Chapter Text
Crowley hung his hat and coat on the back of a weathered old armchair, prompting a disapproving glance from Aziraphale. He was almost tempted to drape it on some of his beloved books.
But he didn't say anything.
Something inside Crowley screamed. How. How had he ended up caring about an angel? He wished he would just kick him out, berate him for his fashion or his deeds, make it easier to hate him.
He settled on the sofa, long legs straddling the plush surface.
Aziraphale sunk down into the chair opposite him, wincing as his head made contact with the headrest.
Crowley, like the soft bastard he was, waved his hand in a complex squiggle motion, erasing the traces of blood from his hair and face completely.
“Thank you dear.”
“‘M not just going to let you sit there with a gash in the side of your head am I?”
“No, I mean for saving me.”
“Yeah, well,” he muttered, fiddling with the cuff of his sleeve. “Don’t get used to it.”
“It was fortunate you were in the same area, I don't know what I would ever do without you.”
Crowley tightened.
“What happened in the theatre?”
“What?”
“You know what I mean, my dear.” Aziraphale's face was soft, but there was a steely glint in his eyes.
“Oh, nothing. Just a monthly performance review.”
“I thought you had to go downstairs for those?”
Damn his angel. Why didn't he just take the hint that he didn't want to talk about it? He closed his eyes and leant his head against the soft leather of the armchair.
“My dear?”
“I don't really want to talk about hell right now, angel. How about I get us a drink?”
He was up out of his chair before Aziraphale could say anything, striding through the stacks of books, objects and curiosities Aziraphale had picked up on his various travels.
Tucked behind an old couch was a vintage globe, the sort that was slightly pear shaped. Crowley solemnly pressed the side, and it popped open, the mechanical clang echoing through the bookshop.
Resting on a layer of deep blue velvet was a fine selection of various alcohols, and after some pondering he selected a particularly large bottle of red wine.
The rain was still beating on the windowpanes, adding a welcome respite from the claustrophobic atmosphere Aziraphale had inadvertently created through his insistence that something was wrong.
Certainly, it added an element of dramatics.
He sat back down, filling two glasses that previously did not exist with copious amounts of the divine ruby liquid.
Wordlessly he raises a rather full glass to his lips, almost daring the angel to do the same.
This counted as a temptation right? Surely hell would be satisfied with a celestial being stooping so low as to consume gross matter. It wasn't really on par with the evil he had taken credit for in the past, but Angels were far harder to tempt.
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