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Aziraphale had left at midmorning to see a man across town about a first edition. He hadn't really wanted to leave Crowley and the demon had offered to go back to his but, as was increasingly becoming the case, he found himself arguing that Crowley should stay. For rational reasons, of course. They had plans for lunch. Why send him all the way home only to call him back later?
(That an early breakfast had become lunch plans and the angel hoped for dinner plans, too, was also rational, wasn't it?)
He juggled the packages of curry he'd picked up on the way back as he opened the door, depositing them gratefully by the till and wandering into the shop.
"Crowley, dear, I'm back! I'm sorry it took longer than I thought. He had more than he told me and I rather lost track of time," he shrugged carefully out of his jacket as he neared the back room, "But I got curry from that place we like but never go to since it's so… crowded…"
He sucked in a soft breath at the sight that greeted him: Crowley, his phone long-since forgotten on the arm of the sofa though his outstretched fingers said it had been a battle fought to let it go. His head was leant across the back, long neck stretched out vulnerable and soft. His legs were out in front of him, crossed at the feet. Across his lap was, quite possibly, the most threadbare throw blanket Aziraphale owned. Owing to the fact that it was the one he favored on long nights when his racing thoughts assailed him, a cup of tea and his books… these material items, being his only comfort.
His heart grew thick and heavy in his chest It didn't have to be that way now, did it? He stood in the doorway for a long stretch of minutes, imagining always coming home to Crowley. Our Crowley coming home to him. Knowing that, no matter what they had planned for the day, the end of the day would be this: them, together. Their side, right here.
He wanted it desperately, the very moment the thought formed. He wanted it with his heart and his hands and everything soft about him. It was right and it was how it should be and in that moment it was a travesty that it had not already been.
He crossed the room quietly, undoing his bowtie and unbuttoning his waist coat as he went. He gently sat beside Crowley and squeezed his knee.
"Mmph, 'ziraphale? You forget something?" Crowley rolled his head toward him and blinked open his eyes. Uncovered, always uncovered for Aziraphale now. Here, in his home, anyway. Aziraphale's heart struggled to find room in his chest for a moment.
"Been and gone and back again, my dear."
"'sat curry I smell?"
"Mmhmm."
"How long have I been out?" Crowley checked his ridiculously complicated watch, "damn, it's practically supper time! Well, let's eat and I can get out of your hair. I know you'll want some time with whatever new tomes you've bought." It was only when the demon started to get up that he seemed to realize Aziraphale's hand was on his knee. He looked at the hand then the angel's face, forehead wrinkling.
"I rather hoped we could have breakfast together."
"Oh, um, not… the curry's for you. I see."
"No, I got your favorite." Aziraphale sent the food a tiny miracle to keep it fresh and warm.
"But. You want to have breakfast?"
"With you, yes. Tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. Dinners, too, I expect. Maybe lunches if we're not busy."
Crowley stared at him, the wheels obviously moving in his head but not making a lot of progress.
"What I'm trying to say," the angel steadied himself to put him out of his confused misery, "is that I want you here. As much as you want to be, of course."
"You want me here?"
"Yes."
"For all the meals?"
"Yes. I mean, we can go out for some of them. Not everywhere does takeout," Aziraphale laughed and squeezed the knee still warm under his hand.
"What about between meals?"
"Well, it would be terribly impractical for you to go home and come back for each one…"
"You bastard, is this really your way of asking me to move in?"
Aziraphale grinned even as his cheeks colored.
"What's brought this on so suddenly today?"
"Is that a yes, then?" Aziraphale knew Crowley was teasing him, but a bit of anxiety slithered up inside him nonetheless.
"O'course it is, Angel, bookshop's more my home than my flat. You know that." Crowley leaned his head back against the sofa and worried the blanket in his lap. It we more of a confession than he wanted to admit. Aziraphale did know this, but it was good to have to spoken, too.
"The bit of drool."
"Wut?"
"I came home and here you were, drooling on my sofa."
Crowley stared at him for a long moment and he fought hard to keep the edges of his lips from climbing upward.
"Drooling? D-drooling, really?!" Crowley took a swipe at his mouth and found nothing, "Rude, very rude Angel. Think I'll go home after all."
"Too late."
"What?"
"You're already home, dear."