Chapter Text
Aziraphale
"You can stay at my place, if you'd like."
Aziraphale looks up suddenly to face Crowley. He can't tell exactly which emotion he was exhibiting--the sunglasses did a great job at hiding any feelings lurking behind those golden snake-eyes--but he knew he must be feeling something from the way he held his breath.
"I...I don't think my side would like that." Aziraphale says hesitantly, darting his eyes between Crowley's poker face and the ground in front of him.
"You don't have a side anymore," the demon said, shaking his head with a pained look on his face. Aziraphale may be imagining things, but it seemed as if Crowley had...sympathy...for him. "Neither of us do. We're on our own side."
Aziraphale stirs uncomfortably, swallowing and averting his eyes again. Something in the way Crowley said things like "our", or "us" made him feel tight in the chest; a very similar, but somehow lighter sensation as the anxiety that sometimes plagued him. He opens his mouth to protest again, but something in the way the demon was looking at him, the intensity radiating from him, made him close his mouth and try to formulate a way to say what he actually wants to say: yes. Crowley apparently misreads his silence as a declination of his request, so he straightens up and moves his hand from where it was almost touching Aziraphale on the back of the bench down to his side, tapping his fingers awkwardly.
"Well, I suppose you could sleep on a park bench like the rest of the homeless do, but the door is always open, angel." Crowley flashes a smile at him, before standing to walk away.
"No!" Aziraphale bursts, unable to hold in his torrent of emotion.
Crowley stops and turns on his heels like a runway model, and gives a happy little half-smile. "No what?"
Aziraphale takes a deep breath, grips the edge of the park bench tightly, and forces himself to look Crowley in the eyes. "No, please don't leave. I...I'll come with you. I'll stay."
Crowley's face splits into a genuine grin, and holds out his hand. Aziraphale can sense the unadulterated joy radiating from him, which flustered him to the point of speechlessness. All he could do is give him a restrained smile, and take his hand. The contact of skin on skin between an angel and demon had a sort of electric current, something forbidden but oh so enticing. So enticing, in fact, that Aziraphale finds himself still holding Crowley's hand for a full 10 seconds after he had been helped up.
Crowley gives him a shit-eating grin and says, "This works too," and pulled Aziraphale to his side and started walking hand-in-hand with the angel.
"Oh, my..." Aziraphale whispers under his breath, but he holds Crowley's hand tighter and continues walking.
6,000 years and they had never touched each other for more than a few seconds. Aziraphale can't believe they hadn't done it sooner. Crowley's hand was warm, and surprisingly soft and supple, despite the boniness of his fingers. It took everything in him not to caress the hand with his thumb the way he always dreamed of doing.
Yes, Aziraphale knew he was in love, and had been for roughly 6,000 years. He never doubted his feelings for Crowley, however forbidden they may be, and he never doubted their friendship, but the only thing he wasn't sure of was if demons could feel love, and therefore if Crowley could love him despite being a demon. As much as Aziraphale wanted to deny it, both Crowley and him have broken the mold and rebelled against their respective kingdoms, so maybe it was possible that demons--rather, one demon--could love him back.
"This is nice."
Crowley breaks Aziraphale's thoughts with that soft-spoken comment, still looking straight ahead with no indication he had spoken.
"...yes. Yes, I suppose it is." Aziraphale answered breathlessly, looking straight ahead as well, trying to sound matter of fact, but failing miserably.
"Imagine that. A demon and an angel walking hand in hand down the streets of London, hours after the apocalypse should have occurred. Sounds like the beginning of a joke." Crowley says this with a bit of a smile on his face, a smile which Aziraphale was sure he himself is mirroring despite his efforts to "stay cool".
The two continue walking down the street, for the most part silent, holding tightly to the other as if it were all they had left. And in a way, they were. Neither had any place to call home, nothing like a family, and they seemed to realize that they haven't had anything to call their own besides each other almost since the day they met. As much as Aziraphale tried to push the thought out of his head, he knew that Heaven had never been there for or supported him the way Crowley always had. Maybe that counted as love.
"Well, this is me. Us, now, actually," Crowley added as they stood in front of his flat. Their flat now. Aziraphale suppresses a shiver of happiness at the thought.
They both walk up the stairs to the flat, and enter. Aziraphale had been in Crowley's flat a handful of times, and was always baffled from the sleek, yet entirely dysfunctional interior. He had a top of the line sound system...with no speakers. A high end computer...still running on Windows 98. You can imagine the rest. The only thing that seemed to actually hold a purpose were the dozens and dozens of plants and flowers meticulously placed around the house that Crowley shouts at and aggressively spritzes with water. Aziraphale doesn't understand why, but if it made the demon happy, then that's his business.. It was no homey bookstore, but it was Crowley's. And Aziraphale loved everything about Crowley.
