Chapter Text
Steam rises lazily from the surface of Aziraphale’s tea, and he watches it instead of reading the novel he’s brought with him, feeling out of sorts, wriggly, almost. Over the years he’s learned to pay attention to these moods, to try to describe and take note of them. It hasn’t been easy, as he comes from a family that hastily wraps up all of their feelings and shoves them deep down inside. He’s had to fight against that impulse, but he’s been happier overall.
Rather than sticking with his plan to be aware of his own emotions, Aziraphale has been trying to be stoic, and it’s taking its toll on him, fraying him at the edges. But he’s doing it for Tracy, his good friend, who should not have to worry about him.
If only he could find someone to replace her, everything would be tickety-boo. The meetings have not been going well, however, and he’s trying to be patient with the process. The perfect candidate doesn’t exist, and he’ll have to settle, lower his expectations.
When he takes a sip of the tea, it’s too hot and burns his tongue. So much for patience.
At times he feels like a temperamental potted plant, like the light and moisture need to be exactly so or he wilts and rots. It can be too much to ask for those ideal conditions, so often he lets himself fester until he’s forced to escape, to lock himself away in his room for a few days and recover.
He’s moments away from reliving some unpleasant memories when long, slender fingers land on the cover of his book. When Aziraphale’s gaze travels up the arm, he sees an expensive watch and the silky fabric of a sleeve he wants to touch, to see if it feels as soft as it looks. Higher up he finds dark glasses and unnaturally red hair.
“Emma,” a quiet voice says. “Must be Fell. Don’t see anyone else in here with a copy. Said you’d be reading it, which is why I didn’t spot you at first. Looking everywhere but at the page, you are.”
“I am. Only I haven’t felt much like reading this morning. Crowley, isn’t it? Please, have a seat. Unless you haven’t ordered yet?”
“They should be calling me soon. In fact,” Crowley says, tilting his head towards the counter where Nina is holding his cup aloft. “I think that’s me.”
Crowley ducks away and returns quickly with a large cup, setting it on the table, sitting down, and leaning back precariously in his chair. When two of the chair’s feet hover off the ground, Aziraphale can’t take his eyes off of them.
“So,” Crowley starts, “this feels kind of like a blind date.”
The truth of it makes Aziraphale chuckle. “I see your point. Although I generally don’t date.”
“Generally?”
“Most of the time. But that’s what we’re here to talk about,” Aziraphale redirects politely.
“Right. Sorry. Let’s start over, yeah?”
“Alright. It’s nice to meet you, Crowley. Would you like to begin by telling me about your current flatmates?”
A quick flash of confusion trips across Crowley’s face, but when it falls, it shatters, replaced with a bright smile. It’s genuine, and Aziraphale can’t help but smile back when he sees the crinkles around Crowley’s eyes.
“They’re ferns, mostly.”
“I’m sorry?”
“My current flatmates. Mostly ferns. Grabbed whatever I could on my way out. Spur of the moment move, really. But I’ll get the rest of my plants from Shax and Furfur soon, if they haven’t already killed them. Couldn’t take their bickering and shouting anymore. Besides, Furfur kept flirting. Hard pass. I’m in my car for now. Not a lot of space for plants.”
“Well, I hardly know what any of that means. Did you say you live in your car?”
“Only temporarily. Any case, I’ve learned my lesson. Never move in with a couple. At least not when one of them claims they’re madly in love at the same time the other says it’s complicated. But that’s not important. What does my current living situation have to do with whether or not I’m good at cuddling?”
Something isn’t making sense. Aziraphale stops, checks his mental notes about this meeting, and compares them to what Crowley has just said. They don’t add up like he thought they would, but he solves the equation nonetheless.
“Ah! I do apologise. You’re responding to my enquiry for the platonic snuggle partner? Not the advertisement about the vacant room? I must have gotten mixed up.”
This is why he should write things down rather than relying on technology to keep his appointments straight. He was certain Crowley had wanted to meet about housing, and it sounds like he should be. In his car?
“You’re looking for a flatmate? Interview over. Gonna get my ferns out of the Bentley and move in right now,” Crowley jokes as he finally drops all four of the chair’s legs onto the floor with a thud. “Do you live nearby? I can get Cain and Abel right now.”
