Archive of Our Own

Change came slowly after the almost-Apocalypse. So slowly that Aziraphale barely took notice of it at first. In the first few weeks after what should have been the end of the world, he spent the biggest part of his days rearranging the books in his shop. He was more than grateful for Adam having restored his most precious possessions after that dreadful day, and he certainly was not going to complain about the few errors that had occurred during the process. It was only natural, he thought, that an eleven-year-old entrusted with the task of recovering century-old books had added some, let’s say, modern works to Aziraphale’s collection. Most of the titles the angel had never heard of before, especially not the numerous comic books that he continued to find between Shakespeare, Austen and Wilde.

Since he could not bring himself to just throw them out, Aziraphale carefully sorted the Antichrist’s ‘gifts’ into an extra shelf close to the shop's entrance. This new addition attracted quite a number of new, predominantly young, customers, but for once, Aziraphale was not too upset about the increase of visitors to his shop. It turned out that his new shelf served as some kind of shield, keeping his customers from entering those parts of the shop in which the angel kept his prized possessions he would never even consider selling.

Aziraphale was not sure whether the comics were really as popular as they appeared to be, or whether Adam had had a hand in protecting his precious collection, but he was not going to call this into question as long as the stories of Captain America, Batman and Co. distracted his customers from the actual treasures carefully tucked away into their shelves. (Judging from the fact that the shelf miraculously appeared to be re-filling itself overnight, Aziraphale believed the second option to be the more plausible one.)

Aside from the somewhat strange additions to his collection, the weeks after the averted Amargeddon were relatively unspectacular. The most noticeable change, perhaps, was that Crowley spent significantly more time at the bookshop than he used to before the Apocalypse. Almost every evening, shortly after Aziraphale finished locking the door for customers, Crowley joined him in the shop’s backroom, slouching on the couch with a glass of wine, and they talked until the early morning hours, about everything that came to their minds. The first few weeks, Crowley always called before coming to the shop. 

Angel, I’m bored. Can I stop by later? 

Hey, Angel. What about that bottle of wine you mentioned yesterday?

Umm, Angel, mind if I come over to your place later? I- I could get you some Sushi on the way? 

It almost seemed as though Crowley was not entirely sure whether Aziraphale actually wanted him there or if he just tolerated his presence; and Aziraphale felt as though Crowley was asking him for permission to visit him this often. Aziraphale invited him over every time without hesitation. 

“You don’t have to ask every time before coming here, you know?” he said one night, way into the second (or third?) bottle of wine. “I enjoy your company,” he added, for clarification. 

Crowley looked  up from the almost empty glass in his hand. 

“You do?” he asked, voice unusually quiet, and Aziraphale believed to see a faint blush creep onto the demon’s face. Maybe that was just a side-effect of the alcohol. Who knew. 

“Of course,” Aziraphale replied and he meant it. Crowley gave him a small smile before returning his attention to his glass, the blush not having disappeared from his cheeks. 

Only a few months ago, this simple statement would not have come across Aziraphale’s lips this easily. Far too many centuries had he spent on convincing himself that he did not like Crowley. They had had their Arrangement, yes, and Crowley had always been a good companion for otherwise lonely evenings at the bookshop. But to accept that he had always been quite fond of the demon, to put it lightly, would have been too much for Aziraphale to admit to himself. Fraternizing with the enemy, Upstairs would have called it. Treason. 

But now, as Crowley had said that one night at the bus stop, they were on their own side. Heaven and Hell were busy licking the wounds inflicted to their egos by the averted Apocalypse and for now, at least, they were going to leave Aziraphale and Crowley alone. No one was watching their every step any longer, and no one cared whether or not they were fraternizing . For the first time in their six thousand years of existence, they were free. It took Aziraphale some time to get used to this thought and the implications that came with it.  

All this time, he had had a reason, an excuse, to keep Crowley at a safe distance, to flee whenever the demon implied that they could be friends - or even more than that. It had been simply too dangerous, Aziraphale had told himself, for both of them, to overstep the invisible boundary he had set for their relationship. He knew that he had hurt Crowley, more than once, by pushing him away every time the demon had attempted to get just a little closer to him. 

You go too fast for me, Crowley, he had told him. 

I don’t need you.

We're not friends. I don't even like you. 

Lies, every single word. He had been able to see the pain in the demon’s eyes even through his dark tinted sunglasses, and it had shattered him internally to find himself unable to do nothing but reject Crowley again and again. At the time, it had been the right thing to do. Or at least, Aziraphale had believed it to be. And Crowley kept coming back every time. Everyone else would have left after only half the rejections Aziraphale had given him, but not Crowley. Dear Crowley, who deserved so much better than being kept at arm's length. 

Now, however, things had changed. There was no reason anymore for him to push Crowley away. No one was watching them, controlling them, threatening  them. It took Aziraphale some time to allow the truth that, deep down, he had already been aware of for at least since 1941, to come to the surface. He loved Crowley. Not in the pure, gracious way that angels were supposed to love all beings on earth. No, he had fallen in love with him over the course of the past six-thousand years, irrevocably and unconditionally.

At first, the thought scared him. An angel, in love with a demon. But then again, who would care now? After a while, the fear began to be replaced by a feeling of warmth and comfort. Finally, after all these years, Aziraphale had a name for the strange feeling that overcame him everytime he laid eyes on Crowley. The warm tingling sensation in his belly, the slight increase of his all too human heartbeat, the way his breath hitched when Crowley gave him that smile that was reserved for Aziraphale only. 

I love him, he thought, as he watched Crowley pour himself another glass of wine on one of the many days they spent in the back of the shop, both of them considerably drunk already. 

I love him, he thought, looking at Crowley from across the table at the fancy Italian restaurant they went to on almost a weekly basis now.

I love him , he thought, as he watched Crowley sleep on his couch, that one night the demon had dozed off while Aziraphale had been reading, his too long legs drawn close to his body on the angel's too small couch. 

I love him, he thought, as Crowley stepped into his bookshop one day in December, hair tousled by the wind and snowflakes melting on the fabric of his black winter coat. 

I love him, he thought, and it felt so good, and so right, to finally be able to think these words without a doubt and without a constant fear in the back of his mind. 

The months passed by, and they fell into an easy rhythm together. It became a habit for them to spend almost every day in each other's company, either at Aziraphale's bookshop, or, though not quite as often, at Crowley's flat. Aziraphale had given himself the task of turning the demon's gray, sterile flat into a place that was at least remotely comfortable. Although Crowley had protested loudly against the changes ("I don't need a 'super comfy' couch, angel, I'm a demon!"), he could be found lounging on his new piece of furniture only a few days later. They went out to restaurants together, as they had always done, and sometimes, they watched the stars from the balcony of Crowley's flat. 

Aziraphale was happy. He had his bookshop, the world had been saved, and most importantly, he had Crowley by his side. He was happy, and still, it was not enough. Now that he had a name for the yearning he had felt for decades, if not centuries, it was not as easy as it had once been to simply tuck it away into a distant corner of his mind. 

