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"Oh, this is lovely," Aziraphale said as they stepped into the small art gallery. "I've never gone to as many art shows as I wanted. In fact, I think most of the ones I've been to were because you wanted to meet in a gallery."
Crowley smirked as he joined Aziraphale at the counter to purchase their entrance tickets. "Just like you're the only reason I ever watched those gloomy plays."
"Shakespeare was brilliant."
"Shakespeare had help."
"It was a wonderful play," Aziraphale said, feeling the usual mix of pleasure affection he felt when he remembered Crowley had done that for him. "You just made sure they saw that."
"So you keep saying."
They paused the conversation as the ticket seller arrived at the booth with an apology. The young woman looked up, stared between the two of them with surprise.
"Two tickets, please," Aziraphale prompted.
"Right, yes. Sorry. Just, you look a lot like— Nevermind, sorry. Two tickets."
Aziraphale looked over his shoulder, but Crowley just shrugged, apparently as confused as he was. When she gave them the tickets, Aziraphale thanked the young woman and left her at the counter to walk through the artwork on display.
The main show at the gallery, according to the rather helpful walk-through Crowley pulled up on his mobile, was an exploration of the artistic representation of dance through the ages in various cultures. There were smaller exhibits on the way to the main hall, all of them tied together with ideas of movement and flow. There was also a promotion for the next season's exhibit, which promised works on the theme of celebration, and Aziraphale was disappointed they wouldn't still be in the city to see it.
"We can always come back," Crowley said, and Aziraphale realized he was right.
"We can, can't we?" he said, a smile breaking out over his face. "We can come back whenever we want."
"We can," Crowley said, grinning, the way he did every time Aziraphale realized some new wonderful thing about truly being free of their former sides.
"Well, then. Let's do that. Just because we can."
Aziraphale had never made a study of visual art. As much as he enjoyed it, he'd always been more focused on the written word and music, and those usually took up his time. Crowley had always seemed to appreciate it, though, enough he occasionally made friends with the artists. But one of the things Aziraphale had enjoyed about going to galleries with Crowley, was that he didn't always need the deeper understanding to be drawn into the pieces, but where he did Crowley was there to explain. For most of the pieces they were looking at, there was something that caught him, a detail that invited the viewer to study it. Sometimes it was the image of a person amongst many, and sometimes in the more abstract pieces, it was a feeling inspired by the design.
He was doing rather well enjoying them on his own, until they reached one of the smaller rooms, where a large scrap metal sculpture took up the centre. It appeared to be a random assortment of items, as far as Aziraphale could tell. He understood abstract art, or at least the concept, but he wasn't sure what to make of this. The walk-through said it was supposed to evoke the waves of the ocean, but he couldn't see it. He stood there, frowning at it, until Crowley circled back around and stepped in behind him.
Aziraphale blushed as Crowley wrapped his arms around him, took one of his hands, and guided him over the lines and shapes until he felt and then saw the waves. "Oh."
He stood there, Crowley holding him, eyes tracing the lines of metal that once they caught you almost seemed to ripple, a trick of the light or the angle, and he felt as though he were sitting on the shore of a large body of water.
After a moment, he turned in Crowley's arms. "You saw it without even having to search for them, didn't you?"
Crowley smiled, spun Aziraphale out of his arms like it was a dance, and led him over to the next sculpture. Aziraphale followed him through the gallery, sometimes talking about the pieces, sometimes just contemplating them in silence, staying with each piece for as long as they felt like, completely unhurried. He was lagging a little behind the demon by the time they reached the dance exhibit. There were no benches in the large room, and the speaker played a selection of classical music, giving it the feeling of a very quiet, very empty ballroom.
Crowley continued on a work or two ahead of him, until he said, "Oh. I think I know what threw the ticket seller off."
Curious, Aziraphale skipped ahead—silently promising the other pieces he'd return to look at them—and found Crowley standing in front of a large painting of what appeared to be the crowd at the edge of a Victorian ballroom. The focus of the painting was of a dashing rogue of a man trying to convince one of the young women to join him on the dance floor. However, on the other half of the pane, another such negotiation was depicted in the crowd behind the two, this one between two figures in gentlemen's clothing, one with red hair and dark glasses and one with very pale blond hair who appeared just as tempted as the young woman despite his obvious refusal.
