Chapter Text
It was a nice day.
All the days were nice. So far it has been two hundred and thirty-seven days since the apocalypse, which didn't happen. The days were nice simply because they existed.
Time had passed and brought seasons instead of eternity. They had seen the leaves of the trees in St. James Park changing color, although the good things about autumn were short-lived as rain and a thick layer of gray clouds dominated the weather. But even though the rain was cool and the cold seemed to get straight to your bones, the time was nice. Likewise the winter without snow, but with more rain and sometimes sleet.
But how could you complain about the weather when it was not only the luxury of a living world full of algae, dolphins and gorillas, but also a welcome excuse to close the bookstore early and enjoy a good wine or hot cocoa together?
And now spring was here. The bare trees were sprouting new, fresh leaves, the sky was blue again and the light seemed so much softer than it was in winter. The now increasingly better weather with the pleasant temperatures and the gentle wind was a welcome excuse to close the bookstore earlier than usual and stroll through the park together or go to a cafe.
The lack of the end of the world brought more with it than weather, time and seas that didn't boil. It brought change. And a drastic one at that.
During the six thousand years that an angel and a demon had been on Earth and left their mark on human history, Aziraphale and Crowley had been in contact again and again. One would think that on the approximately thirty percent land mass that the planet had to offer, it would be almost impossible to run into each other more often without actively looking for each other.
For comparison: The probability of randomly selecting someone who was a perfect match for you is one percent. Scientists have also looked into the example mentioned and found that the probability of finding the only true love can theoretically be increased to thirty-seven percent using the optimal stopping problem.
And yet Crowley and Aziraphale always found each other. Although it may have been coincidental at the beginning, the agreement ensured that these coincidences increasingly resembled a repeating pattern.
But they have never spent so much time in each other's company. It didn't even need an excuse.
Crowley enjoyed this state of affairs.
Aziraphale as well.
It was assumed that after such a considerable amount of time, one should know each other inside out, and that was the case. Nevertheless, they got to know completely new things about each other as they could now move around much more freely. More or less.
Crowley would have liked to mention that another demon had taken over his duties and that was why he was living in his Bentley. But despite his newfound freedom, there were invisible boundaries against which he continually stumbled. It wasn't just him.
The situation was new.
It was strange.
It was scary.
When they left the park and enjoyed a fabulous meal at the Ritz, Crowley felt like the world was his oyster. It spread out before them in completely new, much richer and brighter colors and all they had to do was reach into it and enjoy the rich variety. Everything seemed possible. As promising as this was, it also taught him fear, because it could be over from now on.
Forever.
The phrase "You're too fast for me." suddenly took on a completely new meaning. The world had accelerated considerably. Maybe even before the non-apocalypse and he just hadn't noticed it because there were fixed rules and structures that he also adhered to. There was a frame in which the angel and he moved. A dance that they had been dancing for so long that they no longer needed the music and therefore didn't notice that they had changed, because at first it didn't matter. It was just the framework in which they moved.
As restrictive as it was, it also offered convenience.
There was the angel, his angel. So different from everyone else. Time trickled lazily, allowing them to dance very slowly around each other. Always a little closer. Haste makes waste. They were immortal. What were they running away from?
Now the world had not ended and the answer to this question was: Everything!
He also wanted everything at once.
More time with Aziraphale.
More of what was between them. Whatever it is.
Discuss more.
Laugh more.
More.
Simply more.
However, this turned out to be much more complicated than expected. It always looked so easy in the movies.
The glorious heroes bring home the victory and the lady of the heart lies in the hero's arms. Their eyes meet. A fabulous kiss. End. But it never went any further. What happened after everyone was saved? Did you then move in together? Adopted a puppy? What did it mean to be happily ever after if that didn't exist? Was everlasting happiness really happiness or wasn't that perhaps what heaven meant by it? Did one long for the chaos that accompanied the saving of all life?
Earth had always had an expiration date. That was gone and there was now a lot of everything. A world full of possibilities, but how would a demon seize it? Just because he was no longer on active duty didn't change the fact that he was a demon. A being who has not been forgiven. Never. What would that do to an angel if they lived together?
Spending the night in the guest room between his books was something other than a permanent situation. Aside from that, Aziraphale had his routines that he always enjoyed. If living together were long-term, these fixed rituals would change.
How would the angel feel about this? What would that do to him?
And Crowley also had his routines.
A new routine was to get croissants from the angel's favorite baker and watch as Aziraphale closed his eyes and enjoyed the smell of the fresh, still warm baked goods as sunlight fell into his white hair and it looked as if his angel was truly a mystical one lightfigure how people imagined celestial beings. Then the demon waved off the happy thanks and roamed through the shelves, which were always covered with a fine layer of dust for aesthetic reasons, while Aziraphale made tea for them both.
He loved this ritual.
Small steps. Not too fast.
Then he was able to slowly approach the question of whether he and his plants could move into a room. However, the world picked up speed and so did the angel.
Off all things.
It started quite inconspicuously. Right after dinner at the Ritz.
Maybe, possibly even before that. The more Crowley thought about it, the more he felt that the bus ride back to London had been a turning point.
Afterwards they went to the bookstore. This was something they had always enjoyed doing. So, don't always be always. It's just that time when stopping by the bookstore for one or two or more nightcaps became the norm. There had always been something so intimate about ending the evening with the odd glass of single malt scotch or a good wine, something that required a lot of trust from both of them, that Crowley always had a certain intangible tension in the air felt.
Or the alcohol.
While he took off his glasses and jacket, Aziraphale took out the scotch. After saving the world, they truly deserved this alcoholic conclusion. When Crowley wanted to take his place on the sofa, the angel was already sitting at the other end of that same sofa. As inconspicuously as possible, the demon looked at the angel's armchair, which stood deserted at the table. Aziraphale always sat there. Always. Drink alcohol together, yes. But with an appropriate distance, which the other had now radically shortened.
