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Jan. 27th, 2005 04:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nnyHe isn't entirely sure when it started. He suspects that a part of it was sometime back in the 17th century, when he went to visit and Aziraphale's face had creased into a frown; that was before he knew expressions enough to tell the difference between annoyance and embarrassment. He'd shifted uneasily, and the angel had gone to borrow a chair from his landlady, and the look of pleasure on her face that the nice young man had a visitor was enough to make Crowley resolve to drop over more often.
The next time he visited it was against a different background, a different flat; there were two chairs.
At the end of the 18th century he'd noticed, one day, that his cup had been used. Oh yes, said Aziraphale, as if it was nothing, that nice Mr Maturin had stopped over for a chat about a new book he was in search of, and it was only polite to offer him tea. It's nice, Crowley'd responded tightly, that you're making friends.
When was it that it'd become his cup, precisely?
Crowley didn't like being confused. He disliked being confused about himself the most. If you couldn't work out where your own thoughts were coming from, he thought, it was a pretty sorry state of affairs. Briefly, he wondered if this was what Free Will felt like. He decided to sleep on it.
Although he did have to get up in 1832 to go to the lavatory.
And then things had become rather complicated. There'd been far more meetings, far more drinks, far more time spent in each other's company and Aziraphale had two wine glasses, and he didn't really need a sofa, surely, not just on his own, and Crowley's almost certain he'd never particularly liked redbush tea only there's a box in the cupboard.
Crowley likes redbush tea.
He isn't entirely sure when it started. But he's noticed that almost the only thing Aziraphale has one of is his bed.
It's a double.
The next time he visited it was against a different background, a different flat; there were two chairs.
At the end of the 18th century he'd noticed, one day, that his cup had been used. Oh yes, said Aziraphale, as if it was nothing, that nice Mr Maturin had stopped over for a chat about a new book he was in search of, and it was only polite to offer him tea. It's nice, Crowley'd responded tightly, that you're making friends.
When was it that it'd become his cup, precisely?
Crowley didn't like being confused. He disliked being confused about himself the most. If you couldn't work out where your own thoughts were coming from, he thought, it was a pretty sorry state of affairs. Briefly, he wondered if this was what Free Will felt like. He decided to sleep on it.
Although he did have to get up in 1832 to go to the lavatory.
And then things had become rather complicated. There'd been far more meetings, far more drinks, far more time spent in each other's company and Aziraphale had two wine glasses, and he didn't really need a sofa, surely, not just on his own, and Crowley's almost certain he'd never particularly liked redbush tea only there's a box in the cupboard.
Crowley likes redbush tea.
He isn't entirely sure when it started. But he's noticed that almost the only thing Aziraphale has one of is his bed.
It's a double.
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Date: 2005-01-27 11:26 am (UTC)Happy rabbit hole day to you too!