#this is my contribution to the crowley wears dresses canon

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Gouda

“Muriel!” Aziraphale called, head buried in the refrigerator. “Did you eat the gouda?”

            Muriel popped up beside him. “What’s a gouda?” they asked excitedly, eyes roaming the interior of the refrigerator like they were about to witness a new and exotic form of life.

            “It’s cheese,” Aziraphale said. “It comes in a red rind. Like this?” He held up the shards of rind he had found glued to a shelf. Muriel nearly went cross-eyed looking at his fingers.

            “Oh! Yes!” They nodded with satisfaction. “I ate that.”

            Aziraphale sighed. “For future reference,” he said, turning away from the refrigerator with his arms laden, “you’re supposed to peel the rind off. You don’t eat it.”

            “Oh,” Muriel said, expression contemplative. “It did taste bad.”

            “Yes, it would,” Aziraphale said. He began stacking the brie and salami into the basket. Muriel watched with fascination.

            “Can I come on the picnic?” they asked eagerly.

            “Not this time,” Aziraphale said, tucking a jar of olives safely against the side. “We’ll bring you next time, okay?”

            Muriel blew hair out of their face. “Okay,” they said. “Will you tell me all about it when you get back?”

            “I’ll be sure to tell you the highlights,” he said dryly.

Muriel beamed. Leaning forward on the desk with their chin in their hands, they asked, “What are picnics for?”

            Despite himself, Aziraphale cast them a fond smile. “They’re for fun,” he said.

            Muriel kept watching him, eyes round and expectant.

            “We’re going to eat delicious things, take advantage of the spring weather, and enjoy each other’s company,” he said, waving Muriel aside so he could reach the napkins. “Does that help?”

            Muriel scrunched up their face. “And you can only do that outside?”

            Aziraphale smiled. “It’s good to have a change of scenery every now and then,” he said.

            The bell on the door jingled and Crowley’s voice came from the doorway. “Sorry I’m late,” he called. “I couldn’t decide on drinks.” He spotted Aziraphale and Muriel by the desk and started toward them.

            He had dressed for the occasion. A black sunhat with a blue band perched over the braid that trailed down between his shoulder blades. The short, twisted straps on his shirt dress revealed the freckles scattered across his shoulders. The tapered sides of the dress danced beside the knees that were revealed below the hem with each step. The usual silver scarf and necklace were in place. His boots still managed to be loud on the carpet of the shop floor.

            He stopped in front of them and held out the bottles in his arms. “I got a red and champagne,” he said. “All right?”

            Aziraphale ran his hand down the front of the waistcoat he was wearing, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious about it. “Yes,” he said. “Those look lovely, my dear.”

            “Good,” Crowley said, stowing them in the basket. “Ready to go then?”

            “Just a moment,” Aziraphale said. He retreated to a cabinet and retrieved two boxes of biscuits.

            “Great,” Crowley said, lifting the basket. “Shall we go? We’re burning daylight.”

            “Keep an eye on the shop, will you, Muriel,” Aziraphale called over his shoulder as he took Crowley’s hand and was led out of the shop.

            “Have fun!” Muriel called after them, flapping their hand like they were waving off a naval ship.

__

            Crowley sprawled on the blanket, not bothering to keep his legs together. Aziraphale sat beside him, slightly less buttoned-up than usual with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, leaning back on his hands. He closed his eyes, savoring the breeze.

            Many other people had had the same idea as them and the park was crowded, the grass teeming with children and dogs. One family settled their blanket too far inside the polite distance maintained by strangers and Aziraphale tried not to resent them. He could hear every word they were saying as the children tramped their muddy shoes all over the blanket, one mother searched frantically in the hamper for the juice boxes, and the other mother fought the dog for a ball. He felt a headache coming on.

            Suddenly the babbling of the family turned to shrieks.

            “Ow! Ow! Something’s biting me!”

            “What the hell – ”

            “It’s in my pants!”

            Aziraphale risked a glance over.

            The little family was in chaos as a seething mass rose up from under their blanket and spilled around them. Thousands, possibly millions, of ants emerged seemingly from the earth and swarmed the family. It seems they had set their blanket down directly on a nest.

            The family made a hasty exit, leaving the blanket behind entirely, apparently believing it to be a lost cause. Aziraphale cast his companion a look from under his eyebrows.

            “Crowley,” he said reproachfully.

            Crowley cackled.

            Aziraphale offered a quick prayer that the family’s bites would be soothed and healed. Turning back, he dared to allow himself a moment to admire his counterpart. 

            “That’s a very nice hat, dear,” he said.

            “I burn easily,” Crowley said defensively.

            Aziraphale hesitated, then boldly reached out to skim his fingers over the freckles already blossoming on Crowley’s shoulders. Crowley sucked in a sharp breath.

            “Aziraphale!”

            Aziraphale flinched and pulled back as though caught. Crowley groaned.

            “Aziraphale!” the voice came again.

            “No,” Aziraphale said crossly as Muriel skidded to a stop in front of them. Crowley sat up, waving his hands at Muriel like he was warding off a swarm of flies. “Piss off,” he growled.

            Muriel clasped their hands over their chest, eyes wide. “Please?” they begged. “I don’t know what to do!”

            Aziraphale sighed.

            “Aziraphale,” Crowley said warningly. Aziraphale didn’t heed him.

            “What happened?” he asked wearily.

            Muriel’s face brightened with relief. “Some people came into the shop and they said they wanted to give me books! That’s not how it works, is it?”

            Despite himself, Aziraphale perked up. “Oh? What kind of books did they have?”

            Muriel looked lost. “Ones…in a box?”

            Aziraphale waved a hand. “No matter. Tell them we’ll take them and put them in the back room. Make sure to write down their phone number so we can contact them about payment if we do end up putting any of them on the floor.”

            “If,” Crowley muttered moodily beside him. Aziraphale ignored him.

            “Okay!” Muriel said, immensely relieved. “I can do that!”

            “Yes you can my dear,” Aziraphale said encouragingly as Muriel beamed and took off across the green again.

            “They’re never going to learn if you keep digging them out,” Crowley complained. He waved a hand. “Sink or swim. That’s how you build confidence.”

            “Yes, but everything is so new to them!” Aziraphale said. “Some guidance while they get some experience under their belt will set them up for success later.”

            Crowley rolled his eyes and flopped back onto the blanket. Aziraphale looked down at him. He wiggled a little and then lay down beside him, their shoulders touching. If he tilted his head it would be like he was resting it on Crowley’s shoulder. He promptly did so.

            “How long can picnics last, do you think?” he asked hopefully.

            “Hmm,” Crowley said, faux-thoughtfully. He shifted so that they were pressed more firmly together. Aziraphale tried not to wiggle again. “I was once on picnic that lasted a whole week.”

            Aziraphale tilted his head so he could see his face. “Were you?” he asked fondly. “What happened?”

            “Well, you see, the Mount Auburn Cemetery had just opened and the crowds were bonkers…”