“I-it’s like- it’s like-” Crowley waved his hands around vaguely. “Ya know?”
Aziraphale, who did not know but, like Crowley, was far too drunk for a proper conversation, nodded sagely. “Of course.”
“And then you’re just like-” Crowley emphatically gestured at Aziraphale. “And I’m just like-” He waved a hand up and down his own body with much less enthusiasm and a disappointed sort of noise. “Ya know?”
“Yeee- no,” Aziraphale admitted. He had absolutely no idea what Crowley was talking about, but he could sense that Crowley was actually trying to say something important with those fluttering hands and wide eyes. “Maybe we should sober up?” he suggested.
“No, no, no,” Crowley insisted with a dismissive flap of his hand. He stared off into the distance as if deep in contemplation, though it was more likely that he had simply lost his train of thought.
“I love you,” he suddenly said out of nowhere, startling Aziraphale into nearly dropping his wine. “You know that, right?”
He did. It took a few minutes of Crowley staring at him expectantly for him to realize that he hadn’t actually said so out loud. “I do.” And then, just because he wanted to say it, he added, “I love you, too.”
Crowley blushed. “Yes, Angel, I know!”
“You’re shy,” Aziraphale giggled.
“Aziraphale,” Crowley whined. “I’m trying to make a point here!”
“Right, right,” Aziraphale said with forced seriousness. “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. Not even a little bit.
“Anyway,” Crowley continued. “I know you love me, but I’m not really your type, am I?”
Of all the things Crowley had said that evening, this one made the least amount of sense. “What?”
“Ya know,” Crowley said waving his hands at the many bookshelves surrounding them. “It’s like- I hate reading!”
Aziraphale let out a loud hoot of laughter.
“I’m serious, Angel,” Crowley cried in dismay. “When I realized you loved me back I tried to like it, I really, really did! But it’s just the silence, and the words, and I was reading the same sentence over and over and over again- Aziraphale, stop laughing!”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale choked out between snorts of laughter. “I don’t particularly care for your car.”
“What?” Crowley blinked. “What does that have to do with anythi-”
“The way you drive. It’s soooo…” Aziraphale motioned with his hands to mimic a car swerving back and forth on the road. “But I enjoy riding along with you, even if you do try to discorporate us.”
“I know that,” Crowley said. “So what?”
“Sooooo…” Aziraphale dragged out the word pointedly. “You don’t enjoy reading. But you sit with me all the time while I’m reading, and you seem to like it well enough.”
“I just like being with you,” Crowley mumbled as he refilled his wine glass.
“Exactly!” Aziraphale stuck his finger in the air triumphantly.
“And as for my type,” Aziraphale began, popping the p.
“Writers? Poets? Really hot librarians?” Crowley suggested.
“No, you daft demon.” Aziraphale placed a slightly sloppy kiss on Crowley’s cheek. “My type is you.”
snowghoul
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