Oh, but he’s funny, and Aziraphale chuckles. Smiles have been a bit harder to come by lately with Tracy gone, and the muscles around his mouth have grown a bit tight. They could use the exercise.
“Cain and Abel?”
“Two of my biggest, oldest ferns.”
“Are they… at odds with each other? Will there be a lot of fighting?” Aziraphale jokes. “I need quiet at home to decompress, you know.”
“They’re good lads. Can vouch for ‘em. I’ll introduce you before we move in, if you like.”
“Probably for the best,” Aziraphale agrees, and his smile slips into something more comfortable and easy as the laughter subsides. Crowley takes a long sip of his coffee, and when he sets it back down his face is more serious. He taps a drum beat on the table with his fingers for a few seconds and looks out the window before speaking.
“Could kill two birds with one stone,” he says, turning to Aziraphale with an eyebrow arched above his sunglasses.
To his surprise, Aziraphale wants to say yes. They barely know each other, but there’s a friendly rapport with Crowley already, something that often takes quite some time for Aziraphale to develop with people. The feeling delights him, but he reins it in, forcing himself to be practical.
“Shall we see how the rest of our interview goes before we decide?”
“That seems fair,” Crowley agrees. But he’s got to make his point about that. “Not so much an interview, is it? Not applying for a job. Unless the snuggling is a paying gig?”
“No, I’d hoped to find someone interested in a mutually beneficial relationship,” Aziraphale clarifies. He’s so proper, but unlike a lot of people that talk like he does, Aziraphale doesn’t seem to mind if Crowley’s more informal, more casual.
“Ah. So this really is a bit like a date, then,” Crowley lightly teases.
“Not in any romantic or sexual sense, no.”
“A playdate, then? Seems like you’re looking for a friend?”
“Not exactly. You certainly have an awful lot of questions and assumptions,” Aziraphale huffs, but there’s something else to his tone, something playful that makes Crowley want to keep pushing. If this were a conversation with anyone else, Crowley would say he’s flirting, but he’d never accuse Aziraphale of that. Not having just met him and heard his feelings about dating and romance.
“What’s the difference?” Crowley smiles and drapes an arm over the back of his chair. Then he rests his right ankle on his left knee and waits.
“Would you ask your friends to cuddle you for an hour each night? To hold you while you cry? Or laugh?”
“If I really needed it, yeah. But I see your point. Wouldn’t want to ask them every night or anything,” Crowley says. Somehow the thought of Aziraphale crying makes his muscles tense. Pushing his sunglasses onto the top of his head, Crowley looks Aziraphale directly in the eye for the first time without their protection. “Do you… is there a lot of crying involved, would you say?”
“Not necessarily. But if I’ve had a particularly trying day, perhaps.” Aziraphale doesn’t look away, holding eye contact with Crowley, like he’s making sure Crowley knows he’s not only serious but that he’s not ashamed to admit he cries.
“How about the laughing?”
“Well, that’s only because I’m quite funny. And ticklish.”
Crowley waits a beat, reading Aziraphale’s face for clues. There’s a slight raise to his eyebrows and a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth, so Crowley takes a chance. He laughs.
“Are you now?”
“You’re laughing, aren’t you?”
“You have a point,” Crowley admits, still chuckling. “So we’d talk during? When I’m holding you, I mean?”
“If we’re both comfortable with it we can, yes. And you wouldn’t always be the one holding me, you know. I also enjoy being the big spoon, as it were.” Somehow Crowley hadn’t considered that possibility, although there’s no reason he shouldn’t have. More assumptions on his part. “Can I ask why you’re interested in the arrangement?”
“Hm. Dunno exactly. Miss that part of being with somebody, maybe. Don’t want to mess about with dating someone. Lots of work, that. Lotta ways to, erm, fuck it up, ya know?”
“I imagine so, yes.”
“With an arrangement like this there’s no hurt feelings if we don’t want to do it anymore. We call it off when we want, if we want. No questions asked.”
“I find that hard to believe,” Aziraphale says, tilting his head to the side like a golden retriever, friendly and open. “You’re full of questions. Not that I mind.”
