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Crowley was tired. It had been fifty years, fifty long years, since the prevention of Armageddon. Adam was recently sixty and Dog was still faithfully standing by his side through all thanks to more than a little abuse of miracles, demonic and angelic alike. Anathema and Newton were long since married and had settled in Iceland, where Ana was free to roam the outdoors and track ley lines, which were evidently abundant. Newton worked as a baker, having found he was far more successful at manipulating dough and pastries than he was computers. Governments changed, discoveries were made, shops opened and closed, people were born and people died, but Crowley was still here.
And then there was the matter of Aziraphale, the source of Crowley’s exhaustion. Six thousand four hundred and forty-seven years Crowley had known Aziraphale and like a rubber band being pulled slowly from both ends Crowley felt he might snap. He huffed as he passed a dingy-looking laundromat appallingly named “Suds-a-Plenty”, and attempted again for what must be the eightieth time that week to deconstruct the unrelenting racket pounding within his head.
Crowley knew what he felt. He loved Aziraphale, and if he was being honest with himself he had for a very, very long time. He loved him for his unerring kindness, his bravery, his idiotic magic acts, his adoration for small dogs, his curly hair which always looked so soft, and all the little pieces of Aziraphale that made him who he was. Crowley’s problem lay in the fact that these feelings were growing. It felt nearly unbearable at times and though Crowley had originally thought he would just power through and wait for the feelings to subside, he was beginning to see that that was not a viable option.
He and Aziraphale had been spending much more time together in past years due primarily to the fact that they had the time to spend. They went on picnics, travelled together, and occasionally got absolutely plastered and argued about heaps and heaps of nonsense, but Crowley loved it all. And even when they weren’t together they would send each other letters or books or music from wherever they were, and Crowley was beyond the point of denial of the fact that his heart jumped to his throat each time he received a letter addressed in Aziraphale’s elegant script.
But his feelings were growing faster than they had before and they were painful. When they were together Crowley couldn’t help himself from thinking that there could be more, but he knew that was not in the cards. Additionally, Crowley felt guilty. He felt it was somehow unfair to Aziraphale for him to think of him in that way when it was not reciprocated. He couldn’t do that to Aziraphale and he was tired of dealing with the cocktail of pain and guilt ever present in his mind.
So Crowley made a choice, one he did not like in the slightest but one he thought was only fair to himself and to Aziraphale. He decided to create distance. Crowley knew however that Aziraphale deserved an explanation. Even though it might have been easier for Crowley, he knew he could not just disappear. Aziraphale was so good and so kind and even though he didn’t feel the same way Crowley did about him, Crowley did trust that Aziraphale valued their friendship. Six thousand years was a long time, even by immortal standards, and he was sure that a sudden disappearance would hurt Aziraphale, which was the last thing that Crowley wanted to do.
~ ~ ~ ~
As Crowley skidded around a street corner in his vastly inferior replacement car and headed towards the book shop he was glad it was not raining. No matter what a mess he was going to get himself into he would absolutely not tolerate being a cliche. He decided not to evaluate that particular sentiment any further seeing as he was in fact a demon cast from heaven, sporting faux leather pants, spiked red hair, and dramatic sunglasses on his way to break off a multi-millenia relationship with his angelic counterpart. Definitely not a cliche.
It had been five weeks since Crowley resolved that he had to put some distance between himself and Aziraphale. He had needed those weeks to build up the will and the courage to accomplish the task and even now he was unsure as to whether he would be able to carry through with it. But this morning he and his lovely angel had gone for brunch and then walked to St. James Park where they had been so often before. They talked for over an hour about nothing of any real importance but it had felt important to Crowley nonetheless. It had then abruptly started raining they had run back to the book shop. But the rain had quickly turned to a torrential downpour and by the time they made it inside they were both soaked to the core. Aziraphale had taken one good look at himself, sopping wet and all, and burst into laughter, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he laughed away. It was such a beautiful noise that Crowley couldn’t even find it in himself to be mad about how drenched he was and instead stood there, smiling like an idiot. It was then that Crowley had really been hit by how absolutely fucked he was. As Aziraphale laughed, dripping water on the wooden floors, Crowley had realized that he couldn’t carry on in good conscience. Which is how he found himself where he was now: on his way to find Aziraphale.
“Under Pressure” blasted through the speakers but not even Bowie or Mercury seemed to be able to drown out the havoc running through Crowley’s mind. He sat in the car for sixteen minutes after he parked, and allowed the music to pound around him. He closed his eyes and tried to listen but his attempts proved futile.
Don’t do it, said that part of his mind still desperately attempting to reconcile the relationship he currently had with Aziraphale with the tumultuous emotions that had been brewing in Crowley’s stomach for centuries. He is too good to you. You will not have anyone if you let go of him. He must not know.
