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If you asked the demon Crowley to explain to you how human means of transportation worked, he’d probably glare at you - and hiss, as per being a serpent - and ask you why the Hell would you ask that to him of all people. And he’s also not be fully able to respond.
He finds no reason in getting into a crumpled place with way too many humans, smelling all the sweat and hormones, when he can just as easily take his car. Of course, he’d had to take some buses in his long immortal life, but there’s something about being a demon that makes it quite easier: unconscious miracles. In fact, the few times Crowley has had to take a bus, it came exactly in time, it always contained less humans as possible, had cleaner seats and brought him exactly where he needed to go, no need for bus stops.
So you see, for those exact reasons, he doesn’t find them as bad as most of humanity seems to. Only because he doesn’t know the truth, of course.
That said, both him and Aziraphale agreed that the bus must be one private place to talk without being spotted, so here he is, waiting for the bus that is just coming towards him.
He saunters in, as he usually does when he walks, and climbs the stairs to the upper part of the bus, he spots the pillowy hair of the angel immediately and he goes to sit behind him.
“The boy is too normal.”
He tries to keep quiet, he knows that Aziraphale will hear him anyway. The angel closes the newspaper, today’s version of “Celestial influences” and glances briefly at him.
“Excellent. It’s working.” He pauses, taking off his stupidly endearing glasses that he definitely doesn’t need. “The heavenly influences are balancing out the hellish. A no-score draw.”
Crowley sighed a little. “I hope you’re right, only six years left to go.” Crowley let his mind wander, his head drift to the side as he glanced at the interiors of the bus, there were lots of people sitting around.
“Crowley?”
“Yeah?” He murmured softly, his thoughts still in a swirl.
“I mean, if he comes to his full powers.” The angel hesitates. “How- how do we stop him then?”
Crowley’s eyes immediately went back to him and he found that he really didn’t have an answer for that question. The silence was stretching for too long.
“I’m- I’m sure it won’t come to that.”
The angel was not looking at him, obviously he wasn’t, but Crowley could basically feel the nervousness radiating off of him.
“Do we- ah, is there something else I should know?”
That was the telltale sign. Their meetings have always been pleasant and most importantly, they’re predictable. They talk about work, they get the bothersome stuff out of the way first, then Aziraphale hints about going back to the bookshop and Crowley tempts him to stay just a bit longer, to indulge in a spot of lunch, to feed the ducks, it’s a well played game, one that never gets old.
Before Crowley even has the chance to say something, anything, the bus comes to a stop and had he not seen, and played part, in both of the two World Wars, he would’ve assumed that a bomb had just dropped outside, because a hoard of people were now climbing into the bus, basically running to get their seats, the standing places becoming less and less as they just settled all against each others like sardines.
It reminded him of Hell’s hallways, the way those people just pushed and pull to get in their place, seemingly not caring of who they were elbowing in the back. His hold on the pole tightened a bit and he subconsciously found himself looking for Azirphale’s eyes.
The angel, ever true to himself, looked as starstruck as he did.
“I get that this doesn’t happen in trains too then.”
Aziraphale looked back at him, seemingly surprised that Crowley remembered that he took the train regularly, as if the demon would ever forget a detail as endearing as that.
“Well, it’s not that it doesn’t happen, I normally just, uhm, miracle it a bit emptier.”
“Oh?” Crowley raises his eyebrow, trying not to think of the smell of sweat that is starting to cloud the air. “Do you now?”
Aziraphale flushes a little at his tone and Crowley would be lying if he said that seeing only the red tip of his ears in between his cloudy white air isn’t the most adorable thing he’s ever laid eyes upon.
“Well I- I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting some space. Humans do tend to be so touchy.”
“And you just miracle all those poor fellows out of the train for your personal space?”
“You make it sound like I’m some sort of tyrant!” Aziraphale exclaims. “I’m not banishing anyone into the Aether, I just miracle the next train to be there already so they can take it and be a little more comfortable.”
“And what about the people in the previous stops? Their train just misses their course and runs away without them? Doesn’t seem very heavenly now, does it?” He quirks an eyebrow, trying to hide his smirk, teasing Aziraphale makes him feel more at ease, it distracts him a little from the memories of Hell.
“I’m-“ Aziraphale looks at him for a moment, as if he’s just discovered something that he’d rather not say out loud. “I’m sure they’re perfectly fine.”
“So you’re the reason trains are always late or miss stops, that’s good to know.”
“Stop it! You don’t even take the train!”
