Shakespeare

He meant to watch the stage. Truly he did. But all Aziraphale could focus on was Crowley sitting next to him.

Perhaps it was because he was used to being the one so invested. Often he caught Crowley tearing his attention away from him to look at what Aziraphale watched.

Yet Crowley watched now. Probably because it was one of the funny ones.

And he knew every word. No matter what other frame the story was given, Crowley always knew every single word. His lips, wordlessly mouthing each line before they were projected, quirked with enjoyment.

Aziraphale didn’t usually like to stare. Not when it wasn’t a presentation, or during a conversation. He didn’t mind when Crowley did it. The serpent wasn’t the type to blink often.

Yet he couldn’t help himself. In rare moments like this, when Crowley so openly enjoyed himself…

Crowley caught his gaze. He grinned even wider.

Aziraphale turned back to the stage, Crowley’s fingers tapping on the back of his hand.

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