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‘I have had human jobs,’ Crowley protests. It’s not much of a protest; he’s breathing hard from loading the lorry and there’s still a mountain of boxes to move.
‘You have not,’ Aziraphale protests. ‘You’d have told me.’
He flushes at that. Hopes the angel will pass it off as exertion. ‘Well. I trained for some of them.’
‘Not loading lorries, though,’ and Aziraphale spared a quick miracle to stabilise the nearest heap of boxes. ‘Really, my dear, this would be easier if you’d let me miracle the whole lot.’
‘What and have everything from both sides knowing what we’re doing? I don’t mind a bit of work.’ He throws another crate of books onto the flatbed.
‘You worry too much, my dear boy.’
Crowley shakes his head mutely and keeps packing.
**
‘Tell me what human jobs you trained for then?’ Aziraphale asks. They’re both too tired to move, the boxes left outside overnight and the cottage a mess of things neither of them can be bothered to sort.
But Crowley’s head is resting on Aziraphale’s lap and the good whiskey is open, and outside a few late evening birds are singing.
‘Mmm, ok. Did an apprenticeship with Leo.’
‘Leo?’
‘As in da Vinci.’ He waves a hand. ‘Think I’ve still got the paintings somewhere. Did a few apprenticeships, actually. Even managed to pass some of them.’
‘You never said.’
He looks away. Down at the floors which will really need a carpet or something. Does Aziraphale like carpets? Does he? Was this the sort of thing you were meant to discuss before moving in together?
‘Bit embarrassing isn’t it? Learning stuff the human way - and don’t say anything about your magic tricks, that’s different.’
‘Why?’
Someone’s sake, there’s times when the angel is far too astute for Crowley’s good.
‘Why is that different?’
‘Demons aren’t meant to have hobbies.’ It comes out as a mumble. He wishes he’d never started this conversation.
Aziraphale picks up on it. Rests a hand on Crowley’s face, and it takes everything he’s got not to lean into it. Takes a moment to realise those rules don’t apply anymore, and then he’s being held like he’s made from glass, like he’s something precious, like he’s loved…
‘Did you do others?’
There’s curiosity there, edged with affection.
‘Sommelier training in France. Mechanic training for a bit one summer. Know I look after the Bentley with miracles but it’sss nice knowing what I’m doing.’
‘Sommelier training?’
‘You know how the humans get. So fussy about wine and food matching.’ He doesn’t admit, even to himself, that part of the appeal had been learning what Aziraphale might like.
‘I had no idea,’ Aziraphale says, and he’s smiling now. ‘My dear boy. Are you going to do any this summer do you think?’
Crowley looks around him. At the not quite right amount of light filtering through the wall. ‘Mmm. Thought I might start with bricklaying or something. Fix the place up. And then orchard growing. Oh, and bee keeping. We could have our own honey. And…’
It hits him, suddenly, that he’s planning for a future. That he’s allowed a future with Aziraphale, openly and forever and the enormity of that silences him for a moment.
‘We can do anything.’
He nods, which brushes his hair against Aziraphale’s fingers. ‘We can. We can be anything.’