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As Crowley rolled up to the bookshop, he felt a familiar drop in his stomach. It had been four months since the End that never came, and Crowley had been visiting Aziraphale nearly every day. Sometimes he came under the guise of a concerned demon fearing retribution on himself and the angel, usually as a friend seeking the company of his oldest companion. They had spent many nights laughing in the soft light of the old bookshop after consuming enormous amounts of wine. However, the memory of that terrible day refused to fade. He had tried everything to ease the pain. Parking around the corner to avoid driving the same route, coming through the back door, even persuading Aziraphale to update the little store with a fresh and entirely different colored coat of paint, inside and out. But it was no use. He still entered the shop with the vivid memory of flames licking high above his head, his lungs filled with hot ash as he screamed for Aziraphale, the tears falling faster than he could stop them from his eyes. Twice, Aziraphale had seen a tear or two roll down the demon’s cheeks. The first time, he had lamely told the angel he was allergic to dust, and Aziraphale had henceforth kept the shelves of his shop sparkling clean (though he had rather liked the antique feel that dust had given it). The second time, two days ago, Crowley could not think up an adequate excuse and, humiliated by his inability to control himself, fled the shop as he burst into sobs. Aziraphale had tried to call him, even came to his apartment, but the embarrassed demon had refused to speak to him. In a last-ditch effort, Aziraphale had left just one more message on Crowley’s ansaphone, asking him to please come by the bookshop tomorrow to discuss something very important. Ever unable to refuse the favors Aziraphale asked of him, Crowley had begrudgingly made his way to Soho.
Crowley parked the Bentley in the space reserved for him by a demonic miracle and exited the vehicle. Steeling himself against the inevitable, he walked straight for the doors and had just reached for the doorknob when they flew open, startling him.
“Crowley! Oh, I’m sorry dear, did I startle you?”
“No, ‘s fine.”
“Well, come in!”
Crowley slipped past Aziraphale into the shop, trying not to look anywhere but a spot on the floor about three feet ahead of him. He sprawled out onto the sofa as Aziraphale flipped the little sign in the window from “open” to “closed” and locked the door before turning to the demon.
“I was just about to make myself some cocoa. Would you care for anything, Crowley?”
“Nmphf.”
“Tea? Coffee?”
“Scotch?”
Aziraphale nodded with a tender smile and walked briskly into the other room, returning a few minutes later with a steaming mug of cocoa and a generously-poured glass of scotch. He handed Crowley his drink of choice before settling down primly into his usual armchair and taking a long sip, popping his lips with a satisfied ahhh as he sat the mug down on the end table next to him. Crowley was gratefully sipping his scotch as he eyed Aziraphale from behind dark sunglasses. The demon had a tendency to stare, but Aziraphale couldn’t help but wonder if he was really looking at the angel or focusing very hard on... well, avoiding a repeat of the other day. In Crowley’s mind, it was a little bit of both. Of course, he was trying to distract himself, it just so happened he was doing so by attempting to count each and every one of the angel’s glorious white curls. He lost count around 27 when Aziraphale decided there was no point putting off the conversation he had in mind. He gave a nervous little cough before shifting to fully face Crowley.
Oh, how Crowley loved hearing the angel say his name. The way it rolled off his tongue was addicting. Even at times when Aziraphale had been cross with him, there was always a hint of fondness behind the way the angel said his name.
“Crowley, I’ve been thinking, and... well... as much as I enjoy your company, Crowley, I don’t think it’s fair of me to ask you to keep coming here,” Aziraphale finished quickly, as if the words had a foul taste that he needed to spit out. Crowley raised an eyebrow. He would be lying if he said that hadn’t hurt him.
“Oh?”
“Yes, well, I realized the other day when you- “
“Shut up,” Crowley hissed as he slammed the scotch down, his hands shaking. A good portion of the brown liquid splashed onto the table between them. “I don’t want to talk about it. It didn’t happen, do you understand me, angel?” Aziraphale nodded, reconsidering his words carefully.
“Sorry. Er. Well, I realized recently,” Aziraphale amended, “that while I’ve been quite happy these last few months, you’ve been having to deal with... everything, quite alone. I feel rather foolish for having expected you to feel just as content as I do with life after... all that,” he said with a wave of his hand. “...and I just wanted to tell you that, well, I’m sorry Crowley. I never intended to ignore your feelings. I’m just a bit... a bit thick, I’m afraid.”
