We Are Terrible At Poker (Ineffable Husbands)(Crowley x Aziraphale)

1: Street Lights

"To the world."

"To the world." 

Perhaps the recent exertions have had some fallout in the nature of reality, because while they were eating, for the first time ever, a nightingale actually did sing in Berkeley Square.

Nobody heard it over the noise of the traffic, but it was there right enough.

"♫The certain night

The night we met

There was magic abroad

In the air

There were angels

Dining at the Ritz

And a nightingale sang

In Berkeley Square♫"

--

The two sat there laughing to each other. They were mimicking expressions to tell their stories more thoroughly, creating conversations to entertain their counterpart. Aziraphale tended to be the more talkative of the two, and would lead the conversation as the night continued. Crowley would occasionally put his comments in, grinning at any cheeky comment he made that seemed to throw the angel off guard. They didn't mind their roles in this conversation, tended to like them, so as the conversations began to fade, and the restaurant's air grew still, they felt unsettled. It was inevitable that the building would soon close, and even if one could simply miracle-it-away, the conversation wouldn't flow as properly as it should if a miracle was done. It was something about the atmosphere, the atmosphere with people, the atmosphere with Aziraphale and Crowley, that made it worth talking; to put effort into their bodily functions to make noise through their vocal chords. Ah, but even so, it eventually ended, and the two stood at the front entrance just gazing at each other. Who would say goodbye first? 

"Angel, eh--I know that bookshop of yours is back an' working, but for the sake of conversation, would you wanna head back to my place?" Crowley asked, leaning up against the corner pillar of the establishment as he talked with Aziraphale. Perhaps a goodbye wasn't an option. 

"Oh-! Um, thank you for the offer but I should be leaving actually. I have quite a few books to attend to ever since Adam had replaced things---new books I should say. I really should know what I am selling before actually selling them," he gave Crowley a polite smile, as if to say sorry that he had to decline. It was accepted, just not without an annoyed groan from Crowley.

"Oh come on angel, you and your books," Crowley looked over to the line of street lamps adjacent to Aziraphale, eyeing them as they cast lights on couples and pairs leaving local pubs. Though the one above them had only cast its light onto Aziraphale; while Crowley leaned on the pillar covered by the building's shadow. He sighed, turning back to face Aziraphale as the angel was adjusting his coat. When Aziraphale had noticed Crowley looking at him, he gave a small smile. Crowley immediately averted his eyes back to the ground. 

"Why are you acting so weird, hm? What's up with ya?" 

The angel's expression changed, "what do you mean? I'm myself. At least I feel myself." 

"No something's with you. You're all bubbly, smiley. You're going on smiling at me like that, weird," Crowley looked back up, eyeing Aziraphale, just as he did the street lamps. The light cut sharp edges on Aziraphale's round-shaped body, a faint glow reflecting off of any end point of the light, creating a yellowish-hue on the clothing just before it disappeared. Angelic, strangely. He looked like the feeling of flour on freshly baked goods, he looked like the smell too. Though it was sunset, not morning, the usual time for a bakery memory.