Chapter Text
The second strategy that a demon might use to show interest in someone involves lurking in dark places together. Like a human, demons may demonstrate their intentions by seeking to spend time with their chosen companion. There are differences, however. While a man may choose to demonstrate his affections or to strengthen a bond with a young woman by seeking out her company, a proper gentleman will ensure that she is properly chaperoned or that they only interact at public functions as a means to protect her reputation. Demons do not worry about propriety. They are creatures of vice and sin.
Demons do not go for walks together, attend social parties, or other civilized activities. When they are not tempting the innocent into wickedness or tormenting the souls that they’ve claimed for their dark master, demons have a tendency to gravitate towards shadowy and secluded locations. Lurking in the dark like a predator waiting to pounce. Being beasts of evil and darkness, demons are naturally attracted to dark places. Common locations would be ancient graveyards at night, abandoned houses on the brink of collapse, narrow alleyways in unsavory neighborhoods, and other places which are considered unnerving by even the most rational men.
Inviting someone to go lurking somewhere dark together is an indication of interest. It allows them to spend time together, hidden by shadows to engage in whatever depraved behaviors that they desire.
“Come on, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, walking as fast as possible without breaking into a run. “We don’t want to be late.”
“If you’d told me where this supposedly ‘delightful’ amateur performance was, we could have driven there. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about the time.”
Smiling back at Crowley and making the demon feel pleasantly warm all the way to his core, Aziraphale said, “It was too nice of a day to waste. And we had lunch at that lovely café that we walked to first. I simply miscalculated how long it would take to walk from the café to where they are performing the play.”
“Humans invented cars for a reason, angel. Because driving is better than dodging crowds on sidewalks and because people like going fast.” Hesitating a moment, Crowley added, “And because riding horses is a nightmare. They always kick up a fuss, trying to trample you to death without warning.”
“It isn’t their fault that they are uncomfortable with a serpent on their back. It is merely a useful survival instinct for them.”
Crowley couldn’t completely suppress a wry smile. He didn’t really mind, even if he was moving at a faster pace than he preferred. Aziraphale had seemed so excited about it. Both about the visit to the new cozy café that they’d just finished and the upcoming performance of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” And having the angel so bright and animated as he talked about them all morning was worth hurrying along a crowded sidewalk and across busy streets, seeing Aziraphlae excited and happy.
And it was a surprisingly nice change of pace, having the angel be the one to suggest and arrange things to do together. It reminded him of the first time that Aziraphale invited him to join the angel for lunch in Rome.
Apparently deciding that the demon was still going too slow, Aziraphale paused long enough to turn and take his hand. Then he started moving again, pulling Crowley along. Trailing behind him like the tail of a kite.
He didn’t mind though. Crowley’s mind went pleasantly blank as soon as he felt the warm grip. It felt wonderful, like his thoughts were wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. He was perfectly fine letting himself be dragged along by the angel.
Friends. He needed to remind himself of that too much lately. Best friends. That’s it.
Maybe the contact was affecting him so strongly because of his recent reactions to the totally-innocent gifts of sharp plants that meant absolutely nothing, but Crowley couldn’t help finding even the smallest gestures overwhelming. Aziraphale was holding his hand. And he knew that it didn’t mean anything except that the angel wanted them both to hurry, but part of him wished that it did and would happily bask in the casual affection regardless.
The rest of the frantic journey was a blur. Most of Crowley’s attention remained on the angel leading the way. He didn’t notice that they’d arrived until they reached a door with a neon orange flyer taped to it with the name of the play and production group. A red-haired woman stood there, Aziraphale handing her a pair of tickets from his coat pocket.
“You’re cutting it close,” she said as she tore the tickets in half. “You better hurry inside and find a seat before the curtain rises. We’ve got a full house and no assigned seating.”
Nodding briefly, Aziraphale said, “Thank you.”
