What had he been thinking, offering Crowley a ride in a car that wasn't even his. It hadn't been a lie about the show on the West End. He'd wanted to see it, but he'd had no immediate plans to go with his friend into town. Although, he did like the buffer of Crowley. He wasn't sure if he went alone with his friend if he would get pressured into getting his own Grindr profile. The thought of that was enough to get whatever desire had recently surfaced in him to tuck tail and run.

Mr. Brown had agreed easily to the extra company. While he seemed a bit surprised at the thought of Crowley joining, he didn't ask any questions, as if knowing his friend didn't really have answers for it either.

Once that was settled, Aziraphale called and made reservations for a hotel and booked tickets to the play. He'd purchased two. He knew it was unlikely Alistair would join him, but he hoped he would. It was much lovelier to share the experience. After his preparations were completed, he sent a message to his art class, letting them know the class would be cancelled on Saturday.

That was when he realised that he didn't have a number to call Crowley and let him know. He could call Madame Tracy. That made the most amount of sense, yet he found himself walking out the door and down the path to the main road. It was less than a ten-minute walk to her cottage, but normally he would have stretched it out to fifteen, stopping to look at the flowers and enjoy the view. But he found his feet moving at a steady pace. He tried not to think too much about why.

When he arrived at the cottage he was saved the trouble of knocking; Crowley was on his hands and knees in the front garden. His head was down and his hands in the dirt. Aziraphale had never seen him in shorts. The dark grey shorts were loose on his body, and the black T-shirt he wore was so worn the neckline of it hung loose, giving Aziraphale a peek to his chest.

Aziraphale, who had been convincing himself that the dream he'd had was a fluke and that he wasn't really attracted to Crowley, that the reaction was a result of the stress of nearly being killed, felt the newly familiar feel of lust bubble up in his chest. Why hadn't he just picked up the damn phone instead of going to Tracy's.

He averted his eyes and cleared his throat.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley sat back on his knees as Aziraphale chanced to look back at him.

"Crowley … hi."

Crowley wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, smearing a line of dirt. "Hi. Were you looking for my aunt? She popped over to the shop to get some things."

"Actually, I came to see you."

"Oh." The surprised look on Crowley's face was another sign that Aziraphale should have called. "Ngh. Did you want to come in? I can get you a lemonade."

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say no but instead, "yes," came out. At the widening of Crowley's eyes, Aziraphale amended, "If it's not too much trouble."

"Nah, come on then. I just need to clean up a bit."

Aziraphale followed Crowley into the cottage and sat down on the couch while Crowley went to wash up. He was wringing his hands when the man came back with a cup of lemonade in each hand.

"Thank you. I should have called, but, you see, I didn't have your number."

He could see Crowley trying to work something out as he sat down across from him, taking a sip of his drink. "Oh, your bike. You need it back?"

"No, dear boy. I really don't. I came to let you know that Alistair is quite happy to take you into London on Friday with him. He plans to leave at noon and will be by shortly after to pick you up."

Crowley's face lit up in a smile unlike any Aziraphale had ever seen from him. There was no smirk or defence behind it, just joy. It lasted a brief moment before it slipped. "You coming too?"

"Yes. I have tickets to the play I was hoping to see. We can drop you off at the recovery garage."

"That's great. I plan to just pick it up and head right back."

"It sounds like it is going to work out great for everyone."

~~0~~

Aziraphale tried not to think about the extra hour he'd spent chatting with Crowley after they made their plan. The man was funny and quick. So smart and cutting. Traits he'd seen before, wielded by cruel men, but Crowley always had a softness behind the things he said. His words and attitude were clearly a hard shell to protect the soft underbelly of him. Not that there was anything soft about his belly. When Aziraphale had to go, Crowley stood up, stretching with his arms over his head and his shirt rode up, exposing the flat firm plane of his stomach. He'd never been one to gape before, and he was almost certain he stopped himself from doing so then as well.

