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Rain splatted on the footpaths of Soho London, gently trickling down the pipes that were on sides of buildings. The ever so present gloom of the clouds finally felt at home with its surroundings. It was nice, thought Aziraphale, taking a sip of his hot cup of cocoa. Letting the comfort of his couch amongst his multiple bookcases seep in with the winter atmosphere. He was never much for the rain, but he admitted that he enjoyed the change in scenery. Even if rain was a common occurrence in London.
The bells of the shop’s front door jingled and chimed. He perked his head up, attempting to take a peek from his seat at his desk. Who could possibly be out during this dreadful weather?
“I’m afraid we’re closed!” Aziraphale yelled to no one. He quickly placed down his cup and got up, hoping there wasn’t anyone there. He’d find himself pleasantly surprised when he saw Crowley trodding in, water dripping from his hair and jacket. Which left a thin trail of droplets behind him. Azirphale had to force down a chuckle. He looks silly, he thought, finding Crowley to be reminiscent of a wet cat at the moment.
“Ah Crowley, what on Earth were you out in the rain for?”
He asked concerned, though the answer was plainly obvious to him. Crowley only mumbled a groan, continuing to head deeper into the bookshop. Aziraphale followed close behind him.
“Well-?”
“I just needed to be somewhere warm.”
Something in Aziraphale stirred.
“Oh, alright.”
Crowley turned his head, raising his eyebrow at Aziraphale.
Aziraphale didn’t say much else, unsure of what to say. Crowley doesn’t frequent his bookshop often after the events of Armageddon. So what a surprise it was for him to be there, let alone while it was absolutely pouring. Crowley miracle-d himself to be dry, and Aziraphale awkwardly stood there watching him do so. Crowley walked over to one of the armchairs and plopped down. Tired, Aziraphale noted.
He smiled, promptly taking a seat on the armchair across from Crowley. Seemed like Crowley didn’t have much to say either, but none of them minded the silence. A few beats passed by, and Crowley hummed quietly. Aziraphale, who now had his cup of hot cocoa from earlier in his hand, took a hearty sip of its contents.
“Would you like some hot cocoa? I just made some. Maybe they’ll warm you up a little.”
Aziraphale asked, noticing Crowley’s focus being fixated on him.
“Yeah, sure.”
Crowley waved offhandedly. His eyes not diverting from Aziraphale. Aziraphale worried if Crowley was alright, but instead of saying anything, he nodded and got up to go get Crowley a cup as requested. He considered that maybe the weather was getting to him. (Which in that case, why live in London at all?)
“How’s finding a new apartment going?”
He asked, setting down the black-winged cup—that was now steaming with freshly poured hot cocoa—on the table and in front of Crowley. Aziraphale adored the cup. He had bought it for Crowley a few nights back, wanting Crowley’s cup to match with his own white-winged one. Though, today was the first time it was used. And he couldn’t be happier about it.
“Er, I haven’t started.”
Crowley replied tonelessly. Not wanting to mention how this bookshop felt like the only home for him, and how he decided not to settle for anything less or more. Aziraphale took a sip from his cup, acknowledging what Crowley said with a nod. Aziraphale was really enjoying this small talk. It was more in line with what things were like before Armageddon and everything that followed. Small chats at the Ritz and catch-ups while admiring the ducks and tranquil lake waters were things he treasured dearly. Chats like those seem to be of rare occurrence now that they’ve decided to stray away from Heaven and Hell. Somehow with all the time in world in their hands again, they seemed too busy to do anything. Aziraphale was glad to share a quiet moment. There wasn’t much need for talking if Crowley was just in his bookshop to warm himself up from the rain. Normal behaviour for a snake, he digresses.
“Not that I’m implying that I mind that you’re in my bookshop, but couldn’t you always miracle yourself to be warm? I find it hard that a snake would enjoy dealing with the London weather if you were unable to.”
Aziraphale chuckled along his lighthearted comment—or rather, jab. But Crowley seemed to shrink into his chair.
“Ngh,”
Crowley occupied himself with a sip of the cocoa. It was good, definitely better than whatever he could conjure up for himself. And it certainly did warm him up.
