Work Text:
Crowley sighed and leaned his head back against the back of the lift as it climbed to his floor early Friday evening. It had been a long day - a long week, really, and he was looking forward to being home where he could relax and unwind with a bottle of wine. This was a netflix and chill kind of night - in a completely literal, solitary sense.
The bell dinged when it reached the thirteenth floor, and Crowley pushed off the wall. The door slid open and he stepped out into the corridor to see boxes - at least a couple dozen boxes - stacked against the walls, up and down the corridor. He hesitated for a moment, his face screwed up in question, then slowly, slightly confusedly, started walking down the corridor towards his flat. The boxes were labeled: kitchen, lounge, bedroom, and the like. Quite a lot of them were labeled ‘books’. They were stacked all over, but all seemed to be central to an open door, and Crowley assumed they must belong to the new tenant in 1304. Figuring the boxes would be cleared up quickly, or at least by morning, he dug into his pocket to pull out his keys and go into his own flat. He was tired, and besides, this was not his circus and therefore not his monkeys. He was just a few feet away from his door when the new tenant stepped out into the corridor and Crowley got a look at him. When he did, his breath caught.
This man - this man looked like an angel, with pale blond, cottony hair and a cherubic face. He was almost as tall as Crowley, wearing trousers and a waistcoat with his sleeves rolled up to reveal his strong forearms. He was, quite frankly, the most beautiful creature Crowley had ever seen, and he felt his heart do something complicated.
“Oh!” the angel said, his face surprised. “Hello.”
Crowley’s face melted into a smile. “Hello to you,” he said. “Moving in?”
“Yes, such as it is,” he said, looking frazzled. “You don’t happen to live in 1305, do you?”
Crowley blinked, surprised. “I do, actually. Why?”
“Oh, no. Oh, I’m so sorry. These dratted movers piled boxes in front of your door.”
He looked up and sure enough, there were boxes piled at the entrance to his flat. “Oh,” he said, quite intelligently.
“Not to worry,” the blond man said with a tired smile. “Just give me a moment and I'll clear them up.”
“I’ll help you,” Crowley volunteered.
“Oh, really, I couldn't possibly ask you to do that.”
“You aren’t asking, I’m offering,” Crowley replied with a smile. Then he extended his hand. “My name is Crowley, by the way.”
The man glanced at his hand for a moment, then reached to take it. Crowley felt a tingle all the way up his arm when they touched, and he wondered if the other man did, too.
“I’m Aziraphale. Aziraphale Fell.”
“It’s my very great pleasure to meet you, Aziraphale Fell,” Crowley said, and that was an understatement. “Now, let’s get these boxes into your flat, shall we?”
“Oh, thank you, dear. I appreciate you so much.”
“It’s my pleasure,” Crowley said, then picked up the nearest box - one that was not blocking his door.
“But dear, don’t you want to clear the boxes that are in your way?”
“We’ll get to those,” Crowley said with a smile. “I’ve got all evening, and it looks like you‘ve got more to deal with than the couple in front of my door.”
“I do, yes,” Aziraphale said, bending to pick up a box. Crowley watched the muscles play in his forearms.
He nodded to Aziraphale’s open door, smiling. “After you.”
Aziraphale flushed a little, then ducked his head and stepped into the door. Crowley watched him go, appreciating the view of his back and bum, then followed.
Aziraphale’s flat was just like his, only reversed, and there were a couple of boxes scattered around, but Crowley was surprised to see the furniture already in place. There was a couch and a couple of empty bookshelves in the lounge, and through the bedroom door he could see a bed. A small table sat in the eat-in kitchen, piled with boxes.
“Looks like you’re partially moved in,” Crowley remarked.
“Hmm? Oh, yes, I had my furniture moved yesterday and stayed here last night. The moving company was supposed to move the rest of my possessions today, but I told them I couldn’t meet them during a specific time. They apparently didn’t get the message and moved my items during that time anyway. When I wasn’t available, well, you see what they did. They piled them in the hall.”
