Your Standard Disclaimer: Good Omens, Crowley and Aziraphale belong to Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.


Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner

Breakfast

Breakfast at Crowley's is... nonexistent. Aziraphale is used to tea and toast in the morning, and he thinks Crowley should make them breakfast, they are at Crowley's after all, it's only to be expected.
He extracts himself from Crowley and looks into fridge to see what Crowley will make for breakfast. It will be beer with camembert and a grapefruit. He mentally prepares himself to say nothing when Crowley brings him tea, toast and eggs, but at noon Crowley is still asleep, and Aziraphale thinks maybe he could make breakfast for Crowley, because what brought them here wasn't expected either.

Lunch

They meet at a small café for lunch, and Crowley takes the seat with a view of the duckpond and mutters something about life and changes with a lot of rude words in-between, and Aziraphale pretends not to hear it. Aziraphale notices that Crowley is staring at him more often than usual, and that he doesn't wear his sunglasses. He thinks that the one might be a reason for the other.

"Do you have plans for the evening, angel?" The waitress looks a bit disturbed, and Aziraphale smiles at her.

"No."

"I'll come by the shop, then. At six."

And then Crowley stares some more, but at least he's stopped looking as if his teeth hurt.
They eat silently, and Aziraphale tries to remember if something unusual has happened, and if he should ask Crowley what's wrong but

"I made a man lose control over his car today." That's normal, but the look on Crowley's face is not. Half-angry, half-sad.

"And I didn't feel anything." Ah, that's it, then.

"I'm glad." That earns him a glare.

"Good for you, angel."

"You'll find other things to enjoy."

They leave, and Crowley looks frightened and he doesn't even glance at Aziraphale anymore.

Dinner

At a quarter to six there's a knock at the door. Crowley looks both determined and frightened, but he's smiling.

"Come in," Aziraphale says, and smiles back. For a moment, Crowley seems unsure, but then the panicked look vanishes and he looks his usual confident self.

"I made reservations for dinner," he says. "Though you'll have to wear something from this century."

Aziraphale nods and motions him inside.
The dinner is unusual for many reasons: they've never planned to go out before. And it's formal, and Aziraphale's formal clothes are uncomfortable, but he's trying not to show it, because Crowley looks like he's presenting the end of hunger and poverty and the final solution for peace between heaven and hell to Aziraphale. And Aziraphale knows now that this means something special, but he can't figure out what it is and by now it's too late to ask.

He plays along while Crowley talks rhapsodic about the restaurant, the city, the country and finally the whole world. When Crowley looks for the waiter Aziraphale is still trying to find out what he's missed.

Outside, Crowley takes his arm and steers him toward a park bench, resuming his speech about the wonders of modern music and Aziraphale can only listen and smile, and Crowley suddenly stops speaking. Aziraphale freezes, thinking he's done something wrong, but he's still smiling supportively when Crowley lays a hand on his cheek and whispers, "Angel".
And finally, finally Aziraphale understands and Crowley catches his breath of relief.