And Crowley wished more than he thought he knew that he could do that. That he could just file his emotions away into a neatly labelled box, shred it, bury it, burn it, compress it, flood it, and burn it once more for good measure. But he couldn’t anymore. And really as he thought about it, Crowley wasn’t even surprised that it had come to this. Some twisted fates from above, below, or hurtling through space in a flying dishwasher for all he knew had thrown him on earth with a sole immortal companion. Which looking back was a rather fanciful way of unceremoniously dumping a slew of emotions in a pressure cooker, turning it on high, and leaving it to simmer for a few thousand years. Sooner or later an explosion was inevitable. And tonight, as the humans would so kindly put it, the proverbial shit was about to hit the fan.
Crowley rubbed the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. When he opened them he looked at himself in the rear-view mirror once more before flinging the car door open.
~ ~ ~ ~
Aziraphale had never much been one for human films. Their books he adored. He had read everything from the great philosophers to Junie B. Jones, a series which he had rather enjoyed, mind you. But as he sat on his corduroy couch and sipped his tea he supposed he could see the appeal. The movie playing was animated (far preferable to Aziraphale’s mind) and Aziraphale was growing particularly attached to an endearing character who just so happened to be a sentient turnip. It was rather cozy, all things considered, and he supposed he could see the appeal of sitting back and letting the pictures whisk you away.
Then there was a knock on the door. Aziraphale turned to the small grandfather clock perched on top of a dresser housing a rather prodigious collection of operatic sheet music. Ten forty-seven. Who on earth was pounding at his door at such an hour. Surely it was an error. He turned his attention back to the movie but no more than ten seconds later someone rapped at the door again, a bit louder this time.
Aziraphale ran through the options. It was undoubtedly clear the shop was currently closed, and it therefore seemed exceptionally unlikely that some prospective customer was pounding on his door at this hour. It seemed awfully out of character for ruffians or thieves to knock so politely. He supposed it could be a lost traveller in need of directions to some place or another but it still seemed rather late for that. Aziraphale sighed and decided that regardless it was dreadfully impolite not to at least see who it was. He paused his movie, turned off the television and wound his blanket around himself before walking out of the small living room and through the main shop to the front door. Aziraphale turned back the brass lock and cautiously swept the door open to reveal the possible traveler, customer, fiend, or-- Crowley. Crowley was standing on his doorstep. He was wearing one of his black suits, dotted with faint grey pinstripes and of course his sunglasses, despite the late hour. Aziraphale thought he appeared to be a bit disheveled.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale exclaimed rather quietly, both surprised and hoping to stay courteous of the late hour.
“Hello, Angel.” said Crowley and Aziraphale was surprised to note that the demon’s voice was even quieter than his.
~ ~ ~ ~
Aziraphale was trying to kill him. Crowley was sure of it. As he stood on the doorstep he had almost not knocked and now that the door was open he was still entirely unsure as to whether or not he had made the right decision.
Aziraphale was wearing a blanket. A tan wool blanket to be precise, and it was wrapped around his shoulders in such a way that it made Crowley think of the times he had watched Adam or Warlock as children. Aziraphale was also wearing slippers and what appeared to be silk pajamas, which were a deep shade of navy blue. He looked so kind lit by the warm yellow light of the book shop behind him, and though Aziraphale appeared surprised and a bit guarded upon opening the door his face immediately morphed into a smile as he recognized Crowley.
Crowley’s breath hitched a bit at the sight and he stood there silently cursing the absolute audacity of the kind, beautiful, and angelic bastard before him. Crowley cursed him for having the nerve to wear pajamas of all things. He cursed him for making his heart beat a bit faster. But most of all he cursed him for that blasted smile because it made Crowley melt, and it made his heart ache both at the realization of what he was about to do, and the understanding of what could never happen.
But in the end Crowley decided that he had to forge ahead, because that was what he did, that was what he had to do, and most of all because it was not fair to Aziraphale or to himself to continue the way he had been.
~ ~ ~ ~
They stood in silence for a few seconds too long assessing one another but Aziraphale then smiled and spoke.
“Well, come in of course, it’s a bit chilly for this time of year.”
He stepped back and pulled the door further open to welcome Crowley, who walked into the large room with seemingly no hesitation.
Aziraphale closed and locked the door and when he turned around Crowley was standing at a table a few feet away examining a stack of childrens books with delightfully colorful covers. Aziraphale walked up next to him and looked at the book in Crowley’s hands.
“New arrival,” he said, “ just came in this morning but I’ve rather been looking forward to it. I’ve heard wonderful things of the author.”
Crowley said nothing but made a small noise of acknowledgement before flipping the book over and reading the back cover.
“Can I get you a mug of tea?” asked Aziraphale. “The kind I’m having is just wonderful, some sort of English Breakfast, although I suppose it’s a bit past the breakfast hour.” he joked with a chuckle.
