Prompt (to write or ignore as you see fit): A small moment in which Crowley or Aziraphale performs a casual miracle without really thinking about it and the other one notices and smiles.
“Naked mole rat,” Crowley said. The wind tugged his hair as they walked beneath the trees of St. James’s Park. Aziraphale believed the style he was sporting these days was called a ‘mop top,’ and he supposed he could see why, but he couldn’t help but find the way Crowley’s fringe was being swept away from his forehead somewhat nostalgic.
“They have a certain charm,” he replied.
“Really? With the-- you know, the teeth?”
The wind whirled, and Aziraphale pulled his coat more tightly around him. The air was cold, surely there was a storm blowing in, but he could wait it out a little longer -- if it started to rain, that would be an excellent excuse to invite Crowley to lunch.
He shrugged. “Have you ever petted one? Their skin is like velvet.”
“All right, how about the stink bird? Smells like death, that one. Not to mention it looks like a demon.”
Aziraphale thought that at least one demon of his acquaintance looked (and smelled) more appealing than a stink bird, but he kept that to himself.
“Oh, I don’t know,” he said. “They don’t smell that bad.”
“Are you--” Crowley spluttered. “Have you actually smelled one? They’re worse than Hastur on a hot day.”
Aziraphale glanced at him sideways. Crowley seemed to be getting nicely wound up; Aziraphale was rather enjoying himself.
“All creatures, Crowley,” he said mildly. “Great, small, and foul-smelling.”
“No, but come on, there must be something,” he said. “Something that just--”
The wind kicked up again, trees rustling and creaking. A sudden cracking sound made Aziraphale jump, but before he could react, Crowley snapped his fingers and the branch that had started to fall across the path up ahead joined back up with its tree trunk, the rift in the wood sealing as though it had never been there. All this happened in approximately half a second, and Crowley barely missed a beat.
“--that just disgusts you.”
Ahead of them on the path, the woman and her young child who had stopped to look at the fallen leaves beneath that particular tree carried on oblivious.
“Blob fish!” Crowley said, snapping his fingers.
You just saved their lives, Aziraphale thought. It wasn’t clear that Crowley even realised he’d done it. Suppressing a smile, Aziraphale looked down and busied himself with adjusting his scarf.
“Yes, all right,” he conceded. “I suppose you have a point with that one. They are rather repulsive.”
Crowley made some triumphant noises, but in point of fact, ‘repulsed’ was quite the opposite to how Aziraphale felt just then.
