Chapter Text
When he got back to the bookshop, Aziraphale dithered. A lot. At first, he pretended to be checking inventory. Then he made a cup of tea and settled down with a novel. Some substantial reading to keep his mind occupied.
Half an hour later the Dickens landed with a thump. It was all to no avail.
"Trying not to notice he'd fallen in love." Wasn't that what he was doing all along? Telling Crowley he didn't even like him. Chalking his feelings up to his general love of all things, rather than his specific love for one person, one demon in particular.
But he was in love - and it was delightful. And horrible. What now? Admit it to Crowley?
He knew that Crowley liked him, cared about him even - you don't offer to run away to Alpha Centauri with someone if you don't care about them. You don't lean in when they are talking, bring them wine, tease them incessantly but not unkindly.
But love - the feeling fizzing about under his skin - was different. Even if he admitted that he loved Crowley, how likely was it that Crowley could love him back? Crowley was charming. Sarcastic. Clever. Handsome.
Aziraphale was...none of those things. Not really. So if he told Crowley, the demon, being rather kind underneath it all, would let him down gently. Pretend he didn't understand. Give Aziraphale a way out ("Of course you do. You're a being of love. You love everyone."), which Aziraphale would take. And that would be that.
The cramped and crowded space of the bookshop did not lend itself to pacing, but Aziraphale found a small track in front of the counter and to stride back and forth on, hands folded in front of his stomach until the sunset and the streetlamps blinked on.
What he really needed was a sign. A follow up a sign, really, because the poem could have just been a coincidence. That it was stuck in his head was just a sign of a good poem. Not a sign of anything else. He needed something irrefut-
"Hello, angel" Crowley looked cheerful, standing in the doorway, which always opened for him, with a bottle of Malbec tucked under his arm.
Oh hell.
"Came to see if you fancied a drink."
"I'm surprised you're awake."
"Couldn't sleep - all the excitement." Crowley squinted at him. "You alright angel? You look a bit... twitchy."
"What? Oh yes. I'm fine. Absolutely splendid." He gestured to the kitchen. "I'll er… I'll just go get us some glasses."
The staccato rhythm of the poem beat louder in Aziraphale's ear as he went to fetch the glassware. Admit it. Admit it. Admit it. On the chair at the back, where Crowley was stretching out, taking off his jacket and settling in.
He was in mid-flow about something.
"But people don't see it like that, do they? They think they know them with their cute faces and their big eyes, but it's all fluff - shave an owl and you'd get something far more demonic-looking than half the things in hell I can tell you. Oh, cheers."
He took the full glass of red from Aziraphale and knocked half of it back, tipping his head with a loud "ahhhhh". Anyone who didn't know better would say Crowley had been hard at it all day, not that he'd had a long lunch and short nap.
"I mean if I had a choice between a snake and a shaved owl coming to torment--"
"I love you."
It was not, as far as heartfelt confessions go, one for the history books. He felt slightly sick. Crowley took another swig of the red and held it in his mouth. Ostensibly savouring the flavour, but clearly playing for time, his face blank.
Eventually, he took a gulp, and his mask slipped back into place.
"Of course you do. You're a being of love. Made of love. You love everything."
That was sometimes the problem with admitting things. You had to keep on admitting them, even when it would be easier to backtrack, laugh it off and move on.
"Nooooo - well, yes - but that's not what I meant Crowley. I meant…" In for a penny. "I love you. I'm in love with you. You specifically. Have been for a while, I think."
Crowley was still staring at him, but he wasn't drinking anymore. The blank expression was slowly being replaced by a brightening and tightening around his eyes.
"Have you? Since when? Since last Tuesday? Since the garden?"
"Well, probably not since the garden. I mean maybe I liked you. A bit."
Crowley was smiling at him openly now, letting him waffle on
"Look what does it matter? I've told you now. There's no need to make fun."
"I wouldn't dream of making fun of you angel."
Crowley drank the last of his wine and put his glass down. Breaking out of his slouch he leaned over closer to Aziraphale, to gently rest his hand on the angel's leg, his thumb rubbing small circles on the inside of his knee.
"See…" Demon's voice had gotten softer. "I've been in love with you since the garden. Ever since you gave your stupid sword away." Crowley was smiling, but it was gentle. It was loving. Crowley loved him too.
Aziraphale wiped his eyes - when did he start crying?
"Since then?"
"Since then."
"Why didn't you say anything?!" Aziraphale had only been keeping it in for an afternoon and it had nearly killed him.
"Didn't want to go too fast for you, did I?"
Aziraphale, who thought briefly that he'd gotten his emotions under control, started sobbing in earnest.
"Hey now, none of that." Crowley's hands were on the side of his face, brushing his tears away. "It's not the end of the world. We're here now."
Aziraphale sniffled and nodded. Crowley smiled at him again and then very gently, very slowly brought their lips together.
It was, as far as first kisses went, one for the history books.