“No, thank you.” said Crowley looking up from the book and looking at Aziraphale. “I don’t suspect I’ll be here long.” he said with a forced smile that Aziraphale thought seemed almost self deprecating.
Aziraphale was confused. This was not an uncommon occurrence he supposed, he was often confused, but he generally thought that he and Crowley understood each other quite well. From the beginning they had been drawn to one another, even if Aziraphale himself was very hesitant of befriending a demon at that point in time. But six thousand years and some odd centuries later, Aziraphale trusted Crowley, even understood him, and he certainly hoped that Crowley felt the same way about him. Of course there was something to the fact that they were both immortal beings. There were some aspects of each of their lives that they could neither disclose with humans, nor would humans understand even if they did. But there was more to it. Six thousand years ago, Aziraphale was a far cry from who he was today. Much more prejudiced he supposed, and inclined to see things as just black or white; good or evil. But much had changed. He could now recognize that both he and Crowley lay somewhere in the middle, each a unique shade of grey, and Aziraphale now thought that that was the inherent nature of most everything.
Much of that change in perspective was due to Crowley. Even from the beginning, but increasingly so as Aziraphale had gotten to know his companion, he had recognized good in Crowley. Crowley was not evil, and in Aziraphale’s own opinion Crowley cared far too much to be a demon at all. Even felt far to much to be a demon. This was the same Crowley who had broken down over his precious Bentley even in the face of looming Armageddon. And since the prevention of Armageddon, Aziraphale had gotten to know Crowley so much better than he had ever had the chance to before.
Because both upstairs and downstairs had no idea what to do with either of them, they had the opportunity to operate as free agents, as it were. And the two had decided after three years of radio silence from both Heaven and Hell that perhaps both parties had concluded that as long as neither of them caused the precipitation of anything too egregious, they would just be left blissfully to their own devices.
For Aziraphale this meant much more tending of his book shop, and time to travel to the most interesting corners of the world in search of books, and sometimes just adventure. Aziraphale had most recently ventured to Thailand and was swept away by the fantastic food the markets offered. Crowley seemed to spend most of his time travelling as well and Aziraphale knew he had begun to learn how to play various human instruments, most recently the violin and the harmonica. Aziraphale happened to think Crowley’s pursuit of music was a spectacular idea seeing how happy music had always made him, a sentiment which he had expressed with great enthusiasm to Crowley when he heard of his plans. Though he would never tell Crowley this, Aziraphale adored watching Crowley listen to music. For Crowley didn’t just listen to the music he became absorbed in it. He swayed minutely to the swells and dips of the sound and his face always showed great concentration and emotion as he enjoyed himself. It was rather beautiful Aziriphale thought. His friend would listen to just about anything Aziraphale had learned, but he showed particular love for classical music and that of the 1980s.
All this being said, as Aziraphale turned back to his friend he had absolutely no idea what he was doing here tonight. They very rarely visited each other this late and when it happened it was almost always a continuation of a day’s worth of company. This was rather unprecedented. Crowley seemed off somehow, though Aziraphale couldn’t quite place his finger on exactly what it was that made him think that. His hair was a bit of a mess, sticking out unevenly in tufts in some places, but that was not far out of the ordinary. In any case, this set of circumstances put Aziraphale a bit on edge.
“Is something wrong?” he asked Crowley hesitantly after a few seconds.
Crowley looked up from the book and really held Aziraphale’s gaze for the first time since he had arrived. He closed the book and set it down and then moved towards the edge of the packed table closest to Aziriphale who was standing near an opposing cabinet. Crowley ran his hand along the dark wood of the round table before leaning back against it and shifting his weight.
“No. Well, not really I suppose,” Crowley said, “But, well, I-- I don’t quite know.” he amended and Aziraphale was struck by the honesty which was clear in both his tone and his uncertainty.
“Well I’m sure it’s nothing that can’t be fixed.” Aziraphale said with a soft smile. He didn’t like seeing Crowley so affected.
“I’m not so sure.” Crowley said so quietly Aziraphale thought he might not have heard right.
Aziraphale hardly knew what to say to that. He’d known Crowley for so long and he was sure he’d never seen him quite like this. He was at present tracing the tip of his black derby shoe along the grain of one of the floor panels.
“Well come now, tell me what’s wrong, my dear.”
Crowley seemed to flinch at those words, his brows drawing together as though the words had physically lashed out at him. Aziraphale began to grow earnestly worried. He didn’t know what was wrong but he was surprised as he began to feel just a tinge of anger mix with the worry in his stomach, curious and unsure of who to direct itself at, for it did not know yet who had made Crowley feel this way.
“I don’t know how to say it.” Crowley admitted after a few seconds.
