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"I really think it's time for us to take the next step in our relationship," Aziraphale announces. Crowley freezes.
"Is it."
"Well, dear, this courtship has been going on for rather a long time, and I do think it's time we considered more intimacy." Aziraphale is smiling, his cheeks a little pink perhaps, and his eyes are hopeful. Crowley has no idea what to say to that expression, to the hope in it. It feels, to be truthful, like a massive hand has reached out of nowhere and wrapped around his chest, preparatory to a good squeeze.
The thing is. The thing is that Crowley doesn't want to take the next step. The next step involves intimacy and that means mouths touching mouths, hands touching skin, and -- Look, the thing is, none of it has ever appealed to Crowley, and he'd found himself hoping that maybe it was the same for Aziraphale. They have, after all, been dating on and off for nearly 6,000 years without so much as holding hands.
It's not that holding hands is something Crowley wouldn't like, of course. In the part of him that has never been very demonic, he's been dying to hold hands with Aziraphale for at least 5,000 years. It's just that holding hands seems like the start of a slippery slope to a whole lot more touching, and that is not so much terrifying as vaguely repulsive. (Not, of course, repulsive in the way that Hastur is repulsive. This is Aziraphale, after all. But repulsive in a way that means it holds no appeal at all. Aversive.)
"Oh," Crowley says, in lieu of all of that.
Aziraphale frowns. "Of course, if you think that's too much..."
"No," Crowley says, before he thinks about it too much, because this is Aziraphale. He can brave it for Aziraphale; perhaps it will even be nice, seeing Aziraphale happy. That is something Crowley wants, always. A bit of discomfort... for Aziraphale's smile? For Aziraphale, perhaps, sleeping beside him afterwards? No contest.
"Oh good. So I was thinking your flat might be best. There's so much space there, after all." Aziraphale waves his hands, his eyes lit up, and Crowley's stomach gives a queasy twist. What the hell are they going to need space for? Is there something kinky that...? But the angel is carrying on -- "And of course the light in my flat would be dreadful for the plants. Really, I was thinking that perhaps the bookshop could be expanded into the flat upstairs, and then -- "
"The plants," Crowley says, blankly.
"Well of course, my dear, I'll expect some room for my books in the flat -- the ones I keep for my personal collection, though some can stay in the shop behind glass or something like that. I do think I could make a terribly attractive display of some of the more spectacular leather-bound tomes in my collection, with the right kind of cabinet. Perhaps you could help me look for one? Something antique, perha -- Crowley, what are you looking like that for?"
Crowley takes a deep breath. "You're asking to move into my flat."
"Yes, dear," Aziraphale says, with the air of someone who has explained this several times already.
"I thought you meant something. Else."
For a moment, Aziraphale looks blank. Then: "Oh! Oh, my dear, no. I mean, you are the dearest thing in the world to me, but I don't desire any kind of... physical union with you. And I didn't think anything like that appealed to you, either? I suppose I shouldn't have assumed, even some angels -- Crowley, you look quite deranged, are you alright?"
Crowley swallows back the bubble of nervous laughter. "No, yes, I mean -- I'm the same as you. I mean, there are some things human couples do that sound nice, like... like holding hands, maybe, or -- or sleeping side by side, or -- maybe even a hug? But I never wanted -- "
Aziraphale reaches out and takes possession of Crowley's hands, which turn out to have been wringing themselves nervously. The contact is good, warm and solid and real, and not at all repulsive. It feels like comfort, distilled and concentrated into the brief touch of one collection of atoms against another, more powerful than it deserves to be by any rational measure. "I just want to be close to you, Crowley. If you don't want to move in together, that's fine."
"I do want that," Crowley says, "I offered, didn't I?"
"You did," Aziraphale says, and then terrifyingly he's moving closer, and Crowley wonders for a moment if kissing is one of those things that falls under the intimacies Aziraphale would like to share with him --
But instead he finds himself wrapped in Aziraphale's arms, the angel's forehead pressed into his shoulder. Slowly, he puts his arms around Aziraphale in return. A collection of atoms holding a collection of atoms...
It's quite wonderful, actually. Definitely an acceptable next step. Crowley rests his chin on top of Aziraphale's head and closes his eyes. Yes: quite wonderful.