Aziraphale isn't far behind him. He pushes his chair back into place against the table, hoping to lessen some of the work of the waitstaff, before falling into step with Crowley on his way out the door. He walks a little closer than he used to, but still not too-too close.
"Your books as well," he remarks as if that were an important point. He did need a place to put his magical texts and tomes from his schooling and personally, Aziraphale thought the idea of sharing a space for their books was a little bit on the romantic side.
"A cabinet would look nice in the den," he agrees easily. He's already thinking about what type they might get and where they might position it for best effect. "I'd like to have the sort that allows you to hang your wine glasses upside down for storage."
He taps a finger against his chin.
"Doubtful we could go wrong with a phonograph either."
It might really liven things up to have some music in the house.
Phonograph! There's an idea. Crowley's eyebrows loft and he glances sideways at Aziraphale.
"There's a thought, wonder what sort of music we could get here?"
Hopefully something more palatable than The Sound of Music, at least. Something with a little life in it. He's not really paid much attention so far. A nice little drinks cabinet, a phonograph, that'd really make it more... well, homely. Even if it does something strange to his chest to think of this place as home.
There would be no The Sound of Music played in their home if Aziraphale has any say in the matter—and he does. He has quite a lot of say, actually. As someone of more refined taste, he will surely have no issues finding something pleasing to listen to once they acquire a phonograph and perhaps even a few things a bit more to Crowley's tastes as well.
It's an exciting thought, thinking about how to make their cottage a home for the both of them. What would that even look like? Surely Crowley would have his own opinions about style and placement!
"I would assume they have their own particular brand of music. . . Since, well, everything here is so different already," he remarks idly. There are many similarities to Earth to be found, but even more that is just completely foreign. It makes him wonder. Did they have songs about their bonded? About transformations? About these strange parts of everyday life?
They must.
"We ought to go down to a record shop when we have the time!" he announces, already delighted.
It would be fun to hole up in a listening booth for a few hours to sample music.
A visit to the record shop does sound fun. Crowley studies the night sky thoughtfully as they walk, trying to remember the sort of background music he might have heard in places he's been in and out of. Trying to imagine what sort of amusement he might get out of being in a record shop while they're there. Could switch around records in their slip cases. Might be a laugh.
"Bound to be a place that sells them somewhere," he agrees. He's not sure if that's true, but it sounds likely. They can work out the fine details later. "Be a nice little day trip."
Something to pass the time. Something to do together. His lips flickers, faintly amused as he thinks about something, then he glances sideways as they walk -- waits for Aziraphale's attention to flit back to him.
The very air between the two of them seems to drop a few degrees at the mention of the ban. Aziraphale has already been aware of it for quite some time, much to his absolute and utter disappointment, and his feelings towards it have not wavered in the slightest. It is simply a foolish and potentially hateful decision made by officials who have apparently forgotten all of the joys and inspiration that the arts might bring.
What was a society without it?
"I am aware," he says, voice coming out terse.
Then he's turning towards Crowley, pointing a finger at him as if he needed to ensure his attention. "Hardly got any answer as to why!" he continues, suddenly more animated as he makes a frustrated gesture with his hands.
"What kind of people could just simply ban theatre! This is a civilised society!"
"Absolutely," says Crowley, who is not strictly convinced about the 'civilised society' part. "Completely, which means there's got to be a story behind it. There's theatres after all! All closed up, not doing anything. So there used to be that stuff here. Until something happened."
But what? Crowley really needs to know. Did someone in charge just hate theatre? Had a messy breakup with someone in the industry? Gang warfare between rival theatres tore the place apart? Some play was so bad everyone got banned from making more?
Edited (oh was meant to be a question mark) 2021-01-14 02:02 (UTC)
For the most part, Aziraphale is in complete agreement. He has no idea what had transpired here to lead them to the conclusion that theatres needed to be shut down, but there certainly had to be some kind of logical thought process behind it.
He really wants to know what it must have been. The fact that no one will tell him anything only manages to amplify that feeling. What could it have been that no one could say?
"Oh, there simply must be," he says, clicking his tongue in irritation. "It would be unthinkable for them to make such a harsh decision without some lengthy story behind it."
Then there's a brief pause as he turns over a thought in his head.