“Well just try to put the words out there and I’ll put them together, Crowley.” Aziraphale urged gently.
“I’m-- I’m going away.”
This admission hardly seemed worth all the trouble it seemed to be putting Crowley through so Aziraphale pushed forward.
“Where to?” he asked.
“I don’t yet know.”
“For how long?”
“I don’t know, Az.” Crowley said and he looked at him to punctuate the statement.
It was Aziraphale’s turn to lack the words he needed. Crowley had never called him that before. Angel? Yes, but that was just a statement of fact. Though Aziraphale had tried to convince himself many times there was more meaning to it, it boiled down to a simple truth. And he called Crowley ‘dear’ but that had more or less begun as a joke. Crowley was not to know that for Aziraphale it had morphed into a serious term of endearment. He was not to know how much meaning the word held for him.
But what Crowley had just called him. That had meaning. That was his name. Shortened perhaps, but it seemed less of a statement of fact and far more personal. And something about the way Crowley had said it gave Aziraphale hope that he might have said it with some of that meaning Aziraphale hoped was behind it.
Aziraphale moved forward. He approached Crowley and despite the sunglasses (why did Crowley still have them on? They were alone and inside.) Aziraphale could tell Crowley was watching him. He reached out to rest his hand on Crowley’s shoulder but, as though shocked, Crowley moved out of the way of the touch. He slid around the edge of the table and carefully walked back until he hit another cabinet to lean on, keeping his eyes fixed on Aziraphale the whole time.
Aziraphale was a bit hurt but remained more confused than anything else.
“What do you mean you don’t know where you’re going or when you’ll be back? That doesn’t make a shred of sense at all, Crowley!”
Aziraphale thought for a minute.
“Are you in some kind of danger?” He asked more calmly. “Is it administration from down below?”
If that was the case they could just run away together, Aziraphale thought. He could take leave from the book shop and go somewhere where they wouldn’t be found. Then when things had died down they could return and carry on. In any case, he decided, there is no need for Crowley to run off alone for God knows how long.
But evidently that was not the source of the pressure. Crowley shook his head slowly.
“Well then, why are you leaving?” Aziraphale asked, at this point utterly and entirely perplexed.
“I need time. I need to get away for a while” said Crowley looking out the window into the night as though there was any chance of someone eavesdropping.
“From what?” Aziraphale asked.
~ ~ ~ ~
There was the question Crowley had hoped to avoid. It was absolutely ridiculous to think it wouldn’t be asked, Crowley knew. But still he had hoped that by some unlikely oversight the question might have been avoided. No such luck.
Crowley thought he was doing rather well so far, there were no tears yet but he had kept his glasses on for fear that there might be. He had hated to see the rejection in Aziraphale’s eyes as he had moved away from him but Crowley felt that if the angel got too close, could get him to let his guard down, he would either break down or lose the will power to carry through with what needed to be done so he had moved away.
He steeled himself and looked down at the floor. He would not allow himself to see the reaction to his next words.
“From this, Aziraphale.” he said, “From us.”
It was silent. The silence lasted seconds but it felt longer. It felt hot and rancid and all Crowley wanted to do was get out. He knew he shouldn’t but he looked up; across at the friend he was about to lose for the foreseeable future.
It was a mistake. He had known it would be but it didn’t make it any less painful to see the way Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed for a second and then pulled up in realization, and heaven be damned, Crowley regretted his words immediately. Aziraphale looked so hurt. He always had been terrible at concealing him emotions, a quality which Crowley had often poked fun at. Things that had bothered Aziraphale hours ago could still be seen in the perplection in his eyes, the touch of indignity lined in his face, the slight downturn of his mouth, and the tilt of his brows. When Aziraphale was upset or something was worrying him it was evident by the tension in his jaw and forehead and the twitchiness of his motions or his inability to sit still. Crowley loved that he was easy to read. Crowley didn’t consider himself entirely helpless when it came to speculating the moods and temperaments of others. But he figured he was rather average at reading people, so it was nice to be able to easily tell Aziraphale’s mood and gauge how to properly react.
But while the trait was something Crowley had grown to admire at the moment he despised it. Aziraphale was clearly attempting not to let on what he was feeling but he was obviously crushed. His face fell visibly before he attempted to return it to some semblance of neutral expression and his whole stance shifted inwards on itself; shoulders caving in just a bit and his head falling a few noticeable centimeters.
Crowley wanted to discorporate. He was immediately flooded with hot shame and guilt. He was weak. He couldn’t have had the strength to keep moving forward the way things were? He had to go and change them. For what? His own self regard? He was selfish and the look on Aziraphale’s face ground into him exactly what he had done. There was no escape. He hung his head back down and tried to look through the floor.
Once he had seemed to compose himself Aziraphale cleared his throat and spoke.
