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‘Lunch Date’ — GOOD OMENS (Crowley/Aziraphale)


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AN – Hey, all! I wrote this for a friend and wanted to share with you all too. This oneshot has no spoilers whatsoever, just fluff! :) 


Lunch Date

The tiny bell above the doorframe jingled as the door swung open. Without looking up from his book, Aziraphale knew who it was.

“Hello,” he began to say, but hesitated slightly when he saw the figure in the entrance.

He peered through his glasses and smiled warmly. “Why, Crowley, you look… well.”

Crowley did not look at all well, actually. His hair — which was usually a bit tussled — was truly wild on this day and stuck up in nearly all directions. He was also noticeably flushed and the tip of his nose was pink, as if he’d been walking around in the frigid London air all morning. Although he did have a scarf loosely wrapped around his neck and haphazardly thrown behind his shoulder, he wasn’t wearing a coat. Even his designer sunglasses looked crooked.

“Yes, well,” Crowley started, a shivering going through him. “It is a bit nippy out there.”

“Perhaps you should’ve worn a coat?”

Crowley grunted. The door closed behind him and he brushed some flurries out of his hair. “You ready for lunch?” he asked, the question punctuated with a sniffle.

Aziraphale beamed. He’d been looking forward to this all morning. “Certainly. Let me grab my coat. Can I get you one?”

“One what?”

“An overcoat, of course! It’s freezing.”

Crowley rolled his eyes but felt an unfortunately-timed prickle in his sinuses. “H-heh’TSSSSCHH!

Aziraphale jumped at the loud sound. “Goodness! Are you catching something? Bl—”

“Don’t you dare,” Crowley snapped, tugging at Aziraphale’s coat sleeve. “Let’s be off.”


As the two walked briskly down the street, Crowley sniffled again. “Blessed cold weather,” he muttered, folding his arms over his chest. “London is much too chilly this time of year, don’t you think?”

“Oh, I just love it,” Aziraphale said, beaming. “Cold weather reminds me of Christmas and Christmas reminds me of—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. The big man upstairs.”

“And also, you know, the spirit of giving,” he continued, still smiling fondly. “It seems even in London, people are kinder, more understanding. I was on the Tube the other day — and you know how wary I am of that underground place — and even though I took the wrong line, the woman next to me was kind enough to help me find my way.”

Aziraphale sighed happily as they turned a corner. “The holiday season just brings out the best in people.”

B-blessed Mother,” Crowley spat out before turning away from Aziraphale to sneeze. “Hh’DTTTTSSHHH!

Despite himself, Aziraphale jumped again, chuckling nervously. “Gracious! Are you quite alright?”

Crowley pushed his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose, sniffling. “Ugh, angel, you’re much too fussy. Where is this damn place anyway?”

Aziraphale gestured to a small café, just up the street. Crowley nodded, swiping under his nose again. This cold was going to be the death of him, that was for sure. But he couldn’t ruin their lunch date. He knew Aziraphale loved their lunch dates.

As the two entered, a large man swept Aziraphale into his arms for a giant (and what Crowley presumed to be spine-crushing) hug.

Leave it to Aziraphale to make a friend in every shop in London.

As the angel and the café’s owner chatted, a waiter led Crowley to a comfy table toward the back. He cleared his throat as the demon scanned the menu.

“Can I get you a glass of water? Perhaps—”

Crowley’s breath caught and he barely turned away from the waiter in time, sneezing into a cupped hand. “Hih’TZSSCHHHH!

“Perhaps a cup of hot tea?”

He cleared his throat when he saw Aziraphale begin to walk over. “Water is fine.”

“My apologies,” Aziraphale said rather breathlessly as he sat down across from Crowley. “Mohamed was telling me about a truly misguided customer he had a few days ago and…”

As he was talking, it was evident Crowley was going to sneeze again. He sniffled, willing the tickle in his sinuses to leave him be. His head tilted back, his expression lax, eyes watering beneath his sunglasses… but it soon dissipated.


“Sorry, sorry,” the demon said dismissively, rubbing the underside of his nose discreetly. “You were saying?”

“I was just saying—”

Jesus Christ. “Hh’TSSSZSCHH!

“Oh, my. You’re ill, aren’t you?”

Although Arizaphale did not mean his question in any ways accusatory, Crowley crossed his arms defensively.

“Am not.”

Before he could protest or even notice, Aziraphale gently reached out and removed Crowley’s designer sunglasses. It seemed he was on the brink of a sneeze again, his lower lip quivering in anticipation.

H-hahh… ahHH! Hoo. Went away,” Crowley said, punctuated with a sniff.

Aziraphale stared at him, worried.

“Angel, it’s allergies for God’s sake.”

“Allergies? Crowley, I’ve known you for thousands of years. I know what you’re allergic to.”

Aziraphale continued to stare at him as Crowley fake-browsed the menu.

“Wow, that fatayel ghanam looks absolutely divine. What are you getting?”

“Oh, stop playing games,” Aziraphale said, rolling his eyes. “I know you’re ill. What’s the harm in admitting it?”

“I’m not sick, let it b-be,” Crowley said, swallowing back the tickle in his throat.

The waiter returned a few moments later, expectant with a small pad of paper and a pen. “What will it be, gentlemen?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to order but Crowley beat him to it with a desperate gasp of breath. He blindly groped for his napkin and sneezed into it forcibly.


“On second thought, we’d prefer takeaway,” Aziraphale said defiantly, ignoring Crowley’s groan of frustration.


“Isn’t this nicer?”

The two were sitting together on the small couch in Aziraphale’s bookshop, the closed sign hung up outside. There was a steaming tray of tea in front of them, along with the takeaway lentil soup and bamia that the angel had ordered.

Crowley felt a shiver go through him, despite Aziraphale’s coat draped over his shoulders.

“Sure, sure,” he said, sniffling. “It’s not like we could’ve eaten at the café.”

Aziraphale shook his head, exasperated. “You’re fevered and you keep—”

Hih’TSSCHSSHH!” Crowley pitched forward with a miserable sneeze and desperately patted his pocket for a handkerchief, his nostrils still flaring.

H-hahhh… where is that blessed h-hihhh… h-handerchief?”

Arizaphale seemed to conjure one up out of thin air (perhaps he did?) and gently pressed it into Crowley’s shaking hands. The demon’s lips began to curl, as if he was about to snarl, but took in a sharp inhale instead.


“Goodness,” Aziraphale clucked, patting his arm gently. “Let me see if I can find another blanket.”

As he searched through a back closet, he heard the telltale signs of another sneeze. Two quick, desperate breaths of air and…


“Bless you!” Aziraphale called out, without thinking.

He heard Crowley hiss, a visceral reaction to Aziraphale’s words.

“Oh! I mean, ah… damn you!”

Though truth be told, Crowley was just glad to be in the company of Aziraphale, ill or not. 

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Aww, I love the fluff!! I love Aziraphale playing the "I've known you for thousands of years, so don't try and play this off as allergies" card.

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