All of these things he tried to push from his brain as he sat in the passenger seat of Alistair's car on the way over to pick up Crowley.

"I'm surprised you wanted me to take Crowley into London with us," Alistair said as they turned down the gravel path to Tracy's house. "I didn't think you liked him."

"I don't." He said a bit too sharply, and his friend smiled. "I think. Well, perhaps I misjudged him. He may very well still be awful, but he is in need, and I didn't think it would put you out. I'm happy to pay for both our shares of the petrol."

"No worries. I was heading in anyway. I'm happier for the company more than anything."

Crowley was waiting on the porch when they pulled up. He had a small black bag in his hand. Aziraphale got out of the car and opened the boot.

"You can sit in the front," Aziraphale offered.

"It's okay. I'm fine in the back." Crowley shifted on his feet.

"I insist. You have those long legs. I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable."

"Er. Sure. Ta."

Crowley slipped into the front seat, and Aziraphale walked around to sit behind the driver's seat. It was the safer side of the car, which was his reason, not because it gave him a better view of Crowley for the drive.

Aziraphale did not know why Alistair needed company at all. As it turned out, it took very little time to determine he and Crowley shared some musical taste, and the bebop started blasting at a level that made conversation impossible. While the thumping beat of a drum and the whiny sounds of an electric guitar would normally put Aziraphale in a bad mood, watching Crowley light up and sing along with some of the songs made the whole thing more tolerable. The two of them exchanged words now and then, but being in the backseat, Aziraphale only heard a word or two. He's no stranger to being left out of conversations, not that he's felt it's intentional, but he is also just happy to sit back and observe. He's never minded being alone in his thoughts. And he doesn't desire to share them now.

As they approached London, the traffic seemed to come to a stop. The lanes around them filled in, and the horns began to sound. Aziraphale never understood what the point was of honking at a line of cars. If they could move, they certainly would. No one wanted to be stopped. The beeping just made everyone that much more annoyed.

"Bloody hell." Crowley huffed, looking out the window and turning the volume down on the radio. "This is one thing I don't miss about the city."

"That is one advantage we have over London. I'm sure Tadfield must be very dull to someone like yourself," Aziraphale said.

Crowley looked like he fit. Even with, or perhaps because of, the scowl on his face. His eyes were alert as he looked around for a break in the traffic, not that he was in any position to take advantage of any openings. The backseat driving of it all. It should have made Aziraphale's blood boil, but somehow, he couldn't pull up anything but fondness.

"What do you mean? Someone like me?" Crowley's words were clipped, his tone defensive.

"You seem so much bigger than our little town. Far too exciting for porches and ponds. I suspect you'll be very happy to come home after the summer."

"Yeah. I guess. I was. But I don't know if this place feels like home anymore. I might look into some other options."

Abruptly, Crowley reached over and honked the horn. Aziraphale chuckled and shook his head. Aziraphale didn't belong in the city; this was not for him. Crowley was not for him. Seeing him out of his little town solidified it.

They pulled up to the impound lot an hour later than originally planned. Crowley grabbed his bag from the trunk, and Aziraphale moved back into the front seat. He didn't miss his friend's eyes following Crowley toward the door.

"He seems all right," Alistair said.

"You did seem to have a few things in common." Aziraphale looked over at his friend again, who was still watching Crowley. "Do you like him?"

Mr. Brown finally looked back at Aziraphale. "Just enjoying the view. Not that I would say no if … ah, you like him."

"What? I do not."

"Aziraphale. We've been friends for a few years now. And while I've never seen you date, I do know the look of a man who wants to rip my head off for desiring to sleep with a man he fancies."

Aziraphale ducked his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't …"

A knock on the window startled both men. Aziraphale looked over to see Crowley standing at his window. He pressed the button to roll it down.

"I'm glad you didn't leave. They close at two on Fridays. I just missed them." Aziraphale noticed the tension in Crowley's jaw. "If you could drop me in town, I could maybe find a hostel for the night or something and take a cab back in the morning."