“Well I might start now, see if I can catch the same as yours or if i’m just going to be kicked out.”
Aziraphale is fully red now and Crowley is enjoying this a little too much, he wishes he could make Aziraphale blush every day, see his flustered expression as he scrambles to justify himself. Best not get there. Their banter is interrupted when the angel seems to spot something, or better, someone, that is standing just right in front of him.
“Oh dear, sit please.”
He gets out of his chair before Crowley even has the chance to ask and fluffy white hair gets replaced by… Fluffy white hair.
He should be very amused by the sheer amount of similarity between Aziraphale and this random old lady, but his amusement dies in his throat as he watches the angel stand awkwardly between strangers.
“Oh thank you sweet, you’re so kind.” The lady says gently, adjusting herself a little bit better in the chair. From the looks of her, she’s ogling Aziraphale like he’s a popsicle, give her a few seconds and she may ask him to sit on her lap.
Aziraphale is now standing up and Crowley can’t fully see him, his hand is just on the seat in front of Crowley, his ring seemingly brighter than ever, but the rest of his body is covered by the mass of people that were piling inside.
Crowley tries to shift a bit, see if he can catch Aziraphale’s glance. If he stretches his neck up, he can see the angel’s hair and then finally his eyes, Aziraphale is already looking at him.
The angel’s eyes seem pleading, but the smile of courtesy never leaves his mouth, no matter how much he is twitching because of the physical contact.
“Oh no problem dear, it is a bit stuffed in here.” He says to the lady, which only smiles back. Of course she can’t read Aziraphale as Crowley can, so she clearly doesn’t notice the tense lines in his face indicating pure discomfort.
“Well yes, those legs are not as strong as they were before, I used to run for miles and miles and never get tired, I wouldn’t have even dared to step on bus years ago.” She prattles on.
“I’m sure they were.”
Aziraphale, being an angel, has the tendency to just get strangers to overshare. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it gets him someone to talk to, sometimes Crowley is there too and he just has to watch Aziraphale paying more attention to a human stranger than to him, bleah.
“Everything alright there, angel?” He asks, not even sure if the question reaches Aziraphale. “Not going to… You know, miracle the crowd away?”
“I think not, thank you very much, I’m perfectly fine the way I am.” He says, The bus stops and finally, the bulked man standing in front of the angel elbows his way out and he can get the full picture of Aziraphale again.
Crowley realises his mistake only then, it’s truly incredible how every mischief he does eventually comes back to bite him in the ass. He would very much like it if Aziraphale miracled everyone away, but now that he’s made him realise it, now that he planted the seed of doubt on the fact that it is not very angelic - whatever the fuck that means - Aziraphale would stubbornly bear the plagues of Egypt before he admits that he can’t stand it.
It’s a little game, one they invented all their own, Aziraphale will try to show that he can survive even without miracles before eventually Crowley would take such pity of him that he does the miracle for him. Of course, Aziraphale will keep arguing that he was right, as he didn’t ask for help, Crowley provided, so he can survive without miracles. They would argue about it, possibly over a nice dinner, before Crowley would stop arguing and just take pleasure in seeing Aziraphale’s smug little attitude.
Now though, they’re right in the middle of it. Crowley can’t just miracle the crowd away immediately, Aziraphale would not let that slide. He grits his teeth, there is nothing he hates more than having his time with Aziraphale interrupted by other people, but he’ll have to beat it, at least until he can miracle the people away without problems.
It looks so weird too, seeing him standing up between all those humans, his hand clutches the chair as the bus speeds off and he seems to be adjusting his legs width apart to avoid falling, there are people literally pressing him against the chair and Crowley has to fight the urge to at least miracle them to be as far away from his angel as possible.
“You don’t look very comfortable, sure you don’t wont miracles them away?” He tries, maybe Aziraphale will surrender a little sooner.
Aziraphale sighs. “Oh there’s no need, I’m sure they’ll all get off very soon.”
Crowley smirks. “Will they?”
“Yes, of course, sooner or later.”
More people seem to get into the bus at the next stop and Aziraphale is quite literally plastered against the side of his old seat and Crowley’s knee. Crowley has to pretend as if the point of contact doesn’t make his skin burn.
“You know,” He says, now lowering his voice a little as he talks (he’s a demon but he’s not rude) “You really didn’t have to give your seat to grandma here, you came here first.”
Aziraphale darts his eyes to the old woman in the seat, panicking over the thought that she heard him, but fortunately she didn’t. “Crowley, she was clearly tired, it’s my duty as an angel to make sure that humans are safe and healthy, even if it means to stand in this… Trench.”