“You don’t? Oh, that’s another question.” Crowley hits his forehead with the heel of his hand for dramatic effect. “When will I learn?”
“When indeed.”
“But seriously, if you honestly don’t mind me asking, why don’t you date?”
Several emotions pass over Aziraphale’s face, but Crowley doesn’t know him well enough to know what all of them are. The last one is serious compared to the bulk of their conversation, so Crowley hopes he hasn’t gone too far.
“As a youngster,” Aziraphale begins, pausing when Crowley pulls a face and silently mouths youngster? to no one in particular. Then he lightly swats Crowley’s hand. “Oh, you stop. I’m trying to be serious. As a young person I had relationships, both romantic and sexual ones. But looking back on it I realised I only ever did so because I didn’t want to feel left out. I wanted friends, and all of my friends had partners. It felt… easier to spend time as a group when everyone was paired off rather than being the fifth wheel.”
Crowley understands the feeling, hums thoughtfully to show he’s listening, and nods for Aziraphale to continue.
“My last ex and I would argue a lot about intimacy. He didn’t want to always be the one initiating things in the bedroom, you see, and I was rather indifferent to it all.”
“Ah. We don’t have to talk about this, you know, if it’s a sensitive topic. Only just met and all.”
“It’s been more than a decade, Crowley. I’m fine. If you’re uncomfortable, though—”
“No, no, by all means, spill the tea about your ex. It’s not a date, right? No rule against talking about our exes when we’re not dating.”
“Does that mean you plan to talk about your exes next?”
“If it’s part of the interview. Really need a place to stay,” Crowley jokes. Is he joking too much? Being too much? It doesn’t feel like that. It’s fun. “But you first.”
Aziraphale does, like, this weird, almost charming, shimmy before he starts talking. Sort of thing no one else could pull off and still seem so damn posh. Who is this guy?
“Let me put it this way. I don’t mind having sex, and I find it enjoyable once I’m in the moment. But usually I’d much rather be reading a book,” Aziraphale sits up even straighter, if that’s possible, and holds up his copy of Emma. Then Aziraphale’s face falls; he sets down the book and his posture slumps a barely noticeable amount. “He didn’t care for that answer.”
Reflexively, Crowley reaches out to rest his hand on top of Aziraphale’s in the middle of the table and hears a low, sympathetic hum in the back of his own throat.
“He sounds like a prick,” Crowley says with only a slight growl to his voice.
“Oh, he was, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t have the right to be in the kind of relationship he wanted. That’s what I came to realise, that he deserved a person who would love him and a sex life that he found fulfilling. So I broke up with him. I decided then and there I wasn’t going to do anything to fit in or because someone else wanted me to. Not unless I wanted to as well. And here I am.”
Strangely proud of this person he met today, Crowley squeezes his hand in support. The fact that Aziraphale hasn’t snatched it away has to be a good sign, right? A sign that they might’ve found what they’re looking for.
Then Aziraphale smiles. It’s not the same one Crowley has seen over and over since they’ve been sitting at this table, not the polite one or the amused one or the sly one. This one is soft and sincere and only a small curl of Aziraphale’s lips as he sighs contentedly through his nose.
“I think we’re going to get along swimmingly, Crowley. What about you? Shall I show you my flat, and you can see what you think of it?”
“I would love that,” Crowley answers with a smile of his own. “And yeah. Agree ‘bout all that. Getting along, I mean.”
Aziraphale’s smile widens, gets brighter and friendlier.
“Well then,” he says, flipping his hand over and holding Crowley’s properly for a second before pulling away to stand up. “Shall we?”
Maybe it’s nothing. Wishful thinking. But Crowley’s heart feels like it’s relaxing and sprawling out comfortably in his chest, like he can be himself and not be judged. Like he’s made a new friend.
Life might not be so harsh and unforgiving after all.
“Nice place,” Crowley says, sauntering over to one of the many bookshelves.
“Thank you. This would be our shared living space, along with the kitchen and the bathroom. Then there’s the hallway with my room on the right and yours on the left. Ah, and the balcony through that door there. It’s over the alley, so the view isn’t spectacular, but it’s lovely for fresh air when the weather is nice.”
