Chapter Text
September 16th, 2022
7:53 a.m., Crowley’s eyes fluttered open. Sunlight streamed through the sheer, white curtains and illuminated the white comforter they’d kicked to the floor overnight. They sat up, groaning at the soreness that still housed itself in their joints. As they rubbed the sleep from their eyes, they caught sight of their clothes folded neatly on the chest at the foot of the bed. Crowley furrowed their eyebrows and swung their legs over the side of the bed, the too-short pajama pants riding high above their ankles. They grabbed their clothes and examined them to find them clean and no longer caked with dust, dirt, and wrinkles. That damn angel of a person went and did their laundry. Crowley growled and changed into the clean clothes reluctantly. They made the bed as best they could and politely laid the pajamas they’d worn on the bed before heading down the stairs.
Aziraphale hummed in his kitchen as he tossed his yellow picnic-checkered apron over his head. He grabbed a variety of ingredients along with a non-stick skillet, a mixing bowl, and a whisk. He began to combine the ingredients, whisking it all together into a thin batter. He was blissfully unaware of Crowley’s steps thumping against the metal staircase, unable to hear it over his humming.
“Angel, what are you doing?” Crowley spoke, starling Aziraphale.
“Goodness!” Aziraphale placed his hand over his rapidly beating heart, “Oh!” He sighed in relief, “Good morning, Crowley. I thought you might enjoy some breakfast.” Aziraphale stated nonchalantly.
“You washed my clothes,” Crowley said bluntly.
“Yes, well, I figured–” Aziraphale started.
“Look, angel, this is all very sweet. But I just –”
“I’m not flirting with you right now, dear.”
Crowley’s face flushed slightly, “Pardon?”
“You are my guest. I am merely being a good host, my dear. And your clothes had dust and debris all over them; I couldn’t let you put them back on like that. Who would enjoy that?” Aziraphale said gently.
Crowley paused as they processed what Aziraphale said. A light blush crept up their neck, “No, I s’pose you’re right…” Crowley trailed off and awkwardly averted their eyes from Aziraphale’s. They cleared their throat and nodded, “Thank you.”
“Any time, Crowley. That’s what,” Aziraphale paused briefly, “friends are for.” Aziraphale trailed off before changing the subject, “Crêpes?”
“Sounds lovely, thanks,” Crowley nodded and gave Aziraphale a tight-lipped smile as they sat at the small kitchen table.
Aziraphale smiled triumphantly and turned back to the skillet. He flipped the burner to medium-high heat and allowed it to heat up. He continued to hum as he made a small stack of paper-thin crêpes. He flipped off the burner, plated their crêpes, and dusted both with powdered sugar, whipped cream, and sliced strawberries. Aziraphale smiled proudly at his creation before delivering it to the table.
“Voilà!” Aziraphale said as he presented the plate. Crowley shook their head in amusement at the angel’s actions. He hung his apron over the back of the chair and sat.
The pair sat in comfortable silence as they ate; only the sounds of forks clinking against ceramic filled the room. Crowley noted how Aziraphale savored each bite as if every one was magic incarnate. Occasionally, Aziraphale would glance at Crowley to see their brows knit together in thought.
“Right now,” Crowley grumbled.
“Hm? ” Aziraphale hummed, unsure what Crowley meant.
“Earlier. You said you weren’t flirting with me right now. As in: you’ve flirted with me in the past or will flirt with me in the future?” Crowley said almost as an accusation.
“I mean–” Aziraphale started, “Perhaps I’ve been a tad flirtatious, I’ll admit, before I knew you have, er– had a partner.”
The correction to “had” would’ve sent a jolt of pain through Crowley’s heart if they didn’t feel so free. Crowley nodded and shrugged, “S’pose I’m flattered. Can’t say I’ve been exactly innocent myself.”
“How do you mean?” Aziraphale seemed entirely oblivious.
“I wasn’t exactly subtle, angel.”
