Work Text:
Night was beginning to fall as Crowley parked the Bentley in front of the bookshop and got out.
"Bonsoir Crowley!"
He turned to see Madame Justine waving at him. He replied with a nod, and as he turned to walk toward the bookstore, his gaze was drawn to the lighted coffee shop and he saw Maggie and Nina chatting in close proximity.
That made him chuckle and he murmured "vavoom..." before continuing on his way.
He was about to open the bookshop door when Muriel burst out of it and, seeing him, exclaimed, a broad smile on their lips, "Good evening, Mr. Grumpy!"
Crowley muttered, "Aziraphale was right, you are really getting cheeky!" then added, winking at them, "I like it. Change nothing.”
Then, pointing in the direction of the apartment where Muriel was living, he ordered them in a tone whose protectiveness he could not hide, "Go home now, even for an angel, even in this neighborhood, it's never a good idea to be out alone after dark."
Muriel started to walk away, then threw over their shoulder, "I actually knew you were nice," then, seeing Crowley's grimace and about to retort sharply, they ran off laughing, openly mocking him.
Crowley shook his head and entered the bookshop.
Closing the door behind him, he said in a slightly louder voice, "Angel, I'm h-"
Realizing what he was about to say, he stopped in mid-sentence.
Was this it?
Being home.
How could he know?
Whether in hell or in his own apartment, he'd never felt like this before.
Both places had nothing to make you feel at home.
Hell, because... well, it was hell.
And his apartment, dark, without warmth, with its minimalist furniture, his few works of art and his plants.
He had never felt what he felt now.
Belonging.
It took his breath away.
He looked around and saw his plants placed here and there, between two shelves, one near Aziraphale's desk, one on a small table apart because it had become Muriel's plant. Aziraphale's apprentice had chosen this particular plant because it was smaller and more delicate than the others. Another plant could be seen on one of the steps leading up to the bedroom.
The bedroom.
Their bedroom.
His and Aziraphale's.
A new place, just for them.
Their own sanctuary.
Then the demon's eyes slid over his CD collection in the back of the bookshop, neatly arranged unlike everything else around it. Because he liked it that way. Because even if Aziraphale wasn't exactly a stickler for order in his books, he respected the fact that Crowley was one for his CDs.
His gaze moved to the frame hanging on the wall just above the CD collection. His Mona Lisa, signed by his friend Leo.
Al mio amico Antonio dal tuo amico Leo da V.*
His Ming vase in a corner, magically fixed to its base, his Eagle lectern on which lay a large book from Aziraphale's collection.
He realized that his own possessions had become part of the bookshop, blending in with the rest of the decor as if they had always belonged there.
“Our car.”
Shocked, Crowley swallowed and replied, “ We don't have a car.”
Aziraphale retorted with assurance,“Of course we do. Isn't she a beauty?”
Crowley, annoyed, insisted,“This Bentley is my car.”
The angel answered gently, “Well, yes, technically. Just as that bookshop is technically my shop, but... we both get plenty
of use out of it, don't we?”
Our.
We.
These words were so real now. Their fragile "we" before their near separation and reconciliation had now become tangible. Physically validated by their now completely intertwined lives.
Their "us" had become a home.
Crowley murmured softly, letting the words roll off his tongue, "I am home."
"Ah, there you are, my dear, I saw the Bentley pull up in front of the bookshop, so I thought it would be a perfect time to share a little appetizer."
Aziraphale came from the back of the shop, a bottle of scotch in his hand and two glasses.
He paused, smiled at the demon, and said in a natural way, "Welcome home," before turning and setting the glasses and bottle down on the small table by the sofa, oblivious to the emotion running through Crowley.
Turning, the angel saw that the demon hadn't moved, still standing in the same spot at the entrance of the bookshop.
He approached with a worried expression and then, studying Crowley's face, asked softly, "Are you all right?"
Crowley murmured, "I'm home."
Aziraphale smiled fondly and, now standing in front of him, took his hand and said gently, "Yes, you are, here we are, home. You look so surprised."
Crowley nodded, and as the two of them made their way to the sofa, holding hands, he explained, "Well, you know, angel, before, my apartment, you couldn't really call it home. It was more functional than anything. Not very warm, if you know what I mean. And to be honest, pretty lonely. Not to mention that I had absolutely no contact with the neighborhood. So when I arrived today, just on the street, Madame Justine greeted me, I saw Nina and Maggie in the cafe across the street, I bickered with Muriel. All these little moments, added to the fact of arriving here and seeing all my possessions here, made me realize that all these parts of me were now mixed up with yours. That our separate lives had become our life, and I finally became aware of what it meant to be home."
He sat on the sofa while Aziraphale filled their glasses, and he noticed that something else had changed. Before, they'd always sat facing each other when they drank, but now even that distance had disappeared. As if he'd heard what he was thinking, Aziraphale handed him his glass and sat down next to him.
Under the angel's attentive gaze, Crowley continued, "I don't remember feeling this way before. The closest thing to feeling like being home is probably the joy I felt in heaven. Creating my nebulae. But even that felt nothing like what I feel right now."
Aziraphale nodded gently and raised his glass to him, saying softly, "To us and that wonderful feeling of being home."
Crowley clinked his glass against Aziraphale's and each took a sip.
It was at that very moment, when Aziraphale looked at him in that loving way, with that soft smile, that the demon fully realized that he was home, and that realization was more vivid than the one he had when he entered the bookshop.
He put down his glass, took the angel's from his hands, and placed it on the table.
Turning completely to Aziraphale, he cupped his face in his hands, leaned over him and said in an emotional voice against the angel's lips: "I'm home because you're my home, angel."
He closed the distance and pressed his lips to the angel's in a deep, tender kiss.
A kiss that felt like he was all the way back where he belonged.
A kiss that felt like home.
*Italian text translation : To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo from V.