Chapter 2: Changes

Aziraphale didn't say no. He fussed and fretted about the Bentley (which Crowley had already found a place to store) and the fact that Crowley was selling his property, and was he sure that the bookshop wasn't too messy. But he didn't say no. So slowly, and as careful as he ever was when it came to the angel, Crowley started to move in.

To begin with, he slept over once every three days, Aziraphale insisting that he take the bed.

"Because, after all, my dear, I prefer to read." The Bentley was moved into a rented garage, and Crowley spent some of his spare time learning how cars worked. After all, it was a miracle that the thing was still in mint condition. Literally.

The art and fancy furniture was sold off by the time Crowley was sleeping at the bookshop every other night. When his apartment finally sold, the shop was showing signs of another person's signature for the first time in its existence.

Aziraphale, it turned out, was just a little bit of a hoarder and Crowley had learnt that he was also a "piler". If something was in a pile, then it was "put away" and tidy. This was, in crowley's mind, incredibly ineffective. As a demon, he was mindful that he was meant to be slothful. His understanding of slothful, however, was "work smarter, not harder", and piles were not smart.

And so it was that Aziraphale learned one of the most surprising things about his demon. Crowley was remarkably domesticated. Baking and cooking were only his most recently learned behaviours. Crowley cleaned and tidied with the same ferociousness that he applied to his plants. The bookshop had never looked so dust-free, and the piles of books had been shelved into new bookshelves.

"Because, honestly angel, look how you treat these first editions you're always going on about."

The new bookshelves weren't the only new editions. Aziraphale had insisted that Crowley keep his plants and had placed many of them in the front of the shop, as if showing them off. To Crowley's surprise, they seemed to flourish despite their darker environment, and the angel's coddling and praise. Crowley, of course, continued to threaten them, but did so much quieter, with much less menace than before.

And when one manifested a spot, he simply removed it from the shop. Aziraphale later saw a remarkably similar one planted and thriving in a spare piece of dirt during one of their walks in the park. He didn't comment upon it, but he did buy the demon a new plant to replace it, which Crowley was quietly and begrudgingly nicer to – unable to bring himself to menace something that Aziraphale had bought him.

As well as the new bookshelves, Crowley had also insisted on setting up a real kitchen in the small room that had previously housed the sink and wine fridge. It quickly became Aziraphale's favourite addition, beside the demon himself, and not just because of the good food that Crowley made in it.

Aziraphale had known the demon for a long time, but he'd never known him to ever seem as calm and truly relaxed as he did when he was cooking. Once, he'd even caught Crowley singing under his breath, though he'd stopped as soon as he'd realised he was being watched.

To Aziraphale, it was like getting to see a glimpse, an echo, a ghost of the angel that Crowley had once been. It was heartwarming.

It was heartbreaking.

"What did you do before…?" It had taken Aziraphale several months since Crowley had moved in full time (and several large glasses of wine) for him to pluck up the courage to finally ask.

Crowley frowned, lounging on his usual sofa, lying on his back with his head hanging over the arm. He held a hand up, counting on his fingers.

"Wassss….engineer, f' M25… and some bridgesss… wasssss…. Wassssitcalled? Ringsss people at home at irritating timesss? Telemarketer! F' a week. Uhhhh…" he screwed his face up. "Did other sstuff too, but a loooong time ago."

Aziraphale tried to smile at him.

"Before-before, I meant? You know we've never really talked about it and I wondered…"

Crowley went quiet. Aziraphale was about to apologise and tell him to forget he'd asked when he finally spoke in the softest, saddest voice Aziraphale had ever heard him use.

"Starsss…. Made starss…. Big….. sssmall….. lotssa starsss…"

"Alpha Centauri,"Aziraphale remembered. Crowley kept his hooded eyes on the ceiling.

"Two starsss…" Crowley lifted a hand and swirled it around in the air, " dancing round an' round an' round an' round an' round. F'ever. Too much ssspeed to collide. To much gravity to ssseparate. Together, 'til somethin' gives."

Aziraphale felt like he understood the sensation. Hadn't they been doing the same for centuries? Crowley rubbed his hands over his face, setting up and looking down at the floor. Almost hunched up. Aziraphale moved to sit next to him, sobering up slightly.

"I'm sorry."

Crowley let out a singular, humourless laugh.

"Wasn't your fault I fell. Shouldn't have asked questions. Should've just done as I was told."

It didn't, in Aziraphale's opinion, sound entirely fair. Especially after he'd done so much and only gotten into trouble with Gabriel. He half lifted a hand towards the demon's shoulder, but hesitated.

"Do you miss it?"

"Heaven? Fuck no," Crowley leant back, "Especially not after seeing it again. I'd forgotten how… lifeless it was."

"Cleaner than Hell though."

"There are cesspools cleaner than Hell." Crowley snorted, but without his usual vigour, Aziraphale noticed. His hand moved again, landing on the crowley's shoulder. For a second, the demon tensed and he feared that he had crossed the unspoken line between them. He was about to withdraw when Crowley leaned into his touch, pushing his hand across his shoulders until the demon was tucked under his arm. Aziraphale shot him a surprised look, but Crowley was very definitely, resolutely, not looking at him.

"I don't get why you're so nice to me," Crowley muttered after a long pause, "I'm bad."

"You are not bad," Aziraphale pulled him into a tighter hug; felt him take a deep breath, as if to speak, and cut him off. "You were the first person to ever say something nice, something reassuring to me, when I need it most."

"Noah's ark!" He wafted his free hand through the air and mimicked the demon's voice, "'You can't kill kids', all the angels in heaven and it was you who felt the same as me, Crowley!" He carried on, feeling his voice getting louder as he tried to pour as much emphasis into what he was saying as possible. "You took Jesus on a world tour, because he was a carpenter's son who didn't have great travel opportunities. You saved me from the French, and the Nazis. You were an excellent nanny to young Warlock, that boy adored you. You stopped Armageddon. When you got that commendation for the Spanish Inquisition, you were black-out drunk for a week after you'd checked it out."

The angel took a breath. Looked down at the top of Crowley's head. "Besides," he tried to joke, "I don't think someone truly bad, truly evil can cook food quite as tasty as yours."

Crowley chuckled quietly. Emboldened, Aziraphale added, "I don't think it does cuddles either."

A pause, then, "Think that might just be me."

"You could have said," Aziraphale admonished gently.

"Not really," Aziraphale felt Crowley slide an arm behind his back carefully, resting a hand on his side, "We were on opposite sides. We couldn't be too friendly. Imagine what would have happened if either of us had been caught."

Neither need much imagination to know that.

For a while, they sat in a comfortable silence together, Crowley eventually resting his head on Aziraphale's chest, beginning to wonder if there was a line any more. If there ever had been.

"I love you."

"You love everything angel," Crowley sighed, "It's what makes you you."

Aziraphale moved his hand to the back of Crowley's neck, running his fingers through the short hair.

"Yes, I love everything generally. Except traffic wardens. And raisin cookies that look like chocolate chip cookies. But I love books specifically. And you, specifically."

Crowley pulled away and turned, yellow eyes meeting blue searchingly. Aziraphale was a terrible liar and Crowley had known him long enough to know all his tells. But there were none, no worried eyebrows, no petulant voice. Only patience.

Crowley didn't do emotions, not really, that was an Aziraphale thing.

But there wasn't a line.

He didn't have to hide.

So he sighed, moved back to his previous place in the embrace, and muttered, "You too."

They smiled, each unseen by the other, simply enjoying the affectionate contact, completely at ease and so comfortable that, after a while, they both fell asleep.