“Oh.” he started, “Well I’m sorry, Crowley. If you didn’t enjoy my company you could have told me by all means. I would never have forced you to stay for my sake.”
Crowley snapped his head back up. What? he thought. Surely Aziraphale couldn’t be serious. He had to know that that could not be true. But he was still talking.
“...I mean I absolutely wish you luck and good fortune wherever you end up. I’m sure you will fit in just marvelously.”
Crowley had to interrupt.
“And with your new musical abi--”
“Wait you can’t possibly think that my going away is due to the fact that I dislike you, Az. Can you?”
That question seemed to stump the angel. He looked at Crowley and the confusion returned to his eyes.
Crowley was dumbfounded. How in all the galaxy was it possible that this brilliant being who stood before him could be so unbelievably stupid. Aziraphale had quite likely read more books than any other being on the planet. He could recite The Aeneid in both English and Latin. Crowley had caught him reading Kant’s principles on morality as a “light afternoon piece.” Aziriphale had learned German just so he could read Göthe “the way it was meant to be read” and was absolutely scandalized when Crowley had suggested that Göthe would never know the difference. If what was happening right now was actually happening, Crowley decided that the genius in front of him might just be the most brilliant idiot he had ever met in all of his years of existence. And that was saying something seeing as he had been good friends with Empedocles.
Crowley hoped that the confounded look on his face was clearing things up but Aziraphale looked as confused as ever. Crowley was fairly sure he could feel his eyebrows in orbit somewhere near the moon. He was reduced to astounded, and rather appalled, silence for a while as he wracked his brain as to how this fool in front of him could possibly think that he disliked him. He had asked him to run away to Alpha Centauri with him for fuck’s sake! Did Aziraphale think that was just a demonic knee-jerk reaction?
Finally after several seconds of spluttering Crowley regained the ability to formulate a coherent sentence.
“Dislike you? You think that the reason I’m leaving is because I dislike you?”
Crowley thought his voice sounded about two octaves higher than it typically did. He was trying very hard, and frankly failing spectacularly, to maintain some semblance of calm.
“How could you possibly think I dislike you? I asked you to run away with me! That isn’t something I do every other Tuesday afternoon.”
“So you do still enjoy spending time with me?” Aziraphale asked looking tremendously relieved.
“Yes, you bloody idiot!” Crowley screeched. He raked a hand through his hair. Lucifer have mercy, he thought to himself.
Aziraphale went from looking relieved back to his state of confusion in less than a second.
“Well then why are you leaving?” he asked.
Crowley hated this. Aziraphale was actually going to make him say it. He was going to have to explain the situation at hand and it would be unbearably awkward and he found himself back at square one contemplating whether it was too late in the conversation to just leave. Waltz right out of the door and into his replacement Bentley, speed through town at 140 kilometers an hour, blasting music loud enough that there was no room to think, and not stop driving until he reached some small fishing village in Norway where he could live out the next thousand years undetected. He decided that unfortunately the idiot in front of him still deserved some clarity even it he was being so infuriating that Crowley rather wanted to throw himself out the nearest window.
He huffed out an aggravated sigh and paced a small circle before leaning back against the cabinet and speaking again.
“The problem is not that I dislike you, Aziraphale. Of course it’s not.” he started, “In fact, the issue is quite the opposite.”
Aziraphale stood looking at Crowley like a buffering android. He threw his hands up in evident disgust.
“Well what do you mean by that Crowley?” he asked, sounding nearly as frustrated as Crowley felt.
Goddammit.
“I love you, Az.” Crowley said. He hoped beyond hope that Aziraphale would catch on. That the words and the way in which he had said them would be enough to make it clear what he was trying to convey.
Aziraphale didn’t move. Crowley didn’t either. They stood and looked at one another as though any movement would set off a catastrophic explosion. It was so quiet that Crowley had the urge to grab the nearest pile of books and slam them to the ground just to stop it but he kept still. He waited.
“I love you too, Crowley.” Aziraphale said, and Crowley felt tears of frustration well up in his eyes. Of course it couldn’t be that easy.
“No, Az. I don’t love you like angelic friendship love. I mean of course I mean it that way too but that’s not what I was trying to say.” Crowley spilled.
The words came out of him fast and as though the floodgates had opened he couldn’t seem to stop them. He couldn’t do this anymore. Aziraphale had to understand what he meant quite simply because Crowley didn’t have the strength to keep up this painful conversation.
“I mean that wouldn’t justify me leaving.” Crowley continued. “What I mean is that I love you, Az. More than friends.”
There. Crowley had said it. He felt a tear escape and he wiped it away before it made it too far. All that nonsense in books about confessing your feelings being liberating was absolute bollocks. He felt awful and vulnerable and he wanted to disappear. He supposed that at least now there could be no misunderstanding.