Crowley had assumed that the other manshaped beeings hand resting on his on the bus home had been a coincidence. A natural reaction. The desire to touch something, to have an anchor to find support after everything that had happened. This had happened to him, which is why he gathered up the remaining courage and turned his hand upwards. Slow. Very carefully. Until their palms touched. For the first time without a previous deal. Just because they wanted to be close to each other. It was like an electric shock running through his body and that was immediately followed by another when Aziraphale's fingers slipped between his.
Now, in retrospect, it no longer seemed random. He had sat down next to the angel in his seat, and he had been terribly nervous. His hands were sweating. His bloody hands were sweating! That evening, no one bridged the gap on the sofa. Not even the next evening together, but things had gotten rolling. That day, however, Aziraphale's little finger brushed against his as they made their way to the ducks. The distance on the sofa shrank inch by inch until one evening the angel patted his hand because he was so close. Crowley liked that.
He had waited for this for thousands of years and yet something was holding him back. Even when the angel was so close that his thighs happened to press against the demon's when he stood up. Not that it didn't cause Crowley to ask the other to get him something, refill his drink, dim the lights or put on music more often than usual. However, it stayed that way. And yet Aziraphale stuck to the new pace, probably because he had to assume he being too subtle. This assumption was not without a certain irony, since Crowley could read his friend's facial expressions and gestures as well as his silence.
And yet not far later he felt his angel's hand on his shoulder, even though he had not drunk any laudanum. He was also sober when Aziraphale touched his arm another time. In six thousand years, Aziraphale had only touched his waist once. They had shaken each other's hands. And suddenly there was a whole host of contacts that seemed to happen so casually that outsiders wouldn't notice them. However, Crowley noticed them and he noticed a change in their relationship, their dance. Suddenly Aziraphale was leading and he couldn't bring himself to ask him if he had some space for his plants and him.
Of course the angel had room and there was no question that he would free it for Crowley immediately.
But why? Because he wanted the demon to be so close to him or simply because Aziraphale was an angel? A principality had been made to protect. That's exactly what Aziraphale would do if he gave Crowley shelter, right? How could he ask him?
Still, this time was nice. This day was nice. So nice like every other day before this since last summer. The sun was shining and Crowley entered the bookstore. Aziraphale sat in the chair at the desk and looked at him. A smile spread across his lips and the angel's eyes closed for a moment as he took in the auspicious scent. As always and yet so new. Crowley would probably never get tired of this sight.
"Thank you, dear. You've come to the right time. I was just about to make some tea." "It's just croissants," Crowley waved off as always and, as always recently, the angel let it go.
"I thought we could watch a movie in the cinema today," Crowley told the other, taking off his glasses and jacket.
He heard Aziraphale putting the mugs on the saucers and he couldn't understand why the angel didn't just carry the mugs by the handles. Routines. His eyes fell on the open book, but he didn't have time to look into it any further as the white-haired angel came back.
Just as Crowley was about to take his mug from him and remark that they were acting like an old married couple, a thought that came unexpectedly and was immediately met with approval, a shadow crossed the face of the other man-shaped creature, whose eyes took on the color of the sky when a storm would whip across the sea. Crowley followed the gaze and took both saucers from Aziraphale's hands just in time as he walked towards the shop door with quick, but not hurried, steps. A customer was brazenly about to visit the angel's bookstore and the timing could hardly have been worse. He interrupted the tea, the croissants and the joint planning of the day.
Aziraphale reached the door with the young man and, without even batting an eyelid, turned the plate and the key in the lock.
„I'm really sorry about that."
Definitely a lie.
If there was anything he wasn't sorry about, it was clearly denying customers his books.
„I'm afraid we're closed."
It took all of Crowley's self-control to keep his lips only curling into a small smile and not laugh out loud. It had always been a mystery to him why the other had opened a bookstore. He could just as easily have bought an apartment, a flat or a gallery to build a book collection there. He could simply have been a wealthy collector and would almost certainly have been more inconspicuous than a bookseller from whom books had to be taken almost by force and who therefore could not possibly finance this business.
However, the demon welcomed the small change that the customer heard and was certainly not aware of. He enjoyed this new sentence and feared it to the same extent. Suddenly there was a we in a place that had previously been occupied by an I.
When Crowley saw the stunned customer staring after the white-haired angel smugly returning to his friend, he grinned again.
"What movie were you thinking of?" Aziraphale asked as if nothing had happened and took a seat again.
„Thanks, dear," he smiled as Crowley pushed his mug towards him.
"They're playing a movie with Jack Lemmon. Some like it hot. A comedy."
The cloud that had moved in front of the sun moved on so that the rays belatedly made Aziraphale's white head of hair shine.
“Evening performance?”
"I'll pick you up half an hour before," Crowley offered and the angel accepted.
American musicals weren't exactly at the top of Aziraphale's list of tastes, but the film was made not long after 1941 and Crowley suspected that his friend was very fond of the fashions of the day, because unlike any previous era, the Angel endured on this piece of clothing.
He pushed the cup of tea towards his friend before he could notice that the demon still had it with him as the baked goods were the center of attention. Aziraphale handed Crowley a croissant and took a sip of tea. Since the angel made no move to unload him for the morning, Crowley seized the opportunity before a book caught the other's attention and could take over his time.
"I wanted to go to the park straight away," he said in what he assumed was a neutral voice.
At first he was tempted to use the nice weather as bait, but Aziraphale could definitely look out the window and notice that the sun was shining. It was too obvious.
His fingers absently ran over the edge of the mug until he noticed that the angel's gaze was focused on that very hand.
"I could stretch my legs a little, if you don't mind company."
The opposite was the case.
The company was more than desired because it suited his purpose.
Spring was in the air.
Aziraphale had put a stop to a possible book purchase and rewarded himself with the croissant.
The probability that the omens would be as good or even better on another occasion was too small for him not to give it a try today.
For Satan's sake! He was not a junior demon but the serpent of Eden. It shouldn't be really difficult to discuss the living situation. In any case, he was here practically all the time. He didn't yet know how to put his plan into words, but something would surely come of it. Aziraphale would never turn him away.
It was the look in his eyes that Crowley feared.
