Aziraphale should've suspected something. Crowley was not acting normally. Not that demons ever did. Act normally, that is. But he was behaving considerably out of character.
That being said, Aziraphale was still surprised to see him stride into the shop Sunday morning and offer to take him to brunch.
"Brunch?" questioned Aziraphale.
"At the Ritz," Crowley confirmed.
"May I ask the occasion, dear?"
"Just get your coat, angel. It's bloody cold out there today." Aziraphale stood at the counter, blinking in response. "Look, if you don't want to—" Crowley began, looking up at the dingy ceiling.
"No, no!" Aziraphale hurried around the counter. "Just give me a moment to close up."
Crowley idly lifted his hand. The lights went out and the sign flipped to "Closed." "Done. Let's go, angel."
Aziraphale was back to [unnecessarily] blinking, but he recovered more quickly this time. "Yes, dear. No need to snap."
"I—" But Aziraphale just patted Crowley's cheek and walked out the door.
"Do be a dear and lock that, will you?"
Crowley muttered something indiscernible as he waved open the door of the vintage Bentley for the angel. The same gesture closed and locked the door of the shop. When he turned, Aziraphale was standing by the car, watching him. "Angel..." he warned, pulling off his sunglasses.
Aziraphale met his glare. "Ah, going," he squeaked as he stepped into the car.
Crowley sighed with relief, shut the angel's door, then got in the car. He put on his sunglasses as the Bentley roared to life.
Neither angel nor demon spoke as the car sped toward the Ritz.
Normally, things like reservations happened to people. But Crowley was trying to make an effort.
"Name?" asked the indifferent hostess as the pair arrived.
"Crowley."
Aziraphale's eyes widened as he looked at the demon, who merely shook his head.
"Yes. Right this way, sir."
Angel and demon were led to a particularly secluded table in a corner. A single rose sat in a vase on the table, alongside a chilling bottle of champagne.
"Will this do?" the hostess inquired.
"It's perfect, thank you," Crowley responded, turning toward Aziraphale (whose eyes, at this point, were as wide as saucers). Crowley pulled out the angel's chair, stepping close before whispering in his ear. "Sit." Aziraphale shivered, then sat.
"Wha—" began Aziraphale, but Crowley once again shook his head. The waitress arrived and they ordered, sharing a large array of breads and pastries.
Aziraphale had absolutely no idea what was going on, and it was making him quite nervous. Across from him, the demon sat, sunglasses on and legs crossed: cool, calm, and collected. The angel couldn't imagine the worry in those amber eyes behind the dark lenses or the warring emotions battling for control inside him, each trying to gain footing.
Crowley sat seemingly serenely across from the angel, whom he had known for roughly 6000 years. However, they had spent more time together preparing for the Apocalypse-That-Wasn't than they had over the course of their entire frien—Arrangement. He wasn't sure if the humans were rubbing off on him or whether it was the extended...exposure to the angel that was doing funny things to his heart, which was now thundering in his chest. He had to have a drink.
Crowley picked up a champagne flute, uncorked the bottle, and poured a glass, which he gave to Aziraphale. The angel raised an eyebrow, but accepted the glass and sipped. Crowley then poured another for himself, which he downed rather quickly. This earned him a pair of raised brows and a strange look. Crowley replaced the flute on the table before removing his sunglasses and placing them in his pocket. He looked up, meeting the angel's gaze.
"Aziraphale," it was almost a whisper.
The angel's hand covered Crowley's on the table. "My dear."
Crowley somehow managed to twine their fingers together. "Angel," he said, almost reverently. "Recently, I've been tempted..."
Aziraphale gently squeezed Crowley's fingers. "As have I." Crowley, fixated on their joined hands, looked up at this. There was a flash of mutual understanding between them. "But ''tis one thing to be tempted...another thing to fall.'" Another gentle squeeze, then the angel rose. "Shall we go, dear?"
The ride back to the angel's shop was quiet as well. Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale moved to put on any music.
Aziraphale managed to move closer to Crowley, placing his hand on the demon's leg. Crowley wrapped the angel's hand in his own. They remained silent even as Crowley walked Aziraphale to the door.
Aziraphale paused, hand on the knob, and turned. Crowley was flush against Aziraphale, their hands entwined at their sides. "Angel, 'some rise by sin and some by virtue fall.'" He leaned in close, brushing his lips against the angel's.
Crowley turned to go, but Aziraphale stayed him. The angel moved close to whisper to Crowley. "'Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all.'" Aziraphale inexpertly but passionately kissed his demon.
Finally, they both pulled away, a little shocked. Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's hand (which had recently been tangled in his hair), and dragged him into the book shop. Crowley laughed. "'How quick and fresh thou art!'"