Good Omens: Ineffable Prompts

Day Five: A Nightingale Sings

Aziraphale and Crowley stepped out into the evening air. They had just had the most wonderful meal at the Ritz, not to mention Heaven and Hell had seemed amiable enough to leave them be, for a while, at least. Crowley had appeared in a much better mood at dinner, a little tired perhaps, but so much more at ease than the last time they had spoken alone. Aziraphale took a few steps down the sidewalk and glanced back at Crowley.

The demon gave him a small nod, shoved his hands in his pockets, and ambled forward alongside him. They walked together without any small talk, just the wisp of evening air swirling threw their hair, or a few car horns sounding in the distance. Aziraphale was thankful that it didn't seem to be a tense or pregnant silence. Just two friends taking an evening stroll.

Friends, Aziraphale thought, they were, in fact, that.

He bit his lip. Was there anymore to it? Now that their respective sides were off their backs, they could explore that if they felt like it. Aziraphale did, yet every time he came close to mentioning a four-letter word, Crowley had snarled like it had personally offended him. He countered that they had held hands on the bus, but friends did do that on occasion. It had been an extremely eventful day or, well, week, so there was a perfectly logical explanation to their behavior. Aziraphale locked his hands behind his back, still thinking it over.

"What?" Crowley was glancing at him sideways. He'd always been quite keen on sensing the angel's uneasiness.

Aziraphale wasn't sure if it came from averting the Apocalypse or defying their Head Offices, but he felt a bit braver about speaking on subjects which had hung between them for eons. "What are your plans? Now that the world hasn't ended I mean." Okay, so not too much braver, but it was a topic that could lead them somewhere toward repressed feelings, at least on Aziraphale's case. He hoped so for Crowley as well, but in all honesty, he loved him no matter how they spent their time together.

Crowley raised an eyebrow from behind his sunglasses. "Ah, well. I don't know. We could go feed the ducks if you like. I'm sure they think we're long overdue for a visit by now."

Aziraphale stopped walking, forcing Crowley to pause and turn to him. He hadn't meant that Crowley had to pick something that he wanted to do. Yet, he realized that was what they ended up doing most often. Whether it was a play, or feeding the ducks, or evening heading back to his place for a bottle of some expensive wine, it always came down to the angel's preferences. So, Aziraphale straightened his stance and stared squarely at Crowley's hidden gaze. "No."

Crowley tilted his head. "No? Eh, okay, well, I guess we can do something else. I'm sure you've got–"

"I mean 'no' as in 'no, we are not going to do whatever you think I wish to do.' This time," he hesitated, building back his courage again. "We should do what you want, completely, whatever that may be. Though I really do hope that it's not harassing those poor ducks or sending out some infernal computer cold or whatsit."

Crowley stared at him for a long moment with an unreadable expression. "Why?"

Aziraphale let out an exasperated huff. "Well, my dear boy, if you haven't noticed, which I really doubt, we always seem to get caught up in whatever I wish, or what you think I wish to do. Heaven and Hell no longer care about us or what we are up to, so let's, um, I don't know what they say these days, mix it up a bit. Yes, I think that's right. Besides, it's terribly rude of me to always pick our outings. I, well, um, I wish to be more considerate of you."

Crowley snorted and turned his head away. "You wish to be more considerate of a demon?"

"No," Aziraphale stepped forward, closing the gap between them. "I wish to be more considerate of you, my dear."