for salutosinedelectat

[sauntered_downward]

Follows this.

They couldn't just teleport themselves there. Any miracles, demonic or otherwise, would attract too much attention. No, Crowley was actually going to have to sit there, plugging their information into an online search engine, and do it all manually. Fluctuating airline prices were demonic work, and right now a trip to Japan was over six thousand pounds more expensive than if he had bought it three days earlier, which was totally outrageous. Crowley didn't know a lot about money except what it made men do to each other, he'd never had to. But now, making money appear out of nothing could turn the wrong eye on them if he wasn't careful.

Luckily, he had quite a few credit cards that never needed paying or had a limit on them. They would work in a pinch for a moment like this. He didn't know if that sort of perk-of-being-a-demon could ever be taken away from him, but he hoped not.

The flight itself was a long one, and Crowley settled himself in for it by making sure they were flying at least first class. That way they could see everyone coming at them and have a few glasses of wine on the journey.

"I don't think they know about these passports," Crowley says. "They might, but I doubt it. I had them made back during the last World War, just kept them in good condition."

The second World War was something that Crowley took responsibility for, but he hated every moment of it, and what his side did to make it worse made him sick. He was more than prepared to hide away if he needed to when things went wrong back then. And, at the time, he had also created a passport for Aziraphale, in case he wanted to come along. No other reason for that, he told himself.

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[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale winces as soon as the sound hits his ears. Oh. Well, whoever's singing is clearly enjoying themselves, at least. And he...supposes the neon lights are...colorful.

The alcohol, though, he'll take it. Still haven't made up for what was lost in the plane and running for their ethereal lives.

Dressed as he is, hands folded behind his back, laying low here is only possible thanks to the lack of functional lights.

"Well...after you."

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley takes a breath and looks back at Aziraphale with a look that tells him thank you very much for that before stepping inside. The inside is mercifully clean, at least. No sticky floor to deal with. Though there are a lot of people. A lot of people drinking, singing, being generally happy to be here at this exact moment.

He hates to admit it, but it's a perfect place to hide.

Miraculously (or with the gentle help of Crowley), there is a booth near the back that opens up for them to sit at, and Crowley navigates them towards it.

"Here?" he suggests. He raises a hand to get them two drinks.

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale nods, taking a seat at one of the sides of the booth.

He takes a moment to look around properly. Dark, but colorful. Unpleasantly loud. But there's a nice, comfortable feeling of enjoyment. Mortals having fun with their friends, family, their community. Even if it does involve terrible singing.

It makes him smile a bit.

[sauntered_downward]

"Not exactly the tour of Japan we originally hoped for," Crowley says, glancing back at the person on stage.

He remembers when karaoke machines were originally invented. His side----well, Hell, that is, it's not his side anymore---thought that they were going to be a big boon for them. People tearing apart popular songs, singing awfully. Couldn't be a better way to annoy others, destroy hope and all that. Hastur thought it would be, most of all. "Now we're thinking like Crowley," he had said. And then the machines just became a symbol of drunken revelry, and people liked them so much that Hell gave up on them.

Odd, coming back to a place with such a unique place of human invention. The human invention Hell thought was a complete failure. Crowley wonders idly if Heaven even realized it existed.

"I would have preferred the more scenic route," he says. He adds, "Sorry, angel."

[salutosinedelectat]

He turns to look at Crowley, first confused, then tutting softly. "Oh, my dear, I don't think it was quite in our hands." He certainly doesn't think Crowley chose to almost be in a crashing plane, or nearly killed by plunging into certain holy destruction.

He reaches across the table to touch his hand.

"I believe we're safe now."

[sauntered_downward]

Aziraphale reaches out and touches Crowley's hand and the room seems to get a little quieter, at least within Crowley's own head. They're together and they're away from everyone else, which is what he wanted, wasn't it? But not like this.

He lets his fingers curl around Aziraphale's, slowly and carefully.

"It's a Buddhist temple," he tells the angel. "Where we'll stay. I figured it would be a neutral location. Neither of them would have a hold in it."

[salutosinedelectat]

He feels Crowley takes his hand. And he's taken back to that moment in the plane, so sorely interrupted. A moment he felt never quite had its true end. Moments like these, whatever they really are, never seem to.

He blinks, though, mildly surprised by the information. "A temple?" Aziraphale pauses for a moment, thinking about it, keeping his eyes on Crowley. "And it's...safe?"

[sauntered_downward]

"I don't know," Crowley says. "But I imagine so. It's different than what they're used to, at least. That should throw them off a bit. Give us some space, some time without them. So long as I don't react like it's consecrated."

What would he have said to Aziraphale in that plane, if the moment where they held hands had continued? He felt confident enough in the moment, but now he's not sure. Sitting in a dark karaoke bar in the middle of Japan, it feels like it's not the right place for anything, but when have they ever had the right opportunity for any conversation since all of this started?

