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Crowley had given Aziraphale a cellular telephone for Christmas, despite his insistence that his rotary phone worked perfectly fine, thank you very much. He said it was so that they could call each other from anywhere in case Heaven or Hell showed up to try to get revenge, but Aziraphale soon found out the real reason— Crowley liked to text. He claimed he had invented both emoticons and emojis, as well as autocorrect and chain texts, so texting as much as possible was very demonic activity. Aziraphale didn’t really mind; it was quite nice to be able to talk to Crowley more frequently, even though the demon almost always typed in indecipherable acronyms and abbreviations.
It was a bit difficult to concentrate on the book he was reading, though, when his cellular telephone kept pinging with the ringtone Crowley had set for himself (an incredibly unrealistic quacking noise). Aziraphale finally set down his book and stood to fetch his telephone from the table, frowning disapprovingly. He and Crowley had just seen each other the day before, they had picnicked in the park for several hours. Crowley would call if he was in serious trouble, so Aziraphale had no idea what else he had to say that could be so urgent it couldn’t wait until their dinner plans in a few days.
After a moment of fiddling Aziraphale managed to turn the telephone’s screen on, finding several text messages from Crowley.
Crowley <3
Heyyyyyy angel
Angel
Watch this cute puppy video
(Link)
lmk wat u think >:)
“Video,” Aziraphale repeated, and then carefully clicked on the link in the hopes that it would do what he wanted. He had a vague idea of internet videos, of course, he knew they were like little films on the web— and Crowley did know he liked puppies!
Another window opened on his telephone, and Aziraphale returned to his comfy armchair as it loaded. “Please play,” Aziraphale requested politely, and the video started. Instead of cute puppies, though, tinny drums and bouncy music spilled out of the speakers. It was kind of bebop Crowley was so fond of, and Aziraphale frowned in confusion as he watched the young man on the screen boogie down in front of a microphone.
And then he began to sing, and Aziraphale’s jaw dropped.
His heart was thundering in his ears so loudly that he could only half understand what the song was about, what it was saying, and when it finished he whispered in a shaky voice, “Please replay.” The song dutifully restarted, and this time around Aziraphale listened very carefully to every word. When it finished, he played it again. And again. And again. By the end of the fifth time, happy tears were welling in his eyes, and he was smiling so widely it almost hurt.
“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, gently setting the telephone down on his thigh to press both of his hands to his fluttering, soaring heart. “Oh, darling.”
Aziraphale took a deep breath, wiped at his eyes with a sheepish little laugh, but even his mild embarrassment at crying in the back of his shop couldn’t quell his overwhelming joy. “If you please,” Aziraphale said when he had better composed himself. “I would like to see the lyrics to that song.” He was nearly certain of what Crowley was trying to say, of course, but he had to be sure—
Another tab loaded on Aziraphale’s telephone and he quickly skimmed the lyrics of the song Crowley had sent him, the giddy grin taking over his face again. There was absolutely no mistaking it— the song Crowley had sent him was a love confession!
Crowley and Aziraphale had been dancing around each other for six thousand years, since practically Eden, but after the Apocalypse failed to occur they had settled into a sort of easy rhythm, a quiet understanding of the things they felt for each other but couldn't quite say.
Aziraphale knew Crowley loved him, of course— he could sense love, he had been sensing it for centuries. And Aziraphale knew he loved Crowley— there was absolutely no other way to describe the way his stomach fluttered when Crowley smiled at him, the way his mood almost always lifted when he saw his friend, his unerring certainty that there was little in the world he wouldn’t do for Crowley. That, and also the way he daydreamed frequently about kissing Crowley, taking his hand, holding him close.
Now that Heaven and Hell were off their backs (hopefully for good), Aziraphale had hoped that he and Crowley might be able to make good on some of those daydreams. And they had, a bit— they held hands sometimes, and cuddled when they were tipsy. Aziraphale had always been fine with a more sedate pace, content to take things slowly, and Crowley had always seemed amenable as well.
Aziraphale had hoped that sometime in the next decade he might be able to tell Crowley how much he cared about him, but now— oh, Aziraphale was going to kiss him. He was going to hug Crowley, and kiss him, and tell him he loved him. It was going to happen.
Aziraphale covered his mouth to hide his enormous smile, and took a deep breath to settle himself a little. “Oh!” he exclaimed, realizing with a jolt that he hadn’t actually answered Crowley’s text messages. Crowley had asked him to reply once he had watched the love confession, the poor dear must be nervous out of his mind. He had sent his confession as a text, after all, rather than delivering it in person, so he must be anxious about Aziraphale’s reaction.
