Chapter Text
Demons are only demons because they didn't fit in back in heaven. They, for example, ask too many questions, or hang around the wrong people, or show compassion in the wrong places - wield their love in a way that the higher-ups didn't think was appropriate. "You should love everything, for there is God in everything," they would say. But the moment you truly did that, they kicked your miserable arse out. Stuck up bastards.
Crowley sits. Thinking. Running his thumb along the leaf of a plant. Spotless. Good. He's scowling nonetheless. The flat is dark - of course it is. When isn't it? He finds himself both reveling in it and missing the light. Missing his light.
It's been a few days since he's seen Aziraphale. And over these past few days he’s found himself worrying. Why? Because Armageddon was over, and they belonged to Earth now. Of course, he and his Angel had always belonged to earth-
Fuck. No. He can't call Aziraphale that. Angel, sure. But his?
"You go too fast for me, Crowley," he had said. Worse somehow was that he said it with all the compassion and pain of someone who. . . loved him back?
But it was true - Crowley did go too fast. Heaven and Hell had been watching them, then. If he had Tempted an angel into his flat, if he had tempted an angel to bless him with a kiss. . . Who knows what Hell would do to him, honestly, and Heaven? He could have put Aziraphale in a serious. . . situation. Predicament. He shuddered thinking about it, scowling even more. He should never have suggested Aziraphale come back to his place, or that they go off together, or any of that nonsense. Not back then. But in those moments, he felt he just Had to say something.
But something flickers in Crowley now. A thought that he's grown accustomed to fighting down. A hope that he's battled for years upon years. He hears Aziraphale in his head, rejecting his stupid and reckless offers of company. He hears the pain in Aziraphale's voice of reason, like there's nothing he would rather do than run away with Crowley and let go, but that the risk is too big. Sure, it could be foolish to think that Aziraphale wanted Crowley in all the same ways that Crowley wanted Aziraphale. . . but he couldn't help hopefully reading into all the subtle signs over the years that Aziraphale was. . . interested.
If he was in the Angel's position - if he was an angel, and Aziraphale was a reckless and passionate demon who drove too fast and stared longingly at him, and they were in love, he supposed he would have to say no to any explicit indicators that would give them away. Better to be able to be with each other, and just hold back his longing to touch Aziraphale and press his body against his and Take . . . well, than to do those things and have his angel - no, not his - taken away from him somehow. Better an extended period of Some than a period of All which would be cut short.
But that was then. It's an idea Crowley can't shove out of his mind. Things have changed. Everything has changed. But when he, as softly as he could, invited Aziraphale to his place, Aziraphale had said no, again. With that sad-puppy look in his eyes. Just because Crowley had understood why he said no didn't mean he hadn't wanted to get on his knees and plead with Aziraphale. Now, either he had to talk to Aziraphale, or he had to keep holding his desires in check for eternity. Neither option sounded terribly appealing.
Crowley growls, his eyes flashing, and stands up abruptly. He goes over to the front door to his flat, intending to stand outside and sulk and glower at passers by. What if, instead of reaching for the door handle and opening up the door and sulking, he was met with the image of Aziraphale? What if, instead of waking up after a long nap to the blank feeling of his sparsely decorated bedroom, he woke up to that soft, beautiful, perfect face?
He opens the door and is given one extra thing to sulk about when his flash of fantasy doesn't come true.
"Get over yourself, Crowley," he mutters to himself. After all, it's only been a few days. Of course they both need time to adjust to the absence of the eyes on them at all times. And anyway, they can go around doing whatever the fuck thay want, just like they always had, and that could be enough. That could always be enough. Crowley would take that over anything else any day. Well, over almost anything else. Time to stop thinking.
Crowley returns inside and pours himself a glass of whiskey. He lays down, draped dramatically over his leather couch. He knows he's being dramatic, of course he does, and he can only hope that he's achieving the sexy, brooding type of drama that he's going for.