[salutosinedelectat]

"What if you do?" Not to be a stickler for details, but Aziraphale certainly doesn't even consider hiding out anywhere without him at this point, so he worries this plan might not work. Although, really, it wouldn't be much of a change from how things are right now.

Their hands, still held, lie on the table between them.He can pretend he forgot. He can pretend a lot of things.

[sauntered_downward]

"Well, then I'll---I'll----" He'll what, exactly? It's not as if he can rest when he feels like he's on hot sand all of the time. "Work something out. Look, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it, angel. Let's just assume it'll work until we get there."

He considers saying something else, when someone arrives with two drinks for them. Something in a margarita glass with a little umbrella in it for each of them. Crowley doesn't move his hand away from Aziraphale's. After all, they don't----well, they don't have anything to hide, now, do they? Whatever they're not talking about, they're not talking about it in public.

[salutosinedelectat]

Likewise, Aziraphale is ready to say something else, most probably to continue fussing about the ways how the so-called plan might not work, about the details of different holy grounds, but he stops when the waiter delivers them their drinks. All that does end up coming out of him is a slight polite smile and a muttered thank you.

He looks at the drinks in front of them, eyes only glancing over at their hands for a fraction of a second. He's not looking, he's not, because he might have to pull away if he gives it too much thought.

Things are different. They've been different since that night. Since the world didn't end. But he's still learning what to make of it all, what to say, what to do. He's trying. He's learning.

He picks out the tiny paper umbrella with his free hand, giving it a once over. That smile doesn't quite look relaxed, but it's the best he can achieve right now. "How quaint."

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley takes a sip of his drink. It's extremely sweet and fruity, not his style at all. But it's also very alcoholic, which he imagines the establishment uses to their benefit. Can't complain that much. If only he could keep himself from wanting to pull away and hide. He'd be comfortable just being by Aziraphale's side forever, wondering if anything would change, wondering if he'd ever be worthy of----

Someone new steps up to the microphone, singing a pretty butchered version of Killer Queen, which brings a smile to Crowley's face. Anywhere in the world, anywhere you go, and there's Queen. Not just because all CDs left in a car for too long turn into their best-of album.

"So what's your song, angel?" he asks, nodding his head in the direction of the microphone. "Angels sing, right? You must have a karaoke song."

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale is busying himself with tasting his drink, finding the glass a bit too big for just one hand, but the drink itself very sweet, and very strong. He raises his brows in a fairly impressed look. Not the best he's had, but he can come to like it.

His attention is called, and he looks towards the small stage. He makes a bit of a face over the bad singing, but he can commend their effort.

"Oh, I don't--" Hymns come to mind, but he hasn't partaken in that in centuries. Otherwise, he's not much for modern music... "Don't think I do."

[sauntered_downward]

"Oh, there must be something," Crowley says. "They have plenty of the classics on there. Must be something you would love."

He looks around them, at the people dancing, singing, and being generally just happy around them. Not what they expected to see in Japan, but he'll take it. It's all the parts of Earth he likes.

"If angels can sing and demons can dance, we basically have a party," Crowley says. He considers Aziraphale and narrows his eyes in thought. "Though you did dance, back when. Some sort of complicated dance."

[salutosinedelectat]

A party. Now, that's a very odd picture, a party full of singing angels and dancing demons. Downright ridiculous in it's infeasibility. But he thinks about how parties are a bonding activity for mortals, has been for centuries - with changing definitions of 'party', of course, but mass social gatherings anyway - and how, should both sides manage to keep themselves from breaking into a chaotic, massively destructive war, they'd maybe learn about their similarities and, who knows, maybe get along?

--But that's absolutely ridiculous and impossible. Angels don't dance. Demons don't sing. And they all want to destroy each other. Wouldn't make for much of a party.

He perks, though, at Crowley's question. Something he hasn't thought about in decades.

"Oh, yes." He sets his drink back down. "The Gavotte. Back in the last 19th century." He fondly remembers the club. Made quite a few acquaintances there.Lovely people, the lot of them.

[sauntered_downward]

The drink is definitely unweildy, but once Crowley has it in his hand, he manages to make it look like he's at ease holding it and giving it a sip. He certainly can't make it look cool, but that's something not even a really decent sized miracle could allow, to be honest. It's not so bad, and he hasn't eaten anything apart from the sushi and green blobby stuff, so that makes it even better.

"Yeah, I remember it, peasant dance. I used to love those," Crowley says. He gives a sniff. "Never very good at them. Too many steps. Dances nowadays, they're better. You just sort of move to the music." He sways a little, to explain.

He tries to imagine Aziraphale dancing to one of these dances, Killer Queen or whatever, and decides it is far too fantastic an image not to attempt to tempt him into it.

[salutosinedelectat]

He better plan that temptation thoroughly, because Aziraphale's not about to make it easy for him.