"Don't you think it strange that the theatres haven't been repurposed for anything?"
Crowley suppresses a grin, makes a vague sound as if thinking about the question.
"Suppose so. Must be a reason, right? Maybe they're all cursed or something. Haunted."
Or just difficult to repurpose, given how specific the layout of a theatre is. You'd probably have to rip the whole thing down, and if theatres had already been ripped down and another building put in their place they wouldn't be an unused theatre anymore for them to know about. Still. Interesting thought, about the closed up ones.
He turns, walking backwards a few steps so he can study Aziraphale.
"Gotta be someone who knows," he presses. Between them, surely, they could find out.
"Haunted!" Aziraphale repeats with a small measure of disbelief.
No, no. Whatever the reason was, it was most certainly not a haunting. How unthinkable and quite frankly, absolutely ridiculous! If it were anything of the like, there would surely be someone around attempting to capitalise on it with tours and wild stories about whatever it is that happened. As it stood, no one was saying anything about it at all.
It seemed to be more of a forced secret.
Had it been a scandal? What was it that kept them from reusing the buildings for music halls or other entertainment that could benefit from the layout?
Tapping his fingers together, he meets Crowley's gaze but chooses not to acknowledge the way he's decided to walk.
"I think the problem is not finding out who knows, but who is willing to tell us," he remarks. "Perhaps we should see if anyone still owns those buildings?"
"Oooh, good idea. Could have a little nose around, too."
A little breaking and entering never hurt anyone, right?
He turns, facing the way he's going properly as he saunters along beside Aziraphale.
"Little investigating could be fun. You know, Starsky and Hutch. Cagney and Lacey. Randall and Hopkirk."
He frowns a little, reconsiders a moment. Didn't Hopkirk die?
"Maybe not that one. Err. Tango and Cash? Crockett and Tubbs!"
There's no real connection beyond 'iconic cop duos' here. The point is, they'd definitely be good at it. They've figured out plenty of mysteries before, what's one more? Maybe that's what they should do here. Private investigators! Assuming there's a market for it, what with the number of people who seem to be willing to do any number of weird and dangerous things for very little pay at all.
None of the references made by the demon spark any sort of bell of recognition within Aziraphale. He's only ever seen a very paltry amount of television over the years and most, if not all of it, has been at the behest of Crowley himself. Definitely not enough to know more than a handful of names related to it. As it stands, he listens to Crowley casually rattle off his list of names patiently as he always does when he starts getting onto a tangent.
He can assume well enough that he's trying to list names of popular detectives. Investigators? Something within that area.
"Tango is such an odd choice for a name," he says absent-mindedly. As if he had any right to judge.
The idea of investigating this together did sound appealing to him, however. He has been doing a great many things during his days, mostly to ensure they had regular funds, but wouldn't it be thrilling to do something just for the sake of knowledge and excitement? Particularly if his partner was going to be Crowley?
"I'll start making inquiries. Do you think anyone at your academy might know a thing or two?"
Crowley makes a face at that. He should have seen it coming, and it makes sense, but he'd really rather not if he can help it.
"Suppose I can ask," he allows, the sense of iconic detective pair-up excitement beginning to wane at the idea of actual work being done. The breaking and entering part was more fun than the asking around part. "Must be some theatre going on somewhere, just outside the area maybe. Secret underground theatre troupes? Suppose that's a bit hard to pull off. Maybe there's some city where they all meet and have a sort of battle royale for who gets to put on the plays."
Last theatre troupe standing, as it were. Or maybe they just have a lot of plays and alternate them.
There's a momentary pause as Aziraphale glances over at him, seeming to consider the prospect of his ideas.
"If they're doing battle for the spotlight, I hardly doubt they'd have enough cast to perform," he remarks simply as if that were the only issue with the whole concept of underground theatre tropes. For as nonsensical as it was, he does think that Crowley isn't entirely wrong. Humans were always a stubborn lot, intent on doing all sorts of things that they have been barred from by one force or another, and there was undoubtedly a group somewhere still performing.
Perhaps not exactly here in the city, but somewhere. Definitely somewhere.
The more they talk about this, the more Aziraphale finds he's relentlessly curious to know. There's just not much he can do this particular evening.