The likeness was perfect, even for a pair of figures in the background where the artist would have been forgiven for blurring the details, and for a moment Aziraphale could remember being in that room, wanting more than anything to say yes, to dance, and refusing.
"Invitation is Temptation," Crowley said, reading out the painting's title. "I expect the tempters are supposed to be that one and me, but I don't think the artist saw the way you were looking at the dance floor. How could anyone resist making an offer at that?"
"Oh, please," Aziraphale said, but he could feel the smile twitching on his lips. He remembered how earnest Crowley had been when making the offer. He'd accepted the refusal, of course, stood on the side with Aziraphale as they watched the couples on the floor, but however much Crowley wanted to put it all on him, they'd both wanted to be out there together.
"If I remember correctly," Crowley continued, "you said at the time, 'Angels don't dance.' As though that should be the end of it."
"It should have been," Aziraphale said as he looked at the painting, at the little image of himself who had not kept the wish off his face and was years from realizing it was something he could have. "And it was."
"For a time," Crowley said, likely also thinking that they'd danced together, eventually.
"We've never finished one, though," Aziraphale said, thinking about the last time. Remembered standing next to the dance floor at Bridges, after they'd split up to try to get the Dowlings to come back, an attempt that had failed and ended their own night early. What he'd wanted more than anything in that moment was to finish a dance with Crowley for a change, and he'd been so worried they'd never get the chance. "Let's change that."
"Hmm?" Crowley looked at him, almost as confused as he had been when Aziraphale had asked him to dance at the Jane Austen ball.
Aziraphale held out his hand to Crowley, a mirror of their depiction in the painting, though their positions were now reversed. "Dance with me?"
"Here?" Crowley said, looking around the room, but of course, the gallery had left the space and provided music. Aziraphale was certain they'd expected at least some visitors to take the opportunity.
"I'm sure they'll be along to tell us if we shouldn't, but I think we might make it through an entire song for a change."
Crowley chuckled as he took Aziraphale's hand. "I'm not sure we should test our luck, given how it's gone, but let's chance it."
When they'd danced before, Aziraphale had always had another excuse for doing so, something he could use to explain it away if needed. The Jane Austen ball had been part of keeping up the pretext for hiding Gabriel, the dance lessons at Bridges part of their participation in the process. This time, he had no excuse, not even a party, but he didn't need one anymore. They were dancing entirely because they wanted to, and that was reason enough.
He took Crowley's hand, pulled him close. Crowley smiled, as he always did when Aziraphale did something he wanted instead of what was expected. When he was upset at Crowley for some reason or another, he'd always thought of that little smile as triumphant, but it wasn't. It was proud, maybe, proud of Aziraphale for being true to himself.
Aziraphale led them through the steps they'd learned in the class at Bridges. They flowed through the room in time to the music, and after a few moments, he stopped worrying something would interrupt. It would or it wouldn't, and that shouldn't matter in the moment. Instead, he let himself enjoy the feeling of Crowley in his arms, the way they read each other's cues to move together, and the bubbling joy at being able to do this.
When the song ended, they came to a stop in front of the picture with their image, and stood together. Aziraphale sighed. "I suppose we're supposed to step away and bow now, but I really don't want to."
"Good thing we don't have to care what we're supposed to do any more."
"A very good thing," Aziraphale said before a surge of emotion caused him to pull Crowley in for a tight hug. He squeezed his eyes tight and clung to him.
"Angel?"
"It's alright," he said, though he didn't relax his grip at all. "It's just, sometimes I'm a little overwhelmed by how close I came to losing any chance at this. Losing you. Usually it's at night, while you're asleep. It'll pass."
Crowley held him back, and when the nerves faded, he realized they'd both started swaying with the music. Not dancing, not really, but comforting nevertheless.
"There we are," Aziraphale said when he relaxed, though he didn't step back or let go. "Sorry."
"You know we hadn't gotten that far apart, right? I think I've said that. Have I said that?"
Aziraphale smiled against Crowley's shoulder. "You have, dear. And I know it. I do." He finally leaned back and looked at Crowley. "But I also know how lucky I was. How lucky I am." He took a deep breath, and pushed the fear away. "Shall we finish looking at the paintings?"
Crowley nodded, but this time instead of separating, he stayed beside Aziraphale and they finished their tour of the exhibit (including the paintings Aziraphale had skipped), arm in arm.