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It was the sun that woke Crowley the next morning. Irritatingly bright beams shone through the curtains, almost as a personal fuck you from the sun. What even is the point, Crowley thought, of having curtains that just let all the light in anyway? He sighed, knowing that that answer would be some variation of: Because they’re pretty Crowley.
He shoved away the pillow he was holding and threw the blanket off himself. He thought briefly about whether or not a demon would make someone’s bed after kicking them out of it to sleep. He decided that yes, but he intentionally left lumps in the blanket.
After he’d gone downstairs the previous night, Aziraphale had decided to sort through some of the book piles around his desk. Though by the morning most of them were still scattered around the desk, just in different piles, and Aziraphale had gone back upstairs to the flat to make coffee and tea (The tea for himself and the coffee, of course, was for Crowley, Aziraphale had never really been partial to caffeine and it felt like a bad habit to start).
He felt odd about last night. It was very possible he’d gone too far by directly asking about Crowley's extended outings. They never spoke that plainly about such things. He’d decided that he was done being so vague about everything with Crowley after Armageddon’t, to some degree. But maybe it had been presumptuous of him to assume that Crowley wanted the same.
It was already nearly 9 am, but he hadn’t heard anything from the bedroom indicating that Crowley was up yet. The poor thing was probably sleeping in, he had kept him up rather late(cut to Crowley glaring at the sun shining through the window like it was his mortal enemy).
He decided to leave the coffee in the pot instead of putting it in a mug. It would keep warm for longer that way, besides, he wasn’t positive how Crowley took his coffee. He made a mental note to ask Crowley, seeing as he was always up and about earlier in the mornings than Crowley was. He decided that instead of waiting around in the kitchen, he’d go sit in the living room with his tea. It was Sunday, so he likely wouldn’t open the shop today. Or maybe he would. He rarely thought about when he would or wouldn’t open the shop. It was open when he wanted it to be open, which was always less when Crowley was around.
Much to his surprise, Crowley walked into the living room, still in his black, silk pyjamas, not even five minutes later. He sat down on the sofa next to Aziraphale with a quiet huff, leaning against his side. “Good morning, dear,” Aziraphale smiled, setting down his tea.
“Mm,” Crowley grunted back.
“Did you sleep well? I’m surprised you’re already up.”
“Mhm.”
“There’s a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen if you’d like,” Aziraphale said while moving his arm to wrap around Crowley's shoulders.
“Mgf,” He grumbled.
“Well, it’s there if you change your mind.”
Aziraphale really did want to talk about last night, but Crowley clearly wasn’t in the mood for forming even partial phrases yet. He decided that he’d give him some time to wake up before he started trying to get Crowley to explain what had happened last night.
By the afternoon, they were still sitting on the sofa. Aziraphale had gone out to a nearby sushi place to get them lunch, then Crowley had convinced him to watch a few of The Golden Girls episodes with him after they’d finished. It was lovely spending time with the demon, but as the day progressed he grew more and more concerned. Crowley wasn’t nearly as talkative as he normally was by the afternoon, he’d barely spoken at all.
It was possible that Crowley was just bored with being at the bookshop so often. Even he could admit that sometimes the days drug on, but he had plenty of things to keep him occupied. Which seemed contrary to Crowley, who spent most of his time doing aimless things or lying about.
Part of him wondered if getting Crowley to properly move in would help. It had been nearly ten years since Crowley ‘lived’ at the bookshop, and yet he still referred to it as Aziraphale’s shop or Aziraphale’s flat. In Aziraphale’s mind, the flat was just as much Crowley’s as it was his, though Crowley seemed to not want to fully move in. He even still kept a few of his plants in the backseat of his car despite the countless times Aziraphale had told him that he could move them into the flat.
At the moment, he was lying on his back on the sofa while Crowley was lying on top of him watching the television .
“Crowley?”
“Hm?”
“Just checking to see if you were still awake.”
Crowley turned in Aziraphale's arms and pressed his face against his chest with a grumble. Aziraphale frowned. Crowley had been cuddling up to him practically all morning. It’s not that he minded the affection, but it was just so out of character for the demon and it worried him terribly. “You know if you’re still tired, we could always go back to bed,” Aziraphale suggested.
“Not tired, bored.” Crowley mumbled.
“We could go for a walk in St. James Park? I’m sure the ducks would be happy to see you.”
Crowley just sighed.
“Crowley, I’d like to help you with whatever’s going on, but I can’t do anything if you don’t talk to me,” Aziraphale said.
“There is nothing going on.”
“Clearly there is.” He managed not to snap, but the statement definitely held some aggression.
“Just having an off day,” Crowley sighed.
“Alright.” Aziraphale knew that an off day was likely not the whole of what was happening, but he was grateful that Crowley had opened up to him. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Crowley grabbed one of Aziraphale’s hands and squeezed it. “This’s nice.”
Aziraphale smiled, petting Crowley’s hair with his free hand. “You are sweet.”
“I take it back,” Crowley said, still holding onto Aziraphale’s hand. “This is terrible.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’s absolute torment.”