Aziraphale heard a racket outside, in front of his shop, but that wasn’t terribly unusual. It was Soho, after all, and while the neighborhood he’d chosen to inhabit on Earth could be called many things, ‘quiet’ was not normally one of them. Blaring music was a several-times-a-day occurrence, really, and hardly noticed anymore.
But typically, when there was blaring music, it was subject to the Doppler Effect - it would start out distant and small, then grow louder until it reached a crescendo, then it would taper off into nothingness again as the car (or teenager with a boombox on his shoulder) passed. This music, however, had simply gotten louder until now it was shaking the dust from his volumes - and it hadn’t gotten quieter. It sounded like the source of the music had stopped directly in front of his little shop. That, coupled with the fact that the music was familiar to him - some bebop that he’d heard multiple times while riding in the Bentley - led him to believe that his beloved had arrived. Glancing at the clock, he noted the time and accepted that as the final confirmation of who was causing such a racket. It must be Crowley, come to pick him up to go to dinner.
Aziraphale smiled fondly and closed the book he’d been reading, putting it aside and going to the front door, peeking out the window. Sure enough, there sat the sleek, black car, and the music (if one could call it that - he truly didn’t understand Crowley’s musical taste) was louder now. The angel flipped the sign and pulled the shades, then opened the door, stepping out onto the stoop and closing it behind himself. He waved his hand to miracle the shop securely locked and invulnerable to break in. That accomplished, he stepped out onto the pavement, making his way to Crowley’s car, fully expecting the demon to see him and turn down his music, as he nearly always did.
However, Crowley seemed to be utterly lost in whatever he was doing - although what he was doing, exactly, Aziraphale couldn’t say. Singing, clearly - that was obvious - and quite immersed in his performance.
”I see a little silhouetto of a man
Scaramouche, Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango?”
Suddenly, almost too quickly to see, Crowley shifted his position in his seat slightly, singing another part of the song, then switched back, still singing and putting on quite a lively performance - for his steering wheel, apparently.
”(Galileo) Galileo, (Galileo) Galileo, Galileo Figaro magnificoooooooo…”
Aziraphale bit his lip to keep from laughing and just kept watching, fascinated. It was so rare that Crowley let the cooler-than-thou facade that he’d so carefully crafted over thousands of years drop, and the angel was enjoying this glimpse of his beloved demon having pure, unfettered fun.
”Beelzebub has a devil put aside for me, for me, for meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!”
Suddenly, Crowley was nodding his head (at least, Aziraphale thought he was nodding, but he’d never seen anyone do it so… emphatically), up and down in time with the music, and Aziraphale was struck with the thought that if Crowley still had his long hair, it would have made quite a spectacle. As it was, his teeth were bared, his hands were gripping the steering wheel, and Aziraphale wondered wildly if it were possible for demons to have seizures.
It didn’t last long, though, before he he had stopped the violent nodding and was back to singing and gesticulating forcefully, as if performing in front of thousands of screaming fans.
”So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye?
So you think you can love me and leave me to diiiiiiie?
Oooooooh, baaabaaay, can't do this to me, ba - AAAARGH!!”
Crowley shouted in alarm when he glanced over just in time to see Aziraphale peering in the window at him. The look of shock on his face was one the angel had never seen before - and wouldn’t soon forget. In a flash, Crowley was stone-faced, both hands on the wheel, staring straight ahead, his whole body tense. The music’s volume had dropped to nearly nothing without a touch from his long, slender finger. Aziraphale schooled his features, trying to repress the laughter that wanted to escape, and opened the door to the car, getting in.
Crowley didn’t acknowledge him for a minute, and Aziraphale felt laughter bubbling closer to the surface with every passing second. Just when he turned his head to face the demon and was opening his mouth to say something devastatingly clever, Crowley held up a finger in a clear ‘stop’ motion, rather close to Aziraphale’s face, still staring out the windscreen at nothing.
“Not. One. Word.”
Oh, that simply wasn’t fair. There was so much Aziraphale wanted to say, so much teasing he wanted to do.
Unable to stop himself from getting at least one little teasing remark in, he said serenely, “I’ll never be able to unsee that.”
Crowley turned to glare at Aziraphale, tilting his head so his sunglasses slid down just a bit and his amber eyes were able to bore into the angel’s, angling the finger so it was now pointing warningly at him.
“Not. Another. Word.”
Aziraphale made a show of miming the zipping of his lips, then throwing away the key. Crowley continued to glower, and Aziraphale smiled at him innocently, immensely pleased with himself. Crowley turned back to the road, a muscle twitching in his jaw, then seemed to shake it off and was back to his usual slouchy self, as if nothing had happened.
“Right. Where to for dinner, angel?”
“Oh, I don’t care,” Aziraphale answered cheerily. Then he crooned softly, “Nothing really matters to me…”