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He had saved his books.
Aziraphale looked at him, completely speechless. Why did he do that? He was a demon - he didn’t have to; he didn’t have to do anything, really. He wasn’t even supposed to know he was there. But he was, and not only he had entered a church – a church, for the love of god - to save him, but he had remembered to save his books.
“Lift home?” Crowley said, in a soft voice, and started walking.
But he couldn’t move. He simply stood there, looking at the briefcase. He watched, puzzled, as the demon slowly walked away as he always did, hands in his pockets, almost swinging a bit, looking so casual, so unbothered by everything - at least, that’s what someone who didn’t know him would see, but not Aziraphale - he was well aware of how much time he had spent perfecting his "I’m-so-cool" attitude. After all, they had known each other for six thousand years. But he liked that so much about him, he liked how much effort he put into looking that nonchalant, keeping his style while blending amongst humans, changing hairstyles, dressing up, having fun. He tempted him to try and step out of his comfort zone - once he had let his hair grow so much it almost started to curl! Crowley had said, in a horrified tone, that he looked like a cherub, but he could see he was trying not to laugh.
A shy smile started to curve his lips at the fond memory, a funny feeling in his stomach. He felt so nervous and strange whenever the demon was nice towards him, and that happened a lot more than he liked to admit.
Over the years, he had convinced himself to think that the demon had gone a little… well, soft, because of how much time he had spent among humans and yes, ok, around him too. He liked to think that he had influenced him somehow to become better… but deep down, he knew that wasn’t true. He had always been like that, even in the Garden, but the angel didn’t want to think about it, because it went against everything he had been told. You know, they Fell - they’re the bad guys. They liked temptation, and sin, and they were disobedient, and messy, and basically bad.
But… the first time they met, Crowley was so nice, trying to reassure him about having done the right thing. He had smiled at him so widely and sincerely he freaked out a little bit- he hadn't expect a demon to even be able to do such thing.
That time, he had told himself he was probably just laughing at him. It was just ridiculous to think that he was actually trying to make him feel better. But year after year, century after century, Crowley had kept saying and doing nice things out of the blue. Aziraphale wanted to firmly believe that demons enjoyed chaos and destruction and couldn’t care less for human lives, but he couldn’t, not when he remembered too well how upset Crowley looked when he learned that God pretended to drown almost everyone, included children; how he questioned God herself, putting into words the things he would never dare to say out loud, because he would never dare to… dare to… doubt God’s plan.
But it was worse than that. Crowley defied everything he thought he knew about his kind. He had no interest in fighting him; in fact, the one time they had to face each other, in 1601, the demon had done his best to talk him out of it. And he knew that tempting was his job, but his ideas seemed… well, reasonable, most of the time. And he hated that thought. He wasn’t supposed to doubt, his job was to thwart his wiles without question, not to make arrangements with him. But true thing was that whenever Aziraphale asked something from him, he rolled his eyes and sigh dramatically, but he did the thing, and he certainly didn’t have to. Sometimes, the angel didn’t even have to voice the question, he just looked at the demon and he understood him without words, like he did with Shakespeare's play. They knew each other better than anyone else could.
It was so confusing. He knew he should hate him for trying to lure him into doing bad things. But he felt understood, he felt… safe. They could talk for hours and never be bored for a second. But no, no, he knew it was wrong; every time he caught himself thinking fondly about something Crowley had said, or done, or some private joke they made, Aziraphale had to shush his conscience (which sounded a little too much like Gabriel’s voice) saying he was weak, not deserving of being an angel. But even that voice faded whenever the demon showed up at his door with a bottle of wine, tempting him with a smile.
And of course he was scared, he feared they’d be punished if their sides found out about them… fraternizing (he would never say that word again to Crowley, though; that was their worst fight by far, the demon was so angry he didn’t speak to him for a month straight, it was hell - figuratively speaking)
But… they never worried about him. They never cared. The only one that did was the demon that had just chosen to save his books instead of the holy water he wanted. And he was funny, and quick, and clever, and he always seemed to be right on time to save his day. Paris… oh, god, Paris. Sentenced to death, far away from home, and he had appeared as if it was the most normal thing.
He treasured that memory.
“Good lord”, he had murmured, pretending to be outraged by his ridiculous hairdo, but he had to fight back a smile at the sight of him, casually reclined as if he was in a throne instead of a cell, saving him. He had felt such relief when he heard his voice he was a bit embarrased, he sounded too eager, even to his own ears. But the demon hadn’t said anything about it, he had simply looked at him through his glasses, paying attention to each and every one of his words, and then grinning, teasing him for risking his life to get some good crepes. (ok, fine, it didn’t sound very clever when you put it like that). Aziraphale wasn’t used to being the centre of attention, not in Heaven, not in Earth either; he was an angel, he knew he wasn’t important, just a little pawn in a giant cosmic ineffable chess game. But Crowley made him feel like he really wanted to listen to whatever he had to say, and that usually translated in him babbling nervously while the demon smirked slightly.