Now, every day, Aziraphale found himself longing. He could not even pinpoint exactly what it was that he longed for. Sometimes he wished that he could just reach out and take Crowley's hand, when they were strolling through St. James park together, with so little distance between them that their shoulders were bumping into each other from time to time. He longed to reach across the dinner table and place his hand on top of the demon's, and he wondered what his skin might feel under his touch. He longed to run his fingers through Crowley's hair, just to see whether it was really as soft as it looked. He desperately wanted to wrap Crowley into a tight embrace whenever the demon entered his bookshop, to show him how happy he was to see him, and how much his presence was appreciated.

He wanted to kiss him, and once, he had almost been able to muster up the courage to do so, on Crowley's balcony in Mayfair, when the demon had looked so relaxed and breathtakingly beautiful to Aziraphale while pointing at the stars he once had helped create. But then, the courage had left him as quickly as it had come, and he had settled for stepping a little closer to Crowley, and making their upper arms touch. 

Aziraphale wanted all those things, but still, he found himself unable to act on his wishes. As much relief as the final recognition and acceptance of his love for Crowley had brought him, he now found himself completely clueless on how to convey his emotions to the demon. He knew that Crowley liked him, that he viewed him as a friend, and sometimes, throughout the past millennia, there had been moments when Aziraphale believed to have recognized a certain wish to take their relationship to a level that went beyond their Arrangement or friendship.

But what if he had misread the signs? What if he was a friend to Crowley, but nothing more? What if Crowley had returned his feelings at some point, and Aziraphale had pushed him away one too many times? What if he was too late? And what if he would scare Crowley away with his clumsy attempts of expressing his affections? 

For now, he settled with yearning, and with the faint hope that something, someday, would happen that would give him the final push towards Crowley. 

*

"Hey Angel!" 

Aziraphale looked up from the book he had been reading, and could not help a smile creeping onto his lips as he heard the door close behind Crowley. He had already locked up the shop for today and had now been waiting for the demon to arrive. As usual, they intended to spend their evening with a couple of drinks in the shop's cramped backroom.

"Back here, my dear!" 

Aziraphale put his book aside and removed the stacks of paper from the couch with a small miracle.  

Crowley gave him a smile as he sauntered toward his usual spot on the couch and let himself drop into the soft cushions. Aziraphale's heart skipped a beat. 

G- Someone have mercy. 

"There's a letter for you. Someone must have slipped it under the door," Crowley said, handing an envelope to the angel. Frowning, Aziraphale took the letter and began opening it. He usually did not receive a lot of mail and a letter that had not come via the postal service was even more curious. 

"It's for both of us, actually," he said, turning the envelope so that Crowley could read the words on the front. 

To Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley , it read. Crowley only hummed in acknowledgment. The handwriting appeared somewhat clumsy, as though the letter had been written by a quite young person. Aziraphale proceeded to open the envelope and began reading. 

After a few seconds, a smile began spreading across his face. 

"Oh, how wonderful!" he exclaimed. 

Crowley eyed him with a hint of suspicion. 

"What is it?" 

"Adam is going to be celebrating his twelfth birthday next week. And he has invited us both to join him in Tadfield," Aziraphale said, still smiling broadly. Crowley did not seem to be sharing his excitement. Groaning, the demon let his head sink back against the couch's armrest. 

"Noo, angel, do we really have to go? Can't we just, I don't know, send a card?" 

 "Oh, come on, Crowley, it won't be so bad! Adam would be so happy to see us," Aziraphale said. He had already made his mind up that of course they were going to attend the boy's party. 

"Remember the last birthday party we went to? You got cake thrown into your face," Crowley said, and Aziraphale frowned at the memory. It had taken a miracle to get the stains out of his suit. 

"I'm certain there will be no cake-throwing involved in Adam's celebration," he then said. 

Crowley emptied his glass, probably hoping the alcohol would inspire him to come up with another reason why they could not possibly go to Tadfield. After a few seconds of silence, he hissed in frustration. 

"Fine, I'm coming with you. But I'm only doing this for you, angel." 

"Oh, really? That is very nice of you," Aziraphale said, grinning happily. Crowley rolled his eyes. 

"Shut up," he said, but it sounded way too affectionate for Aziraphale to be even slightly intimidated. 

*

A few days later, at noon, Crowley picked Aziraphale up from the shop in his Bentley. Despite his repeated claims over the past few days that he was not looking forward to the reunion at Tadfield, the demon appeared to be in a good mood today. He smiled at Aziraphale as he stepped out of the bookshop and once again, Aziraphale’s heart took a small leap. Crowley was casually leaning against the car’s bonnet, with his hands tucked into the front pockets of his pants.

Had Aziraphale been just a little more courageous, he would have walked up to him, grabbed him by the collar of his dark red button-down shirt and kissed him right there on the pavement before his shop. Instead, he quickly miracled the presents they had purchased for Adam and the others onto the Bentley’s backseat in a more or less futile effort to distract himself and hoped that Crowley had not noticed his flustered state.

“You ready, angel?”

Crowley held the door open for him and Aziraphale blushed as he got into the car, smiling awkwardly at the demon as he ducked under his arm. Despite his frequent claims that he was not nice, he, in reality, was quite a gentleman, at least regarding the way he treated the angel. Crowley closed the door and walked around the car to the driver's side, and Aziraphale took a deep breath.

Lately, he was beginning to act way too much like a lovestruck fool. Well, he had to admit that, in fact, he was a lovestruck fool, but it was becoming a bit of a problem. He had always been a little flustered around Crowley, for as long as he could remember, but ever since he had discovered, or rather accepted, the depth of his affections for the demon, he found himself acting like one of the characters of the romance novels he had been reading over the last few centuries. He had always thought that these stories were somewhat exaggerated but now, he saw little difference between himself and the nervously stammering, blushing, stupid novel characters.

"Alright, then, let's go," Crowley said as he let himself drop onto the driver's seat and stirred the Bentley onto the street, paying neither the other drivers nor the pedestrians any mind. Aziraphale winced and quickly performed a few minor miracles to prevent the worst. 

"This road has a speed limit, Crowley," he complained, and hastily took hold of the door handle as the demon overtook several cars at once. 

"Ah, shut up, angel, I know what I'm doing." 

Aziraphale was not quite sure whether he owed his rapidly beating heart to Crowley's questionable driving style or to the smirk the demon gave him. 

Once they had left the city, Aziraphale let out a sigh of relief. Driving with Crowley in the countryside was decidedly less anxiety-inducing than on the cramped roads of London, where the angel had to keep a constant eye on pedestrians, bikers and all other kinds of people that were brave enough to leave their house while Crowley was stirring his Bentley through the streets like a madman. Aziraphale let go of the door handle he had been holding on to for the past thirty minutes as if the piece of metal could have saved him from discorporation. 