"I've noticed that you've been spoiling me a lot lately," his friend's voice interrupted him from his thoughts.
"What?"
"I've noticed that you've been spoiling me a lot lately," the sentence was repeated.
"Spoiling? I'm not spoiling you. I wouldn't call it that," the demon said, waving his hand casually.
“Then how?”
When Crowley didn't answer, Aziraphale continued the question: "What would you call it then? I think it's nice and enjoy it too, but I notice that you actually come to me every day with coffee, luggage, wine and, just the day before yesterday, homemade jam that you bought at a market. Today you are taking me out and..."
"I'm not taking you out!", Crowley interrupted him harshly, although that was definitely the term he used for himself this evening.
"Who says I'm taking you out?"
"Well, I'll say this."
The former agent of heaven's tone of voice had not changed. Only his eyes had darkened a little, Crowley noticed too late.
For the angel, this was a bold violation, because neither of them used terms like take each other out because that implied romance and both, demon and angel, approached it very hesitantly. So hesitant that one would think they would become discoperated if they used terms that vaguely pointed in that particular direction. Perhaps the somewhat rude downplaying of this use of the words was a little bit too brusquely.
Especially since Aziraphale, without being aware of it, offered him an opportunity to steer the conversation in the direction that he had been trying to take for so long and today in particular, with just an answer.
But before Crowley could seize the moment, he let her pass him, waving.
"I was just..."
"In the area?" Aziraphale finished his sentence and Crowley could practically see the angel holding back a sigh.
Apparently, this conversation didn't just go suboptimally for Crowley.
They sat together in silence for a short while until Aziraphale's face brightened and a small smile appeared at the corners of his mouth.
"I'm only asking because I have a guilty conscience because I wanted to ask you for help."
The bait wasn't exactly cleverly placed and yet Crowley bit immediately. Anything that would lift the mood, which was figuratively lying face down in a puddle, was welcome.
“Help with what?”
At least he had retained some dignity by not agreeing immediately. Only the obvious willingness in his voice to say yes gave him away. Aziraphale was so free to overlook it.
"The customers caused quite a mess over the week."
However said customers found the opportunity to do so during the arbitrary opening hours.
"It's a mystery to me what's so difficult about putting a book back where you took it from."
It had been just a bait, but also a real nuisance to the angel, whose explanation of why he needed Crowley's help was slowly gaining momentum.
"Do these people do the same thing at home? Novels in the freezer. Shoes in a shelf. Frozen peas in a handbag."
"Well, if you want to feed the ducks...", Crowley interjected, but Aziraphale was a little too caught up in the story to notice the interruption.
Or want.
“Toothpaste for cleaning shoes and so on. You see my point."
Crowley nodded, but wasn't sure if the other had noticed his encouragement.
“This behavior is unacceptable and blatant.”
"Unlike the peas in your handbag.“, the demon interjected, earning an irritated look from the angel.
"Anyway, my shelves are now in a disastrous state," the angel finished explaining why exactly he needed a little help.
Maybe not everything that would give the mood a little boost was welcome after all. This realization seemed to be clearly visible on his face, since when Crowley looked at his counterpart, Aziraphale had lowered his head just enough to look at him from below for help.
"Fine. Okay. I'll do it," Crowley groaned and Aziraphale gave him a grateful, happy smile, brimming with joy as if the demon were laying the world at his feet.
Arranging books correctly again sounded anything but exciting and in this case it was also very laborious. No wonder the angel didn't want to take on this task alone. Or he originally wanted it and it was just the obvious thing that came to his mind to find a way out of the situation. In the end it remained the same, because regardless of why Aziraphale had asked him for this favor; he had agreed.
And even though they were able to spend time together this way, the demon already regretted his commitment. It was spring. The sun was shining. Gorgeous weather. And he would sort books.
Crowley sighed and looked at his angel, who had just parted his lips and was bringing a piece of croissant to his mouth. He saw the tip of Aziraphale's tongue and couldn't look away.
Nobody ate like Aziraphale.
No one.
Crowley knew this because he had done field studies on it. It would seem ridiculous if he told others about it. Whoever these ominous others were supposed to be, it ruled out demons for obvious reasons. He had no connection with anyone that could justify such a story. But maybe it wasn't so ridiculous after all.
It was he who had tempted the angel to taste human food. His greatest temptation and apart from Aziraphale and him, no one knew about it. At that time it was as if the other was starving. He had been starving for so long and it was only when he tasted the ox's meat that he realized it. A starving angel passed by no one without a trace, whose rosy cheeks shone with fat while his eyes shone with delight.
What was not to be expected was that this temptation would also have the opposite effect.
It was almost impossible not to watch the ethereal, white-haired creature across from him eating. Not cured because every bite was enjoyed with all the senses. Not only.
The field studies proved Crowley right. In all eras he was among people, sometimes more and sometimes less long, only because of Aziraphale and studied them as they ate. Wealthy people, poor people, women, men and children.
No one ate as sensually as this creature for whom he had brought croissants.
When they ate together, Crowley always ate particularly quickly in order to fill as much time as possible with taking in how much the angel was savoring every bite.
It was he who had tempted the angel that day in Job's cellar, but it was Aziraphale who had been tempting him ever since, whenever they ate together. Same now. Crowley watched as the pastry placed itself on the other's tongue, although not of its own accord, as the white-haired, man-shaped creature closed its eyes and secretly the demon hoped for a sigh. A sigh of pleasure sounded so much different than one of frustration. It came from deep in the chest and hummed its way up the throat. But that sound was denied him today, which is why Crowley thought about ordering something the next time they went out to eat that the angel never ordered himself, but could snack on from Crowley's plate. Maybe angel cake.
Instead of the longed-for sigh, however, a crumb stuck to the corner of his mouth.
There was the temptation.
How Crowley would have liked to lean forward and remove the crumb with his thumb. He could have touched the skin. Very close to those lips that are currently twisting into a smile.
He wanted so much...
Aziraphale was so close.