“You mean–” Aziraphale’s brows furrowed in confusion this time. He’d been blissfully unaware, assuming his pining was entirely unrequited.
“Yes, angel.”
“Oh.”
“But don’t get it twisted. You’re kind, Aziraphale. Much kinder than I. I’d only drag you down. And I just ended a five-year –” Crowley had begun to get worked up again.
“Breathe, dear. I know you need time.”
Crowley’s words failed them as they began to stammer, their mind effectively short-circuiting.
Aziraphale took a deep breath, “I have pined for you since we met, Crowley. I am more than capable of waiting.”
Crowley waved their hand dismissively and leaned back in their chair, “Oh, don’t wait around for me, angel. I’m not worth that.” They looked off to the side, crossing their arms over their chest.
Aziraphale’s heart sank, and his face fell. His voice was soft, barely above a murmur, “You are to me.”
Crowley shook their head, “I’m abrasive.”
“You’re honest,” He retorted.
“I’m pessimistic.”
‘You’re a realist.”
“I’m too much to handle,” Crowley said as if it were fact.
Aziraphale laughed dryly, “And who told you that?”
Crowley froze, a look of realization settling on their face. Morgan had told them such as often as they could. They never failed to remind Crowley how much they were putting up with by being with them. Aziraphale recognized the realization spread across their face. He nodded knowingly and stood, gathering their plates that had been empty for some time.
“When you’re ready, I’ll be here.” Aziraphale nodded and carried the plates off to the sink.
Crowley sat dumbfounded, struggling to process all that had just happened.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
December 17th, 2022
The Daily Grind’s interior was decked full of tinsel, poinsettias, and even a Christmas tree full of ornaments took up home in the shop. Crowley hummed to the Christmas music that filled the shop. Christmas was certainly not their favorite holiday, but they’d been feeling lighter lately. It’d been three months since Morgan had made their scene in the shop, and Crowley broke things off. Life had improved drastically since then; they smiled more, laughed more, and their skin and eyes seemed vivacious. The usual early morning customers came and went, commenting here and there on how bright Crowley seemed as of late. And at 7:45 a.m., the bell chimed.
“A -ziraphale!” Crowley exclaimed cheerfully, dragging out the beginning of his name.
‘Crowley! You’re chipper this morning,” Azriaphale noted with a smile.
“Ahh, nice day like today? How couldn’t I be?” Crowley grinned, already grabbing a cup, “Tea or hot chocolate, what’ll it be, angel?”
“I believe I might have a hot chocolate this morning, just the thing for these chilly mornings, I do say.”
Crowley chuckled and began to make Aziraphale’s hot chocolate, “You got it, angel.”
Aziraphale slid the money across the counter for Crowley to handle once they had a hand. He waited at the other end of the counter, humming to the Christmas song that played.
“Ah, Christmas time. Lovely time of year, isn’t it?”
Crowley shrugged as they clamped the lid on Aziraphale’s cup, “S’pose so. I prefer Halloween, generally.”
“Fitting,” Aziraphale chuckled as he took his cup, their fingers brushing.
“I could say the same for you, angel. Cozy little drinks, the season of kindness and giving, all that. Christmas seems right up your alley.” Crowley winked playfully.
Aziraphale blushed pink and laughed softly. He held his cup with both hands, allowing the heat to warm his cold fingers, “Quite right, my dear.”
The pair gazed longingly at one another for too long before Aziraphale finally broke the silence, “I suppose I should be going. You’ve got customers and whatnot.” Aziraphale never tore his eyes from Crowley as he spoke.
“Yes…” Crowley mumbled, still fixated on Aziraphale’s bright blue eyes. They eventually shook their head, snapping out of their trance. “Yes! Customers! Right, yes, see you tomorrow.”
Crowley nodded curtly before rushing back to the register. Aziraphale chuckled and made his way back to his bookshop. Crowley sighed and hung their head as Aziraphale retreated. Their heart yearned for Aziraphale, and that terrified them.