Crowley was humming along to some song Aziraphale could not remember the title of. Something by Queen. Of course. Aziraphale smiled as he watched Crowley drum on the steering wheel with his fingers, appearing somewhat lost in thought. It was nice to see him this relaxed. The years before the almost-Apocalypse had been tough for both of them and Aziraphale cherished every moment in which the hard lines of Crowley’s face relaxed into a genuine smile, untroubled by the sorrows they had had to endure for so long. Oh dear, I’m in love. 

“You alright, angel?”

Aziraphale blushed as he realized that he had been caught staring. He quickly focused his eyes back on the road and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, everything's tickety-boo,” he said, laughing awkwardly. 

“Oh, good. Thought I had something stuck in my hair.”

“Your hair is perfect,” Aziraphale said without thinking and regretted it a second later. 

A faint blush appeared on Crowley’s cheeks.

“Well, um, thanks, angel,” he said, unusually softly, and Aziraphale felt his heart take a leap with a mixture of embarrassment and affection.

They drove on mostly in comfortable silence, except for Aziraphale’s intermittent commentary on the beauty of the landscape they were passing through and Crowley’s hums of acknowledgement. It was quite a nice drive to Tadfield, indeed, even Crowley had to admit that. At least it was far more pleasant to drive a car that was not ablaze with hellfire. 

“Who would have thought it would all turn out alright,” Aziraphale mused quietly. One year ago, they had been almost certain that the world they knew and loved was about to end, and that they would be separated possibly forever. And now, they were still here, in Crowley’s beloved Bentley, sunshine on their faces and, most importantly, together. 

Crowley only smiled at him in response. It was a genuine smile, and still, Aziraphale felt as though there was something the demon wanted to say but did not dare to. 

In a moment of hitherto unknown bravery (the things a bit of sunshine could do!), Aziraphale reached out with one hand and placed it on Crowley’s thigh, right above his knee. He felt Crowley tense under his touch and the demon’s breath hitched audibly, but otherwise, he remained quiet. Aziraphale was close to pulling his hand back and apologizing, but he forced himself to be brave for once. To hell with his cowardice. 

For the next five minutes, Crowley clutched the steering wheel like he was holding on to it for dear life, with his face turning redder and redder. Only after several miles, he seemed to relax, at least somewhat. Aziraphale was unsure whether it was a bad sign that Crowley's thigh appeared to be trembling slightly. Maybe he should have asked before making such a bold move? Maybe he had just made things a lot more complicated than they already were? Deciding that he was going to swallow his doubts for once, Aziraphale let his hand rest on Crowley's thigh for the remainder of the trip. 

*

When Crowley parked the Bentley near Jasmine Cottage where Adam would be celebrating his birthday, Aziraphale removed his hand only reluctantly. Although it had only been fifteen minutes ago that he had reached out to touch Crowley, he had grown strangely accustomed to it already. Yes, they had touched occasionally over the course of six millennia, mostly casually, or by accident, but this was the first time one of them had made an effort to actually, purposefully touch for a prolonged period of time. Aziraphale's fingers were still tingling with traces of the pleasant warmth he had felt through the fabric of Crowley's black denim as he got out of the car. 

He cleared his throat and gloriously failed at his attempt not to blush as he met Crowley's gaze. 

"I could use some help with the presents," he managed to croak. 

"Uhm, yeah, sure," Crowley’s voice sounded unusually hoarse as he opened the car’s backdoor, taking out half of the presents. Aziraphale was glad that the task of carrying the gifts towards the cottage gave him at least some kind of distraction. 

By the time they reached the door and rang the bell, Crowley had regained his usual composure (or “coolness”, he would probably call it). Aziraphale wished he could say the same of himself. Before he could spend more time on thinking about how he would survive the day without making a total fool of himself, the door swung open.

“Oh, how wonderful, you came!” Anathema beamed at the two of them and Aziraphale reciprocated her grin. 

“Please, come in. The kids are back in the garden. Adam is going to be so happy to see you guys!”

They followed Anathema through the narrow hallway to the living room. Aziraphale felt at home at an instant. They had been here once, last winter, when Tadfield had been covered under a thick blanket of snow and a fire had been crackling in the living room. Now, the sun was shining and bathed the cozy room, cramped with books, plants and pillows, in warm colors.

“Your home is lovely, Anathema,” he said and she smiled at the compliment. 

“Oh, thanks! I’m actually talking to the current owner at the moment, they might be willing to sell it to Newt and me.”

For a moment, Aziraphale felt a strange pang in his chest at her words. As ridiculous as it was, sometimes he envied how easy romantic relationships appeared to be to humans. Anathema and Newton had met no more than a year ago, and now they were moving in together in this perfect little cottage in the countryside. And there he was, pining for Crowley for what now, eighty years? And all he had managed up to now were secret glances and a few stolen touches. 

“That’s wonderful, my dear, I am truly happy for you,” Aziraphale said, and although he meant it, the bitter sting in his heart had not quite vanished yet. He set the presents down onto the wooden table nearby  and Crowley followed his example.

“Newt is outside, too, I think he’s playing football with the kids. I’ll go and get them,” Anathema said. 

They stood in the center of the living room a bit awkwardly, while they waited for Anathema to return. Aziraphale studied the bookshelf to his left until he realized that he was not paying any attention to the titles of the books.

"I think I might need some alcohol," he heard Crowley say quietly, more to himself than to Aziraphale. 

"Crowley, this is a children's party." 

"Yeah, that's exactly why." 

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. His right hand was still tingling. 

After a few minutes, Anathema finally came back inside, this time accompanied by Newt and four happily babbling kids. 

"Mr. Fell, Mr. Crowley!" 

Adam grinned at both of them and Aziraphale returned the greeting.

"Good to see you, Adam. My, you have grown quite a bit since the last time we met," he said, and apparently, the former Antichrist seemed pleased to hear it. 

“Happy Birthday.” Crowley was more reserved than Aziraphale, but Adam did not seem to mind. 

“Thanks! It’s so cool that you showed up,” he said, still grinning widely. 

"There's cake in the kitchen, guys," Anathema told Aziraphale and Crowley, "That is, if these monsters haven't devoured all of it." 

Newt looked quite guilty at this, but his smile quickly returned to his face as Anathema kissed him on the cheek on her way to the kitchen. There was that bitter sting again, Aziraphale thought. Oh, how he longed to be this affectionate with Crowley. Swallowing the sadness welling up in him, he followed Anathema to the kitchen. At least there was cake. 

Anathema smiled at Aziraphale as she noticed him and handed him a plate. 

“Help yourself to whatever you want. Newt made this one, it’s delicious,” she said, pointing to one of the numerous cakes on the table. She looked behind herself for a second before returning her attention to Aziraphale.

“I’m so happy for you two. It’s good you finally got to figure things out,” she said. 

Aziraphale’s hand stopped halfway to the cake.

“I’m sorry?”