There were only a few inches separating them that had to be bridged. And what was there? Just a small, friendly gesture. His friend was touching him recently too. Inspired by this thought, the demon gave in to the temptation that he had been resisting for thousands of years.
Before he even realized what he was doing, he leaned towards the other and his thumb touched the corner of the angel's mouth, where a smile had just been hidden. A jolt went through his body as he felt the skin of the angel, his angel, under his finger in such an intimate place. Like an electric shock.
Both froze in their respective movements.
Crowley quickly withdrew his hand, knocking over his cup in the process. Tee used the newfound freedom to spread rapidly.
"Sorry, I..." he began.
"No, I'm sorry, my dear. I shouldn't have flinched like that," Aziraphale interrupted him and stood up so quickly that this time it was Crowley who flinched involuntarily.
"I'm so sorry. The tea..." said the angel, whose cheeks had turned an almost worrying shade of red.
"No no. My fault. I knocked over the cup."
"Because I scared you."
The sentence made Crowley laugh.
"You're scaring me?" he grinned and laughed again.
An honest, if embarrassed, laugh.
"Oh, Dear," Aziraphale chimed in and sighed.
"We act like teenagers in movies," the angel sighed and put a hand on Crowley's arm.
He wasn't so sure whether Aziraphale really thought that way or whether he simply didn't know how to react differently and now the demon was even more sorry for how careless he had been.
"We're acting like this is the last tea on Earth," Aziraphale muttered as he mopped up the liquid.
This at least made it clear that the angel really thought that way, even if Crowley believed that the noticeable tension was less due to the spilled tea and more due to his careless act of temptation that he succumbed to.
Him of all people.
The serpent of Eden.
He had established the temptation in the first place. But he gratefully accepted the other's distraction.
And if it wasn't a distraction, it was at least an escape that was granted to him. How not?
His best friend was an angel.
Forgiveness was practically a hobby for angels.
But not for him.
His words at the pavilion summed it up very well. Not experiencing forgiveness was ultimately what made Demons. Because charity and forgiveness were always preached, demons never experienced anything like that, which could definitely be described as double standards.
Aziraphale, however, forgave him.
Always.
That he had tempted Eve.
That he was the one who brought the Antichrist.
That he had apparently taken the lives of Job's harmless goats.
That he wasn't there for him when the bookstore went up in flames.
That he mentioned the hellhound so late that it was no longer possible to even consider finding a solution beyond dubious card tricks.
That he had tempted the angel himself.
Well, at least the last point Crowley forgave himself, because there was nothing to forgive. He didn't regret this act for a second, but he did regret one or two decisions.
The crumb was still there, taunting him.
But the worst thing was that he couldn't always feel the other's lips on his thumb. The insidious feeling ate into every fiber of his being. As if he were a lovelorn teenager clumsily courting his first love.
Another feeling vaguely crept in. It was warm and soft and flowed from his hand, up his forearm, his upper arm, over his shoulder and gradually spread over his entire body. That hand that had that traitor thumb on it.
His gaze lowered.
Aziraphale had placed his hand on the demon's.
When did that happen?
Why was it so easy for the other person?
"My dear boy, it's just tea. I can always make tea and if you really need it, I can whip it up for you," the angel tried to soothe him and Crowley gave up.
"There's a crumb at the corner of your mouth," he muttered without taking his eyes off the hand that lay gently and benevolently on his.
"Oh."
Then the understanding reached his interlocutor.
"Oh," Aziraphale uttered again. "You wanted to wipe it away. That's really nice of you."
At the mention of the four-letter word, Crowley hissed.
"I know, I know," he reassured Aziraphale and broke their connection as he raised his hands defensively.
"Nevertheless."
Just nervertheless. There was nothing that could be brought against arguments for neverless.
"I'll make us new tea," he was informed and Crowley saw the crumb of ruin finally being removed before the angel disappeared with the mugs.
While the other was gone, Crowley tried not to look at his hand to distract himself from his anger. Annoyed that his friend had found it so easy to integrate touch while the world continued to turn according to God's great plan. The fact that Aziraphale was an angel and therefore by nature, if one wanted to use that term for a being created by God himself, a creature of love seemed to him to be too simple a solution.
Besides, it was far-fetched.
All angels in heaven, ethereal or not, were supposed to embody love and yet they didn't bat an eyelash at the impending destruction of all life on earth because of a test of strength.
Love was certainly not the term he associated with them.
But Aziraphale described that word very well.
Consequently, it was something other than his angelic existence.
So why did this pace come so easily to him while he himself had been frozen since he lost Aziraphale and then got him back? Never before had her own existence seemed so fragile to him. This realization was paralyzing. It was as if he had tasted the fruit of knowledge and it been corrupted.
Before, in the time before the impending destruction of the Earth, it was Aziraphale who had hesitated, sometimes not daring to call Crowley a friend.
Excluded in 1941.
And now the other's pleasantly soft thigh pressed against his when he got up from the sofa on which the demon usually sat alone. He had patted Crowley's hand. Just again. Their fingers had touched. Just very briefly. How random. But since something like this never happened before, it was even more noticeable now.
At least to him.
For others, it was casual touching.
Not worth mentioning.
For Crowley, it was a new world order that he stumbled after because he couldn't read the instructions, which were written in an alien script with wave patterns and were incomplete.
It was as if Aziraphale had not completely thrown off the shackles that always held him back and paralyzed him, but had started with them, moved his shoulders experimentally and then immersed himself in this joyful variety.
Well, at least with his big toe and by now his feet were already standing in it.
Crowley stood outside and watched through a window. Why in Satan's name couldn't he do that anymore?
Was it the body swap?
Crowley had done nothing that could have abused the trust that was required. Since Aziraphale had not been able to observe it, he had neither touched the other's lips, which had become his own due to the exchange, nor his hair.
The latter wasn't even necessary.
The length, or rather the shortness, of the white and probably soft angel hair turned out to be quite practical in the morning and it was self-explanatory to him why the other had kept up with the times until he stopped, but not a fashion era really had his hair changed.
