Conspicuously Happy (Nestvember 2020 Day 2- Proposal)
Heâs not sure if this is just what Crowleyâs like when he finally feels free, or if thereâs something else entirely going on.
The apocalypse came, stalled, then retreated, and now itâs back to usual. Or usual adjacent.
They still have their rendezvous but theyâre more... Light. Conspicuous. Happy.
Itâs as if there had been a weight (there had been) weighing them down all this time. Something thatâs suddenly come untethered from them (cut off from them). Something, that now lost, was not missed (incredibly not missed). Something thats absence seemed to let them float just a bit. Just an inch or so above the ground. Or maybe that was Aziraphaleâs celestialness seeping out just a bit.
It was hard to keep it all in, is all. Heâd never seen Crowley this relaxed before. Heâs more prone to sharp barks of laughter, to mischief, to letting emotions exist instead of shoving them down messily in some cramped metaphorical closet, to not looking away when Aziraphale catches him looking.
And then thereâs the food. The little gifts that Crowley presents so unassumingly, so nonchalantly if not for the way he forgets to breathe. If not for the way his eyebrows raise ever so slightly. The way his eyes are trained so fixedly on Aziraphale as he opens it. His head may be angled away, but Aziraphale has had 6000 years to learn all of Crowleyâs tells and he knows when heâs looking for something. Heâs just not sure what heâs searching for.
At 11 oâ clock on a Tuesday, Crowley had showed up looking so giddy with mischief, happy, and yet as nervous as ever at the same time. Only instead of a dreaded kind of anxiety, it was more of an anticipation kind of nervousness. He wove some words, Aziraphale wasnât quite sure what words they were, distracted as he was by the sight of Crowleyâs growing hair loose with a smattering of braids, and then suddenly he found himself quite caught out in the wilderness with Crowley.
Questions of why they were here were deflected, outright ignored, and often met with a grin as Crowley led them down a winding path to an overreaching cliff-side. It was beautiful, Crowley and the view both, but not an answer as to why Aziraphale had been drug out of his shop on a lovely afternoon to appreciate the scenery. (He did appreciate the scenery, it was different to see Crowley so unguarded. Different, and ever so lovely.)
Crowley rocked on his heels, forwards and back, mouth rambling a mile a minute as he tried to convince Aziraphale to close his eyes and just trust him. It was a familiar back and forth of casual bickering and teasing. But the sight of Crowleyâs hands reaching out to tug Aziraphale before suddenly stopping short, faltering, as if Crowley was unsure of his welcome, gave him pause.
He can resist the cajoling, the tempting, but he cannot bear to see Crowley uncertain. Not when it comes to Aziraphale. Never let him be uncertain of his want of Crowley. Not now. Not when they are free to be as they wish, with whom they wish.
So he reaches back. And the smile he gets is so effervescent that he cannot even be truly annoyed it turns into a tug which sends him stumbling off balance and over the edge of the cliff-side. He can feel the precise moment that he looses his balance, the precise moment that falling off the edge of the cliff is the only possible outcome left, and heâd snap himself safe but Crowley is already diving after him with a whooping laugh. Night sky wings spreading and angling, ink streaking by racing him down, down, down, before Aziraphale spreads his own snowy wings.
Itâs taunts and teasings, aerial stunts and close calls, absurd rolling, spiraling, corckscrewing acrobatics in the sky. Itâs bright laughter, the clouds in his hair, the stars in Crowleyâs eyes, and Aziraphale doesnât think heâs ever been happier.
Heâs proven wrong a moment later. A moment later when Crowley, finally it seems finished with showing off, swoops up next to Aziraphale, reaches out and Aziraphale reaches back.
Heâs breathless, a bit flushed in the face, his pristine black feathers mussed and ruffled by the wind, by his stunts, and absolutely shimmering in the starlight. Dark and rainbow tinted like an oil slick. Like a splash of a nebula far off. Like Crowleyâs true self.
Heâs grinning, biting back a half nervous laugh, his glasses gone missing from sometime between noon and night, and heâs breathless, breathless, breathless as he asks âDo I meet your standards?â
And Aziraphaleâs heart makes a swooping flight of itâs own straight up into his throat.
The food- the aerial stunts - the - It was a Display! It was a Courtship Ritual! Heâs Nesting. Heâs Nesting. OH! Heâs nesting for him.
Crowleyâs crowding closer, their wings brushing feathertips as they beat to keep them aloft. âMake a home with me.â He presses closer yet, eyes bright in the starlight, face earnest and voice hushed and eager, âletâs make a place together, a nest, a home.â
And Aziraphaleâs teary eyed and so so happy he feels like light itself. âOh yes my dear, oh yes, letâs.â