Aziraphale picked up his telephone and carefully typed out a message to Crowley, proofreading it twice before hitting send.
Aziraphale
My dearest Crowley,
You ought to come to the bookshop as soon as you’re able, I should like to say the same to you in person.
Yours, Aziraphale
Aziraphale fiddled with the telephone for a moment, and then requested, “Please send him an emoticon of a heart as well.”
The telephone did so, and Aziraphale set it down on the table before getting up to pace nervously. Had he been too forward? Would Crowley not want to come over so soon after his meaningful love confession? He did shy away from grand displays sometimes, to be sure, and Aziraphale would never want to—
The ping of the telephone interrupted his worrying and he dove for it, scrambling with the screen to find a message from Crowley.
Crowley <3
Sorry, angel, was watering the plants
I’ll be there in 15?
Aziraphale
Dearest Crowley,
That sounds lovely <3
Yours, Aziraphale
Aziraphale carefully tucked the telephone in his pocket, smiling. Fifteen minutes was just enough time to pop down to the florist’s down the street and get something for Crowley. After all, he had sent such a nice video, it was only fair that Aziraphale get him something nice in return.
Aziraphale locked his shop door before hurrying down the street, unable to completely rein in his happy smile even in public. Crowley was in love with him, after all, even if he had only found the courage to say so through the vehicle of a bouncy pop song. Aziraphale tried to think of a time he had been happier.
The bell above the door jingled cheerfully as Aziraphale stepped into the florist’s, and he headed up to the counter with his hands clasped in front of him. “Hello,” he said to the young woman working, and she looked up from her phone.
“How can I help you?” she asked, and she smiled a little— Aziraphale’s clear joy was contagious.
Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I’m going to tell my partner that I love him,” he said. “Do you have any flowers that say the same?”
The florist grinned. “I have just the thing.” She disappeared into the back for just a moment, and reappeared with a bouquet of red roses. “Here we are,” she said with a smile.
Aziraphale grinned back. “Thank you, my dear girl.” He paid for the roses and then headed back his shop with a skip in his step. To his surprise, he found Crowley waiting on his stoop, slumped against the door as he scrolled through his own phone.
Crowley looked up as Aziraphale approached, and raised an eyebrow. “What’re those for?” he asked, jerking his chin at the flowers.
Aziraphale gave him a nervous, giddy smile. “Dearest, they’re for you, of course,” he said, and then thrust them in Crowley’s direction.
Crowley took them with a confused frown, and carefully examined the roses. “No spots,” he said, sounding grudgingly impressed.
Aziraphale’s smile grew a little more sure. “Only the best for you,” he said earnestly, and then ducked around Crowley to open the door to his shop.
Crowley followed him in, the roses still held in one hand and his sunglasses dangling from the other. “Aziraphale,” Crowley said a little uncertainly, taking a moment to set the roses gently down on the counter and abandoning his sunglasses next to them. “Are you… feeling alright?”
Aziraphale took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and then reached out to gently take Crowley’s hands in his. Crowley stared down at their laced fingers, confusion clear on his face. “Angel?” he said, and then licked his lips and clamped his mouth shut.
“Dearest,” Aziraphale said, making eye contact with effort. Crowley’s eyes were wide, his snakish pupils blown. “Crowley, I love you too,” Aziraphale said with a wavering smile, squeezing Crowley’s fingers. “Very much.”
Crowley’s mouth dropped open and he blushed up to his ears, yanking his hands out of Aziraphale’s grip. “Slkhjkghfgfg, hhha, what?”
Aziraphale smiled at him, not reaching out again quite yet to give Crowley a moment to adjust. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so forward, but Crowley— Crowley had sent him such a sweet confession—
“I watched the video you sent me,” Aziraphale explained, already fishing his telephone out of his pocket. “The love song? Crowley, I don’t know how you found it, but it’s lovely! The lyrics fit our relationship so well.” He beamed.
In response, Crowley’s eyes popped. “Love… ssssong?” he repeated slowly, something almost like horror growing on his face.
“Yes!” Aziraphale said. “Darling, I’m so happy to finally get to say the words to you, after so long. I understand if you’re not quite ready to say them yourself, I suppose that’s why you sent it to me in song form— oh, oh, I hope I didn’t make you too uncomfortable, my dearest, I just couldn’t resist telling you how I love you, I—"
“Aziraphale, what video did you watch from me?” Crowley interrupted.
