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That relatable moment you become an alcoholic because you're in love with your best friend

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It was a massive lapse in judgement was what it. Crowley would regret it soon. When he woke up in the morning he'd stutter over an apology if Aziraphale hadn't abandoned the poor demon. But, as it was, Crowley was way to buzzed to even think.

It was some time after the Armageddon't. Everything would have went back to normal if it wasn't that Aziraphale had convinced Crowley to enjoy himself a little more. So suddenly he was doing all the things he took for granted in his life. The first few days were spent exclusively with the angel but Aziraphale eventually told him that this wasn't what he meant by "enjoy himself".

What he meant, of course, was up to interpretation. But what he thought was the demon ought to indulge himself in human pleasures- things that might not have been. So Crowley, deciding to one up this, went out repetitively to get shitfaced in whatever bar he could find. Sometimes he even changed his appearance to sneak into college parties, just for the thrill.

Point being he got obscenely drunk one of these nights. Aziraphale had went out to find him. Crowley had had an all to human reaction to all the booze in his system and was currently whipping bile from the corner of his mouth outside the bar.

"My dear boy," He heard Aziraphale say, all too fond for his current predicament. "Whatever did you do to yourself?"

"M'angel," He meant it to come out similar to how one says 'M'lady', it did not. "Fancy seeing you here." He had to pause to retch, feeling another wave of nausea. He could, technically speaking, get rid of the feeling. But he couldn't exactly do much of anything as his brain was running low on thoughts of anything except "oh fuck, look, it's Aziraphale!".

"I came to find you!" Aziraphale huffed, crossing those thick arms to his chest. Those arms Crowley secretly wanted wrapped around him in whatever way possible. "Although it appears you can handle yourself perfectly fine."

"Probably can't, best you take me home." Crowley purred in what he hoped was smooth. It wasn't, but a good attempt.

Aziraphale did end up taking him home. He now knew what Crowley's flat looked like and had, infact, memorized the path up to his bedroom. He assumed it rude to simply miracle him into the room, the demon only seemed to be able to handle one, the transportation to his door.

Crowley fumbled to the bed, reaching over to grab at his nightclothes. He tried to change, decided against it, tried again, and promptly collapsed.

"There we are," Aziraphale sighed, snapping his fingers to get a book. The one previously left open on his side table beside his angel-wing mug. "Seems I'll have to look after you tonight, hm?"

Crowley gave a weak nod. He stared at the ceiling as his vision began to blur around the edges. Those golden eyes of his were wide behind the sunglasses. The same glasses he had to preform a miracle to stay on his face just a couple hours ago. The drinks were getting a little too close.

"Love you," it was barely a whisper, quite enough Crowley wasn't sure he'd even said it. That was shortly before he drifted off.

In the aftermath of this confession Aziraphale stared at the page of his book. His fingers tightened on the hardbacked book, mind reeling.

Aziraphale knew he felt something for Crowley. He thought it was simply that love angels feel for everyone and everything. Then the Armageddon't came and passed and the feeling grew. He ignored it, refused to think of it. He rationalized that his friend was drunk, not thinking straight if at all.

So he returned to trying to read.

Crowley woke up slowly, hangover disappearing before it even formed. He sat up, remembered what he said last night, and flopped back down.

Best the angel wasn't there anymore, he thought, only for said angel to pop his head in.

"Dearest would you like any tea?"

Crowley fought off the urge to smile, it was in vain as he grinned up at the ceiling. Then he remembered himself.

"Hey, angel, I'm sorry about last night." He scooted up on the bed so he could look at the blonde. "I'd had a bit too much to drink and wasn't thinking-"

"No problem at all, dear boy." The angel smiled softly. "Now, tea?"

"Of course,"

He'd really fucked himself over now. He'd gotten into a little altercation after heading home. He wondered if this was what dying felt like. The human dying, not discorporation. He wasn't even that mussed over; just a few kicks and a busted lip. Maybe a bruised rib at most.

He'd gave a compliment- passing comment really- to a woman. Her boyfriend did not take kindly. Truly Crowley was just commenting on how nice her pants were. Not something he would wear but something he could appreciate.

He curled into his tiny ball, reaching out with one of those long arms for his phone to get the ringtone to stop. He'd set Queens "Good Old Fashioned Lover Boy" as his angels custom ringtone. Not that there was a reason, no one else called him. He made sure of it.

He stared at the little image of Aziraphale on his screen. He was smiling, at the park. They'd just finished feeding the ducks that day, one of them snatching the bag of oats right from his hand. Aziraphale couldn't help himself and began laughing.

Crowley found himself so lost in that moment he almost forgot to answer Aziraphale. He did, quickly after that.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale said, absolutely delighted.

"'M afraid I need your assistance." He slurred. "I need you. This is the last time I drink Tequila."

Aziraphale did bring him back home with a little reprimand about how awfully careless he was being. And Crowley listened, kindly, dabbing at the stinging lip with a careful hand. He couldn't miracle it away because of how, as before, shitfaced he was. Aziraphale wasn't doing it himself, probably to teach him a lesson.

