The First Night of the Rest of Their Lives

A Familiar, Yet Entirely New Kind of Night

They had successfully avoided Armageddon and deceived both heaven and hell. Finally, the first night of the rest of their lives had arrived, and the two had no idea what to do.

So they drank.

Crowley was sitting on the floor with his sunglasses barely balancing on the end of his nose. He was slumped into the front of his fairly uncomfortable leather couch, clutching his wine glass as a toddler would his security blanket. Aziraphale was slouched beside him, actually using the couch as intended, which Crowley wasn't very good at— drunk or not. Any extra layers of clothing had been lost throughout the flat during pacing sessions, ranting about various things that were mostly unintelligible.

There was a knock at the door. Aziraphale looked down tiredly at Crowley. "Y'gonna gethat," he said, slurring his words heavily. A hum somewhere along the lines of mngk escaped from a half-asleep Crowley. Aziraphale sighed and snapped his fingers. All of the alcohol disappeared from both of their systems. Crowley grabbed a decorative pillow from behind him and buried his face in it, making various noises of disgust.

"Staying here for a few more days was your idea, you idiot, now go answer your door," Aziraphale said, rubbing his eyes. Crowley intended to argue, but the knocking returned. He groaned and used the couch to prop himself up. He sauntered, to the best of his ability in his condition, to the door. He cracked it open.

"What?" He said, sounding more exhausted than frustrated.

"Are you interested in joining ou—" is what the young boy in uniform got out before being met with a slammed door.

"You didn't have to do that," Aziraphale said, with very little effort behind it.

"Right, yeah, 'cause you'd rather sit and listen to that kid's completely inaccurate religious speech for an hour." Aziraphale rolled his eyes before looking away. Crowley locked the door and flopped onto the couch next to the angel. "Well, that was a waste."

"Hm?"

"I could've done that perfectly well black-out drunk."

"Ah. yeah, apologies," Aziraphale mumbled.

"S'not your fault, we've had a fuckin' stressful couple decades, I think you deserve to be a little paranoid," Crowley said softly, leaning his head on the angel's shoulder. Aziraphale froze momentarily, then settled into the gesture. He quickly decided whatever made this situation scary was fully overpowered by a sense of comfort. Crowley's sunglasses fell off, bouncing to the floor. Neither of them had the energy to say or do anything about it. Aziraphale rested his head on top of the demon's lightly. This is what they had fought for, and they had won.

"Angel?" Crowley said, not making an effort to move his head at all.

"Yes, dear?" Aziraphale said quietly to match Crowley's volume.

"Y'know I love you, right?" Crowley mumbled like he had rehearsed it a million times. You could almost hear the gasp of the plants in the other room. He turned his head a bit toward the angel, awaiting a response. Aziraphale looked at him with pure confusion.