Aziraphale looked all too kind and almost pitying and Crowley hated it. He didn’t want pity he just wanted this to be over with. Aziraphale started slowly walking towards him with his hands held up near his chest, approaching Crowley as one would a frightened animal. Crowley felt more tears escape his traitorous eyes and he didn’t think in all his years he had ever felt quite this pathetic. Aziraphale was just a foot away from him now and he stopped. He looked into Crowley’s eyes and when he spoke his words were soft but intensely full of feeling.
“Crowley, so do I.” Aziraphale said and he held Crowley’s eyes with such meaning that Crowley thought he wouldn’t have been able to look away even if he tried.
The tears had momentarily stopped, not because the feelings behind them had dissipated but sheerly out of shock. Crowley’s eyes searched the angel’s face for any sign of jest. When he spoke again his voice was no more than a whisper.
“Don’t toy with me, Angel.” he said softly and he hoped Aziraphale didn’t notice the way his voice cracked.
“I’m not.” said Aziraphale. “I wouldn’t do that, Crowley.”
And really Crowley had known that. Aziraphale was many things but he was never cruel. It had just seemed in this case that the alternative seemed equally unlikely.
~ ~ ~ ~
Crowley was crying. Aziraphale didn’t think he’d seen anything quite as unacceptable as that in his entire life. He decided to do something, anything, to prevent it from continuing and moved a final step towards Crowley. Aziraphale was subconsciously very appreciative of the fact that he and Crowley nearly equalled one another in height. He brought his hands up slowly and removed the sunglasses from Crowley’s face.
Crowley’s eyes really were lovely. They were of course snake-like, but to Aziraphale they seemed far too warm to evoke any of the fear he supposed a snake’s eyes should. Crowley’s eyes were golden yellow but streaked with brown and cut down the middle by those slits of pupils. But more notable to Aziraphale’s mind was how long Crowley’s eyelashes were. He had noticed this nearly the first time he had seen Crowley for he thought it was an exceptionally strange trait for a demon to have. Too beautiful. Aziraphale disliked the sunglasses immensely and thought it was a great pity that Crowley had to wear the blasted things constantly whenever they were out. But still he supposed that after the brief incident of Crowley’s arrest in 1852 and the subsequent demon hunt that had followed after he was forced to remove them while in custody, the glasses were best left on in public. This however did not mean Aziraphale was under any obligation to tolerate them in private.
Aziraphale reached over Crowley’s shoulder and set the glasses on top of some books but he did not break eye contact. Crowley made no attempt to move, seeming still very much in disbelief of Aziraphale’s words. That disbelief would have to be rectified. Once his hands were free again, Aziraphale brought them up to Crowley’s face, where tears were still intermittently falling, and gently wiped the tear tracks away. Miraculously, Crowley leaned into the touch but the tears did not stop. If anything they grew quicker in pace as Crowley shut his eyes and Aziraphale’s brows furrowed in worry.
“My dear?” he asked cautiously.
Crowley opened his eyes again.
“Really?” he asked softly and looked at Aziraphale with such raw emotion that the angel thought he could feel his heart squeeze painfully.
“Yes.” Aziraphale said with as much conviction as he could muster, for he needed Crowley to believe him.
It was true after all. Aziraphale supposed that perhaps he had been less obvious than he could be about the whole matter but in his defense he thought the possibility that his feelings would be reciprocated were virtually nonexistent. Besides, Aziraphale really hadn’t known very long himself that he had loved Crowley in this manner. It had been those books that had done it.
It was 1941 when he had realized it. Not Aziraphale’s finest moment either, if he was being entirely honest. He had felt a few times before that something may have been less than seamless in his cooperation with Rose Montgomery, or rather Greta Kleinschmidt as he had learned she was actually named on that fortuitous evening. But still he had chalked it up to the air of distrust ever present among humans, especially in times of war. Aziraphale was rather disgusted when the whole betrayal had played out seeing as it was going to amount in an awful lot of paperwork for him to fill out with upstairs administration. Messy discorporations were generally frowned upon. And then Crowley had danced into the church so incredibly ungracefully, tottering about like a complete idiot. Aziraphale had never quite been happier to have seen him in his life and when Crowley had handed him his books after the explosion, his heart had quite simply melted. After that moment it had really been shockingly obvious to Aziraphale that he had been in the process of falling for the wonderful madman for quite some time now. He couldn’t place his finger on a time of origin but he supposed that was the magic of feelings of that sort. They morphed so seamlessly and so slowly into something more that once they were there it was hard to find a time when they had not been.
