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“Shades of a very light grey, I'd rather fancy.”
Time passed while Aziraphale and Crowley talked about what they did all the years they hadn't seen one another. Wine passed too; they were ending their third bottle when they tried to discuss world politics.
“I still don’t understand how Nazis believe they are on our side…” said Aziraphale.
“Oh, it’s funny to see them surprised when they reach Hell,” Crowley laughed, “but it’s getting a little crowded down there, I tell you.”
“Well, Heaven is getting a little crowded too, because of them.” He took a sip. “And it’s not funny at all up there.”
“Yeah, I can imagine.” Crowley tried to take a sip too, but found that his glass was already empty.
Aziraphale felt the mood shift. He knew the night was coming to its end, but he didn’t want it. He felt brave, surely because of the wine, and stood up. He stumbled a little; that was because of the wine too.
“How about some music? I recently acquired some modern records; they are quite good.” He reached the gramophone and put on the first record he found.
Crowley followed him, but kept his distance. He felt he should be going, but he also didn’t want to.
They heard the first notes and Aziraphale instantly regretted his choice. He shouldn’t have picked a romantic song, but it was too late to change it.
“Oh, yeesss, I know it. It’s rather nice,” said Crowley.
/* That certain night, the night we met,
there was magic abroad in the air */
“Wanna dance, angel?” Crowley said in a mocking tone, holding out his hand.
/* there were angels dining at the Ritz */
Aziraphale smiled, a little ashamed, and looked away.
“Angels don’t dance, you know that.”
The moment he said it was the second thing he regretted that night. Maybe he wasn’t so brave after all.
/* and a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square. */
“Well, you do the ‘I Was Wrong’ Dance sometimes,” answered Crowley, suddenly interested in the books at his side.
/* I may be right, I may be wrong,
but I'm perfectly willing to swear */
Aziraphale frowned. “That’s not a proper dance,” he answered.
/* that when you turned and smiled at me
a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square. */
“Well, you owe me one.” Aziraphale looked at him, so the demon added, “An ‘I Was Wrong’ Dance, I mean. I almost shot you in the head for your little trick. It could have been very nasty.”
“Yes, indeed…” Aziraphale put himself in position.
“Oh, I didn’t mean now!” Crowley tried to reach him to stop him, but he was a few steps away.
/* The moon that lingered over London town, */
“You were right…” Suddenly Aziraphale remembered all the glasses of wine he had drunk. He went on anyway.
/* poor puzzled moon, he wore a frown. */
“You were right…” He tried to spin. It was the third thing he regretted instantly that night.
/* How could he know we two was so in love, */
BAM!
/* The whole darn world seemed upside down. */
Aziraphale didn’t know where he landed. His head was still spinning and he had his eyes shut. He lay on his stomach on something cushiony. He noticed it was also warm, and bony. He opened his eyes, startled. The only things in sight were the carpet and part of Crowley’s jacket.
/* The streets of town were paved with stars,
it was such a romantic affair. */
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry…” He tried to get up, but he felt Crowley’s arm at his back, and he was definitely pressing him closer. The angel stopped breathing.
/* And as we kissed and said good-night,
a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square. */
“Just a moment…” Crowley whispered.
He saw his sunglasses beside him. He was dizzy as well.
/* When dawn came stealing up all gold and blue, */
Aziraphale exhaled and relaxed into the embrace.
/* to interrupt our rendezvous, */
“Right…” Crowley shifted to take his sunglasses and put them back on. Aziraphale understood the signal and got up.
/* I still remember how you smiled and said, */
“I’m really sorry…” The angel’s face was red. He took Crowley’s hand to help him stand up, but couldn’t look directly at his face.
/* "Was that a dream or was it true?" */
“It’s all right.” Crowley let go of his hand and went to get his coat and hat.
/* Our homeward step was just as light */
“I was thinking…” Aziraphale stared at him. “We shouldn’t see each other… for a while. At least until Hell forgets about tonight, and we are sure that Heaven isn’t suspicious either.”
/* as the tap-dancing feet of Astaire. */
“Of course…” Aziraphale smiled, but couldn’t hide his sadness.
Crowley walked towards the exit.
/* And like an echo far away */
“Crowley?”
The demon stopped at the half-open door and turned, with his hand still on the doorknob.
/* a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square. */
Aziraphale was still sadly smiling. He looked up, as though listening to the song.
“Do you think the nightingales will ever sing… for us, someday?”
/* I know cause I was there */
“I don’t know… Goodbye, angel.”
/* that night in Berkeley Square. */
The door of the bookshop closed as the last notes faded.