Crowley walks to the balcony door and peeks through the curtain, making a humming sound before turning to face him and hanging his sunglasses from the open collar of his v-neck t-shirt. Those light green eyes are just as striking as they were the first time Aziraphale saw them, and he can’t help but wonder why Crowley hides them.
“And you’re sure it’s OK I move in tonight? It’s not too fast? Just met. Could be awkward,” Crowley says. But Aziraphale has never felt less awkward in his entire life.
“I wouldn’t get a wink of sleep if I knew I’d left you in your car overnight. You can consider it a trial basis if that makes you feel better. A practise run for living together.”
“Hm. Alright.”
“My dear, shouldn’t I be the one experiencing trepidation? Inviting a near-stranger into my home?” Aziraphale asks, although he doesn’t feel any trepidation at all, not even a little. He’s only afforded a brief second to think about how precious that is before Crowley responds.
“Hey. I can be trepidatious, too. You could be a murderer for all I know.”
“Oh, my. You’ve sussed me out. I have quite the bad habit of advertising for flatmates only to kill them and hide the bodies where they’ll never be found. Although I’m a bit like a mountain lion. Once you’ve seen me stalking you, I am less prone to attack.”
“Opportunistic killer,” Crowley adds, dropping onto the sofa and sprawling out like he’s always lived there. Although the leg draped over the armrest is a bit much, Aziraphale appreciates the fact that he doesn’t get his boots anywhere near the fabric of the antique Chesterfield.
“Quite. Perhaps I’ll give it another try tomorrow, if you’re not paying attention.”
“You’ll have to get up pretty early in the morning to put one over on me, Fell.”
“Oh, I do. I certainly do. Up before the sun.”
“Ugh, really?” Crowley scoffs, and Aziraphale nods. “Disgusting.” But he’s grinning again. They both are.
“As I said, Shadwell’s old room is furnished. His bride wouldn’t let him take his ‘hideous things’ with him to their new cottage. You may want to replace them eventually, if you decide to stay.”
Aziraphale has already decided, somehow, that he wants Crowley to stay. Holding his hand in the cafe had been nice, had made him feel grounded.
“I should probably,” Crowley says, interrupted by a yawn that stretches his mouth almost as wide as a cat’s, “get my things from the Bentley. At least my toothbrush and my bag.”
Rather than getting up, however, Crowley stretches his arms above his head before melting down into the cushions of the sofa.
“If you fall asleep there, I’m not carrying you to bed,” Aziraphale teases. “I could, obviously, but I refuse on principle.”
“Principle, eh?” Crowley opens his eyes briefly as though to assess the veracity of his claims and then blinks them shut again. “What principle would that be?”
“Well, you’re an adult. You’re responsible for dealing with the consequences of your own actions. This is the common area of the flat, and I have warned you about how early I get up in the morning.”
“Hmph. Could sit here with me,” Crowley says, peeking out one eye. “Give this snuggling thing a trial run while we’re at it. Before we retire to our private rooms.”
It’s tempting, and they had such a good time at the cafe that Aziraphale wants to say yes. Despite that, he’s reticent. Changing locations seems to have put a few of his walls back up.
“Tomorrow, perhaps. Come now, I’ll help you gather your things from the car.”
“Don’t wanna,” Crowley whines, but he drags himself upright and shuffles slowly towards the door.
“It’ll be two shakes of a lamb’s tail.”
“Sound like my gran, you do. What’re you, like, a thousand years old?”
“Mm. Several thousand, actually. I believe Death has forgotten about me.”
“Can’t find you among all this bric-a-brac, more like. Never met anyone with more books or tchotchkes,” Crowley says, stretching his arms out to both sides and gesturing at the room.
“Hey now, you just said I have a nice place.”
“The place is nice, yeah. Gorgeous brick and hardwood. Big windows for my plants. It’s a shame I can’t see any of that stuff.”
They take the back stairs to the alley where Crowley has parked his car. The flat only has one parking space, but Aziraphale doesn’t own a car.
Crowley opens the door and rummages around in the back seat.
