. And I’m so happy that you like the socks.” Aziraphale’s own impulsiveness flared, and he gulped. “Um… What would you say to staying in for the day? You could try out your new socks, and…and maybe we could try a bit more kissing, too.”
Crowley’s expression went even softer. “Yeah, I’d love that,” he said, hand shifting to ruffle Aziraphale’s hair.
This time, Aziraphale was the one who closed the gap and kissed his best friend. He and Crowley might both be a bit too impulsive at times…but it had all worked out for the best.