"How did you find the restaurant?" he asks, changing the subject.
"Just asked around," he says, which is more comfortable than admitting he spent energy on finding somewhere Aziraphale would like. "Not exactly the Ritz but beggars can't be choosers -- and better than my cooking anyway."
Better than Aziraphale's, too. It was still nice enough for their purposes, or in this case for Crowley's specific intent. A warm, comfortable little place to take Aziraphale and feed him well. Not too busy so they still had some privacy. Atmospheric.
Most places were better than either of their cooking. It isn't exactly a high bar when the both of them are still largely unskilled and learning as they go along. Admittedly, Aziraphale thought he would be a lot better than he actually is since he enjoys food so frequently. He had assumed that it would all just come naturally!
It didn't.
He's had to start from the very basics. Like any other novice.
"I like your cooking," Aziraphale remarks and it's true. Crowley might not be as skilled as a well trained chef, but he always tries hard and even remembers what sort of dishes Aziraphale favours.
"And it was lovely."
The restaurant, that is. Not the Ritz, no, but still made for a delightful evening out. That also seems to remind him, he had happened by a remarkable bar just the other day while he was walking back home.
"Did I tell you? I came across what seems to be an izakaya bar here. We should find some time to go. I'd love to experience how accurate it might be!" he says. His main interest is seeing how the sushi might be, but he assumes that Crowley might also get a kick out of having some sake after so long.
An izakaya bar! Crowley looks over in surprise, openly interested in this.
"Might be fun," he allows, "haven't done that in ages. Do you remember that little place in Soho you liked? Used to go there for lunch sometimes."
He wonders, distantly, if it's weird to miss sushi bars when he so rarely even ate. It was more the feeling of them, he supposes. They'll have to check it out. He begins digging for his keys as they walk further, thinking about sushi bars still and what else he misses. His car. Bad television. Definitely good music, phonograph is on the nose there. Films with too many explosions.
"Tempt you to a nightcap?" he offers, glancing sideways at Aziraphale again.
It still feels strange in a lot of ways to watch Crowley do mundane little things like rummage around in his pockets for his keys. It's one of those things that feels terribly human and he quite can't decide exactly how he feels about it. In a particular light, he finds it to be charming, but mostly it just reminds him that keys used to only be strictly for appearances.
And alcohol used to be as temporary as he desired. Not that it has stopped him from enjoying it any.
"I believe I could be persuaded," he says as if he were on the fence and not more than welcoming to the idea. It's always lovely to end off the night with something strong, preferably in Crowley's company as well. He thinks that it'll be rather fun to do it at the bar as well once they actually go.
Different atmosphere and all that.
"I've hardly forgotten any of the places we used to frequent, you know," he says, slightly belated as his thoughts round back to the topic. "Do you remember that little corner cafe we used to visit? With the overstuffed pastries?"
Aziraphale thinks about it often, particularly when he's working part-time in the bakery. The bakery here was good, but nothing like back on Earth.
"OOh, yeah. What about the French one, though? With that lady who never smiled at anyone but you!"
An achievement, that. Crowley slows down as they reach the door, glances over at Aziraphale briefly before slipping his key into the lock.
"I don't forget either," he adds, then pushes his way inside. It's a little cool, but it'll warm up once they've been back in a while. The summer heat has already begun to fade. He drops his keys onto a hook, shrugs off his jacket. "What're we having?" he prompts. As a nightcap, that is. They've already had some wine with their food, but surely one drink can't hurt? Something smooth, to ease the remains of their night. To settle them after their meal.
Aziraphale smiles at the thought of the little French bakery just a few blocks away from his shop. It was such a nice place, had a tremendously comforting air about it despite the gruffness of its owner. He had liked taking the walk over there, but he liked it even better when Crowley showed up in his entrance with a fresh bag of something thoughtfully sweet so he didn't have to.
"No one else has taste as good as I do," he explains as he follows behind Crowley into their home. He shuts and locks the door behind the two of them before pulling his own coat off to hang by the door.
That part is also novel to him, their coats hanging up by the door. It's one of those little things that really do give it such a homey feeling. He wonders if he can maintain the habit once they eventually make their way out of here.