Crowley had never understood this until then, because in his own way, the angel certainly showed a certain vanity. Not sinful enough to not be tolerated by heaven, but always right on the edge of what was permissible, while Crowley himself liked to experiment with his hair.
It had never occurred to him that the new possibilities brought about by her small and very useful life-saving trick might have changed Aziraphale. Yes, that seemed plausible to him.
While he himself was sitting tied up on a chair and even Eric was given permission, which the other demon didn't use, to beat him, to experience how the other angels treated his angel and then just like that a judgment was made, had him up bones shaken.
Nothing, nothing at all, had changed since his fall. At least not in a positive way. In fact, it seemed to have gotten worse.
His friend, however, had marched into hell, not only nonchalantly treating himself to a bath while simultaneously mocking both heaven and hell; he had told him too.
Something the demon had not been able to bring himself to do, as if it were a breach of trust that he had not wanted to commit before this judgment.
But perhaps there was also a quiet, selfish wish that Aziraphale would tell him how abusive Heaven was to him, because in all that time, the angel had never really said a word about it. He only spoke of sharp notes of protest, of how pedantic Michael could be and not even drunk, with two benevolently narrowed eyes, describing how the angel had been treated the whole time.
While reliving something that had been done to him so long ago, Aziraphale himself had experienced a privilege previously unknown to both of them and seemed to have taken a liking to it. Something the demon was denied.
On the contrary.
He knew the horror of heaven and to really let it get to him that his friend had been exposed to it for any longer paralyzed him.
His ethical friend had been able to get a taste of hell without having to experience the terror that it also contained, as Crowley had had to experience it firsthand.
How could such an experience not break chains?
"My dear boy, are you well?"
The red-haired demon nodded absently as he heard the soft, warm voice of his best, his only friend.
Yes, how could it not bother him to lose this friend?
Aziraphale had made him shoot him for a magic trick, with no way for either of them to figure it out if something went wrong. Now the trick had worked and even today it seemed like a true miracle to Crowley. But he could also have shot the angel. Then the bookstore that was on fire. The end of the world. The verdict.
How did Aziraphale handle all of this so well? And why didn't he?
The night when the angel came with him began so auspicious and so terrible at the same time.
He had been so exhausted as he sat down on the bus that would take them both back to London. He could have fallen asleep straight away and yet he couldn't. Aziraphale had sat down next to him and took his hand.
This was no accident, no coincidence. It was a very conscious act.
He wanted to hold the demon's hand. His hand.
Crowley had felt with every fiber of his being that the angel had made his decision after he had decided against it twice.
He chose their side.
Crowley's site.
He chose Crowley, whose heart was racing and who mustered up all the courage he had left to turn his hand.
Palms touched each other. So much more intimate than shaking hands after a deal has been made and much less fleeting. So he could feel that his friend's skin was surprisingly different than he expected.
He had expected delicate, very soft skin. Not just because he was aware of how much the other cared for his hands, but because soft just seemed to fit. The skin was soft, Crowley knew that. It wasn't the first time he was able to touch Aziraphale's hands.
This, however, was more intense.
He felt that the old book pages, which were not uncommonly acidic, had left traces, even though the angel now wore gloves when he came into contact with older books. His skin was like Aziraphale.
Soft, but at first impression resistant and robust.
Aziraphale had slipped his fingers between Crowley's, only thinking that his angel liked this touch, this connection, as much as he did.
And then he felt the other leaning gently against him and felt the tips of the other's hair tickling his ear as Aziraphale finally leaned his head slightly against him. Like Crowley himself, Aziraphale was exhausted and he trusted him enough to show that vulnerability, which brought absolute calm to the demon's mind. There was only a thick silence.
Complete peace.
The whole journey to London.
.
They took the bus to the front door, which visibly confused the driver.
The angel didn't let go of his hand as they left the bus. Not even on the way up. Not in the hallway.
Only in Crowley's apartment.
They were never here.
When they meet, they go to their various alternative places so as not to arouse suspicion in either hell or heaven. Or in the bookstore, for which the fear that their arrangement and their friendship could be discovered without a reasonable reason for both of them played no significant role.
The demon wondered if that was why Aziraphale had turned him away at the pavilion. Until now he had assumed it was because of blind devotion to heaven. Later, after the hellfire, he thought it was a decision made out of a not unjustified fear of Gabriel and the other archangels. The idea then germinated that the angel's love for people drove him to this decision last year.
But what if it was so much simpler?
Whenever they met away from their usual places and didn't have a dinner date, they always went to this bookstore. They were at Aziraphale’s home. It was something very intimate.
Conversely this feeling of being vulnerable did not occur.
Crowley wasn't even interested in creating a slight imbalance in the balance between them. He simply felt at home in the bookstore. He liked being there.
Everything he saw surrounded the angel and was loved by him.
Everything that was there.
He had let Crowley in there and didn't treat the demon like he did his customers. The thought that he was part of the things his angel cared about always gave him a pleasant, if strange, warm tingle. That's why he was always in the bookstore.
And now Aziraphale was here within his four walls.
Did he also feel this tingling sensation?
Crowley watched him move around carefully.
The demon had never seen someone not fitting in anywhere. Through the light clothing and white hair, Aziraphale seemed to glow. Crowley saw how fingers touched the walls, how carefully but with undisguised curiosity the angel walked through the rooms. His alphabetically arranged jazz collection caught his friend's attention. His fingers ran almost caressingly over the spines of the astronomy books and when he reached the plants, the demon watched what was happening very closely. The plants seemed to be tensely holding their breath, even though they were anatomically unable to do so, did not dare to tremble, but presented themselves in a lush green with shiny, spotless leaves. The angel was obviously very pleased.
When he reached the eagle statue, Aziraphale looked at him with a look that was difficult to interpret, and when he reached the culture of demon and angel wrestling with each other, he raised his gaze again. This time with a frown.
Aziraphale still stood out from his surroundings. Unlike Crowley, who always stood out but was able to blend in completely harmoniously into any environment.
But Aziraphale didn't fit in and Crowley liked that.