"So, it's technically a three bedroom flat, but the other two are filled with...plants," Crowley said rather sheepishly, as if having more plants than brain cells was shameful.
"It's alright, Crowley. I don't sleep much anyways." Aziraphale replies, despite the fact that he would definitely sleep more often if it were with Crowley.
"Yeah, that's true. Just thought you might like a space to call your own. We can always share, you know," Crowley said, facing Aziraphale with a look he could only describe as wistful and hopeful.
Aziraphale doesn't know what to say. Well, he knew exactly what to say: yes please. But thinking that and saying that were two different things, something he had struggled with for 6,000 years. When Crowley asked, no, begged, him (twice!) to run away with him to Alpha Centuri, Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to drop everything he was doing and run away and never look back. But he didn't. He used the excuse he's been using for six millennia: his side wouldn't like that. But now he doesn't have a side. He's free to say and do whatever he pleases.
So why was it so hard to get the words out?
"We don't have to. I just thought you might want to. Now that your "side" can't tell you what to do." Crowley says, looking a little deflated at the perceived distaste he thought he saw in Aziraphale's face.
Ah. So that's why Crowley had been overly flirtatious and a tad desperate. He thought that the bonds keeping the angel away from him were merely loyalty-based, not anxiety and shyness-based. Aziraphale had to admit, using the loyalty card was his go-to reason not to indulge with Crowley, so it's not an implausible conclusion for the demon to have reached. Aziraphale finds himself hoping desperately that Crowley is capable of love, and that this is him finally expressing it.
"It's fine. We can share," Aziraphale says hurriedly, finding himself bolder with every passing minute. How far he had strayed in less than 12 hours, going from an Angel of God to sharing a bedroom with the Serpent of Eden!
If Aziraphale was truthful with himself--which he often wasn't--he would realize that he had started straying a long time ago, straddling two different lives until he had to choose one side and leave the other. Somewhere in the Bible there is the phrase, "one cannot serve two masters", and Aziraphale had to choose which side meant the most to him. Or rather, the choice was made for him, and now he has to deal with the consequences of being the black sheep. It wasn't so bad, actually. It's just a matter of him learning how to have free will.
Crowley smiles at him the way he often does--as if Aziraphale hung the moon. This goes a bit unnoticed by the angel, seeing as this is how Crowley looks at him like this 90% of the time. Aziraphale is just as guilty of giving the demon the same look, but we digress.
"Wonderful, angel. Wouldn't want to have you live in the closet," he teases, making Aziraphale flush red. Yes, he was aware of the human meaning of that, but he wasn't sure if Crowley did.
It was late. Darkness had fallen hours ago, and Aziraphale was exhausted. Not in the "I need sleep" kind of way, just in the "my bones ache and I need to lie down" way. Aziraphale tentatively speaks up.
"Crowley, if it's, ah...if it's not too much to ask, may I just...lie down for a bit? I'm awfully tired."
Crowley's face flashes surprise, then embarrassment. "Oh, angel, I'm sorry, I should have offered sooner, I completely forgot, I'm rather tired too, it's just--" Crowley stops himself from babbling then, takes a breath, and says, "Would you like the couch or the bed?"
Aziraphale's heart stutters a bit and leaps into his throat. "Oh, um...I don't know...I don't want to take your bed, heavens no, but--"
"It's fine, angel. It's a queen-sized, plenty of room for both of us."
Oh.
"For...for both of us?" Aziraphale asked hesitantly. God, he was in over his head.
"I mean, yeah, if you'd like." Crowley says, doing his best to remain casual, his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels a bit.
All of a sudden, it was too much. The way Crowley was looking at him, how quickly the situation escalated, the amount of desperate love clamoring in Aziraphale's chest, it was just too much too soon and too fucking fast and he couldn't deal.
"No. I can't. Its not..." Aziraphale starts, then takes a breath. "You...you move too fast for me, Crowley," he says rather breathlessly, aware of the deja vu of him saying that line again. His heart continues to beat an arrhythmic tattoo on the inside of his ribs, and his breath was coming short and shallow.
Crowley's face falls for less than a second, but then was covered with an indifferent, unbothered mask. Aziraphale thought he might see disappointment and regret seeping through, but perhaps that was just his own emotions projecting on the demon.
"It's alright. You've just lost Heaven, you're tired, I was wrong. It was too much. You can have the couch, angel." Crowley says, his voice definitely laced with some sort of disappointment. Aziraphale was pained by this, but there's no way in heaven that he wants to rescind his decision. Not just yet.
"Thank you," Aziraphale whispers, relief flooding through him, snuffing out the flame of anxiety within his chest.
"Don't mention it," Crowley says, rather roughly, as if his hopes and dreams had been shattered. A little dramatic of a thought, Aziraphale thinks, but accurate enough.