Aziraphale looked down at his telephone, and said, “Please play the video Crowley sent me, if you would.”
Music spilled out of the speakers, peppy and bright, and then Rick Astley began to croon, “We’re no strangers to love, you know the rules and so do I… A full commitment’s what I’m thinking of, you wouldn’t get this from any other guy—”
“Angel,” Crowley croaked, looking sick to his stomach, and he snapped his fingers to stop the video. “That’s… that’ssss a rickroll.”
“A what?” Aziraphale said, politely confused.
Crowley swallowed hard. “It’s, uh. It’s a, um, prank,” he stammered. “You send that, ah, that video to someone, when they’re not expecting it? And then they open it, and they’ve been rickrolled. It’s, hng… ’sss a prank that’s pretty common on the Internet.”
Aziraphale frowned slowly, looking down at the telephone in his hands. “So you were… trying to prank me?” he said uncertainly.
Crowley looked absolutely miserable. “I— Yeah. I didn't think you'd think— well.” He raked his fingers through his hair and then covered his eyes with one hand. “Fuck. Shit. Angel, I—”
“I don’t understand, though,” Aziraphale said slowly. “I thought…? The lyrics say so well what we’ve always experienced, dear, what’s we’ve been to each other for centuries. About knowing each other for a long time and falling in love, but not being able to say so for fear of the repercussions. Of wanting… wanting a full commitment, never leaving behind or betraying each other or giving up on each other—”
“Fuck, angel, I’m so ssssorry,” Crowley whispered, hissing a little in his distress. When he uncovered his eyes again, they were entirely yellow. “I— I didn’t— I mean—“
Aziraphale swallowed hard, slipped his telephone back in his pockets. “I suppose I was a little hasty, then with the roses,” he murmured, suddenly mortified. “If you didn’t intend to tell me how you felt quite yet. Oh, dear, I’m so terribly—"
“Angel,” Crowley said urgently, stepping forward so that he and Aziraphale were practically nose to nose. “Aziraphale, I love you,” he said with naked sincerity, his yellow eyes wide and bright. “Fuck, shit, I love you so much I don’t know what to do sometimes, please don’t ever think— God bless it, I’ve fucked this up so terribly—” He tangled his fingers in his hair, tugging lightly. “I wanted to do it right, take you out to dinner some place you like, give you a nice night out before I told you— you deserve that and so much more, not a confession via fucking Rick Astley—”
“Crowley, dearest,” Aziraphale murmured. He inched forward, gently cupped Crowley’s face in his hands. Crowley’s stream of panicked words cut off, and he stared at Aziraphale.
Aziraphale smiled slightly. “I thought it was sweet, honestly,” he said quietly, and then added with a laugh, “I’d be more than happy to let you take me out to dinner, though.”
“OK,” Crowley breathed. He leaned his forehead against Aziraphale’s and rested his hands on Aziraphale’s waist and they just breathed for a moment, drinking in each other’s presence. “You love me,” Crowley finally whispered, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.
Aziraphale smiled back. “I most certainly do,” he said. “Can I kiss you?”
Crowley leaned in and pressed their lips together, his hands coming up to clutch at Aziraphale’s shoulders. Aziraphale held him close and kissed him sweetly, overflowing with love and affection as his daydreams came true.
When they paused to take a breath they didn’t technically need, Crowley said in a hoarse voice, “Angel, I— if I had known what would happen, I would have rickrolled you a lot earlier. It was a huge thing back in 2008 or so.”
Aziraphale smiled. “Well, my dearest, I suppose there’s no time like the present.” He brushed his thumb over Crowley’s cheek. “I never want to give you up, Crowley, darling,” he murmured, and then hummed a few bars of the song with a mischievous grin. "Have I rickrolled you?"
Crowley rolled his eyes playfully and groaned in fond exasperation. “You got me, angel,” he mumbled.
Aziraphale smiled, and kissed him again.
(Years later, after officially dating for a good while, Crowley and Aziraphale decided to tie the knot and have a little wedding. Their first dance as a married couple was to a certain pop hit from 1987 that made all the guests under 35 groan when it began to play.
Crowley would have been delighted with the far-reaching effects of his prank, if he had had eyes for anyone but his husband. Aziraphale enjoyed both the practical joke and the memories it brought back, enough for the both of them)