Courtship
“Crowley, come in! I was just redecorating.”
“Really? You never redecorate. Last change you made was in 1860, when you had the plumbing installed.”
Aziraphale smiled at him. “After everything that happened, I started thinking things over,” he said tenderly. “We almost lost the bookshop, but here it is, good as new. We almost lost the world, and… and now that we didn’t, I want to make some changes. I think it’s time.”
Crowley frowned. “Here, have you got something in your eye? You keep blinking.”
Aziraphale stopped trying to flutter his eyelashes. “I’ve painted the back room,” he said eventually, in a more normal tone of voice. “Would you like to see?”
He headed towards the door without waiting for an answer and pushed it open. “What do you think?”
“Oh, um. Very nice. I might’ve gone with a warm gray, or maybe mother-of-pearl… but yellow’s good too.”
“I happen to like this particular shade of yellow,” Azirphale said, a trifle testily. “Very much.”
Crowley held up his hands. “Hey, it’s your bookshop. Are you ready for lunch?”
*
“What’s this?”
“They’re flowers. Roses, dahlias, and a few Peruvian lilies.”
"What do they do?"
Aziraphale, holding out the intricately beribboned, carefully wrapped and above all expensive display from the most exclusive florist in London, began to feel a bit awkward. "They… smell nice, I suppose? And they can brighten up a room."
Crowley peered over his glasses. "Sure, for a little while. But they're cut, see?" He touched the bottom of the bouquet, as if Aziraphale perhaps hadn't noticed. "They'll die in a week."
“I suppose. I thought you might–”
“Is this more redecorating? I can help with that, no problem. Listen, why don’t I get rid of these for you… and if you’re wanting something for the bookshop, we’ll get a nice rubber plant to put under the window.”
Aziraphale sighed.
*
“Oi, angel! Think you dropped something!” Crowley jogged to catch up with him and put the matte black box, which he’d left on the seat of the Bentley, back into his hands.
“Ah. Actually, you see… that was for you.” Aziraphale felt his cheeks heat. “In case you got peckish,” he added lamely.
“This fancy stuff? Men break into bedrooms at midnight to leave this kind of chocolate next to pillows. Saw it in an advert.”
Aziraphale brightened. “Would you like me to break into your bedroom?” he asked, a tad breathlessly.
Crowley laughed. “What for? Listen, why don’t you have these. You’ll appreciate ‘em more than I will.”
*
“Are you ready to go?” Crowley glanced at his watch.
“Just one more thing. I. Er. I-thought-you-could-wear-this,” Aziraphale said in a rush. “If you like.”
Crowley took the velvet box from his trembling hand.
He opened it. “It’s…”
“Yes?”
“It’s very sparkly.” Crowley held the ring up to the light.
“It’s a diamond,” Aziraphale said desperately. “A diamond ring.”
“Oh. And you’re givin’ it to me because…”
“I–” Aziraphale stopped. He searched Crowley’s face, looking for a flicker of understanding. “My dear, I would like–”
“Oh wait, let me guess. It’s for your magic act, right? Are you practicing palming again, or is this the sort of ring that squirts ink when you twist the jewel?” Crowley pulled curiously at a glittering stone the size of his thumbnail. “Happy to help if you need an assistant. Just no more bullet tricks, okay?”
Aziraphale stared at him. “Yes,” he replied dully. “My magic act. Yes. Exactly. I’m trying to make something appear.”
“Got it in one!” Crowley gave him a pleased grin. “I know you so well, angel.”
“I daresay you do.”
Aziraphale followed him out to the car. There’s nothing else for it, he thought. I’ll have to throw a cotillion ball.
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