“You and Crowley. We were all waiting for you two to… you know. It was kinda obvious.”

Oh. Oh no.

Aziraphale cleared his throat, feeling his face heat up when he understood what she meant. 

“Uhm, we- we aren’t, I mean-,” he stuttered. Was he being this obvious? 

Anathema looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and disappointment. 

“Really? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I just thought- Well, you seem so close,” she said, and Aziraphale did not know whether that was supposed to make him happy or even more frustrated. 

“I wish you were right, though” he said without thinking, before he could stop himself. 

Anathema’s expression softened at his words, and Aziraphale believed to recognize a trace of pity in her eyes. Aziraphale wanted to disappear on the spot. Before she could reply, they were interrupted by Crowley who had found his way into the kitchen as well. 

“Right about what?” he asked, leaning against the doorframe in that posture that always made Aziraphale’s heart skip a beat. 

“Nothing,” Anathema and Aziraphale said simultaneously, which did not exactly contribute to their credibility. Crowley was visibly confused, but to Aziraphale’s relief, he did not ask any further. He sauntered past Anathema, judging by the look on his face on the search for something stronger than water. 

Anathema sneaked out of the kitchen, mouthing something along the lines of We will have to talk about this to Aziraphale behind Crowley’s back. Aziraphale sighed internally. Maybe he just should have declined the invitation. 

“Do you want some cake, too?” he asked to cover up the awkwardness. Crowley shook his head.

“Nah, I’m good. Come on, angel, don’t leave me alone with the kids.”

Aziraphale gave him a shaky smile and finally managed to place a piece of cake onto his plate. When Crowley brushed past him on his way to the living room, briefly placing a hand on the small of Aziraphale’s back, it took his entire willpower not to drop the plate. 

Someone have mercy.

With his heart racing in his chest, he followed Crowley. When they settled on one of the two sofas, Aziraphale’s skin still prickled where Crowley had touched him. 

In the meantime, the kids were busy opening the presents their guests had gotten them. Adam appeared quite happy about the new collar for Dog (Aziraphale was not too sure about Dog’s opinion) and the compass Crowley had picked for him. Pepper was already flipping through the pages of her new book on influential women throughout history which Aziraphale had taken from the book shop, though not without a bit of reluctance. 

Beside him, he felt Crowley shift into a more comfortable position. From the corner of his eye, Aziraphale saw how the demon’s arm came to rest on the back of the couch, hovering dangerously close above Aziraphale’s shoulder. And as if that hadn’t been enough to make the angel nervous again, Crowley decided to stretch his legs so that they brushed against Aziraphale’s. At first, Aziraphale believed that this might have been coincidental, but when Crowley shifted another inch closer to him, thus making their legs touch from knee to foot, he quickly changed his opinion. 

From afar, Crowley’s posture might have appeared casual and relaxed, but Aziraphale could feel how tense he truly was. Had they been alone, and had Aziraphale been just a little less of a coward, he might have leaned into the touch and let Crowley know how much he welcomed the subtle sign of affection. Now, however, he found himself frozen in place, with his heart skipping what felt like multiple beats at once. It happened very rarely that Crowley touched him intentionally, almost like he feared to scare Aziraphale away by becoming too touchy, but ever since the car ride earlier, he seemed to have grown a little bolder than usual. Aziraphale was certainly not going to complain, even though he felt a blush spread across his cheeks. 

Luckily for him, the kids decided that now was the perfect time for them to ask Aziraphale and Crowley questions about all sorts of things throughout history. Aziraphale did not know how much the four of them actually knew about what exactly their two guests were (Adam knew, he guessed, but he was not sure about the rest of them), however, they accepted without a second thought that they, for some reason, were very, very old, and therefore could function as a peculiar history book come to life. 

Adam, who at the moment appeared to be having an obsession with ancient Egypt, had endless amounts of questions about pyramids, pharaohs, and about the acquaintances the angel and the demon had made there. (Tutanchamun had been a quite decent guy, Aziraphale remembered. Ramses, however, had been a pain in the ass, Crowley added.)

Pepper asked about how accurate representations of women in historical movies really were (not very), and Aziraphale was glad to provide her with some more accurate accounts of Cleopatra, Boudica, and Jeanne D’Arc. 

And Brian wanted to know whether one of them had ever encountered a T-Rex. (They hadn't.)

For Aziraphale, their questions were a welcome distraction from his rapidly beating heart that sped up everytime Crowley shifted beside him, causing his leg to press against Aziraphale's. He did most of the talking, and he actually found himself enjoying the story-telling quite a bit. It was rare that he got a chance to reminisce on all the events they had lived through, especially without everyone looking at him like he was crazy for giving eye-witness accounts of the Middle Ages and the French Revolution. 

Crowley threw in some anecdotes, as well, though most of them were more cynical comments on what Aziraphale was telling the kids. Aziraphale jokingly gave him a nudge with his elbow.  The sound  of Crowley’s quiet laugh made his heart take a leap. He knew that he was going to regret doing this, but nevertheless, Aziraphale turned his head to look at him. Despite his dark glasses, he could see the warmth in the look Crowley regarded him with. His soft but genuine smile did the rest to cause Aziraphale’s brain to short-circuit. He saw how Crowley’s gaze darted to his lips for a split-second before returning to his eyes. 

Oh, please go ahead and kiss me. 

He wished they were in the back of his bookshop now, alone, were he could just lean in a little bit, grab a fistful of Crowley’s shirt and-

“Aziraphale, do you have a moment?”

He groaned internally when Anathema’s voice disrupted his wishful thinking and the moment vanished. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from Crowley.

“I need help with- that thing we talked about earlier,” Anathema said, and it took a second for Aziraphale to understand what she meant. Apparently, she had not been joking when she had said that they would have to talk later. 

“Oh, yes, sure, that- thing,” he said, regretting that he had to get up from the sofa. His leg felt strangely cold without Crowley’s touch. 

Crowley and Newt looked equally confused. 

“Want me to come along?” Newt asked, but Anathema shushed him quickly. Aziraphale felt Crowley’s gaze following him as he left the living room. He shivered involuntarily.

He followed Anathema out the front door. She sat down on the small wooden bench on the side of the cottage and patted the empty spot beside her to signal Aziraphale to take a seat as well. He reluctantly complied. 

“So...we were wrong,” Anathema said, starting from where they had left off earlier. 

Aziraphale only hummed. His mind was still occupied with thoughts of the warmth of Crowley’s touch.

“How long?” he heard Anathema ask. 

“Sorry?” 

“How long have you been in love with him?” she asked gently. Apparently she had not missed that Aziraphale’s mental capacities were otherwise occupied for the moment. 

“I guess it’s been a while,” he replied, somewhat lost in thought, “At least...eighty years.”

Why was he even discussing this Anathema? He had not even been able to admit his feelings to himself until a year ago, and to actually put these sentiments he had buried deep inside himself for decades into words felt strangely intimate.

Anathema exhaled audibly.