“Oh, you’ve got it bad,” The next person in line spoke. The entire shop had seen the charged exchange between the pair.
Crowley glared at the customer, “Excuse me?”
The customer shook their head, sensing they’d overstepped. “Nothing, I’ll just have a caramel latte.”
“That’s what I thought.”
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
September 25th, 2023
6:45 p.m., Crowley stood behind the counter of The Daily Grind, having just finished two cigarettes. Their heart was pounding in their ears, their palms were slick with sweat, and their chest felt wrapped in a barbed vice. Their hands trembled as they lifted the small glass of whiskey to their lips, their eyes trained on the bouquet in a vase on the counter. Thunder crashed, and rain began to pour down, cascading down the windows. They glanced across the street at Aziraphale’s bookshop (book museum) and could make out a warped image of the angel by the window, presumably listening to his records. They downed the last of the whiskey (just enough to give them the courage they needed) and plucked the bouquet from the vase. They didn’t bother with their umbrella or coat, too nervous and far too one-track-minded to care.
They stepped out of the shop, flowers clutched tightly in their right hand. They could feel the thorns digging into their palm, grounding them in the moment. Crowley’s hair and clothes got drenched in a few short moments, but they didn’t care. They approached the bookshop and knocked, fearing if they hesitated, they’d lose confidence.
Aziraphale perked up from his chair, where he sat listening to his Schubert record. He raised the needle, stopping the music. He drew the blinds earlier in the day, now obscuring the person behind it. Aziraphale opened the door with a gasp, startled by the image of a soaking-wet Crowley holding a bouquet of equally wet flowers.
“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, almost accusatorily, “What are you doing out here in the rain? You’ll catch a cold!”
Crowley shook their head, “Just– listen, angel.”
Aziraphale nodded, thoroughly confused, but allowed Crowley to speak.
“Alright. Okay– I got you, uh, these. I don’t know if flowers are your thing, but,” Crowley held up the drenched flowers, “Oh- Sorry, I’ll just hold onto these… for now.”
They shook their head again and cleared their throat. They huffed in frustration before continuing, “Pink camellia... Means ‘Longing for you.’ Baby’s Breath, everlasting love. And white roses; Heavenly or worthy of you.”
“Crowley–”
“Please, angel, let me finish.”
“Right, apologies. Please, continue.” Aziraphale smiled softly, knowing where Crowley was heading.
“Ever since you walked into my shop four years ago, you have… occupied the furthest reaches of my mind. You– pushed past every wall I put up like there was a door there for you all along. No matter what I did, you permeated every sense and every waking thought. You are Heaven on Earth. You– Mmh,” Crowley huffed, getting worked up.
“You–”
Aziraphale waited patiently, not wanting to rush them.
They sighed, the hand holding the bouquet dropping to their side. They tossed their arms to the side as if finally opening themself to Aziraphale’s love, “I love you, Aziraphale. If you’ll still have me, I’m yours.” They said, watching Aziraphale for a reaction. They had laid it out bare for their angel and hoped he’d be receptive.
Tears pricked Aziraphale’s eyes, knowing how much strength it took to admit this. Aziraphale stepped out of the dry nook of his bookshop, allowing the cascading rain to drench his antiquated clothes. He brushed the dripping strands of hair from Crowley’s face before cupping their cheeks.
“Can I kiss you, my dear?” Aziraphale asked, not wanting to push them further than they’d done to themself.
“I thought you’d never ask, angel,” Crowley sighed, relieved.
Aziraphale gently pulled them closer, connecting their lips in a delicate kiss. His thumbs caressed their cheekbones. Crowley wrapped their arms around Aziraphale’s waist and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss ever so slightly. The rain continued to punish their bodies, a chill seeping deep into their bones, yet neither cared. Not when four years of wishing and hoping had culminated in such a glorious moment as his lips pressed to theirs. Their lips moved in perfect rhythm, and Aziraphale smiled as he tasted whiskey and ash.