Crowley snorts, of course he would say that.
“I don’t think angelic duties includes having humans grinding on your clothes. You can miracle those people away you know, after all you’ve done it before.” He says, in the tone he usually uses when he wants to convince Aziraphale to try a new restaurant, or drink a little more.
“But you just said- why are you insisting on it so much? You’re almost making me think that they’re making you uncomfortable.” He says, because of course Aziraphale is clever enough to find Crowley out.
“I’m a demon, I don’t get uncomfortable.” He says weakly. “You’re just not good company when you’re fussing over your clothes getting dirty.”
“My clothes?” He says, looking at his body as if trying to find any stains, which fortunately takes the attention away from Crowley enough to let him compose himself again. It doesn’t last long tough, because after a through check, Aziraphale turns around with a pout, that stupid old pout, it makes Crowley feel all liquid in the inside, as if his body was melting on the seat. “You know, you could give me your seat.”
He raised his eyebrows at that. “Oh you’re right, one should always give the seats to the elderly.” He says flatly.
“Well, I certainly have been standing for more time than you do.” He scoffs.
“What’s that bloke’s name? The scientist. Darwin’s theory. Yeah. Evolution and stuff. The stronger in the jungle wins, I have to let Her test your legs a little here angel or where’s the fun?” He huffs. “And you know, you could miracle the bus stop in front of your bookshop!” How far along are they? Shit, it’s not as if Crowley can tell by the roads alone.
“You could do it too.”
“I’m a demon! I don’t follow rules and I certainly don’t give up my lair to just any random angel that asks me to.” He throws his hands in the hair, almost bumping Aziraphale’s stomach as he does that. He immediately retrieves his hands, hoping he didn’t notice.
“Oh so I’m just a random angel now?” He says
The metaphor may have just escaped his grasp. “No- I mean, you-“ He splutters.
He lifts his head and meets Aziraphale’s eyes, gloating, that’s what they are, he immediately stops talking. “Bastard. That’s what you are, a bastard.” The little glint in his eyes, the one that tells Crowley that he’s been fooled, that once again Aziraphale only seems naive because he is too kind for his own sake, not because he’s not the smartest angel in the world or that he doesn’t have a sense of humour, for that sake.
Aziraphale fully grins at that, it’s toothy and he has little dimples in the side of his face and oh Crowley is going to die. Yup.
“I mean, you could- you could sit on my lap.” He says, trying very hard not to look at him. “If you’re that uncomfortable.”
“I- I’m sorry, what?”
”People do it all the time.” Crowley rushes to explain. “It’s like basically normality now, you wouldn’t know since you’re ancient, but like they’re all sitting over each other and stuff, no one uses chairs anymore:”
He’s pretty sure his whole face is covered in red now, but he can only hope that the shitty lighting of the bus will cover it.
“Oh- oh but… Do they?”
“Yup.”
“I do weight quite a lot.” Aziraphale says, a little self consciously, as he looks down on his body.
“Bullshit. Demon, ‘member? I can lift buildings. A soft angel isn’t a problem.” And fuck how soft really is he? Crowley wants to bury himself against Aziraphale’s skin, he wants to know what it’d feel like to be smashed by the angel’s body against the seat behind him. Fuck.
Aziraphale doesn’t look very convinced though, he has that expression which Crowley learnt is the one he makes when he doesn’t like anything on the menu of a restaurant, or more appropriately now, when he doesn’t feel comfortable with either of the choices he has.
That can’t do.
”Actually, you know, there are a lot of germs on those.” He changes the subject, pointing his head to the pole Aziraphale is holding. “Lots and lots of germs. Really they suck. Humans are just plastering their snot and spit all over them.”
At those words, Aziraphale grimaces a little and loosens his hold on it. By doing so, he risks almost doubling down all over Crowley.
”Here.” Crowley says, feeling braver than usual, grabbing Aziraphale’s hand and making it rest on his shoulder. “Hold onto me.”
“My dear, you can’t be very stable.”
“Why not? I’m sitting down. Nothing ‘s more stable than me here.” He swallows at the feeling of Aziraphale’s tight grip on him. He wishes the angel could use him as a pole forever, as a chair too, as a table, he can use him as everything he wants, Aziraphale won’t ever need furniture or electronic devices if he allows Crowley to do as he pleases.
”Are you sure I’m not hurting you?” Aziraphale supplies quietly when another jolts requires him to fully grasp Crowley’s shoulder, his legs pressed against Crowley’s thigh at the edge of the seat.