Sometimes, he would look at him when they were eating, or talking, simply spending time together, and feel a warmth inside him, an urge to smile, to laugh out loud. Sometimes, he couldn’t help himself and just did it, for no reason, and when the demon smiled back at him, he felt that everything was in place in the world.
He just wanted to see that smile till the end of time.
When he came to that realization, Aziraphale felt like he was going to faint.
“Oh, god. Oh, my god…” he mumbled.
“Are you glued to the ground, angel?” Crowley was walking towards him, frowning slightly upon seeing him, frozen, with a panicked expression, in the exact same place he had left him.
Aziraphale looked at him and blushed. He couldn’t tell him… that. He couldn’t. Even if he felt the same way about him –don’t be stupid, he told himself, he’s. a. demon, for god’s sake, maybe he’s nicer than I thought a demon could be, but he’s still a demon, he can’t feel that way, and, besides, what could he see in me? He’s probably just tired of rescuing me at this point - even if he did, it wouldn’t change a thing, they were still on opposite sides, no matter how many times he saved him, how much time they spent together, how much they laughed together, it just couldn’t be.
He felt heartbroken. No, he couldn’t tell him that.
But he had to to apologize for being an idiot. He realized now how terrified he was all the time, how hurtful he had been all those years, insisting in that he was good and Crowley was bad, being rude whenever he proposed to do something that broke the rules, resisting to admit he cared about the demon. He had fought his feelings for centuries. Well, for thousands of years, actually. He was damned with that first smile at the Garden. He couldn’t believe how oblivious he had been, how stupid, how blind.
He tried to speak, but he couldn’t find the words.
“I…you.. well, I… You saved my books.”
“Angel, if you say thank you I’m leaving without you” Crowley threatened.
“No, I… I just… I didn’t mean it when I said “fraternizing”, you know?” he said, desperately. “I know you were hurt and I didn’t understand and… I do know. You’re not my enemy. You-”
“That was seventy-nine years ago, why would you bring that up?” he looked clearly uncomfortable. “Let’s get out of here”.
“I’m so sorry, Crowley” his voice trembled, he felt like he was going to cry. “I’m sorry about everything, I didn’t see it, I thought it was wrong, I’m so sorry”. He stumbled forward and he nearly tripped. The demon stretched out his arms without thinking to prevent him from falling (how ironic, right?) as the angel grabbed his jacket. They were so close now, but Aziraphale avoided his eyes.
“Angel, calm down. What didn’t you see?” he asked, tense.
Aziraphale felt sick. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, unable to say anything.
“I… I can’t” he finally said, defeated.
Crowley lifted his chin with a finger, barely touching him, until their eyes met, and Aziraphale thought he would melt, his stomach flipping over, his skin burning under the soft touch. The demon had never done anything like that before; he was looking at him from above the dark glasses like he could read his mind, and Aziraphale though, almost hopefully, that if anybody could do that, it sure was him.
Crowley’s yellow eyes pierced his for what felt like ages, and then his expression shifted slowly. It looked like he was fighting an internal battle.
Time seemed to stop when the demon closed the distance between them and kissed him.
Aziraphale panted, surprised, something exploding in his chest. It didn’t feel wrong, or strange. It felt like home.
And in that moment, he couldn’t care less about Heaven or Hell, because Crowley was kissing him softly, one hand still under his chin and the other one in his head, running his fingers through his hair, his whole body pressed against his. Aziraphale kissed him back like the world ended that night, clinging desperately onto his jacket, and the demon chuckled quietly before biting the angel’s lip impossibly slowly, making his knees wobble. He thought he would go mad. Crowley kissed him like he knew exactly every weak spot he had and how to touch it, his mouth trailing the line of his neck, his hands holding him close.
They broke the kiss after a while, breathing heavily, but stayed in place, Aziraphale’s hands still grabbing his jacket. He felt dizzy and exhilarated, happiest than he had ever been. He smiled at the demon, who looked more hellish than ever, eyes glowing yellow, wicked smile.
“I was beginning to wonder how many times I’d have to save your ass to make you fall for me”, the demon said casually after a few seconds.
“W-what?” Aziraphale stammered, his face red.
Crowley laughed. “We should get going”, he said, and started walking again. “Are you coming, angel?”
Aziraphale almost ran after him, astonished, but he couldn’t keep silent for long.
“So, hmm… Will you stop now that… well, you know, you got what you wanted?”
Crowley looked falsely confused. “And what did I want?”
“You know”, said Aziraphale, exasperated.
“You can’t even say it, angel?” he sounded so amused, oh, in those moments he couldn’t forget he was indeed a demon...
“It’s not that! Now that I… well, that… you know, we… we… kissed”, he said, lowering his voice in the last word. Oh, god, he was flustered.
“Sooo…?” Crowley was practically beaming. Well, at least one of them was having fun.
“So will you stop?” Aziraphale tried to pull himself together.
“Stop what?”
“Saving me” Aziraphale blurted out, unable to stop himself.
Crowley stopped walking and turned to face him. He took off his glasses and grinned widely, just like the first time he did at the Garden.
“Never, angel”.