Archive of Our Own ^beta

Crowley woke up with a serenity he had never known. Without opening his eyes yet, he basked in the warmth and softness of the bedding. Not his own. He smiled at the thought. Yes, this morning, Crowley the demon, the Serpent of Eden, was smiling.

He had slept in Aziraphale’s bed. He had slept with Aziraphale in Aziraphale’s bed. Nothing more. After all that had happened, preventing them from being who they wanted to be to each other, one night in the same bed seemed like the greatest privilege he had ever been given.

Therefore, indeed, Crowley was smiling this morning. Sunlight filtering through the curtains fell on his face and warmed his skin. The heavy blanket surrounded him with the angel’s scent, something between fresh flowers and old books.

Muffled sounds of dishes came to his ears from downstairs. Aziraphale was probably making some tea. Or a breakfast perhaps. Or both.

Crowley slowly stretched with a yawn, several vertebrae popping satisfyingly before opening his eyes. He blinked a few times to adjust to the luminosity then looked around the room from his place on the bed.

It was… comfortable. He couldn’t find another word to describe it. A large, soft-looking rocking chair sat in a corner of the room, surrounded by piles of books so tall he was quite sure a miracle was the only thing keeping them from tumbling to the floor.

Crowley chuckled, moved the blanket aside and threw his legs out of the bed. He enjoyed for a moment the softness of the carpet beneath his feet and then finally stood up.

He left the bedroom and made for the stairs but as he crossed the corridor, an open door drew his attention. The night before, he had only followed Aziraphale to the bedroom and hadn’t noticed anything of the rest of the flat, entirely too focused on their joined hands and the angel’s bright smile.

The room was, unsurprisingly, full of books. What was more surprising, though, was the old piano, right in the center of the room. He didn’t know Aziraphale had a piano. Could the angel play ? Probably, although given the layer of dust on it, it seemed Aziraphale had not touched it for at least 20 years.

Crowley, still standing on the threshold, walked inside, as quietly as he could. Something in the atmosphere of the room prevented him from making much noise, as if he would disturb a perfect balance if he did.

When he reached the massive and beautiful instrument, he carefully moved each book covering it – not that he particularly cared about them, but he knew Aziraphale did. Then he let his fingers slide on the smooth wood. When was the last time he himself had played the piano ? Somewhere in the 90s, maybe, or perhaps in the 2000s. Before the birth of the antichrist, that was a certainty.

Without knowing exactly when he had made the move, he found himself sitting on the seat in front of the hidden keyboard. With slightly trembling hands, he lifted the lid and revealed the keys. The white ones had gone slightly yellow but otherwise it seemed in good condition.

His thin and long fingers naturally found their place on the keys and a few shy notes echoed in the room. The piano had a beautiful sound, pure and delicate – probably only because it was expected to and knew better than to be out of tune.

Crowley felt his heart speed up as he pressed the keys with more confidence. The feeling was so familiar but so new at the same time. He hadn’t realised how much he had missed playing the piano.

He stopped playing random chords and searched through his memories to find a suitable piece to play. He didn’t have to think for long, though. He knew exactly what music he wanted to play – he had wanted to play for decades, actually. He took a deep breath and let his hands bring to life this piece they knew so well. He was relieved to see he could still play this particular music.

He lost himself in the piece, this long forgotten melody coming back to him like an old friend. At some point he even closed his eyes, not needing them in order to play perfectly.

Near the end of the piece, he felt Aziraphale’s presence somewhere behind him. He focused on his music, keeping his eyes closed. He opened them only when the last notes had stopped echoing in the room. His breathing was slightly shaking, full of too many emotions.

Shoes tapped lightly on the wooden floor and a hand landed softly on his shoulder.

“Crowley…” the angel whispered. “You play so beautifully…” The demon said nothing but he smiled, looking intensely at his fingers. There was a short silence before Aziraphale added, with a question in his voice. “I could not recognise the piece, though.”

“It’s one of mine”, Crowley explained.

Aziraphale gasped quietly. “You composed it ?” The demon nodded, a faint dust of colour creeping on his cheeks. “Does it have a name ?”

“It’s called…” Crowley hesitated a little, but quickly pulled himself together. “It’s called ‘Angel of my Stars’, I… composed it for you but… y’know, couldn’t really…”

Aziraphale tightened his grip on the demon’s shoulder. He knew.

“Crowley, dear… Could you play it again ?”