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( due to crowley's quick reflexes and sturdy wings, nary an electric candle managed to collide with aziraphale. they roll off his feathers effortlessly to scatter across the floor. aziraphale only really gets a good look at one when it rolls against the edge of his shoe. )

Oh.

( quietly. these look like the ones he uses in the shop.

hm.

he pulls his hand away from crowley's to press his fingers against his chin in thought. )

I suppose that might have been me.

( a pause. )

Well, that is new.

Edited 2023-08-02 07:28 (UTC)

Just summoning candles out of thin air? You worried about a power outage angel?

[He's teasing. He already misses Aziraphale's hand in his. He's already scheming how to get it back. All perfectly respectable diabolical thoughts going through his head, really, as he kneels down to pick up the candles and set them on the coffee table. They'll find a home for them later, certainly, but he doesn't want to just leave a mess before Aziraphale shows him the place; that would be poor manners for one thing, and for another, this is where they're going to be living.

Together.

For the foreseeable future.

It hits Crowley in that moment that they would be, officially, sharing a dwelling, cohabitating, living together henceforth until they found a way out of here which could be... any when.

He swallows thickly as he sets a candle down on the table.

It isn't like he never stayed the night, or even a couple of days at the bookshop. And after Armagedidn't, Aziraphale had stayed at his flat where they put on each other's bodies and...

Look, it's different.

There's spending the night and then there's living together, and now the full weight of just what Aziraphale had offered is hitting him like a sack of bricks. He's glad he's on the floor right now, because he doesn't think his feet would keep him upright at the moment.

Hand holding. Cohabitation. They are going very, very fast right now.

And there's no Heaven or Hell to stop them doing just what they like.

A warm sense of satisfaction spreads out from the core of him to the very tips of his various extremities before he gets to his feet and beams at the angel.]

So, gonna give me the tour of our place...?

( while the gravity of what crowley had been offered is starting to sink into him, aziraphale finds himself lost in thought. he doesn't answer the question at first, instead knitting his eyebrows together as he continues to turn over this puzzle in his mind. why had he had summoned those candles?

he's never done something like that before.

this bothers him.

aziraphale isn't done thinking it through before he realises that he hasn't said anything in too long. )

Oh.

( then he thinks back to what he had been asked. )

Oh, yes! Right. Well, you're already intimately acquainted with the balcony.

( a quick gesture back to where crowley had fallen out of the sky earlier. the balcony is connected to the living room. from where they're standing, both the dining room and kitchen are easily visible. it's a high-end condo, but the aesthetics of it are fairly modern.

then he starts heading down the hall, expecting for crowley to follow. )

[Crowley gives a grudging grunt of agreement. Not his finest moment, definitely not his most graceful entrance to date but it could be worse. It would, in fact, take a great deal to spoil the mood he's in.

Even if his miracles aren't working properly (he doesn't use them much anyway), even if he just crash landed on their balcony (of the condo they'd be sharing together), even if they're in a strange new world (far away from the grasping hands of Heaven and Hell), Crowley is feeling rather optimistic.]

Intimately. [He snarls, but there's no real bite to it. Crowley needs to soothe his wounded dignity by putting on his usual infernal airs.

But he doesn't miss that little furrow in Aziraphale's brow, nor the worried look he shoots the candles, and as he catches up, he turns over what Aziraphale said about his miracles a moment ago. Worry creeps between the cracks in his optimism and his slit yellow eyes dart to the side.]

You alright then, angel?

Just fine.

( a quick answer, but not an inaccurate one. he doesn't allow for much room for any further conversation about it because he's already pushing open doors for the sake of crowley's viewing pleasure. the hall closet, the bathroom, and then—

he pushes open another door. )

This should be the study, I believe.

( not that it means much when all the books within the study were empty. as it stands, it is mostly a finely decorated room with two desks and a long couch. which also means that aziraphale isn't too interested in lingering at the threshold of this room for too long.

he moves to the end of the hall. )

And here—

( his voice picks up an excited edge as he opens the door.

within is a massive bedroom that's been divided into two by the large glass partition running down the middle. it climbs from floor to ceiling, frosted glasses and a black metal frame. at the edges, there are privacy curtains to be pulled closed, but in the middle. . .?

there's a sliding door.

aziraphale wastes no time in walking over to the structure, pointing at it in approval. )

These are the bedrooms. I thought this was quite the cracker idea.