"Brandy," he answers, making a quick one-handed gesture to encourage Crowley to take a seat on the couch. Aziraphale walks by him to fetch the afforement alcohol and two tumblers from the kitchen.
Crowley throws himself down with exaggerated drama, stretching out and then sighing as he relaxes into the couch.
"Could do with a brandy," he admits, tilting his head back to study the ceiling. "Could do with a wine cellar, really. Remember that fusion restaurant? Near the Albert Hall. Japanese-French fusion food -- amazing what people come up with really, humans are so creative. Anyway, had a huge wine cellar. Did all those wine tasting nights. That's what you need -- drinks cabinet, step one. Step two, wine cellar."
Well, step 2 cellar perhaps. Step 3 make it a wine cellar. That's all fine detail. The important part is, a cellar full of alcohol sounds deeply appealing.
Does he remember? Of course he remembers! Not only had it been a remarkable combination of cuisine styles, of which he hasn't had the pleasure of encountering again since, but it had also been such a wonderful evening. It had been one of those times where they had simply been out for the pleasure of each other's company.
"I could hardly forget!" Aziraphale remarks from the other room as he pours the both of them a rather generous glass of brandy.
"Perhaps step two might be a wine rack before we move onto an entire cellar," he continues thoughtfully as he walks back into the living room. That would be the proper progression of things, wouldn't it? Fill up the cabinet, then move onto a rack, and then onto a cellar. Although, he did suppose that they needed to be mindful of how much they actually drank now.
Crowley takes the glass, then immediately switches it to his other hand and reaches to grab Aziraphale's. It's not a particularly secure hold, just enough to keep his attention focused. To stop him moving away.
"Angel?" he prompts softly, and draws him forward a little. He leans to press his cheek to the back of Aziraphale's hand, a gentle encouragement of some intimacy. Wine rack discussions aside, this was meant to be a date. He's hoping he's been hitting all the marks here, but the problem was they'd done a lot of things over the years that fell pretty well within the remit of 'date'. He's not quite sure what he's meant to do differently in this official one. "Pass the test?"
There is a brief moment of silence as Aziraphale's eyebrow knit together, not quite grasping the point of the question at first. He hadn't been aware that there should be any sort of test in the first place, but then understanding strikes him all at once. He lets out a soft "oh" as he glances down at Crowley, so gently and so sweetly leaning against him.
"Yes," he answers. He discards his glass onto the coffee table, getting it away and out of hands before moving to sit down on the couch beside Crowley.
Aziraphale lifts a hand to Crowley's face, pressing his palm against a cheek to cradle him gently.
Crowley sets aside his own glass as Aziraphale moves closer, wide eyes studying him as he's touched. The touching is nice. He would say, on the whole, big fan of the touching so far. Ten out of ten on touching -- apart from the way it makes his stomach squirm nervously. Why does it do that? Design flaw, probably. There's so may peculiar quirks in human bodies, he wishes he still had proper control over his.
"Uh," he manages finally. "Yeah. Just. Thought it might be... you know."
Nice. He wets his lips nervously, hand creeping out to rest against Aziraphale's side. Fingers close lightly into fabric, fastening themselves there. Is this where they kiss? That's normally what happens, he thinks, but he feels awkward all of a sudden. As if he isn't sure what to do, where to put his hands, how to proceed. Somehow, when it's Aziraphale, all his confidence just seems to melt away into nothing.
There is something really rather charming about the expression present on Crowley's face right now. He looks so out of sorts, but still interested despite whatever thoughts might be populating in his head. Aziraphale thinks about kissing him, thinks about closing the little distance between them, and he nearly does.
Nearly, nearly, nearly.
The only thing that stops him is the fact that he doesn't want the order of events to play out like this. He needs Crowley to pick up where they left off last time before he can act. He has been waiting all of this time and now he needs Crowley to follow through. He needs to be asked. He needs to be asked so that he can say 'yes' and take the next move forward.
Gingerly, he strokes his thumb along the sharp line of Crowley's cheekbone.
"I believe . . . there's a question I have been waiting for you to ask me," he reminds him.
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excuse you, little cat ornaments are legit
"Your books as well," he remarks as if that were an important point. He did need a place to put his magical texts and tomes from his schooling and personally, Aziraphale thought the idea of sharing a space for their books was a little bit on the romantic side.
