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Crowley had never eaten much.
Until, of course, he moved in with the most epicurean angel in the universe.
The two of them maintained their old mealtime routine for the first week or so. Aziraphale would enjoy the food and Crowley would enjoy the sight of him. But when Aziraphale had prepared a particularly interesting-looking soufflé one evening and offered Crowley a portion, Crowley, for once, agreed to a taste.
One shared meal turned into two, then three, until they were enjoying nearly every meal together, laughing and talking all the while. Crowley still wasn’t the gourmand that Aziraphale was, but he had to admit that he hadn’t given food a fair chance over all of those centuries.
It was at the end of lunch one day that Aziraphale had turned to him, a smile on his face.
“You know, dear, meals taste even better when we get to enjoy them together. I’m quite grateful that you’ve expanded your palette beyond wine and espresso.”
Crowley shrugged. “Well, only so many times the cottage could fill up with the smell of your cooking before I got curious.”
“It seems I was right all of those years when I spoke of the pleasures of fine dining and you shrugged me off. You have to admit that you’ve grown to enjoy food.”
Crowley smirked, knowing there was no way to deny it. “Fine. Maybe a bit.”
Aziraphale, like usual, relished in being right far more than was necessary. It would have been frustrating if it wasn’t so endearing. “Only a bit? Come now, dear, you adore it. Nobody who only tolerates it would impatiently stare at the oven until dinner is done cooking, or spend hours debating which restaurant to attend. It’s obvious that you’re fond of it from the way your face lights up whenever you eat something you enjoy. Even the way that you look is a testament to that.”
“How do you mean?”
“Since we’ve moved in, you’ve looked less… well, less cadaverous, I suppose. It’s a lovely change. You look happy.”
He was happy. Happier than he’d been in millennia, if he was honest with himself. At least, until this very moment.
“What do you mean, less cadaverous?” he asked again, trying to figure out whether it was a compliment or an insult.
“Only that you seem to have filled out a bit. It’s wonderful to see you enjoying my meals. That’s a natural result of them, if my own corporation is anything to go by.” He chuckled, placing a hand on his own plush stomach.
“Oh,” Crowley said, mouth going dry.
He hadn’t noticed a change at all. Was it possible that there were differences in his corporation he hadn’t even picked up on?
The thought stayed loudly in his mind well after lunch and through the afternoon. Later that day, he stood alone in their bedroom, studying himself in front of the mirror.
Over the centuries, his appearance had shifted a lot. He would miracle himself a new hairstyle, or a new outfit, or some facial hair that he knew Aziraphale would poke fun at, and it would appear immediately. This, though… this was new.
Looking carefully at his reflection, he did seem to be a bit bulkier than he had once been, even if he felt no different than ever.
He looked over his shirt, jacket, and skinny jeans (though in this moment, the name seemed a cruel reminder of what he wasn’t). Fiddled with the belt. Jogged a bit in place. Zipped and unzipped the fly. Everything fit the same as always.
The clothes weren’t actually real, and as such, they had been specifically miracled up to fit his body no matter what form he took. He’d always found it handy. It was nice to be able to still fit into his shirt and belt while in snake form (the trousers were a bit tricky, but they made for a decent blanket if he slithered through one of the trouser legs).
Now, the transformative abilities of the clothes seemed more frustrating than convenient. Maybe if they had stayed their original size like human clothes, he would have noticed the changes sooner.
He swiveled his head to make sure he was still alone in the room. Then, for good measure, locked the door.
With a snap of his fingers, he was clad only in his boxers in front of the mirror, looking his body up and down in a way he hadn’t seriously done in months.
Now that Aziraphale had pointed them out, the changes seemed obvious.
He was certain that his ribs used to be visible. Instead, there was now a distinct layer of softness that encompassed his chest and stomach. His stomach, once completely flat, now poked out from beyond the edge of his boxers, as if to mock him. His arms and legs were less bony. Even his face was less angular than it had once been.
He had gained weight over the past few months, there was no denying it.
Shit.
He could miracle it away. But… no, then he’d just gain it back. That would be a temporary fix, not an actual solution.
The only real solution was to quit eating. Sure, he’d miss it, but it was necessary.
He didn’t age. He had never gained weight. Every change he’d ever made to his appearance on Earth had been purposeful and immediate. The realization that his body had been changing shape for months now, slowly and without his knowledge, was more frightening than he’d care to admit.
His old corporation was the one that Aziraphale had fallen in love with. The one that he’d remarked was so beautifully lithe. The one that he had commented about how perfectly it fit together with his own. It hardly seemed fair to change it now.