"Nonsense. I booked a hotel room. You are welcome to stay with me." It was quiet, but Aziraphale heard his friend snicker beside him.

Crowley, still hunched over in the window, looked over at Alistair. "Are you not sharing a place?"

"I have … other accommodations for the night," Alistair answered.

Aziraphale knew that meant some stranger's bed, a man whom he would match with on Grindr. He knew his friend sometimes lined up a meetup before coming into town, but just as often, he would just see where the night took him. It was a kind of life Aziraphale had no desire for, but he was feeling the thrill of possibly sharing a room that night.

"You really don't mind? I'll be quiet as a mouse; you won't even know I'm there."

"I insist." As Crowley went to put his bag back in the boot, Alistair shot a knowing look at Aziraphale. "Not one word out of you."

"I wouldn't dream of it." Alistair laughed.

Aziraphale felt like he was on display as they pulled back on the road. Mr. Brown drove with a smirk on his face, one Aziraphale knew well. He just didn't enjoy knowing he was the one the man now had gossip about. He trusted his friend not to spread his business around town, but he also knew he would be the victim of a good bit of ribbing when they got home.

The car pulled up to the hotel entrance. "Your stop, gentlemen."

"Cheers, mate," Crowley said, beating Aziraphale out of the car and grabbing both their bags.

"You'll text me in the morning to let me know when to expect you?" Aziraphale asked as he stepped out of the car.

"Not too early." A saucy wink accompanied the response.

"Mind how you go." Aziraphale shut the door and waved him off.

He went to take his bag from Crowley, but it was twisted away from his grasp. "You are doing me a favour, at least you can let me carry your bag."

He fought the sigh that was building in him. "Thank you."

After checking in, they made their way up to the room. The elevator door had just closed when Crowely looked over at him.

"This is a fancy hotel."

"I have standards." Aziraphale felt his back straighten. He could spend his money how he wished. He didn't often get out, and when he did, he liked to do it right.

"Clearly, you are quite posh."

"I'll have you know I've been called the bee's knees."

Crowley laughed. "I bet you have."

Aziraphale had to ask to change rooms from what he had booked, to ask for one with two beds. They were able to accommodate, but when Aziraphale opened the door he hadn't expected to see the two beds pushed together and sharing a headboard.

He thought it best not to bring attention to it, and he watched as Crowley took in the room, and then set the bags down on the luggage rack. Crowley sat down on the plush chair in the room and pulled out his mobile and started scrolling.

Aziraphale went to his luggage and pulled out two button-up shirts, taking them to the closet to hang. When he finished with those, he removed a pair of trousers, shaking them out, and then refolding them to drape over a hanger as well. Staying in a hotel, he had a ritual of sorts. It made him feel relaxed to get all of his things in their place, to feel sure he hadn't forgotten anything. He put his spare bowtie on the dresser and opened the drawers to deposit his night clothes and unmentionables.

"Exactly how long are you staying in London?"

Aziraphale looked up to find Crowley studying him with a smirk. "Just overnight."

"And you brought that many clothes?"

"I have plans."

"'F course, the play."

Aziraphale took his book out of his bag and placed it on the nightstand. He left his spare book where it was. He wanted to distract from the teasing, not incur more.

"Yes. I …" He started to wring his hands. It was a nervous habit that he actually despised. It left him feeling open and vulnerable. "I do have an extra ticket it turns out. If you'd like to join me."

Crowley removed his sunglasses finally, setting them on the table next to him. His eyes were no less golden from being out of the sun. "You have an extra ticket."

"Yes?"

"Why do you have two tickets? Were you meeting someone? Have I crashed your date?"

"No!" he said fiercely, and then hunched his shoulders. "No, it's silly. I had thought that if Alistair's plans fell through he might like to come."

"I don't have the money to pay you back for any of this right now." Crowley ducked his head and sighed.