"A cabinet would look nice in the den," he agrees easily. He's already thinking about what type they might get and where they might position it for best effect. "I'd like to have the sort that allows you to hang your wine glasses upside down for storage."
He taps a finger against his chin.
"Doubtful we could go wrong with a phonograph either."
It might really liven things up to have some music in the house.
tbh i own some
"There's a thought, wonder what sort of music we could get here?"
Hopefully something more palatable than The Sound of Music, at least. Something with a little life in it. He's not really paid much attention so far. A nice little drinks cabinet, a phonograph, that'd really make it more... well, homely. Even if it does something strange to his chest to think of this place as home.
i wanna see them
It's an exciting thought, thinking about how to make their cottage a home for the both of them. What would that even look like? Surely Crowley would have his own opinions about style and placement!
"I would assume they have their own particular brand of music. . . Since, well, everything here is so different already," he remarks idly. There are many similarities to Earth to be found, but even more that is just completely foreign. It makes him wonder. Did they have songs about their bonded? About transformations? About these strange parts of everyday life?
They must.
"We ought to go down to a record shop when we have the time!" he announces, already delighted.
It would be fun to hole up in a listening booth for a few hours to sample music.
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"Bound to be a place that sells them somewhere," he agrees. He's not sure if that's true, but it sounds likely. They can work out the fine details later. "Be a nice little day trip."
Something to pass the time. Something to do together. His lips flickers, faintly amused as he thinks about something, then he glances sideways as they walk -- waits for Aziraphale's attention to flit back to him.
"Did you know theatre is actually banned here?"
A fact that's bound to wind Aziraphale up.
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What was a society without it?
"I am aware," he says, voice coming out terse.
Then he's turning towards Crowley, pointing a finger at him as if he needed to ensure his attention. "Hardly got any answer as to why!" he continues, suddenly more animated as he makes a frustrated gesture with his hands.
"What kind of people could just simply ban theatre! This is a civilised society!"
no subject
But what? Crowley really needs to know. Did someone in charge just hate theatre? Had a messy breakup with someone in the industry? Gang warfare between rival theatres tore the place apart? Some play was so bad everyone got banned from making more?
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He really wants to know what it must have been. The fact that no one will tell him anything only manages to amplify that feeling. What could it have been that no one could say?
"Oh, there simply must be," he says, clicking his tongue in irritation. "It would be unthinkable for them to make such a harsh decision without some lengthy story behind it."
Then there's a brief pause as he turns over a thought in his head.
"Don't you think it strange that the theatres haven't been repurposed for anything?"
no subject
Crowley suppresses a grin, makes a vague sound as if thinking about the question.
"Suppose so. Must be a reason, right? Maybe they're all cursed or something. Haunted."
Or just difficult to repurpose, given how specific the layout of a theatre is. You'd probably have to rip the whole thing down, and if theatres had already been ripped down and another building put in their place they wouldn't be an unused theatre anymore for them to know about. Still. Interesting thought, about the closed up ones.
He turns, walking backwards a few steps so he can study Aziraphale.
"Gotta be someone who knows," he presses. Between them, surely, they could find out.
no subject
No, no. Whatever the reason was, it was most certainly not a haunting. How unthinkable and quite frankly, absolutely ridiculous! If it were anything of the like, there would surely be someone around attempting to capitalise on it with tours and wild stories about whatever it is that happened. As it stood, no one was saying anything about it at all.
It seemed to be more of a forced secret.
Had it been a scandal? What was it that kept them from reusing the buildings for music halls or other entertainment that could benefit from the layout?
Tapping his fingers together, he meets Crowley's gaze but chooses not to acknowledge the way he's decided to walk.
"I think the problem is not finding out who knows, but who is willing to tell us," he remarks. "Perhaps we should see if anyone still owns those buildings?"
no subject
A little breaking and entering never hurt anyone, right?
He turns, facing the way he's going properly as he saunters along beside Aziraphale.
"Little investigating could be fun. You know, Starsky and Hutch. Cagney and Lacey. Randall and Hopkirk."
He frowns a little, reconsiders a moment. Didn't Hopkirk die?