Crowley stared at him, trying to look menacing but feeling more frustrated with himself than angry with Aziraphale. It was true, things were difficult, but he didn’t need Aziraphale to coddle him. He was a demon, for Chri- someone’s sake. And yet, he felt the tears well up behind his glasses. He tried to appear casual as he looked up at the ceiling, practically begging his tears to stay put, but it was too late. A single droplet slipped down his cheek. Fuck, was it hard to pretend he was okay. Aziraphale, who had been staring at the demon intently trying to gauge his reaction, spotted the wetness on his face immediately and rushed to sit by Crowley on the sofa. He was not waiting until Crowley ran out again.
“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry,” the angel said, gingerly wiping the tear away with the pad of his thumb. Crowley flinched at the touch and Aziraphale quickly gave the demon his space. Crowley was not used to being touched, especially so intimately. It wasn’t that the sensation was unpleasant; quite the opposite, actually. The angel’s thumb on his cheek felt like warm sunshine on a late August afternoon. It was warm and soothing and Crowley yearned for the feeling to return.
“ ’S fine. Don’t fuss about it,” Crowley sniffled, removing his sunglasses. There was no point in trying to hide now, after the tears had already escaped from behind them. A moment passed, the only break in the silence between them being the occasional sniffle from Crowley who was staring intently at his snakeskin boots.
“Crowley, look at me. Please.”
He looked over at the adorable angel gazing back at him through his long lashes, his face full of concern. The thought of losing him again overwhelmed Crowley and he burst into sobs, launching himself into Aziraphale’s arms. The angel gripped him tightly, letting his friend cling to him and relieve his emotions however he needed to do so.
“Oh, ‘Ziraphale,” Crowley sobbed, “oh, Aziraphale. I was s-so wo-worried ab-about you, and I j-just c-can’t.... I can’t... I don’t want to l-lose you ever again!”
Crowley had never let anyone, let alone the angel, see him this way. He was sure he’d feel embarrassed later, but at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to care. All he could do was bury his face into his angel’s neck and let the words and tears roll out of him. Aziraphale stroked his flaming-red hair with one hand and rubbed tiny circles on his back with the other. He couldn’t help but notice just how thin Crowley really was. Maybe thinner, even, than normal. It was hard to tell; today was the first time he had more than so much as accidentally brushed hands with the demon. He felt Crowley press closer against him and Aziraphale swiftly pulled Crowley up into his lap. It was in his nature to soften the pain of life for humans, but it was in his own interest to soothe the quivering demon he called his best friend.
“I’m not going anywhere, Crowley. Never. I will never leave you again. I lo- I wouldn’t know what to do with myself,” said Aziraphale, his voice breaking as tears formed in his own eyes now. How broken did this demon have to be to openly sob in the arms of an angel, Aziraphale thought to himself. How long has it been since someone has held him like this? Has he ever been held like this?
Crowley stuttered into Aziraphale’s shoulder and his sobs turned to heavy, desperate breaths as he tried to stop crying. He was sure Aziraphale was covered in his tears and snot at this point and the embarrassment started to creep in. He sniffled one last time and sat up to look at Aziraphale’s face with red, swollen eyes, his arms still around the angel’s neck. To his surprise, Aziraphale’s beautiful, ocean-blue eyes were watery as well. They stared at each other for what was probably a few minutes but felt like a couple of hours. Days, even. Without speaking, the angel and demon gazed searchingly into each other’s eyes, saying what they couldn’t find the courage to speak aloud. Eventually, Aziraphale’s eyes slid down to gaze at Crowley’s lips. As if his body were being piloted by somebody else, he leaned in excruciatingly slowly. Crowley dared not move a muscle. Finally, Aziraphale’s soft, pink lips met his own as the angel pressed a barely-there kiss against the corner of the demon’s mouth. Though his lips lingered for only a second, barely even touching him, Aziraphale did not retreat. He looked back up into the demon’s eyes, their noses almost touching and the angel’s long lashes fluttering as he came back to his senses.
“Sorry,.. I just, er,” Aziraphale breathed, trailing off.
