[As nice as it is to be able to be together whenever they want, both Aziraphale and Crowley are creatures who've spent so much of their lives alone, and it feels necessary, every now and then, to take something of a breather. He's at his flat when he finds the playlist, his heart doing a fond little flutter at the fact it's called a mixtape. Rather than play it over the speakers, he summons his headphones and curls up on the couch — it feels a bit more intimate, this way. As if the music is just for him.
By the end of it, he's grateful that he took the time to listen on his own, giving him the opportunity to collect himself. It's so obvious that Aziraphale made an effort to choose modern songs, things that Crowley might like, and that means just as much as the songs themselves do. Once he's had a chance to relisten to it once more and made sure he's not about to like, cry about it, he sends a quick text to announce his imminent arrival, and teleports himself to the not-actually-a-bookshop.
It doesn't surprise him to find Aziraphale sitting in one of the wingback chairs, book in hand.]
Sorry to interrupt — [He isn't sorry at all, judging both by his tone and by the fact that he nonchalantly plucks the book from Aziraphale (keeping his place, he's not a complete monster) before climbing into his lap. The chair is, miraculously, just wide enough that his knees can brace Aziraphale's thighs.] — but if you don't kiss me in the next thirty seconds, I'm afraid I'll discorporate.
action!!!
By the end of it, he's grateful that he took the time to listen on his own, giving him the opportunity to collect himself. It's so obvious that Aziraphale made an effort to choose modern songs, things that Crowley might like, and that means just as much as the songs themselves do. Once he's had a chance to relisten to it once more and made sure he's not about to like, cry about it, he sends a quick text to announce his imminent arrival, and teleports himself to the not-actually-a-bookshop.
It doesn't surprise him to find Aziraphale sitting in one of the wingback chairs, book in hand.]
Sorry to interrupt — [He isn't sorry at all, judging both by his tone and by the fact that he nonchalantly plucks the book from Aziraphale (keeping his place, he's not a complete monster) before climbing into his lap. The chair is, miraculously, just wide enough that his knees can brace Aziraphale's thighs.] — but if you don't kiss me in the next thirty seconds, I'm afraid I'll discorporate.