Chapter Text
“They won’t stay away forever you know.”
The demon squinted behind his glasses before tossing back a glass of what couldn’t decide between being whiskey or wine. Aziraphale couldn’t tell if the face Crowley made was because of the taste or the truth.
“How long do ya reckon we’ve got?” He asked blearily, setting the glass on the edge of a table so that it made Aziraphale nervous.
“I’m not sure,” tipping back the rest of his own glass he considered the situation. “But it’s probably not best for either of us to wander about alone.” He paused thoughtfully and tilted his head in a way that made Crowley nervous. “It’s not like we have to be alone anymore.”
Crowley blinked at Aziraphale. Maybe they’d both had enough for the night.
As much as he was loathe to admit it, Crowley had never seen the same necessity that Aziraphale had, the one that meant they only saw each other a handful of times every couple of decades. For two immortal beings, time tended to be more of a problem that it ought to have been. Mischief just wasn’t the same if there wasn’t an exasperated angel going through the motions of thwarting him just so they could have an early lunch.
“I never thought we had to be, to begin with,” Crowley admitted. He kicked his feet up on Aziraphale’s couch in a way he hoped was nonchalant. Definitely too much alcohol.
“Yes, well,” the angel started, not quite clearly remembering all his reasons that clouded his head in broad daylight. The sweet haze of the alcohol and dark sky outside shushed his nerves to a quiet calm.
“How much is too much wandering alone?” Crowley mused to no one in particular. Aziraphale mused back.
“I don’t know actually, I mean, I don’t do much beyond the bookshop these days.” Crowley was watching him over the rims of his glasses. Aziraphale didn’t notice. “Would it be too much of a bother? I suppose we could cycle between your flat and mine.”
Crowley’s mind stopped altogether.
He wasn’t sure he trusted his voice when he asked, “Cycle between what? Sleeping? Drinking?”
“Well yes, I suppose. I mean we could go out, see other parts of the world together, but if we’re keeping to London for the moment, it’s probably wise to keep to each other,” his eyebrows were almost as knit as his sweater. He looked at Crowley then and seemed to realize how long he’d been making a spectacle. “Right?”
Crowley’s smile was slow and unsure. It crept across his face as Aziraphale started to relax. “You’re absolutely right, angel.” Had a human been standing in the room with the both of them, they would have said Crowley purred but Aziraphale paid him no mind.
A slow smile graced Aziraphale’s face in response. “You know, with the apocalypse over, I find I’m strangely out of work for the moment.”
“What do you suppose we do about that?”
“I was thinking of going to bed actually.” The words seemed to surprise Aziraphale as much as they did Crowley but found they were strangely true. Everything was warm and comfortable and good. There had been food at the Ritz, good conversation, and now wine. Aziraphale couldn’t find it in himself to regret any of it. Of his indulgences.
“My my, not even a day later and you’re already engaging in sloth? Is it just me or has temptation gotten easier lately?” Again, one probably could’ve assumed Crowley was muttering to himself if it weren’t for his volume, which was quite loud for the small flat. He changed positions, opting to slump haphazardly across Aziraphale’s armrests in a way that he didn’t think would be pleasant in that much leather.
“Not just you. Heaven isn’t watching. Judging.” Aziraphale seemed to consider his words, his state, and Crowley all at once. He doubted very much that either of them cared to sober up. “Are you staying the night, then?”
If Crowley wished those words meant something else, he decidedly kept that to himself and nodded his response. Aziraphale nodded back and made to stand up. The floor looked farther away than it should and he sat back down.
“Kinda reminds you of being out at sea.”
“What does?”
“The floor.”
“Oh,” replied Crowley, trying to decide between offering a hand or miracle-ing himself a more luxurious blanket.
Glancing over at Aziraphale, Crowley noticed how dazed he looked. The angel was so utterly still, trying to muster some decision that kept him upright and drunk instead of upright and sober.
“Are you calling in a favor, angel?” Crowley asked more confidently than he felt. It could’ve been a whisper.
Startled back to thinking about leaving the room Aziraphale nodded, “if you don’t mind, my dear, it would be a great help.”
Crowley vaulted himself from the couch and Aziraphale would’ve been startled if his reaction time wasn’t muddied with wine. Instead, he simply laughed and accepted the offered hand.
The two of them laughed all the way to Aziraphale’s cramped bedroom. Scattered books and clothes and papers were everywhere. It was the opposite of immaculate and Crowley felt snug pressed up against Aziraphale wedged into this stifling little room. If he glanced too hard at the papers he would recognize his own handwriting from the many centuries of correspondence he’d written Aziraphale. He didn’t look too closely.
As uncoordinated as a baby deer, or perhaps just a drunken angel, Aziraphale collapsed into the bed without much thought. It was in that way that Crowley also collapsed into the bed without much thought.
“I’ll leave, just give me a minute.” The demon rumbled into the covers. He was trying to find his hand, which was located snugly between Aziraphale’s side and the mattress.
“It’s alright dear, I mean it is big enough for two.”
Crowley blinked and decidedly ignored the way the springs of the mattress stretched to accommodate them both. If more blankets and pillows appeared he gave them no notice. If the comforter doubled in size and the sheets increased in thread count he turned a blind eye.