inlovewithmycar | The City Inbox

[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.

Love a good shopping trip, me.

[It's true; Aziraphale can find any number of things that strike his fancy, and Crowley will find any number of things to loudly complain about, and then he'd carry their bags and they'd go get lunch that would inevitably turn into dinner and they'd come home and...]

...Could get used to this whole domestic thing, I reckon.

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