Creases: A/C
Crowley had very precise creases.
He was always impeccably smart, suits looking freshly dry-cleaned and trousers perfectly creased, rather as though he'd just stepped out of a men's magazine.
Actually, Aziraphale mentally corrected himself, not a men's magazine. He'd had the misfortune to come across a couple of those, once, in the bottom of a box of books he'd bought. Crowley was wearing entirely too many clothes for that sort of publication. And was... rather the wrong shape.
One of the more discerning catalogues then, perhaps.
Aziraphale, on the other hand, was more of the all-round rumpled sort. His clothes never quite managed to look neat for more than two minutes together; at least, not - well, he always looked neat. It just happened to be a far more comfortable sort of neat. The sort of neat one gets when one tugs to straighten one's clothes and runs a hand through one's hair before coming to the dinner table, after spending almost the entirety of the afternoon on hands and knees in a bookshop.
Aziraphale was crumpled and rumpled where Crowley was creased. And it was almost annoying, it almost would be, were it not for one other consideration.
Angel complexions, apparently, were rather resilient things. Smooth-skinned and pink-cheeked and a little crumpled around the eyes when he smiled, perhaps, but free from all other blemishes. Whereas Crowley... Somehow he managed to keep his hair relatively neat, when he was sleeping. And he avoided dribbling in an unsightly manner, which was probably for the best for all concerned. But he did, when he wound an arm tightly around Aziraphale's waist, and pressed the full hot length of himself firmly against the angel's back before drifting off to sleep, always manage to wind up just on the edge of both pillows.
And managed to wake up with the most extraordinary creases scored into his cheek.
They faded during the day, certainly. And Crowley managed to look impeccable again in short order, and stayed that way. Even when the little brass bell interrupted - well. Even then, when Aziraphale emerged looking even more rumpled than ever and was shorter with the customers than usual.
It was almost annoying, and it almost would be, were it not for the other creases. Which would be back again, come morning, without fail.
The skin around Aziraphale's eyes crumpled, just a little, as he thought about it.
He was always impeccably smart, suits looking freshly dry-cleaned and trousers perfectly creased, rather as though he'd just stepped out of a men's magazine.
Actually, Aziraphale mentally corrected himself, not a men's magazine. He'd had the misfortune to come across a couple of those, once, in the bottom of a box of books he'd bought. Crowley was wearing entirely too many clothes for that sort of publication. And was... rather the wrong shape.
One of the more discerning catalogues then, perhaps.
Aziraphale, on the other hand, was more of the all-round rumpled sort. His clothes never quite managed to look neat for more than two minutes together; at least, not - well, he always looked neat. It just happened to be a far more comfortable sort of neat. The sort of neat one gets when one tugs to straighten one's clothes and runs a hand through one's hair before coming to the dinner table, after spending almost the entirety of the afternoon on hands and knees in a bookshop.
Aziraphale was crumpled and rumpled where Crowley was creased. And it was almost annoying, it almost would be, were it not for one other consideration.
Angel complexions, apparently, were rather resilient things. Smooth-skinned and pink-cheeked and a little crumpled around the eyes when he smiled, perhaps, but free from all other blemishes. Whereas Crowley... Somehow he managed to keep his hair relatively neat, when he was sleeping. And he avoided dribbling in an unsightly manner, which was probably for the best for all concerned. But he did, when he wound an arm tightly around Aziraphale's waist, and pressed the full hot length of himself firmly against the angel's back before drifting off to sleep, always manage to wind up just on the edge of both pillows.
And managed to wake up with the most extraordinary creases scored into his cheek.
They faded during the day, certainly. And Crowley managed to look impeccable again in short order, and stayed that way. Even when the little brass bell interrupted - well. Even then, when Aziraphale emerged looking even more rumpled than ever and was shorter with the customers than usual.
It was almost annoying, and it almost would be, were it not for the other creases. Which would be back again, come morning, without fail.
The skin around Aziraphale's eyes crumpled, just a little, as he thought about it.