“That’s rubbish,” Crowley said, setting the box down in the lounge, where it was labeled to be. He waited until Aziraphale sat down his own box, then they went back into the corridor.
“It is, quite rubbish,” Aziraphale agreed. “I can’t believe the blatant disregard for my possessions. What if my things had been stolen?”
“Well, I understand the concern, but that’s unlikely,” Crowley reassured him, picking up a box labeled ‘bath’. “This is a very safe neighborhood.”
“I’m very glad to hear that,” Aziraphale said, picking up another box.
They carried the boxes in, and Aziraphale directed him where to put them. Crowley did so, then followed Aziraphale to get another one.
“So what brings you here?” Crowley asked a couple of boxes later, his tone chipper, although his back was hurting a bit. “Where are you moving from?”
“Soho,” Aziraphale said. “I’ve lived there with my husband for the last fifteen years.”
Crowley felt his heart sink at the mention of a husband. “Oh.”
“Forgive me,” Aziraphale said. “He’s my ex husband. Or at least, he will be soon. We’re separated.”
Crowley brightened a bit. “I’m very sorry to hear that,” he lied.
“Oh, no, don’t be. We’ve been very amicable through the divorce, which has been a relief.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“Indeed. How about you?” Aziraphale asked. “Do you have a wife that I’ve walled into your flat like the Cask of Amontillado?”
Crowley laughed. “No, no wife for me. Or husband. I’m single, and haven’t had a boyfriend in over a year.”
“Oh, well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Aziraphale said, although he didn’t sound sorry. It gave Crowley a bit of hope.
“What do you do? If I may ask.”
“Of course you can. I’m a botanist at the university.”
“Oh, botany. How fascinating.”
“Yeah, my flat is very green.” Crowley smiled - and barely resisted the urge to offer to show him.
“I would imagine so.”
“What about you? What do you do?”
“I own and operate a bookshop in Soho.”
“Ah, I might have known, given the number of boxes you have that are labeled ‘books’.”
“Yes, well, it’s my favorite pastime,” Aziraphale said with a bit of a blush.
“It’s a very good pastime,” Crowley said with a smile. “What do you like to read?”
“Oh, all kinds of things. I’ve rarely met a book I didn't love, at least a little.”
“Boy, I sure have,” Crowley said. “I hated nearly every book I was forced to read.”
“Yes, that does tend to take the fun out of it,” Aziraphale remarked.
They worked together, chatting about light things, until they hauled the last two boxes into the flat. When they were done, Crowley stood and looked around the flat with a smile, hands on hips, and tried to think of a way to ask Aziraphale to dinner. Just when he was opening his mouth, Aziraphale looked at his watch and gave a start.
“Oh, goodness. I need to go. I have to close up my shop and let Newt go home.”
“Ah,” Crowley said, disappointed.
“How can I ever repay you?” Aziraphale asked, his eyes earnest.
“There’s no repayment needed,” Crowley said. “I was happy to help. It was the neighborly thing to do.”
“Well, I’m very much in your debt,” Aziraphale said, his blue eyes wide and kind.
Crowley hesitated only a moment before he offered, “Would you like help unpacking? Maybe tomorrow?”
“My shop is open tomorrow, I’m afraid I’ll have to work.”
“What about Sunday?” Crowley asked, knowing he sounded eager and not caring.
“I couldn’t possibly impose…”
“It’s not an imposition,” Crowley rushed to say. “I’d love to.”
“Well, I could certainly use the help…”
“Good. Just tell me when.”
“Is eleven too early?”
“No, that’s perfect. Just perfect. I’ll knock on your door Sunday morning at eleven.”
“I’m looking forward to it, dear. And perhaps, after we get some things unloaded, I could take you to dinner? As a thank you.”
Crowley’s heart leapt. “I’d love that,” he said.