They had spent the night at Crowley's flat, a rare but delightful occurrence. As much as he had grown to love staying at the bookshop, it was always an experience for Crowley to wake up and find Aziraphale tangled in the black silk sheets of his enormous bed. It felt sinful in the best way to see the angel's white-blond curls mussed against the pillow, and the pink of his sleeping cheeks in the dark, moody aesthetic that was Crowley's bedroom. But this morning, as Crowley turned over lazily and threw out an arm, Aziraphale was not beside him. Blearily he felt about with his outstretched arm, free hand rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and verified that he was indeed alone in the bed. He was just about to call out for Aziraphale, when a muffled pow! and a horrified screech came from the direction of the kitchen.
Crowley threw back the sheets and scrambled out of bed, catching up his dressing gown (which matched the sheets, of course) on his way out the door and hastily belting it on. He skidded around the corner, hand raised and ready to miracle.
"Aziraphale, what's happe— oh my Satan." Crowley juddered to a halt at the sight of the pajama-clad angel in the kitchen, turning away from the microwave absolutely covered in semi-molten marshmallow from the chest up. Aziraphale's eyes appeared to be glued shut, but Crowley nevertheless fought to control his face and clamped his jaws together, struggling not to laugh as he choked out. "Angel— how— what— are you alright?"
"Yes!" Aziraphale's fac was much obscured, but his pout was clearly evident in his voice, and he flapped his arms in frustration. "I was trying to make fancy cocoa and thought I'd warm up some marshmallows a bit and, well," he shrugged hopelessly.
"Marshmallows— they explode in the microwave, angel!"
"Do I look like I knew that!" Aziraphale snapped, followed immediately by a wail. "Now I've ruined it. Oh Crowley, help me with this mess." He gestured at his gluey face, and Crowley softened, seeing both his angel's frustration and the two steaming mugs on the counter.
"It's alright, Angel," Crowley reassured, crossing to him. With a flick of his fingers, he miracle away the sticky debris— except for one particular spot. Crowley lifted one of the mugs of chocolate and took a swallow, before leaning in to kiss the marshmallow from Aziraphale's lips. "You're all the fancy cocoa I need."