Aziraphale would be far too kind to actually say anything to him if he didn’t like the new changes to his body. He would never dare risk making Crowley feel bad over something like that. What if the comment he’d made earlier was his way of telling Crowley that he didn’t like it?
The angel deserved someone perfect. Someone who was everything he wanted. Looking at his protruding stomach, it was hard not to feel insufficient.
He miracled back his clothes with a halfhearted snap. From the kitchen, the smell of ground beef and potatoes wafted into the room. While it had filled him with excitement over the past few months, it now made his stomach churn with shame.
He shuffled to the kitchen on autopilot, barely registering Aziraphale’s grin as he entered.
”You have remarkable timing, dear. I was just about to pull the shepherd’s pie out of the oven. You’re in for quite a treat. I made sure to add extra seasoning— I know your affinity for spice.”
He looked to the inside of the oven, then back at Aziraphale’s excited face. Unable to look at his eager expression any longer, he glanced back at the oven. “Actually… I’m afraid I’m not hungry tonight, Angel. I’m still really full from lunch. Might have to sit this one out.”
Crowley may as well have told Aziraphale that he’d ripped up the angel’s first-edition Oscar Wilde novels. “Are you sure you don’t want any shepherd’s pie? You’re usually so fond of it.”
He did want some. Very much so. The golden brown potatoes looked delicious, and knowing that Aziraphale had gone through the extra trouble to make it the way Crowley liked it made him tempted to give in and grab himself a helping.
Still, he couldn’t. A glance down at his own stomach was enough to kill his appetite.
“Like I said, I had a huge lunch. Don’t think I could fit anything else in if I tried.”
Aziraphale’s gaze lingered on him, still looking disappointed, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he simply pulled the shepherd’s pie from the oven and served himself a piece.
At breakfast the next morning, he didn’t eat, either. He told the angel that he wanted get an early start on his gardening for the day.
When lunchtime rolled around, he’d told him that he’d already filled up on fruits and vegetables from the garden. In truth, he’d eaten nothing, but he knew Aziraphale had no way of knowing that.
At dinner time, he’d said he was too caught up with weeding to take a meal break, but had assured him that he’d come inside and eat after he was done. By the time he’d finished, it was dark outside, and Aziraphale was conveniently already in their bedroom. Crowley walked into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of wine, drank it, then joined Aziraphale in bed.
He’d spent the next day at a nearby music festival that Aziraphale had made extremely clear involved too much bebop for Aziraphale to even consider coming along. When Crowley had returned in the evening, he told Aziraphale he’d already eaten so much at the festival there that he couldn’t possibly eat another bite.
And so the days passed. It wasn’t difficult to think of excuses when he’d spent the past several centuries honing his skills by evading questions from downstairs. Somehow, though, it hurt far more when the person he was lying to was Aziraphale rather than his demonic coworkers.
He saw Aziraphale’s worried glances, the doubt in his eyes when Crowley would offer up another excuse for skipping a meal. Even worse was his look of resignation whenever he served some food up for only himself after trying and failing to offer some to Crowley.
Meals returned to how they had been before they’d moved in together— with Crowley staring and sipping wine as Aziraphale ate.
He was constantly hungry. More so than he had been for centuries, despite the fact that he’d gone for far longer spans of times without eating in the past. Now that he knew what he was missing out on, forgoing food was infinitely harder than before. He longed for the warmth of freshly baked bread. The satisfaction of taking the first bite of a delicious meal. He even missed fighting with Aziraphale over the last biscuit in the tin.
Two weeks after Crowley had resolved not to eat, Aziraphale was in the kitchen frying up some breakfast. Crowley sauntered into the room, and Aziraphale turned to him hopefully.
“Good morning, my dear. Would you care for some eggs and sausage? I seem to recall that you quite enjoyed them the last time I prepared them.”
Crowley cringed, trying to ignore the sizzles from the pan. “Don’t have any time. I promised Maggie I’d stop by the shop early this morning to give her some of those records I held onto from the ‘60s.”
“Maggie can wait.”
“I’m not actually sure she can. She was really excited for those records. I’ll be back in a little while. Enjoy your breakfast, yeah?”
He gave Aziraphale a quick kiss, heading for the door. Before he could reach it, the angel stepped in front of him, blocking his way. “Darling. We need to talk.”
He checked his watch, more for the performance of it than anything else. “There’s no time. I’m already late.”
“Since when do you care about punctuality?” asked Aziraphale. It sounded less like a question and more like an accusation.