What on earth is he doing? It's a good question. One that he's asked several times in the past few days. He yells at his plants, of course. He paces. He sits. He lies down. He naps. He goes outside to watch people. He's not always in this sour mood - after all, there are many reasons he fell in love with earth, and he can watch those reasons happening from his position outside the flat. But now. . . He's bored.
"I am afraid we are closed-"
"It's me," Crowley interrupts, as he so often does in situations like these. Situations that involve him getting bored and calling Aziraphale, and becoming un-bored suddenly.
"Crowley!" Aziraphale greets him in that way he does. It makes Crowley's human chest swell with emotions so strong that he thinks there's no way an average human should be able to endure them without popping.
"Hey, Angel."
"How are you, Dear?" Crowley doesn't think he'll ever get used to that - he hasn't thus far.
"I'm booooored," he says, drawing out his 'o' in a petulant manner. Aziraphale chuckles from his bookshop.
"Don't you have any hobbies, Demon, besides saving humanity and being a spooky driver?" Aziraphale asks. "Oh, and yelling at poor innocent plants to grow better?" he adds, for good measure. His tone is light and Crowley wants to watch his lips forming the words, as he so often does.
"Hm. Sometimes I go out to eat with a certain angel," he responds. "But other than that, not really."
Aziraphale chuckles again. "Right, well I suppose you could try that one, then, if you're bored." It sounds an awful lot like an invitation. A Temptation, even. Hope swells inside of Crowley.
"You know? I think I just might. Let me ask him." Aziraphale makes a noise of affirmation from the other end. "Hey Angel?" Crowley asks.
"Yes Crowley?" Aziraphale responds, playing up his curiosity for the sake of the game they've just come up with.
"Would you care to accompany me for uh... fuck. It's 2am isn't it? There's nowhere good open."
"No, I suppose not," Aziaphale replies, dropping his act. His voice has a tone of finality that makes Crowley's chest ache.
"Well ah..." he thinks. He doesn't want to wait until tomorrow. He doesn't want to wait a second longer. But that's how he feels every time this happens, and he's always waited anyway. Somebody knows it's worth it.
"Crowley?"
He realizes he'd been silent after he trailed off. "Right, right. Well. I suppose people do eat at home sometimes. Is what I was going to say."
"Yes, I suppose. But. . . we don't, do we?"
"I don't think we ever have. . . Not me at least. Certainly not together. Why haven't we done that, Aziraphale?"
His friend remains silent for a while. "Think about how that would have looked, Crowley." Aziraphale sounds somber now. A bit pained. What pains him?
Crowley nods, though Aziraphale can't see. "I know, I know." He gives his own voice an exasperated flair. "But they're not looking now, are they?" There's a fire in him, a different one than his constant hellish flicker. "What's stopping us, Aziraphale?" It's the wild, conspiratorial tone he'd used to try to convince Airaphale to go off with him last time. Alpha Centauri. He could already feel his incoming crisis. Aziraphale wouldn't want to. And that would be okay, but it would feel like a punch to the gut anyway. Why couldn't he just stop asking?
The other end has been silent far too long.
"Crowley..."
"Aziraphale, please." He doesn't know what he's asking for.
"Please what, exactly, dear?" Aziraphale's voice had gone soft. There's hope in that.
That's a good question. "Please... please tell me why you won't let me get close to you. Even now." He wishes he couldn't hear his own pathetic voice. All wavering and defeated. "I never want to put you in danger, Aziraphale, but. . . they're going to leave us alone, they said so. And even if they don't, why should they care who's flat we're in? Don't they have paperwork? Don't they have tempting and blessing and whatever to do? If they're going to come after us again, it won't be because we're-"
He stops himself. He's not entirely sure what he was going to say. He waits. He listens to Aziraphale's breathing, a bit rapid at the other end of the line.
"I-" Aziraphale starts, then stops again. Crowley can hear the heartbeat of his damned human body in his head.
"I should go, Dear. Awful lot to be doing. Here. At the bookshop. With my hobbies. I'll call you another night. Pip pip."
Aziraphale hangs up.