[The study definitely needs work. A few decades down the line and some actual books for those uncannily empty shelves, and Crowley could see it being quite cozy. But it's not right now, and he's happy to move on.

He does mentally note that there are two desks but only one couch. It gets the angel a bemused smile; are you trying to tempt him Mr. Fell...?

The bedroom(s), however, does something for him he can't quite put into words.

There's a divider, sure, but it's flimsy. Not even a lock on the sliding door which makes Crowley feels all kinds of ways that really defy description. He black heart beats, and he has to swallow his quickening pulse; the divide seems to exist as little more than a gesture at privacy and not...

Not something to keep them apart.]

Cracker idea indeed...

[He sounds miles away, warmth suffusing every inch of him. He knows, of course, that Aziraphale cares. That they are friends, that they have always been friends since they stood on that wall in Eden. But years of maintaining plausible deniability leaves a lot of cracks where doubt can seep in.

Seeing this vaporizes nearly every doubt he's ever had.

Aziraphale wants this too. Them. Their side. His best and dearest friend.]

Decor's a little modern for your tastes, yeah?

[He'll have to go look for thick, soft, tartan throw blankets, prowl the city for antiques, find some nice, fat satin pillows in shades cream, gold and pale blue; something to inject more of an Aziraphale feel to things.

The condo is very much to Crowley's modern sensibilities, but things feel wrong without Aziraphale's dusty books and fascinating knick knacks from hundreds of years ago.]

Can't be helped, I'm afraid.

( a little resigned.

the reality of the situation is that aziraphale hadn't just picked this condo at random. no, no. he had properly inspected several potential homes for both himself and crowley—although he's not quite so sure he'd be willing to admit to that—and this had been the best option available. it was spacious, whoever lived here before seemed to enjoy a mix of styles, and he was quite taken with the joined bedrooms.

plenty of other places had diverse perks and nice qualities, but most of them were too modern. too stiff. too cold. styled for minimalists and their awful, boring tastes. this place felt like the best he was going to get in that regard. )

This was once someone else's home.

( as if that just answers everything.

he turns back towards crowley, a warm expression on his face. )

But if we're going to be here for a while, we might as well spruce it up.

[He's just. Going to ignore that bit about it being someone else's home. By the long-lasting nature of homes, given a few decades they usually are, at some point or another, going to change hands.

It's just different here; chafing. Rubs his scales the wrong way. The kinds of things he doesn't want to dwell on.

He flashes Aziraphale his brightest, most roguish grin.]

Leave it to me, angel. We'll get this place feeling like home in no time, you'll see.

[He'd get Aziraphale some proper books even if he had to write the damn things himself.

For now, he strides around the space, taking it all in. It definitely needs more personal touches. Some art, maybe some statuary...? Some records and a player, too. But even bare as it is, it still feels... right.]

It gets beautiful light too. You picked good.

[He'll get some plants too. For himself; some with glossy, broad leaves, in shades of green so deep it was almost blue. For Aziraphale, he'd find only the best flowers, in vibrant pastels. Maybe plant a climbing rose bush out on the balcony.

Yes, he could see them being very comfortable here.]

( "like home."

those words settle comfortably in his chest, blooming into a gentle warmth. that's a lovely thought. even lovelier to hear it being spoken by crowley in that all-too-casual way.

briefly, aziraphale wonders if it's his shop or the demon's flat that ultimately felt more like home to him back in london. )

Than I shall.

( simply. he thinks that's a nice way for them to divide the work up. he picked it out, crowley will fix it up. that and he imagines that having some sort of project might help settle some of crowley's nerves. things always felt a little less overwhelming when there were clear tasks to perform.

he doesn't bother to ask which of the bedrooms he'll take, knowing without question that it'll be the left. the one they're already standing in. reaching out for the cream-coloured privacy curtain, he holds the fabric between his fingers.

there's a soft, angelic jingle as the curtains on this side of the bedroom start to bleed from cream to black.

a first touch towards making it a home. after all, it didn't seem like they were going to be released by their captors any time soon. )

I'm relieved that you like it. I was worried that it might not be ( he makes a twirling hand gesture. ) concrete enough.

