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It was a nice night. There had been rather more than seven of them since Crowley and Aziraphale had officially moved into their cottage in the South Downs.
They had found themselves adjusting rather accordingly, or as accordingly as people could when trying to break 6000-year-old habits. The first time Aziraphale and Crowley had managed to look at each other at the same time with what could only be called the look , both of them had been stuck like that for quite some time, not really knowing how to react to the overflow of love and affection seen in each others’ eyes. This was much to the annoyance of Tracy and Shadwell, who had invited them over for tea and simply had to sit, befuddled, and watch as the tea grew slowly colder. When they finally recovered [1], Aziraphale had offered to put on a pot of tea. They would talk about that later. To their credit, eventually they did, softened by a glass of red wine [2] and the comforting crackle of the fire. In the end, they learnt that not every conversation is to be feared; this particular one concluded with warm laughter and companionship rather than harsh tears and bitter silence. Of course, the tears did come, but they found the important part is that they aren't afraid to face their pain anymore. Finally, they are free to release and heal their trauma and support each other through it, not held back by Heaven and Hell. Slowly, they will heal. After all, they have time.
Tonight, they spent their time outside in the garden Crowley is tending to. Lush greens have already begun to fill the soil of the garden beds, bringing life to the rot left by previous owners [3].
Pausing her search for champagne in the seemingly endless amount of boxes scattered around their kitchen, Crowley looks out the window, a soft smile growing on his face as he takes in the sight of Aziraphale. Their appearance is softened by the warmth of the gentle light shining through the backdoor, with their tartan sweater and beige pants hidden underneath a quilt [4] draped over them to keep warm in the evening chill. While laying back on one of the new patio lounges [5], he waits for Crowley to return. For a moment, together but separate, they listen to the music coming from the kitchen and look up at the sky, admiring the clear view of the stars [6]. Sensing Crowley’s gaze, Aziraphale looks towards her, returning her smile with a small affectionate one that kindles the warmth in her stomach.
Crowley hums along to the song playing, swaying slowly to the beat as the tender, jazzy lyrics pour out of the gramophone.
“I’ll be the wind, the
Rain and the sunset
The light on your
Door to show that
You’re home
When you think the
Night has seen your
Mind
That inside you’re
twisted and unkind
Let me stand to
show that you are
blind”
Crowley realises then just how at home they feel. He is not a being that ever really felt much of a sense of home, of comfort, except maybe in the Bentley, the bookshop, and with Aziraphale. Even then, it was limited by Heaven and Hell. To finally have this safe place, this cottage that they can call home without any fear, feels revolutionary, freeing. The feeling of surrealness, Crowley thinks, will never fade, but it will. Day by day, this new ordinary will sink in and the comforting realness of it will become a familiar weight in their stomach. Not yet, though.
For tonight, Crowley walks out of the kitchen and through the backdoor with champagne and two flute glasses, setting them down on a log currently functioning as a side table and sliding in beside Aziraphale. It is here that she finds reality, letting the warmth from Aziraphale and the quilt seep into her bones. They lay in silence for a time, listening to the faint sounds of the night, of wind rustling the leaves, people returning from their days out, and trains going from station to station. They simply savour the quiet peace of each others’ company, as they so often do now.
Eventually, after some reluctance and muttering about how the champagne that someone had worked very hard to find would go bad in a few hours, Aziraphale carefully gets up from their chair to pour them both a glass of the champagne. Crowley sits up from their very comfortable position [7] and watches as the champagne is poured, fascinated by the colour of the liquid in the faint lighting provided by the doorway. It’s a rich gold colour, reminding him of the bookshop’s walls and the Bentley’s detailing around its windows and wheels, which was added by a very enthused Aziraphale. It also, Crowley only now realises, reminds her of her eyes. It’s pretty , Aziraphale had said. The thought flutters through his mind, relaxing his shoulders and releasing the remaining tension in his body. They are loved- loved for who they are , snake eyes and all. Aziraphale gives him a fond smile, seeming to understand what he is thinking. It’s often like this now, in small moments where they have a comforting understanding of each other that doesn’t require communicating things directly. It’s what knowing someone for 6000 years does to someone, they conclude.
The familiar notes of “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square'' drift through the window as Crowley lifts her glass and intertwines her fingers with Aziraphale’s, lifting their hands to gently kiss his knuckles. A smile illuminates Aziraphale’s face, filled with hope and love they had only dreamed of fulfilling for so many years.
“Cheers to you, Dearest, my world.”
A matching smile, tender and bright as flame in the cool night.
“To you, Angel, my world.”
The tinkle of their glasses lingers in the silence of the evening, dulled only by the pure, high-pitch whistle of a nightingale that resounds through the air.
"And as we kissed and said goodnight
A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.
I know ‘cause I was there
That night in Berkeley Square."
[1] Notably, only after being somewhat forcibly escorted to their house across the street by a bemused Tracy and annoyed Shadwell, who muttered something about "'em a strange lot, why'd ya invite 'em over so of'n" that was quickly shushed by Tracy.
[2] Châteauneuf-du-Pape, of course. Any time with Crowley was what Aziraphale considered a special occasion.
[3] The flower bed, filled with pansies, violets, roses, tulips, lavender, and carnations, is Crowley’s favourite. They may be biassed though, considering Aziraphale helped them choose the seeds. Their trip to the South Downs Nurseries for flower seeds had been uneventful, yet was a precious memory to Crowley, as it was the first place they visited after acquiring the cottage. To her, it marked a major stepping stone in truly planning their future together.
[4] The quilt had been delivered to the cottage on the first day they moved in. It was a heavy, vintage, hand-made thing that had come with a thick layer of dust covering it. Adding to the quilt’s charm was the many different fabrics it was made of, mostly consisting of patterns with apples, snakes, hot cocoa, and books on them. The package, which was only slightly less dusty, had come with a letter from a specific Agnes Nutter, congratulating them on the cottage and clarifying that the blanket was a house-warming gift.
[5] Tartan fabric, as one would expect. Aziraphale and Crowley had found the lounges at a nifty antique shop called Antony Short Antiques, right by the Rountree Tryon Galleries (which they had quickly nipped into beforehand). When Crowley had refused to buy them, Aziraphale argued that they simply couldn’t say no to such a luxurious set of patio loungers, promptly proving his point by laying down on one and forcing Crowley to lay next to him. Aziraphale had quite the way of tempting people with comforts, and Crowley was no exception. Snuggled next to Aziraphale, he simply had to agree that yes, the chairs were quite comfortable. One delighted grin later (Crowley would argue it is quite a persuasive grin), the lounges sat in their backyard, looking quite at home there.
[6] They had chosen the South Downs partially because of its lack of light pollution, allowing both of them to admire Crowley's angelic handiwork. Some nights, they would lay out a picnic in the park nearby and Crowley would bring out the telescope Aziraphale had bought them for what was dubbed by them as their "Unsmoted- smited, smitten?” “I believe we are both quite smitten, Dearest” “Whatever, Angel, you get my point" anniversary (which was also when Crowley revealed that he had bought the cottage, much to Aziraphale's delight). Both of them would sit for hours, often till the sun rose, as Crowley talked about her creation.
[7] Note that this position could only really be considered comfortable to someone who has a rather snake-like bone structure and possibly missing some parts that would be considered fairly vital to humans.