"Oh, but there's no-- artistry to it that way. No organization." He turns to watch a few mortals absolutely having a blast, dancing to bad live covers of songs. " Well, as long as everyone's having fun, I suppose."

[sauntered_downward]

Tempting Aziraphale into anything has never been easy (except maybe to lunch). But it wouldn't be any fun tempting him if it were easy, now would it?

"Sure there is," Crowley says, using his drink to gesture at the man shaking his hips. "You have to move all of your body in a synchronized manner, while still looking loose and relaxed. It's a matter of looking like you're not trying at all."

Demons, it should be noted, are terrible dancers. Crowley is especially terrible, though he'll never think it or admit it to anyone. He especially loved the disco era, because that was a time he could mostly pose on the dancefloor and get applause. Breakdancing involved too much laying on the ground and that would mess up his clothes.

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale watches the man, pulling a face. Granted he doesn't have much knowledge about modern popular dances, but that's also because a lot of them, to him, looks like a moderately good actor pretending to be possessed by an evil spirit.

" Well, it looks like it does take quite a bit of effort." And none of it all quite worth it. Not that he should be a connoisseur of such things.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley takes another drink and puts his drink down. He gives Aziraphale a devilish smile. Aziraphale is not buying this. If this were a proper temptation, Crowley would be failing miserably. He would be heading back with his proverbial tail between his legs. All the same, it is a holiday, and he's more about succeeding than failing.

He gives the dance floor a nod. "I will if you do."

Crowley has no fear of dancing, especially with a little alcohol to loosen the mood.

[salutosinedelectat]

Aziraphale blinks at him, entirely too confused, before he looks towards the dancefloor, and back at Crowley. The realization hits him, and he's quick to say - " Oh, no."

There was a time and place he would have danced, certainly. And maybe some specific kinds of dances in very specific scenarios even now. But this? Oh, this is...oh, lord.

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley considers dancing, just to prove to Aziraphale that there's nothing to fear, but that would mean letting go of Aziraphale's hand, and he's not certain he wants to do that right now. He does what Aziraphale did on the plane, and runs a knuckle across the top of Aziraphale's fingers.

He looks down at their hands, at how different they are, and yet how similar. They're very alike, he said once to Aziraphale in the park, when he first approached him about holy water. How right he was. They were alike, and their sides were very alike. It would be very, very bad for Aziraphale and Crowley if they started working together to find them.

"Can't find a karaoke bar on Alpha Centurai," he says. "Of course, they probably couldn't find us. If you want another option for escape."

[salutosinedelectat]

When Crowley runs his thumb across his knuckles, that's when Aziraphale finally looks at their hands. When he's finally forced to face what's happening, under the idle conversations, under the drinking, the bad music. There, in the dark, in the hidden booth, on the table. Their hands, and everything it means.

Crowley brings up Alpha Centauri, and there's a twinge somewhere in Aziraphale's mind. Images of the bandstand, the street in Soho. Of Crowley offering, scolding, begging him to go. Of Crowley leaving every time he pushed him away, but always coming back to him.

He meets Crowley's eyes, and there's something besides uncertainty there, in Aziraphale's. There's something, but even Aziraphale couldn't say what it was.

"Alpha Centauri." He repeats, quietly. He has to break the gaze at a point, glancing off somewhere, maybe his drink, maybe at someone passing by. He smiles, but it's faint. There's...heaviness. There's some guilt from moments past. "Quite a bit far."

[sauntered_downward]

Crowley meets Aziraphale's gaze behind his sunglasses, questioning. How does this work? What do we do next? How do I get permission? After all, they have been by each other's side for so long it cannot possibly be this hard to gain permission to---to---to step beyond this?

It has, after all, always been Aziraphale. In Crowley's black heart, the only thing he's ever loved has been the angel. He's given everything up, and he would do it again, to be by his side. Granted, he never quite thought they'd end up somewhere like this, but that was never guaranteed. And now here they are, holding hands, and there needs to be some way to ask for the next step forward.

"Aren't any restaurants there," he says. "But there aren't any angels or demons, either. It would just be us."

Who knows how far they'd be chased, though.

[salutosinedelectat]

Just them.

Run away together.

They could. They could just go. As far as they know, the world wouldn't be destroyed, this time. And they'd have each other. Crowley's proven, time and time again, they'd have each other.

...but he doesn't really want to leave this place. He doesn't want to leave this planet. He doesn't want to live what effectively has become their...well, their home.

He doesn't say it's ridiculous, this time. He doesn't say there's no 'their side'. He doesn't shoot it down as a terrible idea, because there isn't something outside of them threatening that still has its grip on Aziraphale.

He's out of excuses. The only thing stopping him is himself, and he doesn't know how to deal with that.

" Us and the stars." And it sounds so peaceful. So beautiful.

So why doesn't he want it?