“Since… recently. Your polite attitude is rubbing off on me.”
Aziraphale furrowed his eyebrows, tone uncharacteristically sharp. “Will you stop making excuses and talk to me?”
Crowley looked at the floor, taking a step away from the door. Aziraphale’s expression softened, turning from anger to concern.
“I’m sorry for being harsh with you. It simply seems like rather a while since we’ve gotten to enjoy a meal together.”
“We still can. I’m still happy to watch you eat. I’m just not always in the mood to do it myself.”
“Darling, it’s obvious that something is wrong,” said Aziraphale, voice wavering, “you’ve been acting quite distant these last few weeks. Is it something I’ve done?”
“No! No, nothing like that. Not at all. You’re perfect.”
Aziraphale’s shoulders relaxed, though his eyes were still worried.
“You don’t have to tell me if you truly don’t wish to. However, I’m always here for you if you do. Frankly, as your husband, I’d quite like to know what’s making you unhappy. I don’t want you to suffer alone.”
Aziraphale’s desperate tone was too much to take. Before he could stop himself, he admitted, “I’m just trying to watch my weight. That’s all.”
Aziraphale’s eyebrows knitted together, looking Crowley up and down. “Watch your weight? Whatever for?”
“It’s… well, it’s like you said a couple weeks ago, Angel. I’m not as slim as I was. I’ve gotten soft.”
Recognition passed through Aziraphale’s face, color draining from his cheeks. “Is this all because of that comment I made to you?”
”No, it’s not your fault. You were being honest. I needed to hear it. I just hadn’t realized how bad it had gotten until you pointed it out, that’s all.”
“Bad? Oh, my love… I never meant it in a negative sense. Not at all. I’m so sorry I gave you that impression. I adore your body in any form it may take.”
“Yeah, but you always talked about how slim I used to be. How lithe.”
“I did, yes. But it’s not as though I liked it because it was lean. I liked it because it was you. I’m attracted to you, dear. Whatever corporation you take, plump or otherwise. Besides, I imagine you know that plumpness can be rather attractive as well.” He looked down at his own corporation, frowning. “Or at least, I should sincerely hope that you know that.”
“It’s different with you. You’ve always been soft and curvy and comforting. It looks great on you. Gorgeous.” He gestured to his own body with a disheartened sigh. “On me, it’s all wrong. I don’t look like myself.”
“It’s truly not as drastic of a change as you’re making it out to be. I would still find you madly attractive if you had gained a tremendous amount of weight. But you haven’t. You simply look a bit more… robust, I suppose. Frankly, healthier.”
“I’m not used to putting on any weight. I’m supposed to be lean. Rangy. Sharp edges and all that.”
“Perhaps you’re simply not used to the change.” He looked at Crowley’s body again, then smiled at him, warmth in his eyes. “I think you look every bit as handsome as ever.”
“You don’t have to protect my feelings.”
“I assure you I’m not. You’re beautiful, darling. I’ve thought so when I saw you with long hair and a toga. I also thought so when you were sporting sideburns and a stovepipe hat…” he leaned over and kissed Crowley’s cheek, the same spot the sideburns had once been. “And I think so now.”
“It doesn’t disappoint you to see me like this?”
“What disappoints me is watching you starve yourself when I know full well how much we both enjoy eating together. I simply despise the thought of you continuing to go hungry.”
“I don’t need food to live.”
“Neither do I, but that hardly stopped me from popping to France in the midst of a revolution when I got peckish.”
Crowley laughed. “No, it certainly didn’t.”
Aziraphale ran his hand along Crowley’s shoulders and down his chest, stopping to rest on his stomach. “This is what you look like when you’re happy, dear. I adore it.”
Crowley couldn’t hide the grin that covered his face, so he deflected. “Don’t get all sappy on me, Angel.”
Aziraphale laughed and gave him a kiss. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Now… I do hope you’re going to join me for breakfast, because this is far too much to eat on my own.”
Crowley looked at the eggs and sausage, then back at the angel’s hopeful expression, his manicured hand still resting on Crowley’s stomach. Finally, he gave in.
“Maggie can wait. I’m bloody starving.”
Aziraphale laughed, his own soft belly shaking as he did. For the first time in weeks, he served them both breakfast, a twinkle in his eyes. Crowley grabbed a fork, taking a bite of sausage.
He’d had a wide range of fancy meals since moving into the cottage, most of them far more elaborate than a simple fried eggs and sausage. Still, in that moment, he was certain it was the best thing he’d tasted in all of his six thousand years on Earth.