Crowley followed as the angel led him inside and down the hall to an auditorium. It was a decent-sized space with chairs installed on either side of a narrow aisle, facing a wooden stage and with a tiny desk in the back hidden by half-walls where a stressed-looking nerd ran all the lighting and sounds systems. And just as the woman warned, the room was packed. Crowley could spot a couple of empty seats, scattered among the sea of whispering people, but they were single seats that were nowhere near each other. And Crowley refused to watch the play on the opposite end of the room from the angel.
Already trying to decide which humans would miraculously remember that they needed to leave immediately and abandon their seats, Crowley wasn’t expecting Aziraphale to yank him past the technical equipment booth and take up position in the far corner at the back of the auditorium.
“Angel, what—”
“Shh,” he interrupted as the lights dimmed and the curtains began to move. “We’ll be fine here. Let’s just watch the show.”
Biting back a complaint that it wouldn’t take long to clear a few seats, Crowley settled back until he was leaning against the wall. He didn’t mind standing too much for the play. He’d stood during the first performance that he’d seen of “Hamlet.” As long as Aziraphale was fine, then he could handle the lack of proper seats to slouch in.
While Crowley would probably always complain about Shakespeare’s tragedies and the horrible fates that he delivered on all those characters, he loved William’s funny ones just as strongly. He especially liked “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” because of the fantasy and magic elements adding to the sheer ridiculousness. The play was all about the chaos that could ensue from powerful immortals messing around in the lives of humans. In this case, their rather tangled and messy love lives. Even when Oberon tried to help with relatively good intentions, it led to mistakes and disasters that kept growing more hilarious.
And unlike most of the audience, he and Aziraphale could enjoy the puns and jokes that required a more thorough knowledge of the language and culture of William’s time. They could actually remember the world and how it was back then. The pair snickered at different lines from the actors, the demon still unable to believe that so many snooty humans thought Shakespeare’s works were meant to be dignified.
Aziraphale was right about the performance. Despite none of the actors being professionals and the sets and props being less than believable, they put a lot of effort into their acting and someone in the cast or crew obviously had some sewing skills because the costumes were surprisingly well-done. These were people who cared about the source material rather than people who only read the play for a school assignment once. It made sense why the performance attracted a large crowd. Or perhaps the angel performed a small blessing to make it a success.
Crowley couldn’t help sneaking glances at Aziraphale throughout the play. The two of them were right next to each other in their corner of the auditorium, shoulders nearly touching. Crowley saw the way his face crinkled up with amusement and his eyes sparkled with barely suppressed laughter. At certain lines, Aziraphale’s shoulders shook and his hand moved up to cover his mouth. He didn’t want to risk being too loud and drawing attention away from the performance. But during particularly entertaining scenes, the angel applauded the loudest of anyone in the audience. Crowley found the sight of an excited Aziraphale, framed by shadows, somehow strangely alluring. Without even realizing it, he was spending more and more time watching the angel’s reactions than he was watching the play.
He loved— liked watching Aziraphale normally. He’d been doing it for thousands of years. The angel’s expressions were almost always shifting in tiny and delightful ways, rarely remaining still for long. But this felt different. The close proximity combined with the protective cover of darkness felt right. Like it was what he’d always wanted and yet something that he didn’t know that he craved. Keeping close to each other in the shadows, lurking at the edges of the space while tucked out of sight…
Crowley stopped breathing for a moment, eyes widening behind his sunglasses. Lurking. They were lurking. Crowley wasn’t even good at lurking. And the angel probably wouldn’t call standing at the back of an auditorium lurking, assuming that Aziraphale ever had a reason to contemplate the definition of the word. But apparently the act was close enough once again to send Crowley’s thoughts in dangerous directions.
Moving slowly and carefully, Crowley slid along the wall. Putting a little more distance between him and the angel. But even if with a bit more space, Crowley remained far too aware of Aziraphale’s position and proximity. They were still so close, lurking in the darkness together. And yet he couldn’t risk moving further away without catching the angel’s attention. He couldn’t focus on the play anymore, but Crowley kept his eyes locked on the stage and forced himself to pretend everything was normal. Aziraphale wanted to watch “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” with his friend and Crowley refused to ruin that just because his mind kept betraying him.
