listen I see your headcanons about Aziraphale loving sweets and cakes and pumpkin spice lattes with extra shots of syrup and what have you and that’s valid but consider:
- Aziraphale takes his tea with no sugar
- the two things that Crowley is specifically mentioned consuming in the book are angel cake and cocktails made from date palm liquor which, based on my extensive research, is basically the most appallingly sugary-sweet alcohol mankind has ever managed to produce
therefore I present the following counterpoint: Aziraphale does not have any particular fondness for sugary things (though he enjoys a bite of something sweet now and then), but Crowley has the world’s worst sweet tooth and tries (very very badly) to conceal this.
like, Crowley isn’t quite sure why, but he feels like he should be ordering coffee blacker than his soul
(which, like, he probably should stick to darker coffee because the lighter a coffee roast, the more caffeine it has and like, the poor thing’s got bad enough anxiety as it is, he doesn’t need to add high doses of caffeine to his system, but that’s neither here nor there)
but also like…. he Hates it, but insists on ordering it, because espresso strong enough to melt your intestines seems like the sort of thing the human Anthony J. Crowley would drink, so he gets it and he hates it and all he really wants is some double whip sugary caramel frappe Starbucks-y monstrosity that’s loaded with more sugar and dairy than your average milkshake and he’s staring sadly down at his ultra-concentrated cold brew cup of Bitterness™…
…only for Aziraphale to sigh and say “oh dear, this candy apple latte really seemed like the thing at the time, but it’s a great deal too sweet for me. You wouldn’t mind swapping, would you, dearest?” and hitting him with the big eyes like Crowley’d be doing him such a favor if they swapped drinks…
…and Crowley tries not to look too relieved, and gives a big put-upon sigh. “All right, angel, I guess I could take it off your hands”
and so Crowley gets his sugary-sweet disaster of a drink that barely even qualifies as coffee at this point because it’s more whipped cream than beverage, and Aziraphale hides his grin behind a calculated sip of the triple-concentrated espresso hell-drink
post-canon i really want crowley to let his sweet tooth flag fly and just make himself every kind of brownie that never seem to get stale and pour infinite sugar in his pale, milky coffee while aziraphale gags in the distance and still manages to be in love with him.