“Why dear, I must thank you, that’s quite a nice-”
“Not nice!” He exclaims. “Tempting. That’s what I’m doing. Tempting you to fall over in the bus and hurt yourself and maybe a few humans in return. I am the Original tempter, capital O, I am the Serpent of Eden, the- I am not n-“
His sentence, as it usually seems to be, is interrupted when he feels something wet on the fabric covering his thighs. He quite literally recoils, but manages to stop himself from kicking out when he spots a little girl, her hand grasping his trousers as if he was a literal anchor.
“Darling, no, leave the man alone.”
Crowley fights the urge to correct her on his gender - or the lack thereof. An older woman, also pressed quite literally onto Crowley - and half into Aziraphale too - grabbed her slimy hand away from him and turned the child around, she was holding up another little kid which was definitely drooling on her neck.
“But mom! I’m tired.”
The woman sighed as the baby in her arms started to cry, lifting her arm from the pole to be able to pat his back as she held on her other child with the other arm, balancing herself with her legs.
“I can’t hold you June, mom’s hands are full.”
“But I’m so tired! And my stomach hurts.”
“Then you shouldn’t have ate all that candy at papa’s.” The baby didn’t seem able to stop crying and it was hurting Crowley’s nervous system.
“He gave them to me! And they’re apple candies, so they don’t count as sweets.”
Crowley stared at the child and then glanced at the angel, whose eyebrows had just been raised in his common “and what are you going to do now?” pose, his mouth pressed into a thin line.
He groaned, pained. He considered his options for a moment, he could either suffer through the whole trip, hearing this stupid child cry and complain while also being able to taste the mother’s helplessness in the air, or…
“Would you- sit?” He asked, the child immediately turned around, a gleeful smile on her face, the woman looked at him with relief.
“Oh thank you sir, are you sure? She’s just had too much sugar, she can stand a little m-“
He got up before the woman could thank him more, the child immediately hopped in the seat but then was content enough to just sit on her mom’s legs as she balanced both of her kids.
“Thank you.”
“Yeah sure, don’t thank me.”
He understood why Aziraphale’s face was so pained as he was standing, there were at least three elbows poking at him in the back, two hands definitely too close to his waist and people kept plastering themselves on his back when the bus moved.
The worst thing of all of this was probably Aziraphale’s expression.
“So, are you comfortable?” Asked the little shit. Crowley groaned.
“Don’t say that. Don’t look at me like that. I’m just- encouring the sloth in the youth, that’s it, making them want to sit down and don’t do anything.” He whispers, not wanting to be heard by everyone.
“Oh yes dear, I’m sure.”
“And she touched me with her dirty hand, I wanted her to stay further away from me.”
“You are right, dear.”
“And- ngk, shut up. Don’t look at me like that.”
If Crowley had to be one hundred percent true, he would also add that while sitting, the crowd, the people towering over him, the smell, the sweat, the slimy hand on his thigh, they reminded him all too much of Hell. He needed a change before he felt the overwhelming need to just run away, it was a little better like this, not much, but at least he was tall enough to breath a little more.
“How long until we get to the bookshop?” He asked, stupidly, because Aziraphale hadn’t even invited him. Crowley can’t see his gave as he’s looking out of the window form in between people’s bodies, but the angel didn’t seem to mind, his voice seems a little timid though.
“I’m not sure we’re very close dear, they will say our stop when it comes to that.”
Crowley sighs, finding a free space to hold himself at and- oh, shit. He does the mistake of looking up and finally settling his eyes on Aziraphale which is absurdly close. Their legs are touching, the angel’s face is not more than a few inches from his own and most importantly, the free space Crowley has just found is right beside the angel, where the woman was before, which makes him lean closer to him every time the bus moves. Fucking fuck.
Behind him, there’s a group of kids, basically pressed against his back, who keep yelling at each other and screaming profusely and Crowley is one second away from miracling them straight to the deepest pits of Hell.
But he doesn’t manage to do that, no, because apparently there are other people that like to drive in 90 miles per hour in central London as a car cuts off the road in front of the bus, whose driver quite literally stomps on the breaks.
Crowley, who already has the equilibrium of a being that was created without any legs, quite literally flies forward. His hand has lost the precarious grip it had on the edge of seat and he falls forward.
He is quite ready to hit the ground for some reason, but he doesn’t, instead he falls face forward into the soft sturdy corporation right in front of him.