In any case, as he leveled his gaze at Crowley in front of him, Aziraphale thought all of that was rather irrelevant at the moment. All that mattered at the present moment was making Crowley believe him. And since words didn’t seem to be doing the trick he decided that he would have to show his companion just how real the words were. Aziraphale slid his right hand from his companion’s face around to the back of his neck and wound his other arm around Crowley’s back. He pulled Crowley up against him and tucked his chin over Crowley’s shoulder. He felt Crowley bury his face into the shoulder of Aziraphale’s shirt and he could feel Crowley’s the warmth of uneven breaths through the soft fabric. Aziraphale pushed his hand further up into Crowley’s hair and rubbed his thumb back and forth across his head. Simultaneously he started to rub his other arm up and down Crowley’s spine in a slow pattern.
“It’s alright, my dear.” Aziraphale murmured against the side of Crowley’s neck. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
~ ~ ~ ~
Crowley was a bit overwhelmed but in the most wonderful way he could imagine. Aziraphale loved him back. That was too much, too good, too wild to begin with. He wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling other than relief, but his thoughts raced, trying to keep up, trying to understand exactly what was going on. But then Aziraphale pulled him into a hug and it was so easy to stop thinking just for a minute. Aziraphale was warm, delightfully so, and hugging him was a bit like being wrapped up in sheets fresh out of the dryer.
Crowley had never hugged anyone like this before. He didn’t really hug anyone much at all, except occasionally friends or acquaintances out of politeness or congratulations, as he had done at Adam’s graduation. He didn’t think he much minded the fact, for it was just that: fact. He didn’t suppose he had much need to touch anyone else so he didn’t. Humans and their great desire to be physically close to one another had never made much sense to him but here and now he thought he understood.
More than anything being wrapped up in Aziraphale’s arms was unbelievably comforting. Aziraphale smelled like oranges and chamomile. Aziraphale’s thumb had started tracing circles in his hair and his arm moved up and down Crowley’s back in a mesmerizing rhythm. It all felt incredibly nice. Crowley brought his arms up around Aziraphale and held on as his breathing slowly began to fall into time with a movement of Aziraphale’s arm. Crowley felt protected, which was something he was not accustomed to. He almost always felt safe. Immortality came with the benefit that things which would prove remarkably fatal to most, would only prove minorly inconvenient to beings like him. But this was different. With protection came the knowledge and understanding that someone else was taking care of you. After millennia of looking after himself and fighting for himself, Crowley was taken aback by how intoxicating it was to feel taken care of. He hoped he might be given a chance to get used to it.
As Crowley’s breathing slowed and he relaxed into Aziraphale his tears stopped. Eventually, after several minutes he lifted his face and Aziraphale stepped back a bit, shifting his hands to lightly grip both of Crowley’s arms just above the elbow. Aziraphale looked pleased that the tears had stopped and his eyes crinkled just a bit at the corners as a small smile touched his face.
“Better?” he asked simply, and Crowley nodded and returned the smile.
Silence held the room for a few seconds as they looked at one another, but the tension had been leached out of the room entirely and this quiet felt comfortable. Almost happy.
“Crowley, my dear?” Aziraphale said.
“Yes?”
“May I kiss you?”
Aziraphale’s eyes were icy blue but somehow they sparkled so warm Crowley was sure they could turn even the coldest corners of hell.
“Yes.” Crowley breathed.
~ ~ ~ ~
Aziraphale leaned forward and pressed his lips against Crowley’s. He was shocked at how soft they were but he wasn’t sure why; he was far beyond believing that Crowley couldn’t be gentle. Which was exactly what the kiss was. Gentle. An angel and a demon kissing but no sparks flew, no ground split, no touch burned. Crowley’s right hand was on Aziraphale’s waist and his left was in his hair. It was every bit as soft as he had thought it would be and it curled ever so nicely around his fingers. The kiss was short but it seemed to punctuate all that had happened in the room. When they broke apart they both smiled and Aziraphale pushed himself up to his tiptoes to plant a kiss on Crowley’s forehead.
“I’m tired.” he admitted, “It’s rather late.”
Crowley nodded and hummed his agreement. The clock over the mantlepiece showed that it was well past eleven. Aziraphale turned towards the back of the shop and began walking towards the door to the kitchen. He looked over his shoulder at Crowley and beckoned, urging him to follow.
“Well come on then.” Aziraphale said with a smile.
He gave Crowley a once over as he followed Aziraphale. The angel’s lips pressed together into a line and his expression quickly turned matter of fact.
“You’re going to have to miracle yourself something else to wear.” he decided. “I will not have you climbing into bed in that ridiculous excuse for pants you have on.” he said and then grimaced. “Definitely not.”
He then turned and led the way, walking them both through the kitchen before turning up a small flight of stairs to the second floor of the shop.
Crowley had never been here before and he noted that the dressers along the walls, painted a periwinkle blue, held a variety of ornately decorated teapots from a variety of different regions of the world and period of time. Of course Aziraphale has a collection of teapots, Crowley thought to himself with a grin.