( industrial looking, he means. )

[Crowley isn't quite prepared to admit that his cavernous flat in Mayfair was not so much a home as a place for him to put his stuff and take the occasional years-long nap.

But in his heart? The bookshop was always home. Of course it was; Aziraphale was there.

And now he's here, whatever, wherever and whenever here is. As far as Crowley is concerned, that makes the city home.

As he watches inky blackness seeping into the curtains, he's sure his face is doing something ridiculous and soppy; there's something about having his own tastes and preferences not just acknowledged but accepted that's a bit dizzying.

That the midnight black makes a pleasing contrast with the soft cream colours on the other side of the frosted glass.

Yes, Crowley thinks, this could work.]

You know me, angel, I can make myself comfortable anywhere. Just don't overdo the miracles, yeah?

[He doesn't know what will happen - he certainly doesn't want this tentative new home to go up in smoke.]

Can you now?

( a bemused sort of question. he doesn't actually think that to be entirely true. )

I seem to remember—Hm.

( aziraphale stops short, letting out a quiet little noise. there's a newly added weight to his limbs, wearing him down just a little. it's an unusual feeling, one that he still cannot get accustomed to. he lifts a hand, pressing it against his sternum for a brief moment.

then he strides over to crowley's new bed to sit down on the end of it. )

I may have done that a little too impulsively.

( perhaps he needs to wait a little longer in between miracles. )

[He knows exactly what Aziraphale is referring to when he's about to regale Crowley about just what he remembers, and the demon is intent to head him off at the start-]

Fine, fine, almost anywhere, you don't need to --

[Crowley cuts himself off as he sees the angel sag, and suddenly the air around him feels constricting and the back of his throat burns with worry.

He has never seen Aziraphale tired before.

He has certainly witnessed him fretting himself into such a frenzy and the world-weary aftermath hidden behind tight smiles and platitudes about faith in the Almighty, but this is something wholly different.

That's why Crowley doesn't recognize the bone-deep exhaustion for what it is at first; not in Aziraphale. Not until the angel sits down on the edge of his bed, and Crowley's heart plummets into his bowels.

They've never been in a position where they over-used their miracles. It's not like he thinks it's a bottomless well of power, but with how frugally they'd spent their existence, it may as well have been.]

Aziraphale? You alright...? Tell me what you're feeling.

[If there's pain, Crowley will have reason to worry. If it's just fatigue, then it's nothing a good nap can't sort out.]

( immediately, aziraphale knows that he doesn't like this. he doesn't like the way that his body—his vessel—feels and he especially doesn't like the way that crowley reacts. he can see the distress and fear instantly consume his expression.

that's not going to work for him. )

Don't be so dramatic.

( there's no bite to his words, but they aren't exactly gentle either. he's going to need crowley to be able to pull it together and keep a stiff upper lip about this whole affair. )

I'll be quite alright. Sitting here for a little bit while have me right as rain.

( or at least it has insofar.

then he thinks he has an appropriate solution. )

Why don't you take a seat with me?

I'll be as dramatic as I want. [He hisses in protest between gritted teeth, but Aziraphale's reprimand ultimately has its desired effect. Crowley's gangly body folds as he sinks down onto the mattress.

Oh.

It is quite comfortable isn't it?

...Aziraphale really does know him, doesn't he?

There's an restless jiggle to his leg as he looks Aziraphale over for any signs of pain or distress, but that anxiety dissipates when, as far as he can tell, the angel just looks exhausted.]

I'd suggest doing miracles together, but we might actually explode.

[Between Aziraphale's miracles being capped at maybe two tiny ones and Crowley's backfiring in spectacular fashion, it's a valid concern!]

Have you tried a nap after tiring out...? It usually works for me.

( better yet, exhausted is hardly even the right word for it. at least not at current. the tiredness that pulls at his bones and tugs at his limbs isn't that pressing, a new weight added onto his usually weightless body. it's a weight that aziraphale knows that he could ignore, but—

well.

he thinks that he should be honest about it when the two of them are alone.

then crowley mentions a nap and the gears of aziraphale's mind immediately start turning in a different direction. )

A nap? ( then a beat and aziraphale is immediately turning his head to look at crowley. ) What do you mean it works for you?

( did demons get tired? )

[Oh, he's gone and put his foot in it now, hasn't he.]

Oh. You know.