"Oh, my dear boy. It is entirely on me. You would be doing me a kindness." Aziraphale winced when he saw Crowley tense at that. "Look, I can go on my own. You don't have to feel obligated. I just thought it would be nice to share it. And if you would indulge me, there is somewhere I've been wanting to go to dinner for so very long, but it's not the sort of establishment you eat alone in."

Crowley looked at him incredulously. "Are you trying to buy me dinner now too?"

"Oh, yes. Would you let me, please?"

Crowley must have noticed his earnestness in the request because he acquiesced quickly. Aziraphale clapped his hands and had a bounce in his step as he finished up his ritual.

"I didn't bring anything else to wear. Am I okay for where we're going?" Aziraphale looked at the bag Crowley had been carrying. "Tool bag, for my ornery old car."

Aziraphale took the excuse to look back over Crowley. He was in a pair of fitted black trousers and a black button-up, a black waistcoat, and a silver bolero tie. He had a black jacket that he'd peeled off when they entered and was folded over the back of his chair.

"You're perfect." Aziraphale felt his cheeks heat. He was a man in his fifties, and he was blushing. The realisation made his problem worse. A swirly tornado of hummingbirds took flight in his stomach.

~~0~~

"This is where you wanted to take me for dinner, angel?"

The nickname made Aziraphale nearly stumble. He had to keep telling his mind it was a joke. Crowley didn't say it with any softness. He was just being silly.

"Is that okay?" He suddenly worried that maybe it was a bit much to ask after all. "I didn't make reservations; this was all a last minute idea. We may not even get in."

"No way to know unless we try."

When they entered the building, Aziraphale was immediately in awe. The place was so classy. He was happy he'd brought a freshly pressed shirt to wear.

"Why don't you take a peek; I'll talk to the hostess."

Aziraphale lit up at Crowley's suggestion. If they weren't able to dine, he did want a better look in case that was all he was going to get. The room was elegant—white table cloths and white gloves. A grand piano near the centre of the room was played softly by a young man in a white tuxedo. It was everything he hoped it would be. It was also very busy. The tables were full of what looked mostly like couples on dates and a few small groups.

"They were able to get us in," Crowley said, coming over to collect him.

"Truly?"

"They had a last-minute cancellation. We lucked out."

"Oh, goody." Crowley laughed at him. "Hush now. I'm excited."

"Right this way, sirs."

The hostess led them over to a table not far from the piano. Aziraphale sat down, his eyes flickering around to try and trap each detail in his mind's eye. He smiled when the hostess handed him his menu.

"Good to have you back, Mr. Crowley," she said, and then departed.

Aziraphale tried to catch Crowley's eye, but the man was looking everywhere but at him.

"You've been here before?"

"A few times." Crowley's tone was blasé, and he picked up his menu like that was all that needed to be said.

"A few times! They know your name here."

Crowley put his menu back down, looking somewhere between resigned and embarrassed. "It's not a big deal. I was in a long-term relationship, and we used to come here a lot. We actually ended it here … albeit at a worse table."

"Why didn't you tell me? We don't have to stay." He meant it even if he felt the disappointment at the idea of going.

"You were so excited. It's fine. Great time to build new memories."

The moment was broken when the waiter came and took their orders. Aziraphale had planned to use this as a perfect time for a topic change but instead he opened his mouth and said, "Were you together long?"

"Seven years. His name's Ferdinand, but everyone called him Furfur." He rolled his eyes. "We met at a work function; he was the finance guy for a company we were representing. He took an interest in me, and I said yes. I'd been so busy with my career that I hadn't dated much. It's the next box to check, innit. This was his favourite place to come; I think he liked to show me off. I didn't love that, but I'm not sure I even really ever loved him. I just thought that was what I was supposed to want, but I never really connected with him. It's been almost two years since I've seen him. Truth be told, I'm not sure I'd recognize him if I saw him. The man was entirely forgettable, which makes it unsettling that he broke up with me."

"This was your place, and he broke up with you here?"

"I'm a prick. I probably deserved it."