"Maybe not that one. Err. Tango and Cash? Crockett and Tubbs!"
There's no real connection beyond 'iconic cop duos' here. The point is, they'd definitely be good at it. They've figured out plenty of mysteries before, what's one more? Maybe that's what they should do here. Private investigators! Assuming there's a market for it, what with the number of people who seem to be willing to do any number of weird and dangerous things for very little pay at all.
no subject
He can assume well enough that he's trying to list names of popular detectives. Investigators? Something within that area.
"Tango is such an odd choice for a name," he says absent-mindedly. As if he had any right to judge.
The idea of investigating this together did sound appealing to him, however. He has been doing a great many things during his days, mostly to ensure they had regular funds, but wouldn't it be thrilling to do something just for the sake of knowledge and excitement? Particularly if his partner was going to be Crowley?
"I'll start making inquiries. Do you think anyone at your academy might know a thing or two?"
no subject
"Suppose I can ask," he allows, the sense of iconic detective pair-up excitement beginning to wane at the idea of actual work being done. The breaking and entering part was more fun than the asking around part. "Must be some theatre going on somewhere, just outside the area maybe. Secret underground theatre troupes? Suppose that's a bit hard to pull off. Maybe there's some city where they all meet and have a sort of battle royale for who gets to put on the plays."
Last theatre troupe standing, as it were. Or maybe they just have a lot of plays and alternate them.
Reality is often so disappointing.
no subject
"If they're doing battle for the spotlight, I hardly doubt they'd have enough cast to perform," he remarks simply as if that were the only issue with the whole concept of underground theatre tropes. For as nonsensical as it was, he does think that Crowley isn't entirely wrong. Humans were always a stubborn lot, intent on doing all sorts of things that they have been barred from by one force or another, and there was undoubtedly a group somewhere still performing.
Perhaps not exactly here in the city, but somewhere. Definitely somewhere.
The more they talk about this, the more Aziraphale finds he's relentlessly curious to know. There's just not much he can do this particular evening.
"How did you find the restaurant?" he asks, changing the subject.
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"Just asked around," he says, which is more comfortable than admitting he spent energy on finding somewhere Aziraphale would like. "Not exactly the Ritz but beggars can't be choosers -- and better than my cooking anyway."
Better than Aziraphale's, too. It was still nice enough for their purposes, or in this case for Crowley's specific intent. A warm, comfortable little place to take Aziraphale and feed him well. Not too busy so they still had some privacy. Atmospheric.
Suitable, in other words, for a romantic date.
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It didn't.
He's had to start from the very basics. Like any other novice.
"I like your cooking," Aziraphale remarks and it's true. Crowley might not be as skilled as a well trained chef, but he always tries hard and even remembers what sort of dishes Aziraphale favours.
"And it was lovely."
The restaurant, that is. Not the Ritz, no, but still made for a delightful evening out. That also seems to remind him, he had happened by a remarkable bar just the other day while he was walking back home.
"Did I tell you? I came across what seems to be an izakaya bar here. We should find some time to go. I'd love to experience how accurate it might be!" he says. His main interest is seeing how the sushi might be, but he assumes that Crowley might also get a kick out of having some sake after so long.
no subject
"Might be fun," he allows, "haven't done that in ages. Do you remember that little place in Soho you liked? Used to go there for lunch sometimes."
He wonders, distantly, if it's weird to miss sushi bars when he so rarely even ate. It was more the feeling of them, he supposes. They'll have to check it out. He begins digging for his keys as they walk further, thinking about sushi bars still and what else he misses. His car. Bad television. Definitely good music, phonograph is on the nose there. Films with too many explosions.
"Tempt you to a nightcap?" he offers, glancing sideways at Aziraphale again.
no subject
And alcohol used to be as temporary as he desired. Not that it has stopped him from enjoying it any.
"I believe I could be persuaded," he says as if he were on the fence and not more than welcoming to the idea. It's always lovely to end off the night with something strong, preferably in Crowley's company as well. He thinks that it'll be rather fun to do it at the bar as well once they actually go.
Different atmosphere and all that.
"I've hardly forgotten any of the places we used to frequent, you know," he says, slightly belated as his thoughts round back to the topic. "Do you remember that little corner cafe we used to visit? With the overstuffed pastries?"