An angel so different from the others, who stood out, was uncomfortable and didn't really fit in anywhere.
It took a while until his friend returned to him, visibly just as nervous as Crowley himself.
"You have...really nice plants," Aziraphale finally said and the demon looked at the plants, which were also nervous.
"I have scotch," he let the angel know, who exhaled.
"Good lord, that's perfect!"
Crowley pushed the angel towards the sofa, which was more stylish than comfortable, and while he fetched glasses and alcohol, Aziraphale took off his jacket. Something that didn't go unnoticed.
A good omen.
Now, in hindsight, that evening might have been the reason Aziraphale had gave up the distance beetween them in the bookstore, Crowley mused.
"You seemed a little tense to me. That's why I made you some cocoa," his best friend's voice pulled him out of his memories and Crowley, who needed a moment to find his way around, gave him the look of someone, which was very close to something and was now at least three star systems away from that point.
Aziraphale ignored that look, or indeed didn't notice it.
"Your cocoa is getting cold, dear," he pointed out to the demon, who was now looking at the table in front of him.
In fact, there was cocoa steaming invitingly in the mug. Crowley took the mug and drained it without complaining. The heat flowed down his throat and spread pleasantly through his body. The cocoa felt really good and relaxed, which of course he wouldn't address.
When he looked at the angel, he saw that this was not necessary at all, as the other was watching him with a self-righteous smile on his always rosy lips.
"Now I know why you always do that," he let him know.
"What do I always do?" Crowley wanted to know.
"Watching me when I eat."
The demon had always assumed that he would hide it very cleverly and observe it so inconspicuously that it was not possible to notice that his attention was only focused on feeding an angel.
"I don't think you know that," he finally replied, noticing that his counterpart had finished breakfast and there weren't even any crumbs left on the shiny plate.
He had missed it because he was so preoccupied, so sure that he was very close to a realization that might make him walk more and stumble less. Figuratively speaking.
Then everything would be easier.
But by dwelling on memories, he had missed something he had been looking forward to since he saw the bakery. That was quite annoying. At the same time, he was so sure that the change that didn't take place in him had started that one night.
So he got stuck twice.
Only one thing helped. The ducks in the park.
He just wanted to sit up.
"I think I know," the angel remarked, making it clear that, unlike breakfast, this topic was not yet off the table and that Crowley did not want to assume that Aziraphale wanted to use words that he meant to hear, would wriggle out.
Crowley growled and put on his glasses, rolling his eyes behind the protection of the lenses.
Whatever Aziraphale thought he could name as a reason; he was wrong.
It was just this tingling feeling of constant temptation that came from his angel when he ate. The completely gratuitous display of the tip of his tongue. The way his lips closed around a fork or spoon. The sigh when the enjoyment of a meal carried the angel away. The thick eyelashes on the fair skin that never had even a trace of suntan. As if this moon-kissed creature faced the sun every day like an opponent that had to be beaten.
Out since the angel would probably bring it up again and again today, the demon gave up. Simply because the day was too beautiful to argue.
"What's the reason?" he gave in, grumbling.
"Without you, my dear, I wouldn't eat at all today. You tempted me, but don't worry. That's okay...a good temptation? An evil work? To have an evil work accomplished well?"
Aziraphale searched in vain for the right words.
When Crowley wanted more debates, this wasn't what came to mind.
Other than that, this one temptation didn't bother him at all. He didn't regret it. On the contrary.
"Good temptation sounds the most flattering," Crowley snorted, wishing he hadn't drank all of the cocoa straight away.
Of course he could conjure one up, but Aziraphale's Cocoa was way better.
"That's not what I meant and you know it."
"Do I? Do you think it's bad to eat?"
His voice sounded as angry as he was.
Conversations always revolved around good and evil and went in circles. Even now.
Suddenly Aziraphale's hand was on his. Crowley wanted to pull it back like a reflex because he didn't know what the other expected from him.
"We both know that it's a vice, a sin. But I'm eternally grateful to you for it. That's why you shouldn't be angry. Imagine what I would have missed. Sushi, dill salmon..."
"Crêpes.", Crowley interjected, appeased, although he could not agree with the angel in assuming that his temptation would cause him remorse.
"A good wine with my demon."
This was really a very bold violation.
Not just for the angel, but also for the demon in question.
Undeniably there was something between them and of course not everything needed a label, but Crowley would have liked to know exactly what that something was and what to call it.
Aziraphale, on the other hand, seemed to already know.
More than that.
While he had always denied it before, he now completely accepted this something and almost embraced it.
"Well, well...yeah...Well, that too," Crowley uttered hoarsely.
"Do we want to go to the park?" he evaded when he saw his counterpart's eyes shining and his lips parting slightly to let air escape.
"So I was right," the angel insisted, breaking the strange magic of the moment.
"Partly," Crowley said helplessly, even though Aziraphale was just scratching the surface at the wrong end.
He himself noticed how the trap was closing.
A simple yes would have brought an end to the questioning on this rather delicate topic. But now Aziraphale knew that there was more to it and he would hold on to it if Crowley didn't offer him an alternative.
He panicked, but then took a breath. If he now threw a distraction at the angel's feet, he would recognize this feint.
"Party?"
He actually liked the curiosity Aziraphale showed. As long as it didn't involve him.
"Yeah, partly. You'll figure out what the other part is," Crowley smiled, managing to sound more relaxed than he was.
Maybe so much activity for two wasn't necessarily the right choice today. On the other hand, he had a plan. Not cure for today. Rather, it was a long-term project. Don't go too fast.
He wanted to go to the cinema with Aziraphale more often.
For one thing, Crowley enjoyed spending time with him. Naturally. But the plan was to show Aziraphale in, as the angel would put it, cinematic form, different models of relationships and see which one he preferred or at least found most appealing to himself. Or at all. From there the demon could then draw conclusions.
Until now, it had always been the case that Aziraphale had withdrawn when Crowley himself wanted their friendship to grow. Too fast, too slow.
It was okay if it wasn't romantic between them, even if it felt like Aziraphale wanted romance right now. But he had already assumed that once and then was too fast.