“Well, I—” Aziraphale starts, but he’s interrupted by a box of plants being shoved unceremoniously into his arms. The fronds of one of the ferns obscure his vision and tickle his nose. He sputters and puffs one away as it nearly flies into his open mouth.
“You what?” Crowley asks, and Aziraphale twists, trying to see him around the greenery.
“Now I don’t remember. Shall we?”
“Yup. Just need my overnight bag, and I can get the rest of this stuff tomorrow. Ah, there it is. After you.”
Luckily for Aziraphale, all he has to do is turn one hundred and eighty degrees and go back the way he came from. Anything more complicated and he’d be lost in no time.
When they reach the door, Crowley sneaks past him to hold it open so Aziraphale can go through first.
“Where would you like this?”
“Oh, Cain and Abel can come with me for now. Lead the way to my room.”
Crowley needs to calm down. It’s bad enough that Aziraphale is sweet and funny and a bit of a bastard, but following him down the hallway proves difficult. The man can really fill out a pair of trousers. From every angle.
But he’s off-limits, all but said he’s ace, not interested in a relationship or sex or anything but platonic cuddles with his platonic flatmate. Assuming Crowley doesn’t fuck this up, he’ll be done crashing on sofas or sleeping in the Bentley. Assuming he can keep it in his pants he’ll be enjoying a nice snuggle now and then as well. What else could a man ask for, really?
There are a few other things, but nothing nearly as important as a roof over his head and a friend that he feels comfortable around. There’s hope, at least, that they’ll become friends.
“The sheets are clean,” Aziraphale explains as he drops the box on the bed. “I made it up to use as a guest room in the interim, but I haven’t had any guests since Argyle moved out.”
“The man’s name is Argyle Shadwell?” Crowley blurts without thinking. “Sorry, it’s just—”
“I know,” Aziraphale agrees, “but I’m hardly one to throw stones.” This, of course, makes them both laugh again. It’s too much; Crowley’s face hurts from all the smiling. How is Aziraphale real? “Well, I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, you can knock on my door. I’m a light sleeper, when I get any sleep, that is. I’ll probably be up reading late.”
“Insomnia?”
“I’ve always struggled with it, yes. That’s one of the things the platonic touching helps with, I’ve noticed. Somewhat.”
Crowley shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Having already offered once, he hesitates. Is this the polite thing where people refuse until they’ve been asked enough times? Or is he being too pushy? Once more and he’ll let it lie.
“I really don’t mind, you know,” Crowley tries. “If you want me to hold you tonight.”
“If you’re sure you’re not too tired…” Aziraphale trails off. It’s not a no but falls short of a yes. It’s pretty far from a no, though. Time to go for it.
“Yep, we’re doin’ it. Thing is, I don’t have to be awake to wrap around ya like a monkey. Let’s go. Cleaning my teeth and meeting you in your room,” Crowley orders playfully.
Aziraphale scrunches up his face. He looks both relieved and… embarrassed? What’s that about?
“There may be a lot of books currently piled up on my bed. I’ll need a few minutes?”
“No books in here, if you’d rather?”
“Oh, that would be fine, actually. Back in a tick.” The ridiculous man actually wiggles before dashing off, leaving Crowley dumbfounded for a long moment before he digs his black sleep shorts and a soft t-shirt from his overnight bag and quickly changes into them. Aziraphale isn’t in the bathroom, so he hurries to brush his teeth and wash his face.
It should probably be weird that they’re about to climb into bed together, platonically or not, but the only thing Crowley feels is giddy.
The furniture in his room is outdated and ugly. Everything is either brown or yellow, but it’s free. The mattress is firm, really firm, and that will probably be the first thing to go when he has the money for it. It’s tolerable, though.
When Aziraphale appears in the doorway, he looks a bit sheepish, twisting his hands in front of his belly. Crowley pats the bed next to him as he takes note of the actual matching set of shorts and the collared sleep shirt Aziraphale is wearing. Both are light blue and look more like old-fashioned swimwear than something to sleep in. Adorable, though.
The only light in the room is the lamp on the bedside table, and it’s partially eclipsed by Aziraphale’s body as he lays down next to Crowley and looks up at the ceiling. All at once an avalanche of awkwardness smothers them.