Crowley stared back in a daze. The kiss hadn’t been romantic, necessarily. It hadn’t even been a kiss, really. But it was comforting for both of them. Neither of them had felt so close to another being in all of their existence. They sat there for a long time with their bodies pressed together, less than an inch of space between their lips as they basked in the closeness. It was Crowley this time that initiated the kiss, this one lasting slightly longer and feeling much more deliberate than the gentle brush of their lips several moments ago. This time, Aziraphale kissed him back. Crowley applied pressure to the angel’s bottom lip with his own as he kissed him more deeply, and Aziraphale let the softest of moans escape the back of his throat. Crowley leaned back and looked at him.
“You have no idea how long I have wanted to do that, angel.”
“Likewise,” chucked Aziraphale.
“Aziraphale, I have to tell you something,” Crowley started nervously.
“No. Me first,” the angel said, gently sliding Crowley off of his lap and orienting himself towards the demon, his exquisitely manicured hands taking Crowley’s. Crowley found himself pleasantly surprised by Aziraphale lifting him once again. He had never expected the angel – what with his soft tummy and round face – to be so physically strong. Aziraphale took a deep breath and began.
“I wanted to tell you that I’ve decided to sell the bookshop.”
“Wh- angel, no, you can’t! You love this place!”
“Yes, I do. But I am also aware that it’s much too difficult for you to keep coming here to see me. I know that now. And I don’t ever want to be the cause of any pain to you. Never again.”
“But angel – angel. Think about this, please. We can meet at the park. You could come to my apartment. Just, please, don’t get rid of the only thing you’ve ever cared about!”
“How could you possibly think that?” Aziraphale whispered, clearly affronted by Crowley's remark. “You think this bloody bookshop is the only thing I’ve ever cared about? How could you not know that I am deeply, deeply – “
“Don’t. Don’t you dare, angel. You know that if you say what I think you’re about to say, you’ve got to mean it. If you say those words, angel, and you don’t mean it, I mean really mean it – “
“ – I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale all but shouted, tears welling up once again. “I’ve loved you for what feels like forever. I’ve wanted to hold you, to kiss you for thousands of years. I lusted after you, for god’s sake! Me, an angel, lusting after a stupid demon! I spent so many years telling myself it was nothing more than an inconvenient, one-sided infatuation, but you care for me Crowley. I know you do. You care for me more than any other being I’ve ever known. More than our Creator, Crowley. I’ve known how much you care for me since you saved my precious books all those years ago. And when I forced you into the bookshop so I could bandage your blistering feet afterwards and you asked me why I care for you so much, how could you not see that I was lying through my teeth? I couldn’t put you in danger back then, but now, there’s no danger, no Heaven or Hell to fear, and damn it, Crowley! I care for you because I am deeply, incurably in love with you! How could you possibly think even for a moment that I don’t mean it?”
Crowley stared at him in stunned silence. He had always known the angel was fond of him, but he’d always thought it was because angels had to be fond of everybody. He really was a stupid demon.
“You’re right,” he said after a moment. “I’m sorry, Aziraphale. I love you too.”
“You’re damn right, you love me!”
“That’s right, angel,” Crowley smirked. Aziraphale, still full of adrenaline and expecting more of a fight from Crowley, grabbed fisfuls of the demon’s jacket and pulled him into a deep, passionate kiss. Crowley gave a little hum of surprise before sinking into the kiss and leaning into Aziraphale, gently pressing the angel’s back into the arm of the plushy sofa to straddle his hips. Aziraphale pulled away, suddenly remembering why he had asked Crowley here in the first place.
“Oh! Crowley! I almost forgot. I’m still selling the bookshop, you’re not going to change my mind. But,” he continued before the demon could protest, “well, I was wondering if you might want to... well, it really is silly for us to hike across the city every day just to see one another, and I feel that we’re rather familiar with each other’s habits at this point, and, well... I’ve found a lovely little cottage in the South Downs,” Aziraphale sighed. A massive grin crept across Crowley’s face.
“Angel, it would be an honor to build a home with you. I only have one reservation,” Crowley said.
“What’s that, dear?”
“Does this lovely little cottage of yours have enough room for a library?”
The angel squealed with delight, wiggling under his demon.
“Yes, darling. Of course.” Aziraphale pulled Crowley back in and their lips crashed together once more. Later that evening, after hours of kissing, holding, and a fair share of caressing (“Angels don’t grope, Crowley, they caress!”), Crowley left the bookshop happier than he could ever remember being, even before the Fall. He tossed his sunglasses in a bin on his way to the car. He would never need to hide behind them again.