It was stupid that he kept coming back to that impossible thought. There was no logical reason for his brain to keep dragging it up. He was a demon, but he’d always avoided wandering around in Hell as much as possible. Crowley shouldn’t have even been able to pick up Hell’s customs and social mores with how rarely he spent his time down there. And he especially had no reason to pick up demonic dating cues.
Why did he even remember any of this? There was no reason for him to know it. Well, other than making sure that he wouldn’t accidentally flirt with Beelzebub or Hastur without noticing. That was a good reason to pay attention. But it would be far simpler if he’d forgotten all of it. Then maybe every innocent action from his best friend wouldn’t be so insanely distracting.
The character of Puck shook his head wryly on stage and said, “Lord, what fools these mortals be!”
Considering the fact that Crowley’s thoughts refused to cooperate and kept torturing him with impossible dreams about his best friend and things that he wasn’t allowed to have, mortals weren’t the only fools around. The plants and standing in a dark theater together didn’t mean anything. He knew that. And he knew that being best friends was all that he would ever have; it took six thousand years to reach the point where Aziraphale was comfortable admitting that much. And yet these tiny meaningless gestures kept exhuming an ancient hope that should remain buried. If anyone was a fool, it was him.
But he wasn’t going to think about it anymore. Crowley’s teeth clenched as he kept watching the performance until the final curtain. Whatever connections that his subconscious was drawing between Aziraphale’s friendly behavior and demonic social mores, they didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to ruin everything because he was too stupid to appreciate what he had.
And that dull ache inside him, the part of him that wanted those innocent accidental gestures from the angel to mean something, could just shut up and leave him alone.
“What did you think?” asked Aziraphale as the house lights came back on.
Shrugging as he took a step back, Crowley said, “You were right about the performance. They weren’t half bad.”
An odd expression flickered across the angel’s face. Something a little confused and uncertain.
“Are you all right, Crowley?”
“Of course, angel,” he said, perhaps a little too brightly. The pair of them started weaving their way through the departing crowd. “Sorry. Guess I’m a little distracted. Probably good thing my head’s attached or I’d lose it somewhere. I might turn in a bit early this evening. Get a little shut eye and see if that helps.”
Not quite a lie, but not a full confession either. Maybe a little sleep would help shake off the weird thoughts. Maybe then things could go back to normal. Either that or he could bury his face in the various spikey and sharp plants waiting in his flat. That should at least distract him temporarily.
“All right,” said Aziraphale slowly. “If you’re quite certain.”
Crowley, unable to handle the hesitant tone in the angel’s voice and not wanting to end the day on a sour note, added, “Thanks for inviting me though. I did enjoy coming to the play with you.”
“You’re quite welcome,” he said, his smile shifting back to something honest, bright, and reassuring.
The walk back to the bookshop didn’t have the same light-hearted feeling as their hurried rush to the play. Neither of them was talking much. Only short discussions that kept trailing into distracted silence. They were both wrapped up inside their own heads. Even Crowley’s wave and parting smile seemed a little vague as he climbed into the parked Bentley.
Aziraphale’s thoughts had been occupied since the end of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” But he couldn’t truly concentrate on the situation until he waved farewell to the demon and stepped inside the bookshop, locking the door with a flick of his wrist.
Things weren’t going the way that Aziraphale planned. It wasn’t like he thought he would hand Crowley a cactus and the demon would drag him off to his bedroom immediately. That’s not what he expected or wanted. Aziraphale was too familiar with the courting during the Victorian era for that. He understood the idea of subtle signs and slow progression. But something still felt off about Crowley’s reactions.