Crowley rolls onto his side to face him after a moment.
“Hold hands first, maybe?” he asks after a moment, and Aziraphale flips his palm up in invitation.
“I’m amenable to that.”
Slowly, Crowley slides his fingers from the bottom of Aziraphale’s palm up to slot their fingers loosely together. For a moment he looks down at their hands, marveling at how Aziraphale’s is both soft and strong when it grips him back tightly for a second before relaxing again. His eyes flick back to Aziraphale’s face, which is still focused on the ceiling.
Of course it wouldn’t be the same as holding hands with Tracy. Everyone does things differently, don’t they? Everyone is unique. Even though it’s clear Crowley is gently holding his hand, it’s more firm than Tracy’s hold, and he lay there for a moment, contemplating it.
Since Shadwell and Tracy married and moved to the South Downs, it’s been a few weeks without a calming touch to keep him grounded. Now, it’s almost the opposite effect, like he could float up to the ceiling at any moment. Human connection, physical touch. Aziraphale almost does rise to the ceiling, but the anchor of that hand pulls his arm taut like he’s a balloon on a string, levitating.
“Alright?” Crowley asks, his voice a bit lower than normal, calming and silky.
“Quite,” he answers. “I was reflecting on the difference in your hands and Tracy’s. Yours are larger, for example.”
It’s true, but it feels odd to say it aloud, somehow. The sound of his own voice sets him sinking slowly back down until he can feel the mattress under his back again. Crowley lifts their joined hands to look at them.
“Hm, ‘magine so,” Crowley confirms somewhat nonsensically. “Stay like this then, or…”
It’s lovely, but not nearly enough contact, so Aziraphale hums and rolls over, putting his back to Crowley. He still has hold of his hand, though, and tugs it to his chest as he does. Taking the hint, Crowley crowds in close behind him. There’s a contented sigh and Crowley squeezes him, nuzzling between Aziraphale’s pillow and his neck.
“Doing well back there?” Aziraphale asks. He’s getting pleasantly warmer as the seconds tick on and making a conscious effort to flex and relax his muscles one by one, starting with his toes and moving up his body. It’s a technique he learned as a child that sometimes helps him sleep.
“Mm. Good, yeah.”
“I’m going to reach over and turn off the lamp, if that’s alright?”
There’s a small sound of agreement behind him, and Crowley nods into the pillow. After the click of the lamp, it takes a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the dark. The door to Crowley’s room is open, and the small light Aziraphale always leaves on in the kitchen can barely be seen from here. It’s just enough so that walking to the bathroom in the middle of the night isn’t dangerous.
Familiar sounds like a ticking clock and the buzz of the refrigerator are joined by the unfamiliar sound of Crowley’s breathing. He can feel the exhale of air on the back of his neck. It was kind of Crowley to offer to snuggle him until he falls asleep.
It’s something that Tracy did for him a handful of times. Only when she was already planning to stay the night with Shadwell, in this bed as a matter of fact, and that’s not something Aziraphale wants to think about, that last part. Tracy had always slipped out when he’d fallen asleep, and Aziraphale hadn’t thought about what that meant in this situation. This is Crowley’s bed, and when Aziraphale falls asleep in it he’ll be staying all night.
Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Shifting slightly, Aziraphale whispers, “Crowley?” Crowley doesn’t move, and his steady breaths sound a bit like light snores. “Crowley, are you awake?”
The only reply is incoherent mumbles and a leg thrown over Aziraphale’s hip. So much for returning to his room. Not that he wanted to anyway. Crowley was right. He’s quite good at snuggling, even in his sleep.
Closing his eyes, Aziraphale tries the muscle relaxation again and takes several deep breaths. The bed smells dusty from disuse, but there’s also the smell of Crowley’s cologne and his earthy musk. Just as he’s starting to drift off, feeling the bed almost slip away underneath him, Crowley stirs.
“Outta the road, lady. ‘M drivin’ here,” Crowley mumbles. Then after a moment, “didn’t hit her. She hit me.”
Aziraphale chuckles. A few minutes later, he drops off, and he sleeps exceedingly well, not even waking up once.