The beauty of karaoke, the absolute brilliance of it, Aziraphale decides, is that he can be as heartfelt as he wants all under the guise of a performance, of the assumption that it's simply the way the song is meant to be sung. He takes advantage of that, allowing the lyrics to express his otherwise hidden feelings. His admittedly mixed feelings, for such a long time, fear of reprimand from Heaven (and Crowley's safety) preventing him from being honest with himself, and Crowley.
Of course, that doesn't explain the shift in the way Crowley sings, that touch of irony fading off into genuine affection. As they share that final line, Aziraphale gives him the fondest of looks. It's a bit like a musical, and Aziraphale has seen so many of those. It's tempting to... to say something. Do something. To let the moment continue naturally.
The applause jolts him out of that train of thought. He had clearly forgotten about the rest of the restaurant. Sheepishly, he hands the emcee his microphone. The emcee, wisely, does not make any sort of expression or remark on their performance, not wanting to get another one of those scary looks from Crowley.
Back at their table, Aziraphale finds his voice again. "That was rather wonderful," he tells Crowley sincerely. "Would you... that is, would you like to sing another duet? Or should we take a couple of solo turns again?" He'd like that, if only because getting up on stage again seems less scary than sitting at this intimate table for two, with no lyrics to hide behind.
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timeasmymeasure
Is that part of the Plan? :3c
Date: 2019-09-05 04:08 pm (UTC)Of course, that doesn't explain the shift in the way Crowley sings, that touch of irony fading off into genuine affection. As they share that final line, Aziraphale gives him the fondest of looks. It's a bit like a musical, and Aziraphale has seen so many of those. It's tempting to... to say something. Do something. To let the moment continue naturally.
The applause jolts him out of that train of thought. He had clearly forgotten about the rest of the restaurant. Sheepishly, he hands the emcee his microphone. The emcee, wisely, does not make any sort of expression or remark on their performance, not wanting to get another one of those scary looks from Crowley.
Back at their table, Aziraphale finds his voice again. "That was rather wonderful," he tells Crowley sincerely. "Would you... that is, would you like to sing another duet? Or should we take a couple of solo turns again?" He'd like that, if only because getting up on stage again seems less scary than sitting at this intimate table for two, with no lyrics to hide behind.