After the bookshop burns down, Aziraphale has nowhere else to go. Crowley refuses to see his angel homeless and drags him to live in his flat.
Now, they have to understand what playing on their side looks like.
The illustration I used on the cover...
- You don't have a side anymore. Neither of us do. We're on our own side.
Aziraphale paused, his wide eyes still locked on the street beneath his feet. His heart couldn't accept the fact he was not one of the "good guys" anymore. At the same time, something inside his soul whispered back to him that, even if Crowley was a demon, he was not one of the "bad guys" either.
Maybe they're just that. Their own side, as Crowley put it.
So, he nodded slowly, and then again, more firmly.
- Ok. I'd like that.
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During the drive there, Crowley was acutely aware of Aziraphale's presence. He always was, as a matter of fact, but rarely like this. He had hoped the angel would take him up on his offer, of course, but it never occurred to him that it would actually happen. Yet, there they were, on their way... Home. Together.
He was still unclear on how it made him feel.
Thankfully, the angel was still silent while he processed the loss of his beloved bookshop and everything inside. That gave Crowley some time to think. As Queen blasted on the radio, one question pounded on his head: where was the angel going to sleep?
He could feel his face getting warmer just by thinking of them sharing the same bed. Fuck, what was happening to him? Why was he all shy all of a sudden, after more than 6000 years? Obviously, Aziraphale was going to sleep on the couch. He had paid good money for a very comfortable sofa and his friend would be very comfortable there.
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- I don't remember being here before. It's very nice, but isn't it...? - Aziraphale stopped for a second, thinking about a polite way to discuss the neo-brutalist aesthetic. How could someone live in such a cold environment? It didn't feel like the heart-warming house Crowley deserved. Yet, when seeing the demon's defying eyes over the glasses, he just nodded his head and kept silent.
- Well, get yourself comfortable. The rules are: don't touch the plants, don't be nice to the plants, don't look at the plants. Got it?
- What?! - Azi stopped and threw a confused look at Crowley. - I cannot look at the plants?! This is preposterous! They are so pretty!
- Do not. Look. At the plants. - Crowley came closer to the angel, worried about how his offspring would react if they felt the angel's benevolence would save them. He had not spent all those years training them to have the plants misbehaving now.
The angel's body stiffened with the proximity, and Crowley could have sworn he saw his cheeks blush. At that moment, it felt like his brain just stopped working properly. He was on the edge, as if something big was about to happen, and the demon didn't understand why his stomach seemed to be dancing on his belly. So he took a step back and walked over to his room to get some blankets and a pillow - even though they did not need such things, he was very much convinced that Aziraphale was the type who'd make himself as cozy as possible when going to sleep.
In the meantime, the angel walked around the apartment. For a few moments, the sorrow of losing his books and his home was overpowered by curiosity. So that was how Crowley lived. Those were the things the demon chose to surround himself with.
When the red-haired man got back to the living room, and didn't see Aziraphale, he threw the pillow and the blanket on the sofa and went down the hallway. For a long time, it had been relatively easy for them to find each other: as long as they were close, it seemed like Crowley could always tell where Aziraphale was. And, to be fair, his friend also knew where to find him - even when the demon would prefer to be alone.
He found the angel standing in front of his beloved sculpture.
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- I've been thinking about showing you this for a while now. Do you like it, angel?
Aziraphale was standing with a hand over his mouth and his eyes widened. It took him a few seconds to muster a quiet and shocked "Why do you have something like this?", to which Crowley took quite an offense.
- Why wouldn't I?! It's art! I think it represents us very nicely.
- Represents us?! - Aziraphale's voice went up two tones and he could barely face Crowley. Why was his heart beating so fast? Why wasn't he bothered by that thought at all?
- Of course, angel! It's an angel and a demon wrestling. Who more could it represent?
- Wrestling...? Oh. Of course. - Aziraphale took a step back and his face burned again, now seeing what Crowley saw. That nagging voice in his mind reminded him that his mind was dirtier than the one of a demon, and maybe it was not all that wrong that Heaven wanted to punish him.
Crowley was taken aback by how disturbed the angel seemed by the sculpture. The man looked distressed. So, he tried to see the sculpture from a different angle. Maybe he was upset because the angel was losing the fight? It didn't strike him as the kind of thing that would cause that effect on Aziraphale's ego.
- What did you think this was representing, angel? - His tone was stern, but slowly he could see a different image. The demon holding the angel in that position, keeping them under him. Dominating him. Their hips were so close together. On that angle, the hair of the angel reminded him of Aziraphale's hair. Oh, Lord. He looked at that every single day. How could he not notice that he had bought and put on display the sculpture of an angel and a demon f-
- Fighting. Obviously, fighting. What else could it be?! - Aziraphale was quick to point out and then twist his feet, almost running back to the living room. He made a quick mental note to avoid that hallway as he'd avoid any other kind of temptation. For a second, he imagined if that was one of the demon's little plans to mess with him, but Crowley genuinely seemed confused by his reaction. So the angel just decided to pretend none of that had just happened, even though he was sure that image would remain in his head for a while.
Aziraphale cleaned his throat and finally mustered up the courage to look at his friend's face again. He was set on acting like everything was normal and fine.
- So, where am I going to be staying?
- Here on the couch. I brought you some pillows. You can make yourself at home - just make sure to not interact with the plants. - Crowley reinforced, but not as strongly as before. His mind was elsewhere.
- Crowley, you can't possibly expect me to live in the living room?!
- Where else did you want to stay? There's only one room in this flat, angel, and unless you hope to share the bed with me, the couch is the only available option.
The demon spurted out the words without thinking. That timing was horrible.
- Well, I don't see why not!
- You cannot be serious now.
- It's a nice, big bed. There's space for both of us to be quite comfortable.
Crowley opened and closed his mouth a few times. What kind of effect did that sculpture have in Aziraphale? Whatever it was, he liked it.
- Ok, then. Just don't wake me up and we can sleep together.
The angel opened a bright, ear-to-ear smile. It was sad not having his own home anymore, but at least, he'd have Crowley.
