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It’s raining when Crowley leaves the Ritz and steps into the night. He holds the door open for Aziraphale. The weather’s not ideal, but the Bentley is always close by if he needs it to be. Crowley takes a deep breath, inhaling the city, glad there is a city to breathe in.
“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale says, standing next to him. “That’s London for you.” The angel pulls an umbrella from Crowley doesn’t even know where. “Shall we?”
Crowley takes the umbrella from him and holds it high enough to cover them. Aziraphale’s hand squeezes his fingers before holding the umbrella too. They are in front of the bookshop in a flash. Aziraphale stands on the first step, eye to eye with Crowley, who holds out the umbrella.
“What a day,” Aziraphale says awkwardly, as he points over his shoulder toward the shop. “I suppose it’s time to call it a night.”
“I’ll see you when I see you,” Crowley says as Aziraphale pushes the umbrella into the demon’s hand.
“Take it,” he says, as he releases the umbrella. “You can bring it back when the rain stops.”
Crowley’s grip on the umbrella tightens, and he looks at the angelic tartan over his head. He nods. “Goodnight, angel.”
Neither moves as they watch the other until a crowd of theatre-goers jostle their way between them. Crowley glances at the Bentley, sitting in its usual spot, anticipating his return to the bookshop. It knew where to find him, guessing where he’d head to when the world didn’t end.
Aziraphale retreats to a higher step, pressed back against the bookshop door, a dim light shining behind him, illuminating his platinum curls. The lamp Crowley turned on before they met in the park, to give Aziraphale some light when he came home. Because, of course, he was always going to go home.
Crowley turns his back on the shop and steps onto the street. A car squeals to a stop inches from his knees.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale calls from the door, rushing out into the rain to pull the demon back onto the pavement. “Come inside.”
A mug of tea is pushed into his hands next, sitting on the settee in the gloriously familiar bookshop. Aziraphale sits on the settee too, a cushion away. That’s new.
“You don’t have to drink that,” the angel says, nodding at the mug. “I’ll get some wine.”
“No,” Crowley says, his fingers wrap around Aziraphale’s wrist, and he moves one cushion closer. “Stay.”
They sit on the settee, and Crowley sips the cooling tea. Aziraphale is trying not to watch Crowley out of the corner of his eye. Minutes tick by, occasionally accompanied by the sound of Crowley slurping.
“I’m glad you came in,” Aziraphale says as he plays with the hem of his waistcoat, fidgets with his Albert chain. “The world isn’t ending.”
Crowley knows this, he was there. He waits for Aziraphale to say what he wants to say.
“A lot of things were said over the last week. Things that were said out of anger and frustration.”
The demon scrunched his face and shook his head. “You aren’t apologising, are you?”
Aziraphale nods. “I am.”
Crowley laughs and puts the tea somewhere out of the way. “You just saved my life, angel, and I gladly did the same for you. Apologies aren’t needed. We both might have said some things that we didn’t mean, but what’s that matter now? Tomorrow is a new day, new start..”
“A new start,” Aziraphale repeats.
“Yeah. We’re newly unemployed, nobody to answer to but ourselves.”
“Ourselves,” Aziraphale echoes.
Crowley stares at the angel sitting to his right. “Are you alright?”
“You know… I am.” Aziraphale turns toward Crowley. “We don’t have to hide anymore.”
“I guess we don’t.”
Aziraphale takes Crowley’s hand and holds it between his own. The angel is beaming at him, and Crowley struggles for control of himself and quickly loses. He smiles back at Aziraphale and draws the angel closer.
“To us.”