He wasn’t rejecting the overtures. Aziraphale was certain of that much. Even if Crowley didn’t want to attempt the traditional method of rejection, which apparently involved demons attempting to rip off limbs or claw out eyes, he was quite capable of making his feelings known. But Crowley accepted all the plants that Aziraphale gave him, chosen to be sharp and pointy species. And he seemed to enjoy watching the play as they lurked in a dark corner. Arranging for word-of-mouth to bring in a large crowd took a small miracle and timing things to arrive when the place would be at near capacity, giving them a good excuse to stand up during the performance, took some effort and Aziraphale was rather proud of how smoothly it went. Crowley seemed to like it, even if he seemed a little strange afterwards. Whatever was going on, Crowley wasn’t turning him down.
Aziraphale absently tried to straighten up as his mind wandered. His hands didn’t want to stay still, so doing something productive seemed easier. The fact that his efforts did little to lessen the chaos of the bookshop and might have even worsened it didn’t really register. His mind was preoccupied with more important matters.
Crowley wasn’t turning him down, but something still felt off. Like… he wasn’t quite…
Maybe Aziraphale wasn’t doing something right. Maybe he was doing something wrong and Crowley couldn’t tell what he was trying to do. That might explain the demon’s reactions. And to be fair, this was the angel’s first time attempting something like this. Aziraphale didn’t have as much experience with the customs that he was studying and trying to emulate. There must be a learning curve involved. He might be making some mistakes that were confusing Crowley.
And he was changing things a little. Trying to personalize them to fit him and Crowley better. Aziraphale couldn’t see himself buying a bouquet of knives or something. It didn’t seem like something that Crowley would like. But maybe that was the problem. Maybe by using plants and taking him to the play, he'd changed things too much for Crowley to recognize it as an attempt at demonic courting. Maybe he needed to stay a little closer to the source material.
Aziraphale carefully took off his coat and hung it up. Making a cup of hot cocoa took a while, but the human act of making it always felt soothing. It calmed his nerves and settled him. Once his mug was lightly steaming, he collected the book from where he’d last left it. Then he settled into his chair.
If Crowley wasn’t rejecting his efforts, then Aziraphale wasn’t going to give up. Not until Crowley could give him an answer, one way or another. But Aziraphale could go over the book again. Double-check his understanding.
The book wasn’t perfect. It was written by a man instead of a demon. And that meant Aziraphale was working with a second-hand account that was limited by the human point-of-view and the influence of the man’s time period. But unless he wanted to summon up another demon to interview, the book was his only available resource.
Aziraphale would reread the appropriate section again, paying close attention to anything that he might have missed before. Then he would go over his notes from last time, adjusting them as needed. He’d already tried gifts of pointy objects and lurking in dark places together. Once he went over the information again and studied his available material, Aziraphale would move onto the next strategy.
He needed to come up with something that Crowley would like. Something that was more obvious. Something appropriately demonic, but Crowley’s version of it instead of just something generally Hellish. He could do it. Aziraphale would figure out something that would make Crowley happy and would let Crowley know how he truly felt about him.
He could make this work. No misunderstandings or miscommunications. He needed to be straightforward and simple. Or at straightforward as they were capable of being. Six thousand years of habit didn’t just vanish. They’d spent too long depending on not saying things directly and reading between the lines. Using demonic courting methods felt easier. More open and honest than talking.
Besides, what was he supposed to say? That he loved Crowley dearly? That he loved him in a way that he couldn’t imagine possibly describing? That he’d loved him since at least the 1940s, though mostly likely it started further back? That yes, he loved Crowley in the way that angels were meant to love all of Her creations, but it wasn’t the only way that he did?
Because Aziraphale loved him as a friend, as the dearest companion, as a trusted and treasured confidante, as his compliment, as his soulmate… But he knew that the words would never come out right after spending so long swallowing them.
Aziraphale wasn’t afraid to admit it anymore and he wasn’t afraid of what acknowledging those feelings would mean. He didn’t fear Heaven or Hell. And after so long holding back and taking things slow out of caution and fear, it felt great to go after what he wanted. But he didn’t want to mess this up. Crowley deserved better than that. Aziraphale needed to do this the right way.