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The most surprising part of the day – the end of the world, that thing – is when he says yes. Crowley isn’t too sure why. He thinks that he played it cool, but he isn’t exactly positive, either.
Okay: Aziraphale does not outrightly say ‘yes’ to staying at his place. In fact, he states that he probably should not. Sitting on a lonesome suburban bench, the night flowing peacefully around the two of them in the form of careless cars passing, wind batting their hair, crickets chirping, he had given Crowley the softest ‘no’ of his eternity of temptation. And there is something about his face, so many times when he looks at him, that Crowley always knew the meaning of but had really never accepted before until a few hundred years ago. In that moment, it sort of choked him.
He couldn’t help but press him. Besides, where else would he go? The angel admits it - he’s more on his side than Heaven’s.
The taps of Crowley’s fingers plead out in Morse code.
The bus comes. Thank God? Or, well, thank, uhm—
Anyway, he squishes himself to the window, staring out toward the night and its glowing city lights. Time for a pensive little ride while Azira makes nervous comments concerning just about anything his eccentric mind will float to, both wondering exactly what the other is trying to communicate, both wondering if they're afraid or just anxious—
Yet something different happens. Aziraphale turns toward him with his sweet smile. A confident hand fits its fingers into the spaces between his.
Crowley gives him a glance and thanks God – yes, God – that he’s wearing shades. Little does he know that the arch of his brow and curve of his lips give it all away, but I digress.
They both look away, casual-like, and Crowley allows him to wiggle his fingers further between his as they turn the corner. His thumb smooths over the angel’s knuckles, and he squeezes back, smile twitching.
“I’ve not been to your place too many times,” he starts after a while.
“Ah, I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”
“I – didn’t say I wouldn’t.”
The things past the window are more of a blur than anything, at this point. So he turns toward him. “You’re staying with me.”
Does it sound like a threat hissing out of his demonic mouth? He makes a split-second decision to wait for that scorned look that he’s so used to, but the fair angel seems to be trying to catch a lost breath, furrowing his brow with something like…fascination.
Momentarily noticing how other passengers may have keen ears, the demon leans over to murmur the rest. “I don’t care if I move too fast for you.”
Okay, now it’s something more like scorn. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that before!”
“You didn’t, did you?”
“You don’t,” he replies. Crowley’s brow tries its best to ascend from his face. “You don’t move too fast for me – Can we continue this when we’re alone?”
Crowley’s gaze can’t help but tick down toward their hands, both leeching security and affirmation of something still-unsaid by the way they both cling.
“Sure, Angel.”