The lucky thing, Crowley realizes, the really lucky thing, is that he can get away with seeming more goopy than he would normally be willing to be, because it's an act. The fact that it's not exactly an act is his own problem which can be safely ignored and not at all dealt with in any way whatsoever, or even acknowledged. The fact that he gets completely lost in Aziraphale's soft, affectionate gaze for a moment until applause snaps them out of it, likewise.
Doesn't mean anything, of course, Crowley knows that. The angel loves everyone, and he loves musicals, and all this in general is right up his alley. That's all. That's fine, that's better. It can be only that, and they can go back to sushi and ridiculous conversations and...and enjoying each other's company, yeah, call it that. They can just safely go on as they have been, without having to worry about having Heaven or Hell at their throats, and that's enough. It's more than they've ever had and Crowley knows to appreciate it.
But Aziraphale is still smiling at him, the same as he was on the stage.
...he is so fucked. So, so, so fucked. Death by karaoke, of all the incredibly utterly unstylish ways to go.
"Yeah," he says, and it comes out a little croaky, probably because the word has leapt out of him unexpectedly past a large ball of ohshitohshitohshitWHYDIDYOUSAYTHAT. He swallows. "Sure, we can have another go. You got anything in mind?" There is, fortunately, still some of their second bottle of sake left, which Crowley promptly uses to drown some of those inner, screaming doubts.
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timeasmymeasure
Nah, but the beginning of the duet had elements of it, because Crowley is terrible. ;)
Date: 2019-09-05 09:14 pm (UTC)Doesn't mean anything, of course, Crowley knows that. The angel loves everyone, and he loves musicals, and all this in general is right up his alley. That's all. That's fine, that's better. It can be only that, and they can go back to sushi and ridiculous conversations and...and enjoying each other's company, yeah, call it that. They can just safely go on as they have been, without having to worry about having Heaven or Hell at their throats, and that's enough. It's more than they've ever had and Crowley knows to appreciate it.
But Aziraphale is still smiling at him, the same as he was on the stage.
...he is so fucked. So, so, so fucked. Death by karaoke, of all the incredibly utterly unstylish ways to go.
"Yeah," he says, and it comes out a little croaky, probably because the word has leapt out of him unexpectedly past a large ball of ohshitohshitohshitWHYDIDYOUSAYTHAT. He swallows. "Sure, we can have another go. You got anything in mind?" There is, fortunately, still some of their second bottle of sake left, which Crowley promptly uses to drown some of those inner, screaming doubts.