This time he did it right.
He had also considered books for the plan, but there were too many hurdles. The biggest one was that the angel read way too fast and too much. That would just end in a mess. The other problem was that he could already see what Aziraphale was reading and that wasn't any help because the angel was almost unnaturally open-minded when it came to books.
Operas weren't any help in that regard, even if it would certainly be easier to take the angel to the opera regularly than to the cinema, especially since they would definitely have to go on trips to genres that had nothing to do with the plan so that the relationship wouldn't be noticed .
"Mhmmm," Aziraphale hummed.
"I'll have time to think if we put my poor books back in their place and then go to the park. That way we won't get lost in work.“
That wouldn't be the case, Crowley thought , which he put back dramatically and groaned. But Aziraphale had already disappeared into the shelves, humming. The demon surrendered to his fate and stood up.
The question of a possible and temporary move in was pushed back and forth Crowley didn't know how to even bring this up.
"Hi Aziraphale."
Complete nonsense. They must have gone to the park together.
"Zira..."
Bad NoGo. No abbreviations.
"Angel..."
Better. Much better.
He pulled a book out of the row. Wrong author. It didn't belong here, but where it should be, Aziraphale was buzzing through the shelves. He would only disturb the angel. It was probably better to create a stack.
His fingers stroked the covers thoughtfully as he continued to think through how he would start the conversation.
"Angel, well... Surprise! I've been relieved of my duties by Hell. Practically like you. However, my apartment isn't..."
He had forgotten the word. No, don't forget. It had slipped his mind.
"Diplomatic embassy."
Whatever that was supposed to be. He was already aware of what the diplomatic message was. But an angel's bookshop... Well, maybe diplomacy wasn't necessarily associated with hell.
"It was stupid. Hell replaced me and now the other demon lives with me and I in my Bentley. It was a cold winter. I can tell you that."
Didn't sound good.
Next row of shelves, next idea.
"Have you ever wanted to be a sugar daddy?"
Uhh, really, really bad idea. Really. That was a low point. Nobody would call Wahoo for that
Crowley could actually picture the other's face.
No, that wasn't even an idea.
The truth was certainly the best way, but no matter what words he chose or how many times he replayed different versions of them in his head; it always sounded pitiful and somehow wrong. Like a really poor attempt at wooing Aziraphale, in the angel's words. He didn't want to advertise at all.
But that's certainly how it came across.
Or it was strange. He ate at the Ritz and slept in a car. Why not in a fine hotel? This would probably be the easiest solution, but since the airbase, since they had faced Satan himself, the thought of being more than five minutes from Aziraphale was almost unbearable. The here, the now was so fragile. What if it broke now? What if he wasn't with Aziraphale then? What if they had argued before? In short: If it came to an end, he wanted to be by his friend's side. A hotel room was too far away. Not an option.
And if Crowley was completely honest with himself, he just liked the direction they were going. He wanted more of that.
For Satan's sake!
Surely he was able to get a room in a bookstore that happened to be run by an angel who also happened to be his only and best friend! He couldn't possibly anger Hell any more.
"Aziraphale?"
No answer.
Crowley peeked out from behind the shelf and listened.
"...always talking to you..."
He heard the angel singing quietly to himself. That really didn't sound like Mozart. Neither was Queen. He would have recognized that immediately. After all, he was practically an expert.
He hadn't realized that Aziraphale was interested in contemporary music. Or music that was close to the time. Didn't look like him at all.
"Aziraphale?"
"Are you tired of it? I can understand that. It's quite a mess," replied the angel.
Oh yes. That was it.
"So, actually I wanted to ask you something."
Now or never!
"Yes. The answer is yes," Aziraphale smiled.
"Really?" Crowley asked, visibly irritated.
"Of course. I still have all night to do it. Let's enjoy the nice weather."
The demon hadn't wanted to ask that, but his original plan was able to take effect again. Perhaps.
"You read my mind," Crowley fibbed.
Not quite the truth. Not quite a lie.
He didn't really want to lie to the other and actually felt sorry for the slight deviation, which is why he confessed contritely: "Actually, those weren't my thoughts."
"And I'm not a telepath either," Aziraphale reassured him and approached the demon.
"Why at night? I showed you how to sleep," he wondered.
"You did. Indeed. But you're not there to wake me up," the angel smiled and looked down.
“That’s what alarm clocks are for and…”
Wait a minute.
Crowley looked at Aziraphale.
Was that flirting?
Since Tadfield he's never been entirely sure about that and if he was honest with himself; and why not? had always been a significant uncertainty in this area.
Aziraphale read a lot and perhaps did with Crowley what he wanted to do with him, except that the angel went back to the written word and found a way to apply the knowledge he had acquired. Just like the demon intended in the movies.
"I can make the evening completely free today. Well, hell doesn't need my services at the moment," he tried to approach Aziraphale uncertainly.
"Jolly good. Then let's get the plants out of the Bentley. Why exactly are you driving them around?"
Now!
"So..."
And just like that, Aziraphale was outside.
Was that excess sugar? He had read about something like that, but didn't it more likely apply to human children? And if it was something like that, the question was where it came from. Crowley was the one with a light, barely noticeable hand for sweets and sugar. Was that contagious? He had drunk cocoa. Had the angel put in so much sugar that his body couldn't cope with it on its own and was now transferring the sugar to the other person? Was something like that possible? Either way. Something wasn't right.
"I haven't done this in a long time. What if I sleep for two weeks?" Aziraphale babbled as he entered the store with a box full of plants.
What the hell...
The last time the angel spoke so quickly was before the fire. The call that ended up on the answering machine with Hastur, at least briefly.
Alarmed, the demon ran outside and saw Aziraphale leaning into the Bentley that he had parked in the no-parking area. "Angel."
He looked up and handed him a box of plants.
"It's a night. Why are you removing the plants?" "Because we're going to the cinema. Imagine how they'll feel if they stay behind."
Crowley looked at the plants with an evil glint in his eyes. They shouldn't feel so encouraged. Who could say what the angel had already whispered to them?