“And you never thought about telling him?”

“Well, our sides would not have approved of a- a relationship of that sort,” Aziraphale said quietly, fidgeting with his hands in his lap. 

“But what about now? I thought you guys were sort of discharged from duty, or whatever you could call that.”

Aziraphale nodded. She was not wrong. Heaven and Hell were not watching them any longer. 

“I- I don’t know. I’m afraid of how he will react. I’m not sure he feels the same way about me. And I- I cannot lose him.”

His voice threatened to crack at the last sentence and he quickly cleared his throat. This was harder than expected. 

Anathema laid a gentle hand onto his shoulder and smiled. 

“Oh, I believe you won’t have to worry about that, Aziraphale,” she said. “I’ve seen how he looks at you. I think he’s waiting for you to make a move. Even Newt sees it, and Newt- well, let’s say he can be a bit oblivious to such things.”

A small smile crept onto Aziraphale’s lips. So he was not imagining things. Maybe there was hope after all, given that even Anathema and Newt, who barely knew Crowley, believed to see in him what Aziraphale so desperately longed for. 

“You should tell him,” Anathema said and gave him another reassuring smile. 

Aziraphale only nodded slowly, not trusting voice entirely just yet. He watched as Anathema got up from the bench and made her way back inside the cottage. Maybe he really should tell him. 

*

The remainder of the afternoon passed quicker than Aziraphale had anticipated. Most of the time he spent on the couch next to Crowley, enjoying their unfamiliar but much-welcome physical closeness. Crowley had smiled at him when he returned to the living room, and Aziraphale had managed to reciprocate it, even though his mind was occupied with thoughts about what Anathema had told him. 

You should tell him. 

Adam eventually managed to coerce his two guests into playing football with him and the other kids. Crowley was surprisingly talented, given that he had never played before (at least he claimed that he hadn’t). Aziraphale had to admit that he was significantly less gifted with athletic talent. He was just glad that he did not accidentally get himself discorporated, and that the grass stains on his pants disappeared with a snap of his fingers. As much as he hated the fact that he had to be involved in the game, he loved to see that Crowley actually seemed to be having fun, even though it had taken Adam quite some time to convince the demon to come outside. Hearing Crowley laugh, genuinely laugh, made Aziraphale’s head spin so much that he completely missed how Pepper passed him the ball multiple times. 

When they eventually returned inside, it was already time for dinner. Adam’s parents had arrived in the meantime, as well. In case they were confused as to the peculiarity of their son’s guests, they did not show any signs of it. It had been a collective decision not to tell Mr. and Mrs. Young more about Heaven, Hell and everything related to the almost-Apocalypse than they needed to know. Crowley had a conversation with Mrs. Young about her garden plants, and Aziraphale could not suppress his grin when he saw her terrified look when Crowley told her that his secret for growing beautiful plants was to yell at them.

After dinner, Aziraphale helped Newt and Mrs. Young with the dishes. He did his best to keep the use of minor miracles at a minimum. Crowley’s questionable gardening method had probably scared her enough already. Aziraphale was busy stacking plates, when Mrs. Young approached him.

“Your husband should be a little kinder to his plants, don’t you think? Or was he joking?” she said quietly, and it took Aziraphale everything to not drop the plates in his hands. 

“Oh, uhm, we aren’t- he isn't’-,” he stammered, feeling his face heat up for the fiftieth time today. 

“Oh, I understand, you’re not married yet,” she said, smiling apologetically. Aziraphale wished for a second that he could just be discorporated on the spot. 

“Don’t worry, my husband took his time before he asked me, too,” she added with a wink and before Aziraphale could reply, she was already on her way to the kitchen. Aziraphale groaned internally. This was getting out of hand. Not only Anathema and Newt assumed that Crowley and him were not just friends, but now also Adam’s mother who had never even met them prior to today.

Apparently he looked as exhausted as he felt when he returned to the couch. Crowley gave him a slightly concerned look as Aziraphale sat down beside him, hands clasped in his lap to hide that his fingers were trembling. 

“You okay, angel?” he asked and Aziraphale only nodded.

“Are you sure? I could give you a ride home, if you’d like to leave. Drinks at my place, or something.”

For a moment, this offer sounded very tempting to Aziraphale. Some time alone with Crowley was exactly what he longed for right now. However, that also came with the possibility that he would have to address what had happened between them over the course of the day, which would ultimately lead to him having to confess to Crowley how he was feeling. The thought alone made him nauseous. 

“No, it’s alright. We can leave in an hour, or so,” he said, silently cursing himself for his own cowardice. He could not defer this for much longer. 

Crowley hummed in response. He seemed a bit disappointed but did not press the matter any further. Instead, he leaned back into the cushions on the couch, silently observing the living room. In the meantime, someone, probably Anathema, had turned on some music. Adam and Wensleydale were busy with attempting to teach Dog some dance moves. The former hellhound looked only mildly impressed by the boys' eagerness to get him to turn on command and do a sidestep. Pepper had taken on the task of instructing Brian on how to dance a waltz - with limited success. Mrs. Young reluctantly agreed to join her husband for a dance. After a few minutes, Newt also got up from the couch, offering his hand to Anathema with an exaggerated bow. She giggled as she took his hand and he spun her around before pulling her into a kiss. 

Aziraphale felt his heart speed up as he realized that he and Crowley were the only ones left who were not in some form engaged in dancing. Watching Anathema and Newt, who seemed so much in love with each other, made his heart ache. He wished that he could just find the courage to ask Crowley to dance, as well. Yes, his dancing skills were mostly limited to Gavotte, and he didn't know about Crowley, but it could not be that hard, could it? Maybe he could just ask him. But what if Crowley did not want to? That would make the remainder of the evening painstakingly awkward. And Aziraphale did not know whether he could take it to be rejected, as horrible as he felt about this since he had been the one to reject Crowley over and over again. However, he could just- 

"Care to dance, angel?" 

Crowley's question disrupted Aziraphale's anxious contemplations. He sounded much less confident than usual, and Aziraphale did not miss the slight tremble in his voice. When he turned toward Crowley, the demon offered him a tentative, but hopeful smile. Aziraphale's heart fluttered in his chest. Only now he realized that he had not given him an answer yet. 

"Uhm, I-" he stuttered not very eloquently, although he had been meaning to say yes, please . 

"Come on, angel, please. Just one dance. We can't be much worse than they are," he said, nodding toward Brian and Pepper, who still hadn't made much progress in their waltzing lesson. 

Crowley got up from the couch, offering his hand to Aziraphale. Despite his dark glasses, Aziraphale could see the pleading expression in his eyes.

Come on, this is what you wanted, don't let him down again. 

Deciding that now was not the time to be a coward, Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and let himself be pulled onto his feet.

“Alright, one dance,” he said, smiling shyly, and Crowley rolled his eyes. Aziraphale knew that the demon was trying to be his usual, confident self, but the deep flush on his cheeks took away much of his credibility. To be fair, Aziraphale was far from being confident, as well. Crowley’s hand felt pleasantly warm in his as he stirred Aziraphale a few steps away from the couch. 

