Disclaimer: Not mine. If you think it is, I'm pretty sure you're too stupid to take it to court.
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Open
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The rain fell, as rain does, and thunder boomed, as thunder does. And as always happened, the windows rattled in their frames. Aziraphale looked up from the book he was reading, and sighed. The building was getting old, and while Aziraphale had resided in it for quite some time, he was beginning to think that perhaps it was time to move shop, go to a better area. Or perhaps not better, but at least not quite as run down. Staying in a location was all well and good, but Aziraphale knew that there came a time to leave. It was best if that time came before the place fell down about your ears.
The thunder boomed again, and the resulting rattle almost but not quite drowned out the tinkle of the bell as the door opened.
"Sorry, we're closed." Aziraphale called out, mostly on autopilot. He knew that the door wasn't locked and the closed sign wasn't put out, but the hours of operation were clearly posted and if people were interested in books, then they ought to be interested in reading, especially reading useful things like opening and closing time.
"Well, the door was unlocked and the closed sign wasn't out, so I figured that maybe you were just staying open a bit late," said a voice. It was a voice Aziraphale liked to hear, though he wouldn't have told anybody, and would have seriously considered lying if he was asked. He couldn't have actually lied, of course; angels didn't have the capacity. He could, however, think about it all he wanted and he would have thought about it a lot before deciding against it. And that's saying something.
The owner of the voice walked into the back room where Aziraphale was hunched over, and threw his wet coat on a nearby chair. Water began to run off, dripping in a small puddle on the floor. "Anyway, I figured I'd stop by and drop this off. I came across it while wandering, and thought you might like to read it." Crowley handed a small package to Aziraphale.
Their fingers touched, and both men paused. Aziraphale resisted taking the book for just a moment, and Crowley held on to it for just a little longer than he should have. When one let go and the other held on, neither felt like the deal should have finished.
A moment of awkward silence began. It was the sort of silence where it wasn't actually silent, because there was some background noise. But the background noise didn't help, really, it just highlighted the fact that nobody was talking and somebody should have.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The puddle on the floor grew larger. Aziraphale shifted in his chair slightly, blinking his eyes to refocus them. "Oh. Yes, thank you. What is it?" He ran his finger along the side of the package, using his fingernail to slit the wrapping paper. Crowley shook his head as Aziraphale tore it off, damaging the paper beyond further use.
"Naughty, naughty," he said softly. "You can't use it again, now. Shouldn't you be more concerned with the earth, recycling, and all that?"
Aziraphale shrugged. "There are plenty of trees," he said. "And in the grand scheme of things, I can tell you with absolute certainty that this one piece of wrapping paper will play absolutely no role at all. Oh, you got me that new romance novel! The one about the woman who gets hired to try out bedsheets with her attractive co-worker! I've been looking for this for months!"
Crowley was one of the only people who knew that Aziraphale liked reading trashy romance novels. He was glad, too. As stupid as Crowley thought the books were, Aziraphale loved them and had this special expression whenever he got a new one. Crowley enjoyed that expression more than any other, and would have been deeply jealous to hear about anybody else seeing it. It was something that Crowley considered uniquely his, and he didn't like to share. Fortunately, Aziraphale was shy about his reading habits, and Crowley felt reasonably certain that the angel would be just too embarrassed to tell anybody else about the drivel he liked to read.
"Yeah, well, I was walking through the markets in Gloucester, and saw this. I knew you'd been looking for it, and I figured, you know…"
Aziraphale shook his head, sparing Crowley from trying to justify what was essentially a good deed. It was a small courtesy, but it was something that nobody else did, because nobody else knew to. It was something that made their relationship special, and it was one of the few things Aziraphale didn't want anybody else to know about.
He gave the book a closer look, examining it automatically with a bookseller's eye. He noticed the price written on the inside of the back cover, a spidery 4.98 denoting the cost of four pounds and ninety-eight pence. "This cost you almost five pounds! Crowley, you should have! I can order it from the publisher cheaper than that!" Aziraphale looked up, upset that his friend had gone to such expense for something that was really only worth a pound or two.
