A deep breath
I wrote a new ficlet. Can be found on AO3 here.
It was a regular evening in the bookshop. An evening like many others since the averted apocalypse. Comfortable routine.
Crowley however wasn’t comfortable, but restless. He had been changing his position on the sofa, again and again and again, twisting and turning in every possible and impossible way but he couldn’t relax. He glanced over to Aziraphale who was talking. Crowley was listening to him but he could not recall a word of what had been said. There was an itch under his skin, in his bones, a deep ache in his muscles and blood. The sofa was too giving under him, too soft, or maybe just soft in the wrong way.
Crowley took a deep breath and got onto the ground, away from the sofa, instead leaning against Aziraphale’s chair. The angel’s voice paused, then turned questioning, concerned. Crowley waved at him, motioning to continue. He was fine. He would be fine. The voice returned. The words started to form properly again.
Crowley leaned against Aziraphale’s chair, listening to him. The itch, the ache, were still there. The dim room was too bright. His head was too heavy. With a sigh he gave in. His head dropped, resting against Aziraphale’s leg. The words did not stop this time. The voice stayed but changed, shifting to softer tones, a comforting murmur cradling him. Flowing past like a calm river. Crowley finally relaxed incrementally. Hard and soft, the right kind. He closed his eyes against the too bright dimness. There was a weight against the other side of his head, a movement in his hair, settling. The itch finally subsided. The ache receded. Everything quieted.
He rested his head on Aziraphale, his hand carded through his hair and finally found comfort.