"They will be fine," he said, putting on his glasses while balancing the box with his other hand.
"Be a darling and distribute the plants around the store. You know better than me which plants need more and which need less light."
"Don't be silly. It's a night."
"Maybe. It's been a while," Aziraphale said, pulling another box out of the cart.
"You don't forget how to sleep. It's like cycling," the demon replied as they walked to the store together.
"I can't ride a bike."
"Well, ... Me neither. That's what they say. Humans. You know."
He felt like he was in a fever dream. Maybe it was still winter and he was freezing to death and didn't notice.
"Why are you driving your plants around anyway? The Bentley will still get mildew stains."
The question had come up before and even though Crowley preferred to have the conversation by the ducks and now everything, absolutely everything was wrong, he had to admit that this was the moment.
"I no longer represent hell. So another demon moved in and I moved out."
Now it was out.
Crowley took a deep breath.
That felt so much better and worse at the same time, because now he had to look into the other's eyes that had pity in them.
He looked at Aziraphale's face and missed the pity.
The eyes had become dark. Like clouds, just before a storm.
That wasn't pity.
That was anger.
"How long?" the angel asked briefly and his voice trembled slightly.
"Since the night after the body swap."
While Heaven still did not fill Aziraphale's position, probably because it was a challenge to remove a principality that did not respond to hellfire from the shop that only existed because of the angel.
Hell was more pragmatic.
The demon heard his friend exhale.
"Since we switched bodies back?" he questioned and Crowley no longer heard the anger, but something that went deeper and stirred something inside him.
Sadness.
"And you slept in the car the whole time?"
"Yeah, well... I wanted to ask you in the park today if my plants and I could stay with you for a few days."
Too late.
Once again.
He should have brought this up sooner. Aziraphale looked so hurt and so ashamed. Anger, sadness, shame. All in less than sixty seconds.
"Of course you can move in," Aziraphale hastened to say, realizing there was a pause between them.
"It doesn't have to be free either. I could scare away customers for you," Crowley offered.
"Out of the question. You've always helped me. Now let me be the hero. Besides..."
Aziraphale found his smile again, which had always been hidden in the corners of his mouth and in his eyes.
"Besides?"
"Besides, we'll be able to put so many books back in their place at night," Aziraphale grinned.
There always had to be a catch.
Crowley sighed in surrender. After all, they had already started. It was only fair to finish the task.
"Seems fair," he relented and walked alongside his friend to the store.
His stomach tingled. It wasn't his first time staying here, but it was his first permanent stay. This was scary and beautiful and exciting and calming at the same time.
"I've wanted to ask you this for a long time and I had the perfect plan for today."
Aziraphale raised an eyebrow.
"So you've been spoiling me so much the last time because you wanted to have a good position. So, to show me what I could have if you lived with me," Aziraphale stated and Crowley wished that at that moment his plants didn't cover the other's face so he could read it, because his tone didn't give any information.
"No, it wasn't like that. I just wanted to go to the park with you and feed the ducks because I thought you would be more receptive to..."
"More receptive?" the angel interrupted him.
"I don't have to be receptive to it. We're friends. That's what friends do."
Friends.
So maybe not a romantic direction after all.
But friends. Aziraphale hardly called him that. Really hardly. That was something. That was a name.
Beefore the non-apocalypse, he had never had to worry about what they were and what name applied to them. There was something between them that was more than friendship and they were both okay with it.
But ever since that one night there was something urgent, a deep longing for something that Crowley couldn't name.
This damn night!
And if it cost him sleep, he would let the review pass tonight.
"I took the other one because I wanted to. I thought...Well, I thought you would liked it," he mumbled quietly.
"Oh, Dear..." the angel sighed and was about to say something when a noise reached Crowley's ear.
Something that didn't belong here. He knew what it sounded like here. Any damn time of day and that sound didn't belong here.
"Do you hear that?" he asked and his friend shook his head.
Crowley looked around.
Everything looked normal. Cars. People. The new cafe. trees. Garbage cans waiting to be picked up. Bicycles.
Inwardly he shrugged his shoulders.
He was probably wrong.
He reached the door together with Aziraphale.
"The last boxes. Then we'll clear out your plants and drive to St. James's Park. I think I also have some frozen peas," Aziraphale told him.
“Just for the ducks or do you actually cook?” Crowley wanted to know.
"Well, I guess you'll figure out that secret over time. Wait and see," Aziraphale replied.
There was that noise again.
And this time the angel heard it too.
They both put down the boxes and listened. Aziraphale turned his head towards the trash cans.
"It's coming from there. They're mine. There's nothing in there that makes any noise."
They approached it carefully. Crowley circled the trash cans.
Nothing that suggested heaven or hell. No runes. No miracles. Only two garbage cans. One smaller, one larger.
He lifted the lid from the smaller barrel, ready to use the lid as a weapon, but saw nothing unusual. Accurately separated waste. Naturally.
Crowley carefully put the blanket back and looked at Aziraphale, who was looking at him with a mixture of concern and amusement.
Crolwey lifted the second lid, ready again to expel whatever was hidden there, but what he saw was no nightmare from hell, no feint from heaven.
It was a transport box for small animals.
It looked a bit worn and the blue tone had faded.
"Oh no, oh no. Oh dear," the angel uttered, lifting the box out.
There it was again.
A faint whine.
Crowley lowered the lid.
"Oh no, oh no," the angel repeated, holding the box close to him.
"Let's go inside," he ordered and Crowley did as he was told.
Firstly because it made no sense to stand alone next to garbage cans. On the other hand, because he wanted to know what exactly was in the box. And the two boxes had to go to the bookstore.
Who will dispose of their pet in other people's garbage cans?
Once they were in the store with the box and plants, Aziraphale placed the box on the floor and closed the store. The question of which animal was inside was answered when he heard Crowley meowing.
“Who does something like that to you, love?” murmured the angel in a soft, enticing voice and, after a little back and forth, opened the box.
A skinny little red cat padded out.
They probably wouldn't go to the cinema today.