“Just thought I’d drop by and pay you a visit is all.”
He lied, leaning back into his chair with a sigh. Aziraphale wasn’t convinced. Unfortunately, Crowley would never admit to him that being with him and being in his bookshop was what made him truly feel warm. Yes, he does miracle himself heat so he could avoid living in some far away and permanently hot place, like Australia, he’d rather stay in London (for no particular reason). But whatever kind of warmth Aziraphale brought to him could never be miracle-d. It was as if it came from his chest. Almost like a sort of reaction to Aziraphale. He wasn’t sure. Though he knew for certain that it brought him peace, and made him feel at ease.
“Well, I’m happy you did. My day would’ve be like any other if you hadn’t.”
Crowley raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“Is that so?”
“You see, not much is happening after Armageddon. To be honest, it's quite boring. I feel like I’ve gone into retirement.”
Aziraphale added, taking another sip.
“Eh, well. You could call it that.”
Aziraphale chuckled as he nodded, and Crowley smiled. Both of them felt less tense than before. The gentle atmosphere of the bookshop encasing them away from the events of the outside. Only allowing the echoing sounds of the quiet rain, with everything else being muted by the space between them. They both finished their cups of cocoa after minutes of bantering. But neither of them felt the time tick by.
“Would you like seconds?”
Aziraphale asked when Crowley placed down his empty cup on the coffee table. It making a tiny clang as it was placed.
“I’ve got a better idea.”
“Oh?”
Crowley whipped out a wine bottle, and a wine glass suddenly appeared in both Crowley and Aziraphale’s hands.
***
The raining evening would quickly turn into a dewy night. Crowley was out cold before he could sober himself up, and Aziraphale could hardly remember what he had talked about during those blackout hours. Right now, he was sitting next to Crowley. Whose body was leaning against his, whose head was rested on his shoulders. Aziraphale didn’t have a clue of what to do next. The moment was pleasant he admitted, but his internal thoughts debated on whether this was considered ‘unholy’ or not. He bargained with himself, that just for now it was okay. Just so Crowley could have a good night’s sleep. (Even if Crowley didn’t need to sleep.) Aziraphale stayed as still as a statue, and quietly allowed Crowley to rest himself against him.
During this, his mind wandered back to their ongoing 6000+ year old friendship.
‘Friendship’.
He shouldn’t feel disappointed at the word, but a pang of emptiness rang in his chest. Aziraphale couldn’t help but repeat the word over and over in his mind.
He didn’t want to be friends with Crowley. Well, he did, but he wanted to be something more. He wanted to have more moments like this with Crowley.
He wants to share more of those quiet, cozy, comforting chats within the walls of his bookshop with him.
He wishes to have Crowley by his side, all of the time.
And maybe he was selfish for wanting that.
But he’d gladly be selfish, if it meant he was by Crowley’s side. Just like now.
Aziraphale quickly shook those thoughts away. Gasping at himself for letting his mind trail off to such degree.
“I must be very drunk.”
He concluded, slightly irritated at himself. Such blasphemous thoughts. He sighed, despite wanting to back away from Crowley, he continued to stay still to ensure he didn’t accidentally stir him awake. There wasn’t much else to do now. His eyes eventually fell on Crowley, his whole focus being on him once again.
His breaths were soft, and his face unknowing of his surroundings. Innocent, Aziraphale wanted to say, but knew Crowley wouldn’t appreciate it. Each feature of Crowley was pointed, comparable to a sculpture, both of which captured Aziraphale’s attention. He took note of how Crowley’s hand was positioned on-top his. His skin was soft, and his hands were elegantly slim. It felt as if his hand was hovering rather than resting on-top of Aziraphale’s. Almost scared to commit to the action.
With a hum, Aziraphale slowly rested his head against Crowley’s.
“Thank you for coming by the bookshop today.”
He closed his tired eyes. Listening to the remnants of the rain, that were caught in downspouts, trickle and smack onto the footpath in a rhythmic timing. Its quiet pitter-patter was the last thing Aziraphale heard as he dozed off.
As well as the silent desire for this moment to last forever.