Aziraphale thinks about it often, particularly when he's working part-time in the bakery. The bakery here was good, but nothing like back on Earth.
no subject
An achievement, that. Crowley slows down as they reach the door, glances over at Aziraphale briefly before slipping his key into the lock.
"I don't forget either," he adds, then pushes his way inside. It's a little cool, but it'll warm up once they've been back in a while. The summer heat has already begun to fade. He drops his keys onto a hook, shrugs off his jacket. "What're we having?" he prompts. As a nightcap, that is. They've already had some wine with their food, but surely one drink can't hurt? Something smooth, to ease the remains of their night. To settle them after their meal.
no subject
"No one else has taste as good as I do," he explains as he follows behind Crowley into their home. He shuts and locks the door behind the two of them before pulling his own coat off to hang by the door.
That part is also novel to him, their coats hanging up by the door. It's one of those little things that really do give it such a homey feeling. He wonders if he can maintain the habit once they eventually make their way out of here.
"Brandy," he answers, making a quick one-handed gesture to encourage Crowley to take a seat on the couch. Aziraphale walks by him to fetch the afforement alcohol and two tumblers from the kitchen.
no subject
"Could do with a brandy," he admits, tilting his head back to study the ceiling. "Could do with a wine cellar, really. Remember that fusion restaurant? Near the Albert Hall. Japanese-French fusion food -- amazing what people come up with really, humans are so creative. Anyway, had a huge wine cellar. Did all those wine tasting nights. That's what you need -- drinks cabinet, step one. Step two, wine cellar."
Well, step 2 cellar perhaps. Step 3 make it a wine cellar. That's all fine detail. The important part is, a cellar full of alcohol sounds deeply appealing.
no subject
"I could hardly forget!" Aziraphale remarks from the other room as he pours the both of them a rather generous glass of brandy.
"Perhaps step two might be a wine rack before we move onto an entire cellar," he continues thoughtfully as he walks back into the living room. That would be the proper progression of things, wouldn't it? Fill up the cabinet, then move onto a rack, and then onto a cellar. Although, he did suppose that they needed to be mindful of how much they actually drank now.
Despite that, he extends a glass out to Crowley.
"Here."
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"Angel?" he prompts softly, and draws him forward a little. He leans to press his cheek to the back of Aziraphale's hand, a gentle encouragement of some intimacy. Wine rack discussions aside, this was meant to be a date. He's hoping he's been hitting all the marks here, but the problem was they'd done a lot of things over the years that fell pretty well within the remit of 'date'. He's not quite sure what he's meant to do differently in this official one. "Pass the test?"
This was for him, after all. Is it good enough?
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There is a brief moment of silence as Aziraphale's eyebrow knit together, not quite grasping the point of the question at first. He hadn't been aware that there should be any sort of test in the first place, but then understanding strikes him all at once. He lets out a soft "oh" as he glances down at Crowley, so gently and so sweetly leaning against him.
"Yes," he answers. He discards his glass onto the coffee table, getting it away and out of hands before moving to sit down on the couch beside Crowley.
Aziraphale lifts a hand to Crowley's face, pressing his palm against a cheek to cradle him gently.
"Thank you for the lovely evening."
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"Uh," he manages finally. "Yeah. Just. Thought it might be... you know."
Nice. He wets his lips nervously, hand creeping out to rest against Aziraphale's side. Fingers close lightly into fabric, fastening themselves there. Is this where they kiss? That's normally what happens, he thinks, but he feels awkward all of a sudden. As if he isn't sure what to do, where to put his hands, how to proceed. Somehow, when it's Aziraphale, all his confidence just seems to melt away into nothing.
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Nearly, nearly, nearly.
The only thing that stops him is the fact that he doesn't want the order of events to play out like this. He needs Crowley to pick up where they left off last time before he can act. He has been waiting all of this time and now he needs Crowley to follow through. He needs to be asked. He needs to be asked so that he can say 'yes' and take the next move forward.
Gingerly, he strokes his thumb along the sharp line of Crowley's cheekbone.
"I believe . . . there's a question I have been waiting for you to ask me," he reminds him.
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