“Careful.” Aziraphale says, but Crowley is too busy panicking. He had taken a step in front, trying to balance himself during his stumble, only to reduce the already little space between the two of them to a zero. Aziraphale himself had turned around to face him to gain balance.
His leg is now almost entirely between the angel’s ones, his hand has moved and is now gripping Aziraphale’s shoulder tightly, their bodies are pressed almost completely together from knees to shoulder. He had ducked his head to see where he was stepping, which was even worse, because his cheek was also almost completely pressed against Aziraphale’s neck.
Crowley quite literally stopped breathing. The touch felt like being branded by an hot iron, only the iron is mildly warm and also a lot fluffier and cute looking. He doesn’t know what to say, he’s afraid that if he opens his mouth now, the only thing that will come out is an honest to God very embarrassing sound.
The thing is, Crowley is used to touch in Hell. This is the exact same situation he has lived for millennia, being pushed around and having to move through a crowd of smelly and annoying strangers. But Aziraphale being there only feeds quite literally every fantasy he’s had after a long day.
The fantasy in which he’s in Hell and he’s as alone and dreadful as he usually is when he’s there but then Aziraphale comes to his rescue and kills all the other demons and hugs him and tells him that it will be fine and-
Crowley definitely needs to be touched with kindness more often. Not that he’d say it out loud.
“Dear, are you alright?” Aziraphale whispers, because they’re close enough that he can whisper and be heard. Fuck.
“Mmhhyep. Yeah. ‘F course.” He grumbles, finally taking a breath as he’s shoved into reality, only for his nostrils to be filled with Aziraphale’s cologne, which has him swooning a little in his feet. Trying to appear less of a mess than how he feels, he rightens his head a little. “Fucking bus. And I’m the bad driver!”
“You’re not a bad driver, you’re a mad driver, there is a difference.” Aziraphale says, clearly amused by his rambling. “It’d be much easier if you were a snake, you could just slither on the walls, or- or curl up around my neck.”
He tries not to think of what it’d feel to climb up Aziraphale’s leg, squeeze him with his coils, until he is half on his body and half around his shoulders, being able to press his snout against his soft neck or his cloudy hair and smell with the advanced smell only a serpent could manage.
Right, better not think much about this before he regrets ever making an Effort when he’s out with Aziraphale.
Crowley ignores him and manages to extract his leg from Aziraphale’s ones and tries to go back to his hold position, with the only problem that when humans find even the smallest space to occupy on a crowded bus, they don’t just lose that opportunity, so the moment Crowley tries to go a little back, he’s immediately met by a backpack forcing him to stay in the same position.
“I swear I’ll kill the kids.” He mutters.
“I thought you didn’t like when they kill the kids.”
He doesn’t deign Aziraphale of an answer, just manages to briefly move away. He immediately misses the touch, but there’s not much to be missed anyway, his body is still completely pressed against Aziraphale’s, he just lifted his head and moved his hand away to grab the pole, begrudgingly.
In the new position he’s in, he has to strain his shoulder to even slightly manage to reach the pole. In the time he spends trying to find a more comfortable position, and a clearer grip, the bus bolts again and he finds himself in the same position as before, his head crashing against Aziraphale’s shoulder and his hand moving to grab his waist to avoid falling down.
“Fuck.” He curses, trying to extricate himself.
Crowley can feel his heartbeat racing in his throat, the closeness is really doing things to him but he’d rather not think about that now.
“Crowley err, I think it’s best if you just- stay.”
If he had any ability to raise his head and actually look at him, he’s sure he would be staring at Aziraphale in disbelief, but as of now, when he tried to raise his head he is only staring at the crowd behind him.
“You- you’ll just fall again, it’s rather best if you just, here.” Aziraphale is the one moving now, so that his legs are straight in front of Crowley’s one, his hand firmer on the bar and his other hand moving to match Crowley’s one on his waist. “A lot more stable now, yes? Good.”
In that moment, all of the incredible frustration and anger from before dried down. The only thing left as of now is the warm, the feeling of Aziraphale’s body pressed against his, almost like a bubble shadowing him away from the chaos outside.
He doesn’t even have the strength in him to conjure a complaint or even just maintain his dignity, not when Aziraphale is solid and firm against him, not when be can feel the angel’s slow breath against his hair and smell his perfume.
He wouldn’t exactly call himself touch starved, because he tries very hard to hide the fact that he has spent quite a good number of hours searching on internet why he shivered at every brush against the angel, but he’s not sure there’s any other way to call it.