Their fingers intertwined as though it was the natural thing for them to do; as though their hands had been made to hold each other. Aziraphale realized that he had never before touched Crowley’s hand, at least not in this way. Yes, there had been a few handshakes over the centuries, and when they had switched bodies in the night of the Apocalypse-that-wasn’t, but this felt infinitely more intimate. He had been secretly longing to touch Crowley’s hands for so many times over the last year that he had lost count by now. The thought that this was happening right now and the feeling of Crowley’s hand in his made his head spin even though they had not even begun to dance properly yet. 

“Is this alright?” Aziraphale heard Crowley ask and he quickly nodded, not quite trusting his own voice. He would rather be discorporated right now than to allow Crowley to let go of his hand. 

They stood there somewhat awkwardly for a few moments, both of them unsure about how to proceed. Then, Crowley carefully placed his free hand on Aziraphale’s waist, gently urging him to follow his lead. Aziraphale quickly obliged, and it took him everything not to instantly stumble over his own feet. Even through several layers of fabric, he could feel the heat of Crowley’s touch, and it made him even dizzier than he already was. He quickly lowered his eyes to his feet, since looking up at Crowley would probably have caused him to lose what little was left of his balance and composure. 

It took a few minutes for them to find their rhythm, and Aziraphale stepped on Crowley’s feet a lot more than he had hoped he would, but eventually, their steps at least somewhat matched the music. Aziraphale couldn’t have cared less about the aesthetic of their dancing, however. All he could think about at the moment was the feeling of Crowley’s warm fingers intertwined with his, Crowley’s gentle but steady grip on his waist. The heat radiating from Crowley’s body so close to him. Crowley’s familiar scent that never failed to make him just a bit lightheaded. Crowley. Crowley. 

Aziraphale had not even noticed that at some point of their slow steps and turns, they had moved even closer together, so close that their chests were almost touching. He still did not dare to lift his gaze to look at Crowley, overwhelmed by all the new sensations that were causing him to feel like he was drunk, drunk on love and on Crowley. He was sure that if he did look up, he would either lose his mind or start to cry. Or both. 

“See, this isn’t half as bad, is it?” 

Crowley’s voice, unusually soft, caused Aziraphale to forget that he had intended to keep his gaze lowered. When his eyes met Crowley’s, his breath hitched in his throat for a moment. Even though he was still wearing his glasses, his expression was unlike any Aziraphale had ever seen in him. Yes, Crowley had looked at him in an amicable, even affectionate way in the past, but this was different. The warmth in the demon’s eyes was so intense that it made Aziraphale’s knees go weak. His soft, affectionate smile that was filled with so much more love than a demon should be capable of did the rest for Aziraphale to be overcome by a feeling he was still unable to fully understand. 

Oh, I love him so dearly , Aziraphale thought, I love him so dearly I almost can’t take it. 

Overwhelmed with emotion, he had to break their eye-contact. He could already feel his eyes starting to burn with tears, tears of affection and love, longing, fear and uncertainty and all the other feelings that he had bottled up for so long that any moment he was afraid to just burst open. Exhaling shakily, he let his head sink against Crowley’s shoulder, his forehead resting against his sharp collarbone. Crowley made a surprised noise that came close to a whine. He did not, however, as Aziraphale had feared for a second, push him away. Instead, his hand that had been resting on Aziraphale’s waist moved to the small of his back, pulling him just a few inches closer. Aziraphale could feel that his fingers were quivering slightly. 

Aziraphale did not know for how long they remained in their half-dance, half-embrace position, still swaying slightly to the music, but a lot less focused on maintaining any sort of rhythm than earlier. Frankly, he did not care. All that mattered was that he miraculously found himself closer to Crowley than ever before, and that what he had been dreaming of for so long was finally so close that he felt as though he could just reach out and grasp it. Today, he had finally been able to muster enough courage to take some steps toward Crowley, and contrary to what he had feared, Crowley had not rejected him but instead welcomed his cautious advances like he had only been waiting for Aziraphale to come to him. Aziraphale thought that if he could stay like this forever, with his head resting against Crowley’s shoulder, his fingers intertwined with Crowley’s, and with Crowley’s other hand holding him close, he would never be unhappy again. 

“Angel.” 

Crowley’s voice was not much more than a whisper but it woke Aziraphale from his almost trance-like state nevertheless. Only now he realized that in the meantime, they were the only ones left dancing. Reluctantly, he took half a step back and cleared his throat. 

“Sorry, I got…carried away there,” he mumbled, the blood rushing to his face. 

“You won’t hear me complain,” Crowley said, smiling softly at him. 

“Good,” Aziraphale said a bit breathlessly. He was still busy trying to calm his racing heart. 

“So…how about that ride home now?” Crowley asked and this time, Aziraphale nodded, even though his nervosity began to return. It was going to be fine. 

It almost physically hurt to let go of Crowley’s hand. Aziraphale hoped that it would not be long until he would be able to take it again.  

Anathema smiled at him as they made their way toward the other end of the living room where all the others were gathered. When Crowley wasn’t paying attention for a moment, she gave Aziraphale a thumbs-up and winked. He instantly blushed bright red. The fact that Crowley's hand had secretly returned to Aziraphale's upper back certainly did not help. 

The kids looked disappointed when Crowley and Aziraphale announced that they would be leaving.

“But you haven’t finished telling me the story of how Tutanchamun really died yet,” Adam complained.

“I’ll tell you next time. Promise,” Aziraphale said and the former Antichrist seemed appeased for now. 

“We were just playing Truth or Dare,” Wensleydale said meaningfully, as though he expected Aziraphale to know whatever that meant. The fact that Pepper and Brian began to giggle made him suspect nothing good. 

“You have to decide between telling the truth about a question the others ask you or completing a dare,” Adam explained. 

Wensleydale nodded. “Newt had to reenact that scene from Titanic with Dog," he added. 

"Will you stay for one round?" Adam asked, trying his best at imitating Dog's puppy-eyes. 

“Don’t bother them kids, they can leave, it’s fine,” Anathema said.

"Alright, one question," Aziraphale agreed, mainly because he knew that they would never be able to get going otherwise (and also because he just couldn't disappoint the kids). Crowley sighed. Aziraphale gave him an apologetic look. They would be having the rest of the evening just for themselves, he hoped. 

"Cool!" Adam grinned at him. 

"You have to decide whether you want to choose truth or dare," Pepper said. 

The kids were looking at him expectantly and Aziraphale already regretted having agreed to this. 

“Uhm, truth?” he said, unsure which option was the one that had the potential to embarrass him the least. The fact that they started to giggle again made him question his decision. Instantly, they began a whispered discussion on what question to ask the angel. Eventually, Brian interrupted their debate. 

