Sleep was a grand thing. Crowley didn't really understand why some humans hated it so much. They got to lay on a soft plushy surface for several hours a day and do absolutely nothing - and sometimes dream of really pleasant things like ice cream or not doing taxes. It was glorious really.

Since Crowley didn't actually need sleep though, he never had problems either falling asleep or getting up. Either way, he was refreshed. It was a great way to pass time before appointments where he couldn't think of anything to do or his angel actually was busy for once. It was also a thing to do between the hours of 1:30 AM - 5:30 AM since not much was usually happening - at least out on the streets.

So when the demon woke up at 2:30 AM at the rather heavy sound of his front sliding door opening and faint footsteps, he did not need to wipe his eyes clear of that nasty eye discharge humans tended to get from long periods of non-blinking existence. He also didn't need to turn on a light since his yellow eyes naturally adjusted the darkness of the windowless concrete walls. Instead, he turned his head to face the ceiling.

He didn't get up from the bed. The black velvet sheets were far too comfy to risk changing his position for any old intruder. And he had a spray bottle of holy water in the bottom drawer of the left nightstand. Or was it the right?

Instead, he flared his nose as he took a deep smell of the place. His head sunk deeper into the sheets as he filled his lungs.

Hot chocolate. Lemon. Sugar. Ink. Really old leather.

Sniff.

Was that cornstarch?

"Aziraphale…" he muttered. And then he called out. "Aziraphale!"

The footsteps paused.

"Don't turn on the lights!"

He contemplated going to sleep. Maybe the angel had left a book behind the last time he visited and desperately needed to read it right now.

At 2:30 AM.

Plausible, he thought, his head already turning back into his pillow and his eyes closing comfortably. He would find his book somewhere in the desk or chair and leave. And then Crowley could go back to his dream about that bright tropical garden he was busy having.

That was most definitely what was going to happen.

With his eyes closed, he started breathing deeply and felt the weight of sleep about to hit him when the footsteps started again. Instead they were running now. Passed the main room with the desk and chair, passed the bedroom and further down the hall.

Crowley frowned into his pillow.

The footsteps were barefoot. He could hear the faint squeeze of sweaty feet against the floor with each hurried step.

Aziraphale hated going barefoot - at least since the invention of modern footwear. At the invention of the sandal, Crowley distinctly remembered that the angel had gotten his hands of 14 pairs of the things. A rotation of footwear for two weeks - just in case. He even still wore the blasted things on the beach. How did he stand the sand bits getting int-

The sound of a fridge door slamming open echoed through the apartment.

Crowley sighed. He finally sat upright, still frowning in the darkness. "Are you eating?!" He continued to yell in the general direction the footsteps had headed. He swung his legs over the left side of the bed while simultaneously throwing his blanket away from his body. The cool air was crisp on his bare legs - but not for long. "You know I don't have much food there!"

As he projected his voice, he slid his feet into the plain black slippers he kept by his bed. On the nearest nightstand was his silk robe he was fond of wearing whenever he was relaxing around his place. He slipped it on quickly, not wanting to walk out to the kitchen in his underwear if there was indeed an unwelcome intruder.

"Ignore the milk!" He pulled harshly on the robe tie. "I got into a weird milk phase. Unless you like oat milk I suppose."

Lastly he pulled out the bottom drawer and gingerly pulled out the green spray bottle of holy water. Though he seriously doubted there was a demon that starched their clothes; better safe than sorry. Holding the bottle abnormally far away from the front of his body, he started creeping out of the room and down the hall, towards the kitchen. He could see the light from the fridge pooling into the hall and the loud clinking of someone fumbling around the bottles in the fridge.

"I've got goat milk too. I got so weirded out by all the milk. Soy milk, goat milk, they got so much damn milk! It's worse than the bread thing honestly. The toast, the rolls…" When his outstretched hands reached the kitchen doorway, Crowley stuck out the spray bottle even further and hissed before popping his head in. His body had taken the stance on someone about to shoot a loaded gun.

A startled looking Aziraphale looked back at him, with a can of sparkling water in one hand and the fridge door in the other.

"You shouldn't be handling that!" The angel exclaimed. He threw the can back in the fridge before snatching the spray bottle away from the demon. Giving him a disapproving look, Aziraphale headed over to the kitchen counter directly next to the fridge. As he walked away, the fridge closed, leaving the only light in the kitchen from the ceiling tall window that was on the wall directly opposite the door way. The moon light lit a small portion of the floor and Crowley's face, which had a confusion expression plastered on it.

"Well then answer me when I'm talking to you!" Crowley shook his head, as if shaking his head violently would solve the mystery to this late night visit. "What are you doing here, angel?"

To Crowley's surprise, Aziraphale did not miracle the light on but rather stayed where he was in the darkness on the other side of the fridge. He could see that the other being had started fidgeting nervously with his hands. He was looking down at them. Crowley couldn't see his face properly.

"I just...thought I would stop by for a drink."

"At 2:30 in the morning!?"

"Well...you know I don't like sleeping - "

"Yes, yes. You always go on and on about how I sleep too much," Crowley groaned in response. "But you could have called. I would have dug up some wine or something from downstairs." He jerked his left thumb over his shoulder. "I'm sure I've got some red vintage around somewhere. I can go get it now if you fancy."

"No. No. I erm. I just wanted...the lovely drink I was holding before." Aziraphale opened the fridge again, the light luminating his face from a low angle. He reached in and pulled out the drink he had thrown in a moment ago. "Yes, ah. La Croix lemon." His eyes looked over the wording on the can for what looked like the first time.

Crowley started frowning again.

"Yes. I just really wanted sparkling water and thought I would come in quickly, take some and be on my way without disturbing you." He looked up from the can and smiled at Crowley.

"But you always have sparkling water. You're the reason I have the blasted stuff anyway."

"I ran out."

"You had half a fridge full when I left your place last night." Crowley countered, now leaning again the doorway and crossing his arms across his chest.

Aziraphale shrugged, which just made Crowley's frown deepen and his eyes raise further and further up his forehead. "Customers get thirsty you know."

Crowley was about to ask exactly how many customers does one have between the hours of 8:30 PM to 2 in the morning when the angel quickly started speaking again. "Anyways, it seems I have woken you. So sorry, Crowley. I know how you like your sleeping. I'll just be off and we can see each other another time. Bye!"

Before another breath could be drawn, the angel had miracled himself out of the apartment and Crowley was left perplexed. He stepped over and looked into his fridge curiously. There were some La Croix in the back top shelf, since the demon himself never drank the stuff. All his assorted milks and three bottles of chilled vodka were askew, as if there had been a frantic hand reaching in the fridge just earlier, trying to find something to grab.

Odd it was, Crowley thought.

AN: This fluff piece came into my head -THIS IS SO CLICHE OF A PLOT BUT I DON'T CARE BECAUSE GOOD OMENS IS SO GAY - tbcccc