"The only thing you deserved was the right to be free of something that was so clearly wrong for you."

"Cheers to that." Crowley raised his glass.

The food at The Ritz was beyond anything Aziraphale had expected. He couldn't help little sounds of delight as he ate his way through the plate, and the rest of Crowley's after he'd declared himself full. Aziraphale would have liked to stay for dessert, but they were on a bit of a tight schedule with the play.

Watching Under Milk Wood while sitting next to Crowley was a treat Aziraphale hadn't expected. The theatre seating was packed tight together, and Crowley's leg pressed against his as they watched. The actors delivered the poems with such brilliance it left goose pimples on his arm. The show would have been something he would have ached to talk about with someone if he went alone. Being able to have a lively debate on the walk back to their hotel was the cherry-on-top of the evening.

The night had been magical. So why was Aziraphale's traitor heart wanting more. It was fortunate how wildly Crowley gesticulated; it made it impossible to even think about reaching to hold his hand as they walked. Aziraphale knew this was only one sided. He had told himself again and again over the course of the evening, but the tiny vestibules of hope overflowed.

The bottle of wine they'd shared at the restaurant and the few glasses of wine Aziraphale had treated them both to during intermission were still making his head a little fuzzy. He liked the floating feeling, being part of his body but not.

"All I'm saying … all I'm saying is that the armrest on your right is yours. The only people in the theatre who get access to two are the people who sit on the left aisle seat. Everyone knows this!" Crowley's voice rose up as he made his point.

"No. You share them. First to claim gets the back of the armrest, and the other person has the front. Two for everyone." Aziraphale nodded his head like he was quite proud of himself.

Crowley swung his head to look at Aziraphale, and his gait followed, nearly swinging those narrow hips right into his. He adjusted quickly before the collision took place. "Who are you? What kind of compromise is that? You want me to share with a stranger? They could touch me." The look of disgust made Aziraphale giggle.

"You're ridiculous. Are you really that much of a germaphobe?"

"I'm a personal-space-a-phobe." Crowley's brows knit together. "No that's not right. What's the word when you don't want anyone in your personal space?"

"Misanthropic?"

"Funny. I'll have you know … people? Most of them. They aren't trustworthy."

"You believe that?" Aziraphale asked. He had been through a lot, but he still believed that people were inherently good.

"Tossers, the lot of them. Better off without any of them, angel."

"Sounds lonely."

"Mostly it's peaceful."

~~0~~

Aziraphale thought about what Crowley had said as he changed in the bathroom of the hotel room. Aziraphale had moved and found a community of people he liked. Friends and neighbours to spend time with and enjoy. He hoped Crowley could find that for himself. Even if he wasn't a part of that new life. Crowley had been through enough, and Aziraphale hoped he'd find happiness.

Crowley was already snoring soundly in his bed when Aziraphale exited the bathroom, his clothes folded and set on the bottom corner of the bed. He realised that Crowley hadn't planned on staying the night. Crowley didn't have any clothes on.

A seasoned insomniac, Aziraphale went to his bag and grabbed his sketchpad. He knew he wouldn't be able to focus on a book. Not with the thoughts swimming in his brain. Stacking the pillows against the headboard, Aziraphale sat against them. He glanced over at Crowley, the man just a face peeking out from the blankets. Before he noticed what he was doing, he began to sketch the man.

Crowley's face always held a tension to it; it was beautiful to see it relaxed this way. A curtain had been lifted to show the hidden parts. Aziraphale spent several minutes studying each feature before he added them to his drawing. By the time the sketch had been completed, hours had passed. He closed the book and set it on the nightstand. When he finally closed his eyes, sleep came quickly for him.

E/N

So funny story; I set out to write the reverse one bed. Where they actually get the two beds instead of one. I did my research and found the hotel I wanted them to stay at and clicked on the pic of the two bed room...and they were pushed together, just as I described above! I laughed so hard, I had to use it. Lesson learned, do not mess with the one bed trope or it will mess with you.