“Have you ever been in love? Or, no- is there someone you’re in love with?” he asked and Aziraphale's heart dropped.

Fuck. He had not been prepared for this possibility. Of all the questions they could have asked, they had chosen the one that he had not expected and that had the potential to ruin everything. He closed his eyes in defeat for a second when felt Crowley remove his hand. 

Pepper rolled her eyes at Brian and sighed dramatically. Aziraphale believed that he heard her mumble something along the lines of "We all know that already, idiot". He felt the blood rush to his face as the room grew quiet. What the heaven and hell was he supposed to say? He could not possibly say “no”, since that would be a blatant lie, and also since that would cause Crowley to think that there was no possibility that Aziraphale's feelings for him still did not extend beyond friendship. But if he were to say “yes”, the kids would inevitably ask follow-up questions. Aziraphale did not know what was worse.

“Brian, don’t be so nosy,” Newt said at the same time as Aziraphale took a deep breath and quietly said “Yes.”

There. He had said it. 

“Who is she?” Brian asked, and Aziraphale longed for a convenient discorporation for what felt like the tenth time today. Beside him, Crowley had grown as stiff as a board, with his lips pressed together in a thin line. Aziraphale was not sure whether he was even breathing. 

“Brian, we discussed how problematic your heteronormativity is just last week. Don’t assume that everyone is straight,” Pepper lectured him. Aziraphale still wished that he could just get up and run as far away from this room as possible (and take Crowley with him). 

“Besides, you might want to get your eyes checked in case you still need to ask that,” Pepper added a little quieter and with another eye roll, and Brian now looked even more confused in addition to slightly offended. 

“Alright kids, that’s enough, don’t make him uncomfortable. He doesn’t have to tell you,” Anathema eventually said and gave Aziraphale a meaningful look. She had not missed how uncomfortable he had become over the last minute and Aziraphale was more than grateful that she had saved him for the moment. As much as he liked Anathema and the kids, this was not something he wanted to confess in front of everyone. This was meant to be between Crowley and him only, at least for today.

Speaking of Crowley - the demon was still frozen in place, his expression unreadable. Aziraphale was afraid he might bolt from the room any second. Unfortunately, that was exactly what he did as the silence continued to linger between them. Aziraphale heard him mumble something about fresh air and just like that, he was gone. 

"Crowley, wait!" he called after him, but the door to the garden had already fallen shut behind Crowley. Aziraphale stared at the door through which he had vanished, entirely at loss about what to do. 

He had messed it up. He had gotten himself into this situation, and now he had messed it up and probably missed the only chance of getting over his lips what he had kept a secret for so long. Who knew what Crowley was thinking right now. Maybe he believed that Aziraphale had lied about having someone he loved. Maybe he was afraid to hear Aziraphale's answer to the question of who he was in love with. Maybe he thought that he was in love with someone that was not Crowley, as absurd as this sounded to Aziraphale. He had never even considered a relationship of any sort with anyone other than Crowley. Or maybe he had done the math and knew that Aziraphale was in love with him and did not feel the same way, or at least not anymore, and now he was appalled by him. Why would he, Aziraphale thought, after everything that had happened today, and after everything Aziraphale had believed to see in him over the past decades and centuries. He had been almost certain that Crowley reciprocated his affections. 

Right now, however, Aziraphale felt terribly lost. He wished he could just hide in a corner of his bookshop and avoid Crowley for a decade. Maybe Crowley would forget what had happened. Who knew whether he still wanted to see Aziraphale after this. He was still going to give him his ride home, like the gentleman he was, but what would happen after that? 

Desperately searching for some kind of help, he glanced over to Anathema. As if she had the power to somehow save this entire situation. She gave him a look that expressed a peculiar mixture of compassion and irritation. 

“If you don’t go after him right now, I swear, you will regret it," she said and it sounded almost like a threat. The strictness in her voice did not leave any room for negotiation. 

Aziraphale knew that she was right. He had to go and talk to Crowley, or else he was going to throw all the progress their relationship had made over the course of the last year out the window. Musterring all his barely-existent courage, he went after his demon. He had to get this settled once and for all. 

Aziraphale found Crowley leaning against a post of the patio's canopy, with his hands tucked into his front pockets, appearing lost in thought. His gaze was focused on some distant point up in the stars that were starting to come out by now, and he did not seem to have taken notice of Aziraphale yet. Had the situation been different, Aziraphale would have taken a minute to admire the way Crowley looked in the dim light, with the sharp lines and angles of his face even more pronounced than usual and with his hair slightly tousled. He had taken off his glasses for the first time today. Aziraphale wished that he could tell Crowley how beautiful he was to him. He doubted that Crowley was aware of that. Right now, however, there were more pressing issues. Clasping his trembling hands behind his back, Aziraphale stepped out onto the patio and cleared his throat. 

"Hey." 

Crowley jumped at his voice and quickly turned his head toward him. The look in his eyes made Aziraphale's heart ache. It reminded him of when he had found Crowley drunk in a pub on the day of what should have been the Apocalypse, when he had looked terribly lost and on the brink of tears. 

"Hey, angel." 

He fumbled in the pockets of his jeans, probably searching for his glasses. After a few seconds of not finding them, he groaned and gave up. Aziraphale's heart hurt even more at the thought that Crowley still felt the need to hide his eyes from him, after all this time. 

"Are you alright, my dear?" he asked, even though it was obvious that Crowley was very much not alright. Crowley avoided meeting his eyes as Aziraphale stepped beside him, choosing instead to alternate between looking at the grass and the sky. 

"Yeah, don't worry 'bout me," he said a bit too quickly. His voice sounded unusually hoarse. Silence began to stretch out between them, but this time it was an uncomfortable, tense silence, one that made Aziraphale's palms grow sweaty and his heart pound anxiously in his chest.

How was he supposed to start this conversation? It was not like he had not imagined it before (he had done so embarrassingly often), but his made-up scenarios had not looked like the real one at all. 

Crowley eventually broke their silence, relieving Aziraphale of his dilemma for the time being. 

"So…," he started but he quickly fell quiet again, as though he had changed his mind about what he had planned on saying.

Aziraphale turned his head to look at him. Crowley was still busy observing everything that was not Aziraphale. 

"Who is the lucky one?" Crowley asked after another few seconds of silence. 

"I'm sorry?" 

Aziraphale believed he knew what he was hinting at, but he could not afford another misunderstanding, not now, not with this topic. 

"The one you're in love with," Crowley clarified quietly. 

Oh. 

When Aziraphale remained silent for another moment, desperately searching for the right way to express what he was meaning to tell Crowley, the demon finally turned his head. His lips were pressed together in a thin line, and to someone who didn't know him as well as Aziraphale did, he might have looked angry, but the angel did not miss the barely concealed hurt in his eyes that Crowley no longer had the willpower to hide from him. 

Shit. He had to fix this. 

"The game, angel. Don't act all dumb, you know what I mean," Crowley hissed. Aziraphale flinched from the harsh sound of his voice. "You said that there's someone you're in love with. So, who is it?"  