There was an awkward beat of silence before Aziraphale claps his hands together and says, "Righty-ho. I guess I'll get to it. Goodnight, Crowley."
"Goodnight, angel," the demon says softly, and turns to leave into his bedroom down the hall.
Aziraphale laid down, closed his eyes, and to his surprise, drifted off to sleep.
***
Crowley
So stupid!
Crowley paces about his room, resisting the urge to break and throw things for fear of waking up his best friend in the next room.
How could he have been so stupid?
To think that Aziraphale, Angel of God, Mr. Prim-And-Proper himself, would want to share a bed with a demon? Absolutely despicable! And Crowley was an idiot to think that whatever he felt deep within his bones would be reciprocated by someone as literally perfect as Aziraphale.
Crowley stops and places his hands behind his head, looking straight ahead into the far distance. He's being overrun with emotions and thoughts and feelings and just wants it to stop. Life was so much better when he was definitively evil and the embodiment of Hell itself. Fucking with the M-25, glueing 50p coins to the sidewalk, miracling children's ice cream cones falling into the dirt; even though these were mild inconveniences at best, it was still completely on-brand as to what was expected of a fallen angel like himself. But now? Now he had saved the world. Now he invited what should have always been a sworn enemy into his home and into his bed. Were there any lines now? Any rules of conduct he could follow?
Loving an angel. What a joke he is.
Crowley kicks off his shoes and flops onto his bed, still in the clothes he had been wearing for about 24 hours. He always had an odd habit of sleeping or resting on one side of the bed, instead of in the middle, as if he was saving room for someone. Of course, having someone to share a bed with was enticing, but as a demon, love really wasn't on the table, and casual sex wasn't really Crowley's thing. Sex in general was disinteresting, actually, but that could just be because he's not exactly human. So he was alone. Except for Aziraphale, of course.
He had never really seen Aziraphale interested in sex either, but the whole "sexual purity" thing angels have going on could be a result of that. Regardless, imagining sharing a bed with Aziraphale was one of his guilty pleasures. Having the angel hold him, caressing his harsh edges and lines with a hand so much more gentle and soft as his, hearing his heartbeat with his head on his chest, burrowed into his soft body and pretending that maybe he wasn't all that unlovable.
He would never admit it, though, and that's why he was kicking himself for being so overeager to sleep with Aziraphale. Kicking himself for believing for an instant that Aziraphale loved him. An angel loving a demon. Ridiculous.
Crowley closed his eyes, and tried to imagine an arm around him as he drifted off to sleep.
***
Sunlight filters into the room through the shuttered blinds of Crowley's bedroom. His eyes slowly open, and for a blissful moment he is unaware of any troubles. That's what he loved bout sleeping; when he woke up, for a single, solitary moment, he was at peace. No thoughts of regret or burning desire for something more, something real. Just sleepy, heavy-eye lid contentedness.
Then his limbs returned to their usual state of tension, his forehead starts to pinch as his brows furrow, and is reminded the has nothing in this world except an angel who could never love him.
He heaved himself off his back and sat perched at the edge of his bed for a moment, trying to salvage what he could of his wakeup bliss, but it was gone. He reached for his sunglasses, forever trying to hide what he would always be: an unforgivable, heartless demon.
He walks into the living room and is met with the sleeping form of Aziraphale face-up on the couch. For a minute, Crowley stops to admire him. Soft, gentle lines of his body that flowed so smoothly and easily around his body; his fluffy, featherlike hair that framed his face so beautifully; the way his face looked so utterly calm and at peace, and the slow, rhythmic breathing that pushed his chest up, then brought it back down again. Such a beautiful being. The world stopped for a minute as he stared wistfully at the angel, in full Hopeless Romantic mode.
Aziraphale breathed deeply, then opened his eyes. Crowley averted his gaze to the floor and walked through to the kitchen, hoping Aziraphale didn't notice his blatant pining.
"Good morning, angel," Crowley said in his usual cocky manner, leaning forward on his elbows that rested on the kitchen table. "Fancy some breakfast?"
Aziraphale smiled softly before rising to a sitting position, his hair mussed and his eyes heavy in a way that send a pang of some unknown emotion through Crowley. "I would love too. Where?"
Crowley smiled widely, as if he knew something Aziraphale didn't. "Right here. I'll make you something."
Aziraphale's mouth made an "o" shape with surprise; it obviously didn't occur to him that demons--well, this demon--would bother himself with learning the fine art of cooking.
"What, you think demons don't know how to cook? Been around for a few millennia, I've picked up some tricks," Crowley says, with a certain strut to his voice as he begins to look for cookware.
Aziraphale looks at him with the dumbest smile and widest eyes Crowley had ever seen, an emotion he would have recognized as love if that wasn't the face he always looked at him with. It has been 6,000 years, and Crowley still felt the same buzz and butterflies he had felt ever since Aziraphale smiled at him the first time.