His body is like a giant black hole, wanting more and more every time he tries to feed it something, it is not enough. As of right now, he is quite literally pressed against the angel but that’s not enough, he needs to be closer, he needs to press against him until there’s not even an atom of space between them, he needs to crawl into the skin of his immortal body and press against its walls. He sighs, trying to stop the inner turmoil.
As the bus keeps jolting and moving and filling up, he is more and more pressed against him, until he almost can’t tell where they start and where they begin. He is not sure Aziraphale is feeling in the same way he is, but from how they’re pressed he can feel the angel’s heartbeat and they’re matching in velocity. Also in rhythm now, because Crowley has always been an hopeless romantic.
At a certain point, he simply closes his eyes and lets himself be lulled. The warmth, the oscillation of the bus, the closeness, the smell of his cologne, he closes his eyes against his shoulder and for once, he doesn’t have anything to say.
He’s not sure when his awkward and rigid grip turned into a lax one, but as of now he is basically draped against Aziraphale’s front, his head now fully buried in the crook of his neck. Aziraphale moves the hand on his waist so he can circle his lower back completely, keeping him even more fully against him so he won’t slump down. Crowley doesn’t know if he’s hallucinating or not, but he’s pretty sure Aziraphale is drawing little shapes against his jacket too. That definitely feels like a duck.
He loses track of time, not a word is spoken between the two of them, until he notices a certain lack of pressure against his back. He’s not sure how long it’s been, but he raises his head.
The bus is empty.
No one is there anymore, only them and the empty chairs, he turns around a little more and looks at the streets. The bus is still going, but the sun is slowly setting.
“How- what time is it?” He rasps out.
“I’m not sure. I didn’t want to wake you.”
Crowley turns to stare at Aziraphale. “Wasn’t sleeping. I was.” Thinking very hard of how good it felt to be hold by you and forcing myself to relish every moment of this until you’ll be forcefully taken away from me. “Eh.”
Aziraphale clears his throat then and puts a little space between the two of them. Crowley immediately suffers the loss, his front now feels so oddly cold. He moves his grip away from his waist too so he can now grab the pole.
The bus doesn’t seem to hesitate even a second before it stops. “It’s us.” Aziraphale says, primly, and immediately makes it to the door.
Crowley scrambles to follow him until they’re right in front of the bookshop’s doors. “How did we take so long?” He asks as he watches Aziraphale open with his keys.
He follows him inside as Aziraphale putters around. “I mean, we weren’t so far. Traffic makes sense but hours? Was there an accident?”
“How about some lovely wine to top off the day? Yes? Good.” Aziraphale doesn’t answer and just goes straight in the backroom.
Crowley knows that it’s his clue to drop the conversation completely and just enjoy the fact that they’re drinking, but he still feels drunk only because of the very touch, and indeed quite sleepy, so he keeps thinking about it.
He has a revelation then, his eyes wide behind his glasses when he gets it. Aziraphale miracled it to keep going. He let everyone get off lest he be kidnapping a dozen of humans, but he made the driver keep moving in circles around the bookshop just so he could stay there, plastered against Crowley, as he dozed off.
He grabs the glass of wine and drinks quite a big sip from it, immediately putting it back on the coffee table. He doesn’t know what that says about him, or what Aziraphale is meaning by it, but if the silent Arrangement they’ve been having for ages is still on, he’s sure he can put two and two together. Plausible deniability, isn’t that it?
“There’s a show at the West End tomorrow night. Been meaning to go. What do you say?” He hints.
Aziraphale looks positively delighted. “Is it one of the gloomy ones?”
“Gah. I hope the fuck not.” He sighs. “Yes. It is. Macbeth. My treat for…”
“For yesterday’s lunch.”
“Yeah. Lunch.”
He hesitates again, taking a breath to stabilise himself. “You know, I don’t feel like driving. I mean, it’s far away yeah but my- my eyes get uh tired. At night.” You’re a snake you idiotic fuck you literally see in the dark. He just hopes Aziraphale won’t call him out.
“Well of course I wouldn’t want to trouble you, we could…” Aziraphale throws a conspiratorial glance at him, sipping from his own glass. “Take the bus, together from the bookshop, that is.”
“Yup. Sounds like a good idea, angel.”
They look at each other for a moment and Crowley is the first one to look away, before he’ll start grinning like the lovestruck idiot he is. It’s a good thing he did too, or he probably would have spotted Aziraphale’s matching smile, followed by a little dash of red on his cheeks.
Crowley 1 - London Transportation Network 0