[He knows Aziraphale doesn't. He wouldn't be asking if he did.]

Sometimes it gets a little much. You just want to put your head down and let your subconscious do all the thinking without any input on your part.

[Crowley liked sleep in general. He'd take a few hours out of every week just to enjoy the sheer pleasure of a snooze. But there were also times in human history where he'd taken some truly preposterous 'naps' - some that lasted nearly a decade, and all of which followed week-long benders, that followed a commendation for some atrocity Crowley could never conceive. Sometimes, a demon just needed to go as off-line as much as possible.]

Sss'nice. You just close your eyes and let go of your worries for a bit. Wake up all nice and refreshed.

[Crowley has never, in fact, ever woken up nice and refreshed in his entire life. But he suspects that might be different for Aziraphale.]

( what?

not only does aziraphale not really understand what it is that crowley is trying to convey to him—he understands the concept, sure—but he also doesn't think that any of this really sounds very appealing. rather, he thinks it sounds a little terrible.

especially because he has seen crowley sleep on occasion. deep slumbers that he doesn't easily wake from. not even for the gentle press of his fingers combing through crowley's hair. )

I see.

( he doesn't want to do that. it's an unsettling thought.

if he laid down, how long would he sleep? could he be woken? would he be effectively abandoning crowley here?

. . . )

If you find yourself tired, Crowley, I would like to know.

I'm an old hat at the sleeping thing. It's you I'm worried about.

[He's about to suggest that Aziraphale try a catnap. That he would watch over him, and wake him if anything happened.

But then there is that ever-present need to question everything rearing its serpentine head, and Crowley rests his chin in his palm, gazing up at the angel intently.]

6000 years and you've never so much as dozed, right?

[He cannot stop the corners of his mouth creeping up into a grin.]

...So how come you got a bed...?

I've more than simply one bed.

( simply and without any further explanation. )

But no. I have never slept before.

[This angel and semantics! Augh!]

You'd have made a fantastic Djinn, you know that? Right then, how come, in addition to my bed, you've got one too since you've never slept, and did not seem particularly keen on the idea when I brought it up.

[When Crowley explained why sleeping "worked", Aziraphale had gotten that pensive, slightly queasy look he always got when he was bothered by something and couldn't put his finger on it.]

...Are you curious...?

[His mouth splits into a grin.]

You are, aren't you?

( it does not escape his notice that crowley did not properly respond to his request. instead moving onto this pointless conversation of the existence of beds. that's simply how it was done, wasn't it? in a shared home, the bedroom is meant to be someone's personal space.

for humans, that came with a bed. )

To sleep?

( he asks, but then pauses to consider the question anyway. was he curious? did he want to try it? he's not sure. mostly, he just feels anxious at the thought of it. )

I don't know.

( he admits.

but one good turn deserves another. immediately, he's trying to redirect the conversation back. )

You didn't give me your word.

[He doesn't push it. If Aziraphale is worried enough to ask Crowley to warn him before he takes a nap, then it's not worth the argument.]

Fine, fine. You have my word. And you should tell me too if you're feeling the sssweet slumberous siren's call too. Don't want you nodding off unguarded.

[He flops back onto the mattress and allows himself a long, luxurious stretch.]

S'a good bed, angel.

( a considering pause. )

Alright.

( aziraphale can agree to that. actually, it was his desired outcome for this topic of conversation so he's fairly glad that they could come to an agreement so easily.

his shoulders relax, releasing a little of the tension that they were starting to gather. he casts crowley a sidelong glance, looking at the way he extends across the bed. )

I didn't pick it.

( a reminder.

then he explains. )

I thought I'd wait for your answer before I made any adjustments.

( with that being whether or not he would accept living together. )

[Rolling onto his side with one leg tucked up while the other extends off the side of the bed, Crowley props himself up on his elbow, cheek resting in his palm as he considers this new Arrangement.]

You know, with miracles being what they are at the moment, reckon it would hurt to make any adjustments we might want the human way.

The human way?

( he repeats, voice soft and thoughtful. crowley raises an excellent suggestion. it might be far more trouble than it was worth to figure out a way to use miracles to customise their new residence. )

You might be right. I suppose we should plan an outing then to look at the shops.

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inlovewithmycar - 2023-08-11 01:08 (UTC) - Expand