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“Well maybe there is something to be said for... shades of grey.”
“Well, shades of... dark grey.”
“Shades of very light grey, I'd rather fancy.”
As the two traded words, Aziraphale’s gramophone faintly played music in the background. Moonlight Serenade, the angel recognized. Much like the Bentley’s fashion, Aziraphale had made it a miracle so that the gramophone would sometimes play music by itself, songs that had been played recently, shuffled around, by what he assumed, complete randomness. As much as he liked holding on these little human rituals, there were often evenings where the angel was simply too tired to look for a specific vinyl and just wanted some pleasant ambiance.
This very evening was one of such cases. It just felt fitting, after all, the music and the drinking. Like their own personal restaurant.
Personal. Aziraphale considered the word in his mind. Something felt heavy in his gut.
There had been a lot of things that had happened this day he had not yet stopped to think about, a lot of feelings he was pushing to the back of his mind. A sinking feeling he was not ready to name yet. No, not sinking, per se, more like falling.
He once again pushed away these thoughts, before anything got too far.
The song stopped playing. Like a cue, Crowley looked around, and then to Aziraphale.
“Well, I should be going soon.”
He held his gaze on the angel, as if waiting for a confirmation. A characteristic “Oh well, it is getting rather late, see you around”.
Instead, he was met with an unexpected furrowing of brows.
“Oh.” was, for that moment, all that he answered. Crowley looked on.
“It is rather late.“ he continued after a beat.
There it was. Crowley set his wine glass on the table, readying himself for parting.
“Would you like to stay the night?”
Crowley stopped, dead in his tracks. Although impossible to see through the shades, his eyes widened tremendously.
“You know I have the flat upstairs. Wouldn’t want you wandering around London this late in the evening.”
Aziraphale could hear his own heartbeat, ringing loud in his fairly human ears.
“Very dangerous times, you understand.”
Crowley looked as though he had been frozen in time.
Aziraphale felt like his whole chest had collapsed in on itself.
“You don’t, well, you don’t have to, of course-“
“I’ll stay.” Crowley mumbled, quiet but desperate. “Yeah, yes, it’s- it’s very late, isn’t it? Better not to- Yeah, i’ll stay.”
Crowley slightly relaxed back on his chair. Slightly, because there was definitely something not relaxed about his demeanor.
“Thanks, angel.” He took out his hat, setting it on the table, next to his glass.
Aziraphale answered with a smile, decidedly ignoring the pink blush blooming on his face. He sheepishly offered more wine, which the demon wordlessly took.
The gramophone started again, pleasant piano keys filling the ambient of the bookshop. Oh, Aziraphale thought, this one’s new.
That certain night
The night we met
There was magic abroad in the air
The romanticism wasn’t lost on Aziraphale. The blush grew darker, as he decidedly avoided looking in Crowley’s direction. That blasted gramophone.
The demon stood up, his face unreadable. Aziraphale looked at him.
Oh no, this was too much, he thought, the music, the night in, it was too much, wasn’t it?
Crowley set his shades on the table, and suddenly big, golden eyes stared at him. There was something uncertain about his expression. Swiftly, he lifted his hand towards the blonde, offering.
“A dance, angel?”
Aziraphale stared at the hand in front of him.
Sinking.
“I- I don’t dance.” the angel lied.
“Please.”
Falling.
He took the hand in front of him.
The pair took off, hands clasped together, towards the more open area of the bookshop. Aziraphale subconsciously closed the blinds on the windows. Very dangerous times, indeed.
The soft lights of the candles scattered around the bookshop made out the outline of the two. A nationwide candle shortage was not an issue for a couple of fantastical beings who could miracle objects out of thin air.
They looked at each other, bodies facing one another. How are we supposed to do this?
“Here, let me” the demon croaked, taking the angel’s free hand and guiding it towards his hip. He then put his hand on the angel’s shoulder.
They were… stiff, for lack of a better word. Very much how you would expect two plastic dolls to look, holding each other for a dance. There was still something unsaid in that gesture, and even more so a paralyzing fear.
I shouldn’t dance, Aziraphale thought to himself, and I definitely shouldn’t dance with a demon. Faces of the authorities of Heaven started flashing in his mind, flaming swords and smitings. He trembled.
That when you turned and smiled at me
A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square
Crowley could see the worry in Aziraphale’s face. He could smell it, for crying out loud. And he would be lying if he said he wasn’t terrified as well.
Then Crowley felt Aziraphale’s hand lightly squeezing his hip, and something melted in him.
Crowley started moving, slowly, gentle steps to the beat of the song. Two steps forward, one step back. Aziraphale started trotting along, and Crowley almost stepped on his foot several times.
It was quiet. Gentle. Apart from the music, all that could be heard were the rhythmic footsteps on wooden floor.
For a moment, as they orbited around each other, Aziraphale forgot about his woes. He felt safe. This little universe they had created was all they needed for now. Maybe forever.
As the song progressed, their bodies moved closer. They were slowly getting the hang of this, very complex, slow dancing thing. And closer they became. Aziraphale looked at Crowley as if he was the only thing in the entire world that mattered to him, and Crowley almost believed it. That he could be, somehow, worthy of love.
Something was taking control over Crowley’s mind, something that couldn’t quite be named. And it urged him to do something. Anything.
The streets of town
Were paved with stars
It was such a romantic afair
His body started moving before his brain could even catch up. Crowley’s hand moved from the angel’s shoulder to cup his jaw, and he held it softly, and felt the chills growing on both of their bodies. Aziraphale stared at him, his expression shifted. A look of bewilderment took over, as he watched for the demon’s next move.
They stopped dancing.
And as we kissed and said goodnight…
Crowley firmed the grasp on the angels face, tilting his head slightly. The demon drew in a shaky breath, as he closed his eyes and brought his own face closer upon his friend’s.
A single word left the angel’s mouth, barely a whisper.
“Crowley?”
Their lips brushed.
And Aziraphale stepped back.
He dropped Crowley’s hand, as their bodies, just intertwined, separated sharply.
Aziraphale’s mouth opened and closed, and no words were formed.
“I’m-ngh.“ Crowley could not hide the breaking in his voice.
“I’m sorry, angel- Aziraphale. I’m sorry.”
Aziraphale barely processed it as Crowley quickly gathered his things and left, like a shadow dancing around him, the chiming of bells announcing his departure.
The guardian of the eastern gate stood there, still. Some things never changed, after all.
He reminisced about a tree and a temptation. Things too great to be had. Things one could not have, should not.
Aziraphale wiped a tear from his cheek and let his hand linger there.