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Crowley put his wine glass down on the table, then crossed his arms and tilted his head quizzically.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he demanded of Aziraphale, who was sitting across from him all prim and proper and straight-backed like usual. His smile had faded once the laughter had, and now he had his brow furrowed and eyes a little squinted, like he was trying to solve some problem. “Something in my teeth?” he asked with a flourish of his hand, knowing that that wasn’t the case. He and Aziraphale had gone to a cafe for dessert after lunch, but Crowley was quite sure there was nothing stuck in his teeth. He was a… well, sort of a demon. He didn’t need to brush. He could just miracle that away. Now they were spending their time in Aziraphale’s bookstore lazily drinking wine.

“Why do you wear those inside?” Aziraphale asked. “The sunglasses I mean.” He made a little gesture towards them. “It’s just us.”

Crowley shrugged, took them off, looked them over, then put them back on. “Ah, I like them.” They didn’t darken his vision unless he let them, and he never let them around Aziraphale. He wouldn’t look right in a dark hue. His white hair would be all wrong. He couldn’t have that. He liked his hair. He pictured running his fingers through it like he’d done last night when he’d lain with his head in his lap.

“Hm, I see.” Aziraphale picked up his wine glass, took a sip that was small and skeptical.

Crowley shifted as Aziraphale peered at him over the glass, leaned forward to place his clasped hands on the table. “You don’t believe me.”

“No I don’t,” Aziraphale confirmed, putting the glass down.

“Why?” Crowley countered. “We already covered that I don’t actually lie as much as I made you think I did.”

“Yes, but you’re lying now.” Aziraphale reached over and took the sunglasses from Crowley’s face before he could slap his hand away. He leaned back, folding them in his hand. “There, that’s much better. You don’t need them in here.”

“Actually, I do.” Crowley stretched out his hand. “This is ridiculous. Give them back.”

“Give me a good reason and I shall.” Aziraphale crossed one leg, looking smug with himself. He was good at those kinds of looks.

Crowley sighed. He wasn’t one for revealing his feelings outright, even to the one he loved, but it seemed he would have to. He retracted his outstretched hand and rubbed it over his face.

“I don’t like my eyes,” he mumbled.


He lowered his hand. “I don’t like my eyes,” he repeated, frustrated that he had to reveal what he’d said. “Now give the sunglasses back.”

Aziraphale frowned, dropped his shoulders, looking pitying, but not in a way that made Crowley feel bad. “My dear Crowley, there’s nothing wrong with your eyes.”

“Uh, yeah, they’re a demon’s eyes. Ugly .”

“And you think you have to hide them from me?” Aziraphale questioned.

“Yes.” Crowley wiggled his fingers, a clear gesture to have his glasses handed back.

Aziraphale put them down on the table. He almost looked like he was pouting now. “They are not ugly,” he insisted.

Crowley shrugged, not comfortable with the topic because it was about him and his own insecurities. “Well, if you like snakes.” He let his hand drop, realizing that Aziraphale was going to continue being stubborn about this.

“I do like snakes,” Aziraphale said. “I always have. But more importantly, I like you . I love you, in fact, which I’m sure you know by now.”

Crowley did know, and Aziraphale knew of Crowley’s feelings as well. They were currently looking for a cottage together in the South Downs, one by the ocean.

“Doesn’t change what my eyes look like.” Of course Crowley didn’t like his eyes. He’d been an angel once, had had beautiful eyes as green and shining as an emerald, and now they were a distasteful shade of yellow with slitted pupils. He hadn’t wanted to be a demon, hadn’t wanted to be defaced with eyes like this. 6,000 plus years had done nothing to lessen his hatred of them. He couldn’t look at himself in the mirror unless he had the sunglasses on, couldn’t stand showing them to anybody, never mind Aziraphale. What if he would look at them too long one day and decide that they were too monstrous for him?

“It doesn’t need to,” Aziraphale said. He came forward, put a hand on Crowley’s cheek, the touch affectionate. He was looking at his eyes for quite the length of time now, and if it hadn’t been for the warmth on his face it would have made him all twitchy. “Your eyes are beautiful because they’re yours, Crowley.” Then Aziraphale closed the space between them, careful of the wine glasses on the table, and firmly pressed his lips to his. The kiss spread Crowley through with love and light and warmth, all good things, things he was steadily growing used to being with Aziraphale. He’d only experienced such feelings sparingly until Armageddon and afterwards, because before then he hadn’t spent as much time with Aziraphale, though of course he’d wanted to. He’d wanted to spend all the time in the world with him, and now it seemed he could.

Aziraphale pulled away, the kiss leaving Crowley smiling. And Aziraphale was staring into his eyes again, his own glittering. They weren’t ugly and monstrous to him. He loved them as much as he did the rest of him. Crowley felt a little drunk with the amount of love in his hazel gaze.

“No sunglasses around me?” Aziraphale prompted.

“No sunglasses around you,” Crowley agreed. He came forward and kissed Aziraphale again, content with leaving the item in mention on the table.