Crowley knew what he was doing. He didn't want to think about what was going on. He couldn't stand to be without his angel, and if getting so drunk he had to call him was the only way he could never had to be conscious without him was the only way to make it happen, sobeit. He liked being taken care of too, he'd admit.

He drowned all those feelings in alcohol and then, when it only worsened the feeling, he drank more. The angel didn't have enough time on his hands, right? He had to make space for all these new books, fixing of old ones, reorganizing. He was busy, right?

Crowley wanted nothing more than to snuggle up close to Aziraphale and never leave. Except if Aziraphale wanted him to. He'd do whatever for Aziraphale. He'd run into a thousand burning bookshops.

He was vaguely aware he was crying into his beer. When someone pointed it out he started a verbal argument. He really hated crying.

He managed to drag his body to Aziraphale's shop this time. The bar was only a couple blocks away anyways. He trudged through the door, to the backroom, plopped down on the couch. Aziraphale stood over him with cup of water as a contrast to all the booze.

Crowley woke up and remembered he'd asked Aziraphale to marry him that last night. He claimed he hadn't said it. Aziraphale held up a hand with a ring on it. Crowley was halfway from becoming the physical embodiment of "Ngk".

Somewhere in Crowley's head he knew this was not a healthy coping mechanism. So, when he felt bad, he drank more. A normal persons liver would have gave out. Then he began waking up in others people's beds. And the fights began. And he began going to more college parties in his aged-down appearance.

He wound up in jail one night. It was only an overnight stay. He made a lot of mistakes that night. So he stopped going to college parties.

When he got drunk around Aziraphale it was worse. He'd mentioned in passing once he wanted to have his kids, which was quickly followed up with intense laughter from both parties. And then there was the time he got on one knee. It was followed by much the same reaction.

He slowly began to stop drinking so much. One every three days was as good as it got before it stopped. What actually made him stop entirely was when he did something really fucking dumb. He made the first move. He knew it was dumb.

"Dear boy, what are you doing?" Aziraphale asked, slowly pulling his hand out of Crowley's grasp.

"Sorry," Crowley pushed back against the arm of the couch. "Not thinking straight."

"I rather think you're not at all." He sat down beside Crowley, grabbing his face in his soft, warm hands. Perfectly manicured, mind you. "Sober up,"

Crowley was in that almost-too-drunk state so he was barely capable of doing that. The alcohol left his system in a flash and he was cold, exept the hands on his face. He was suddenly all too aware of everything.

"That's perfect," Aziraphale cooed before pressing their lips together.

And Crowley couldn't do much of anything anymore. It was soft and slow, Aziraphale seemed to do it deliberately.

Crowley didn't think he'd do much drinking anymore, this was more than intoxicating. He was violently aware he had no clue where to put his hands. This was not how his first kiss with the angel should go. He'd kissed plenty of times, he was certain Aziraphale had too, maybe, possibly. Well, there was certainly a possibility.

He refused to let it get the better of him.

He kissed back, matching Aziraphale's set pace. He wasn't sure what he wanted but he'd like whatever the angel did.

"Angel," Crowley whined. It sounded all to pathetic for a demon.

"Yes, dearest?" Aziraphale had set his hands through the coat, against his shirt. His thumbs were currently running back and forth against the fabric across his ribs.

"Why did I have to sober up?"

"Well it's hardly like I can confess my love to someone intoxicated." He tilted his head, trying to get a better angle of the demons body.

Crowley thought he was going to die- the human kind. This would be easier drunk.

"You- I- What?" Crowley stammered out a couple more noises before resigning himself to "Ngk".

"Oh, dear, have I broken you?" He sounded hurt. "I do hope this isn't much of a surprise. I suppose I've just been waiting. I assumed it would be simpler if we both weren't drunk. My bad, dearest."

"No, no," Crowley shook his head before pressing it against Aziraphale's shoulder. "Just startled me."

"Wonderful! Now, first things first. Kindly remove yourself from my shoulder so I can confess the proper way, please."

Crowley did.

"I have known I've loved you since... Oh I don't know, Eden? I wasn't sure for the longest time what it meant but when you saved me from those Nazis I..." He sighed. "Well it only got worse from there, then the world almost ended and I couldn't help it much more. I love you, Anthony J. Crowley. Although you've never told what the J means."

Crowley, after staring at Aziraphale with a mixture of embarrassment and love, smiles like a dope.

"Do you mean it?"

"Would I ever lie to you?" The angel asked, cupping his face once more.

"No," Crowley leans into the touch. "Can I, erm, kiss you? Before I discorporate? Or wake up?"

"There's nothing I'd like more."

 

As it were the two might have been opposites. Aziraphale with all his prim and proper ways and Crowley, the loud and sultry demon he was. But that can't do anything to their love.

Crowley stopped drinking unless in the presence of his angel. He became cemented by his side, infact. It was only the next month the two began plans on getting married. "Human married" Aziraphale reminded him, because there is a difference.

They'd moved into that cottage, the South Downs one. Crowley kept all his plants, Aziraphale kept all his books. The two aesthetics clashed terribly but neither minded. They both were just happy. There wasn't any reason not to be.

Maybe everything would be alright for them after all.