Aziraphale moves in
Crowley was tapping his fingers on one of his many dining tables - soon to be one of their many dining tables - and reflected upon the increasingly strange turns his life was taking. The demon didn't believe in fate or coincidence or God or science or probability; it was actually difficult to find something he did believe in, apart from the fact that the universe was looking out for Anthony J. Crowley, but in the end it didn't matter why. What mattered was that without thinking much about it, he'd invited his oldest enemy and best friend to live with him. And he'd readily agreed. In six thousand years they had never shared living quarters; he'd even had his own room on the cramped Ark that was separate from the angel's. And now...
The tapping was slightly more agitated.
An angel. Underfoot all the time. In his private space. Why on Adam's earth had he suggested this?
Oh. Right. He'd been worried. When he'd had every reason to be pissed. Fucking angels...
He was spared any more unaccustomed introspection by a knock on the door. The sudden formality seemed odd. Aziraphale knew the wards were keyed to him - didn't he? Confused and annoyed with himself because of it, Crowley adjusted his sunglasses on his nose and went down to the door.
The tapping was slightly more agitated.
An angel. Underfoot all the time. In his private space. Why on Adam's earth had he suggested this?
Oh. Right. He'd been worried. When he'd had every reason to be pissed. Fucking angels...
He was spared any more unaccustomed introspection by a knock on the door. The sudden formality seemed odd. Aziraphale knew the wards were keyed to him - didn't he? Confused and annoyed with himself because of it, Crowley adjusted his sunglasses on his nose and went down to the door.