Tell me, his expression said, just tell me, I can take it, just get it over with.

"Crowley-" Aziraphale started, still sorting the thoughts running havoc in his head. But Crowley was already rambling. 

"Please don't say it's that guy that comes to your shop a lot lately 'cause that would be weird, I mean, he's human and-" He stopped mid sentence. Aziraphale knew that Crowley was trying to overplay his hurt and fear by hiding behind his mask of sarcasm and nonchalance.

" Crowley -" he started again, softer this time, taking a step toward him. 

"Ah, never mind, it's probably for the best if I don't know," Crowley said, sounding resigned now. He averted his face but Aziraphale still caught how he was blinking rapidly. 

"Crowley, are you crying?"

He wanted to slap himself. What a stupid question. Crowley sniffed and angrily wiped across his cheeks with his shirtsleeve. 

"Nope. I'm not. See? No tears, alright?" 

Crowley gave him what was probably intended to resemble a smile, but it looked more like a grimace to him. Aziraphale took a deep breath. 

"It's you," he said.  

Crowley’s breath hitched audibly. When he turned his head to look at Aziraphale, his eyes were wide with a mixture of perplexity and cautious hope.

"What?" His voice was barely more than a whisper. 

Aziraphale took half a step toward him. He felt like his heart was going to leap out his throat any second now. 

"It's you, Crowley. Don’t you understand? The- the one I'm in love with,” he said, his voice stricken with emotion. “It's you. It’s always been you, for so long, and I just- I did not know how to tell you, I was so afraid of- of- well it doesn’t matter now, does it? I thought that today I- I was able to show you that I want to be … closer to you. That I’m in love with you." 

Aziraphale went quiet when he became aware that he was rambling. It felt like a giant weight had just been lifted off his shoulders, a weight he had been carrying around for so long. His relief was short-lived, however, when he realized that Crowley still had not said anything. He was just staring at Aziraphale, his eyes wide and his lower lip quivering slightly. He looked as though he was in complete shock. Slowly but certainly, Aziraphale felt panic rise in his chest.

"Oh, please say something, my dear, I-" 

"Do you mean it?” Crowley interrupted him, his voice trembling. “Don't say this just to make me stop asking, 'cause that wouldn't be fair, I mean, when have things ever been fair for us, but-" 

Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to stop him from rambling. 

"Crowley, please stop it,” he said, stepping yet a little closer to him. He brought one hand up to Crowley’s face and gently placed it on his cheek. Crowley exhaled shakily, leaning into the touch almost instantly. His eyelids fluttered for a moment, before he closed his eyes, soaking up Aziraphale’s affectionate touch. Beneath his fingers, Aziraphale could feel the tension in his jaw relax. 

"I mean it,” he whispered, “I mean it, and I am so sorry that I did not have the courage to tell you earlier. Please, believe me. I would not do that to you.”  

He paused for a moment, trying to blink away the tears that had started to gather in his eyes. 

“I love you, Crowley.”

At these words, Crowley’s eyes flew open. The raw emotion in them made Aziraphale’s knees go weak. He had always loved Crowley’s eyes, but he had never seen them quite like this, not with so much love and pain and hope and everything in between mixed in them so openly.

"Angel," he breathed. 

"You don't have to say anything. I can understand if I made you wait for far too long," Aziraphale said, but Crowley shushed him in an instant.

" Angel ,” he repeated and Aziraphale did not think he could remember an instance in which Crowley had called him by this name with so much emotion in his voice. "I would have waited another six-thousand years for you.”

Aziraphale felt how Crowley’s hand came to rest on his cheek. His fingers were quivering slightly. They were standing so close that Aziraphale could feel his breath tickle against his lips.

“Please tell me if I’m going too fast for you,” Crowley whispered, his eyes roaming over Aziraphale’s face in search of any sign that this was getting too much for the angel. Aziraphale shook his head. This was everything he had wanted for so long, and oh, it seemed that Crowley wanted it, too. 

Aziraphale had always imagined that if Crowley ever were to kiss him, he would be passionate, maybe even a little rough in just the right way. When Crowley leaned in now to seal Aziraphale’s lips with his, however, it was unlike anything the angel had envisioned. It was a chaste kiss, not much more than a soft touch of lips against lips, but somehow, Crowley managed to convey so much more through this kiss than he could have any other way. His thumb softly caressed Aziraphale's cheek and he sighed quietly into the kiss. Aziraphale's heart was pounding against his ribcage so violently that he was sure that Crowley would be able to feel it. This was way better than what he had imagined. Crowley was so incredibly careful with him that Aziraphale felt moved to tears. It was almost as though Crowley feared that by offering more, he would overwhelm Aziraphale and scare him away for good.

"Angel," he whispered softly, as they separated, "angel." It almost sounded like a prayer. He rested his forehead against Aziraphale's, eyes closed. 

Aziraphale moved one hand to the back of his neck, holding him close and running his fingers through his soft hair. He still could not believe that this was happening. 

"I love you," Crowley said, sounding a bit out of breath and Aziraphale could not help but smile. He had imagined hearing these words from him so many times and now, he almost couldn't believe his luck. Crowley, his dear Crowley, loved him. 

Overcome with emotion, Aziraphale tilted Crowley's chin up and pulled him into another kiss. Crowley made a choked noise in his throat. Apparently he had not expected a second kiss this soon. 

Finding himself surprisingly bold, Aziraphale attempted to deepen the kiss. He had no practical experience whatsoever to build on, but judging from Crowley's reaction, he was not doing terribly bad. Crowley responded in a split-second and returned the kiss, much more passionately than the first one. His hand wandered into Aziraphale's hair and he whimpered softly. Aziraphale knew right then and there that would do anything to hear that sound again. 

When they finally broke apart, they were both slightly out of breath. Crowley looked a bit disheveled, with his hair sticking in five different directions and with a dark red blush on his cheeks. But most importantly, he was smiling, genuinely smiling, with only a trace of disbelief. He had never looked more beautiful to Aziraphale. 

Crowley looked at him for a few more seconds as though he could not quite believe his luck. Then, he pulled Aziraphale into a tight embrace and buried his face in the angel's hair. Aziraphale sighed happily and returned the embrace, gently stroking his back. Gradually, he could feel the tension in Crowley's muscles disappear, as he practically melted into Aziraphale's arms.

He did not know for how long they remained like this, with Crowley's head resting on his shoulder and his arms wrapped around his demon, his love. He only knew that right now, he could not ask for anything more. 

Somewhere inside the cottage, Anathema was maybe telling Newt that she had seen it coming all along. Maybe Mrs. Young found herself assured that her son's strange guests would get married, after all. And maybe Brian had received the answer to his question. 

All of that, however, went unnoticed by Aziraphale and Crowley. For the moment, they had forgotten the world around themselves, an angel and a demon lost and found in each other's arms, under a sky full of stars.