Crowley put a hand behind his head, a sure sign he was nervous. "Nah, it's fine. I don't really need the money anyway, and besides, the post is always so slow. This was really easy, don't worry about it."
Aziraphale stood up to go get his wallet, there was no way he could let Crowley spend that much on something that cheap. Crowley moved to stop him, putting a hand on his shoulders.
The contact gave both of them pause, facing each other as if about to speak, but frozen like somebody had walked in completely naked and very attractive, sung a song, danced a dance, and then just left, leaving everybody in that sort of semi-shocked state where you know it happened, but you don't want to talk about it because if it didn't happen, you'd know you were crazy.
Another one of those awkward pauses started again.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
This time Crowley reacted first, removing his hand from Aziraphale's shoulder and turning towards the drip. He saw the puddle and blanched. "Aw, shoot. I'm sorry, Aziraphale. I've made such a mess on your floor; do you have a towel? Here, I'll clean it up-"
Crowley walked towards the small kitchen area, fetching a handtowel to mop up the floor. Aziraphale called out to him, placing the book on the table. "It's alright, really."
Crowley came back and began cleaning. "No, it isn't alright. This is an old store, you need to be careful about water damage. Unless you get the water right away, it'll seep in between the floorboards and start rotting, and then you might as well move out."
Aziraphale got another towel and began helping. "No, I've been thinking about moving out anyway. You're right, this place is old. I think a change of scenery would be good."
Crowley stopped suddenly, and Aziraphale looked up to see Crowley with a look of almost concern in his eyes. "What? You can't move out of here!"
"Why not?" Aziraphale asked. He hadn't realized the store was so important to Crowley.
"If you move out of here, then you won't be here any more. You'll go somewhere else, and you probably won't be allowed to tell me, because why would you? And then I won't know where you are, and then I won't be able to find you. We won't see each other for a couple years, at least."
Aziraphale looked at Crowley carefully. "It's okay, Crowley. My moving from one store to another is not the end of the world. I can put in a special request to remain here, and you can find me pretty easily as long as I'm in the same city."
Crowley shook his head. "But we've got a history here. This store, it's got memories. You can't just leave those behind, can you?"
Aziraphale shook his head. "Crowley, the store's old. It's falling apart. It's time to move on."
Crowley shook his head, mirroring Aziraphale. "It's not that old, and it's not that falling apart, either. You should stay here for a while longer." He finished mopping up the floor and stood up, ending the conversation. He took both towels and tossed them in the sink. "You can get the store renovated, if you have to. Just no leaving."
Aziraphale didn't answer, he just went over to his wallet and pulled out some coins. "Okay, fine. I promise that I'll stay here for a little while longer. Here's five pounds, take it as payment for the book."
Crowley accepted it with no argument, something that would have surprised Aziraphale if he had been thinking. Usually Aziraphale had to press the money into Crowley's hands.
Crowley rattled the coins, then turned on his heels. "I've gotta go," he muttered. He didn't look back as Aziraphale said goodbye.
As the man passed the cash register, there was the unmistakable jingle of three heavy coins being dropped into the tip jar.
"Crowley," Aziraphale called out warningly.
"Think of it as a donation to help pay for renovations," Crowley called back. "I'm just doing my part to pitch in. After all, I want you where I can keep an eye on you." As Crowley opened the door, he called out one more time to his old friend. "I'll be back again sometime next week, just to make sure you're not moving out." Then he shut the door and walked out into the rain.
Aziraphale took the wet towels from the sink and put them in the dryer. The store was old, he reflected. But on the other hand, so was Aziraphale. And if Aziraphale hadn't started to fall apart yet, then surely the store had a couple more years of structural stability left, right?
And besides, Aziraphale thought. As long as the store was standing and open, didn't that mean that Crowley would come back? Aziraphale got a piece of tape, and taped the open sign so that it couldn't be flipped over. That way, Crowley would know that he was welcome any time.