The Curious Condition of Being Human

Chapter 9

It was a very odd thing for Crowley to watch Aziraphale flit about his bedtime routine like he'd done it thousands of times before. And maybe he had. Before that night, Crowley had no reason to go into Aziraphale's room, so it was possible that the angel did this routine every night.

But Crowley rather doubted it.

And yet, the angel bustled around and hummed to himself as he went through a ritual of undressing and putting on cream silk pajamas, moisturizing his face, cleaning under his nails and fastidiously brushing his teeth. Crowley had initially avoided entering the room and had hovered in the hallway until Aziraphale physically pulled him in.

Crowley wandered around awkwardly for a few moments, until finally settling himself in the corner, in the shadow of a decorative suit of armor that also served as a drape for bowties. He'd never seen Aziraphale wear anything other than the one he was wearing earlier that day (at least for decades) but it seemed he collected them just the same.

In spite of the disturbing nature of their predicament, it did make Crowley smile to know there were still things to discover about his counterpart even after thousands of years.

"You know," said Aziraphale as he sat at a vintage vanity made of hardwood. "It's a bit disconcerting for you to hover back there."

"What else am I meant to be doing?"

Aziraphale turned on the little red velvet swivel stool and patted his hands against his knees. "Getting ready for bed. There is a rhythm to it. You don't just hop right in."

"Why not? S'what I do at home. I like to sleep, but this..." Crowley made a vague gesture. "Also not very big on sleeping when Heaven and Hell are plotting to start some kind of war."

Aziraphale just gave him a softly pleading look and arched his pale eyebrows.

The corner of Crowley's lips twitched. He glanced around the room, spotted an overstuffed and worn-out armchair, then dropped into it with one leg hitched up over the arm. "Better?"

Aziraphale sighed a longsuffering sigh. "All right. Get up."

"What?"

"Stand up, Crowley, for Heaven's sake."

Crowley, the contrarian he was, considered ignoring the command. But it was very hard for him to refuse Aziraphale anything. So like a petulant child acquiescing to adult demands, he got up out of the chair.

Aziraphale stood in front of Crowley and examined him. Then he plucked the sunglasses off his nose and set them gently on a brass owl statue. Their round, dark shape fitted the antique perfectly. Then, he circled around his back and reached up to gently tug Crowley's blazer off. Once he had it in his hand, he walked over to an empty suit valet. He lovingly draped the blazer over the hangar part, smoothed his hands over it, then stepped around to the front of him to undo Crowley's vest. This, he slid under the jacket, then returned to remove the silver scarf.

Crowley stood there the whole time, neither fighting the undressing process nor assisting in it. Instead, he just watched Aziraphale as he went about his task. At one point, his eyes strayed from his pale-haired companion, and he realized there was an identical suit valet on the other side of the bed that held the angel's clothing. He nearly staggered from the emotional gut punch the symmetry gave him.

There was a place for him in this room, even though Crowley had never set foot in it before that night.

"There. Simple, yes? Now, the jeans, you'll have to do yourself. I daresay those are on so tight that I'd end up pulling your underthings down with them were I to give them a good firm tug!" said Aziraphale with more enthusiasm than he should have given. He realized the innuendo a moment later and turned a little pink. Then he whirled on the spot and returned to his vanity to cover his hands in lotion and rub it between his fingers.