Aziraphale turned and opened the first door on the left side of the hall. As Crowley entered behind him and was surprised to see that the room enclosed was much smaller than any of the rooms downstairs. It was by no means cramped but its size gave it a rather cozy feel. There was a large bed on the far wall of the room and a window on their left. There were tables and dressers all around the edges of the room filled with trinkets and gewgaws of astounding variety. There were stacks of books as well, of course, sitting in any open corner they could find.
Once inside the room Crowley snapped and his clothing faded into his favorite pair of flannel pants and an oversized t-shirt. Much more suitable to sleep in, he thought.
But once he had miracled his clothes, Crowley found himself on edge. He wasn’t quite sure what the plan here was, if there even was one in play, and he was unsure how he was to proceed. Aziraphale seemed to be rummaging around on a shelf, tidying things up. He then turned and switched on the lamp on the carved bedside table, casting warm light across the room. Aziraphale then turned to look at Crowley.
“You’re welcome to sleep in the bed if you like. With me, that is. Or not with me, of course as well. I’m happy to sleep somewhere else if you like, or you can sleep somewhere else if you like.”
The words came out all jumbled and he sped up as he talked. Aziraphale seemed to be unable to effectively communicate whatever it was he was trying to. It also seemed that he was growing more embarrassed with each sentence he said, judging by the fact that his complexion was rapidly beginning to rival that of a sunburnt tomato. Crowley grinned and watched with a bemused smirk. The fool was rambling magnificently and as much as Crowley was amused by the whole debacle he decided to do something before the poor angel’s brain short circuited.
“Az.” he interjected, “I’m perfectly happy to share the bed.”
Aziraphale looked much relieved to be given an out from his verbal spiral of doom and rather pleased with Crowley’s decision. He slid off his slippers at the edge of the bed before turning back the covers and climbing into bed.
Crowley walked around the other side of the bed and situated himself under the covers as well. Aziraphale flicked off the lamp and the only light that remained was that of the moon and street lamps shining in through the window on the wall. They were only a few inches apart but still very much apart, a detail which Crowley happened to think was the very height of foolish, but he was tired and rather thought that he had already had more than his share of vulnerability tonight so he decided to say nothing. He was however pleased when Aziraphale spoke out into the dark.
“Crowley?”
“Yes?”
“May I put my arm around you?”
“Yes.”
Crowley smiled and turned on his side, figuring that would be logistically easier. Aziraphale scooted up behind him and draped his arm over Crowley’s side. Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s breathing against his neck and decided that it was a feeling he rather liked. He wouldn’t say he hated sleeping alone, it was just how it was, but it was nice to have the reassurance that someone was there with you. It made the sheer cosmic scope of things seem much less daunting. After a minute when he felt a bit bolder Crowley laced his fingers into Aziraphale’s own over his stomach.
“Alright?” he asked.
“Yes, dear.” Aziraphale said and something inside Crowley’s chest radiated warmth at the term of endearment.
They both fell asleep easily.
~ ~ ~ ~
Crowley adored flying. He loved the way the air rushed under his wings and lifted him higher and higher. He loved looking down and seeing things which had seemed so great look so small. He loved the sound of the wind howling around his ears and the way his eyes watered if he flew fast enough. He loved the change in perspective it granted him.
Before he fell Crowley had flown often. He would soar with his wings fully and gloriously expanded. He would swoop and dive and spin to his heart’s content, congratulating himself when he caused his own stomach to drop. But after he fell he didn’t fly. There was simply no room. Hell reeked and was hideous; the beings there were loud and hateful and cries of pain and anguish rang out and echoed through all of Hell’s many sectors. But undoubtedly what Crowley hated the most about it was how crowded it was. There was no space to breathe, no space to think, no space for individuality, and there was certainly no space to fly. Crowley hated the trapped and caged feeling Hell evoked in him.
When he had been assigned a position on Earth he was secretly giddy. Earth was not the sky but it was certainly closer than Hell. After he figured administration had stopped monitoring him he snuck out at night and flew. The first night he had flown miles and miles just for the feeling. More recently Crowley had found new joy in flying as city lights and flashing billboards popped up everywhere. He never grew tired of it. After being trapped for so long Crowley felt liberated in the sky and was eternally grateful for the fact that he could fly. He was never happier than when he was soaring.
But as Crowley woke up with Aziraphale’s arms wrapped around him, he felt insurmountable appreciation for exactly how grounded he felt. The morning light was softly hitting the walls of the room and the whole experience felt warm. Crowley wasn’t trapped, he was protected. He was free within Aziraphale’s embrace and Crowley had the power to stay there as long as he wanted to. He decided that it was in fact a long time he wanted to stay there. And somehow despite the eternity of possibility which had been opened up in the past day, Crowley had never quite felt as human as he did in that moment. He loved it.