The first time was roughly 5,300 years ago, and they had only seen each other a handful of times in those 700 years since they first met. Aziraphale had a habit of not looking at Crowley when he spoke, as if he were too ashamed of the fact that he was "fraternizing", as he so delicately put it, with his sworn enemy. It bothered him, but at least when his eyes were averted he could admire him in peace. They were strolling through the still largely uninhabited planet, and Aziraphale would not shut up about how beautiful the Earth was. How ever flower had a unique scent, how every stone had a different shape, how each living creature breathed in a separate fashion, etc etc. Crowley found this both endearing and heartbreaking, as he loved to watch Aziraphale speak so passionately about the Earth they both helped create--a little tidbit Aziraphale seemed to forget a lot--but also saddening because he felt so devoid of emotion regarding the facets of the Earth. He stayed quiet and listened to him, until the angel asked him what his favorite part about Earth was.
Birds, he had said. He had seen a white dove flit up into the tree Aziraphale was gazing at, and decided that that was going to be his favorite, because it reminded him of the only angel who was nice to him. Aziraphale looked him in the eye for the first time, and beamed so brilliantly that Crowley lost his breath. Birds are my favorite too! Aziraphale exclaimed, and for once Crowley didn't feel like a dirty little secret or a forbidden relationship, and instead felt the warm rush of love and absolute adoration. And he hoped Aziraphale had felt it too.
"I didn't mean that," Aziraphale says sheepishly. "I just didn't think you would cook for me."
"Nonsense. Anything for you, angel," Crowley says, winking. Aziraphale averts his eyes and smiles at the ground a bit. "What would you like?"
Aziraphale looks at him and smiles even wider. "I think...I think I would fancy an omelette. With a lot of cheese. If it's not too much to ask." The angel shifts on the couch a bit, obviously feeling a bit flustered at having such a fuss made over him.
An omelette. How incredibly on-brand.
"Sure thing. What do you say to some wine afterwards?" Crowley suggests.
"Wine?" Aziraphale questions, "It's not even 9:00 yet, Crowley."
"We're ethereal beings, angel, anytime is drinking time."
Aziraphale chuckles a bit, wringing his hands briefly as he averts his eyes. "Of course, yes. I was just thinking about taking a little stroll together after breakfast. You know, just to get some fresh air. And maybe talk a bit."
"That sounds like a good idea. Better than getting shitfaced before noon, anyway," Crowley adds as he cracks an egg into a frying pan. "What would you like to talk about?"
"Oh, nothing in particular," Aziraphale says hurriedly, "Just the, uh...weather. And the birds. I remember you like birds."
Crowley keeps his head low and eyes on the omelette to hide a the ever-present grin he had on when he was with Aziraphale. He actually didn't smile much when he was on his own, he had a bit of a resting bitch face. But he couldn't hide his happiness when he was around his angel.
"I never told you this, angel, but I don't actually have a favorite thing about Earth," Crowley says, still focused on the omelette. "I just saw a white dove that looked like you and said it. You were so happy, I didn't want to spoil it."
Aziraphale gazed at him so adoringly, his entire body moving with affection, and says,
"You really said that for me?"
"Of course I did, angel," he says in a 'why don't you know this already' tone, "I do everything for you."
The angel looks absolutely starstruck, an expression that Crowley missed because of his attention to the eggs in the pan. Internally, he was screaming. Here he is, acting all domestic with Aziraphale, just torturing himself with the idea that this could be for the rest of eternity and he would love it. Imagining cooking breakfast for him every morning, waking up beside him, walking hand in hand, and, though Crowley tried not to think of it, kissing and kissing Aziraphale's lovely lips until the end of times.
"Breakfast is served," Crowley says, forcing himself back to reality. He flips the omelette into the air and onto a plate with extreme talent and precision, with an insufferable showoff smirk towards the angel.
"Oh, lovely!" Aziraphale exclaimed, rising and sitting at the kitchen bar across from Crowley. Crowley stayed standing at the counter to eat his omelette, sneaking glances at the angel when he thought he wasn't looking. Thousands of years had passed, but Aziraphale's face was just as wonderful as it was the day they met.
"This is absolutely HEAVENLY, Crowley!" the angel exclaims after his first bite of omelette.
"Well, I wouldn't call it heavenly, considering I made it, but it is one of my better dishes," Crowley says dryly.
The two eat in comfortable silence. Awkward, tense silences were almost unheard of in their very, very long friendship. It was so nice to just be able to be with someone without having to constantly think of ways to fill the silence.
"You know, you really didn't have to do this," Aziraphale says, still looking at the food in front of him, taking dainty bites of the omelette.
"Of course I didn't," Crowley replies easily, flashing the angel a smile. "I wanted to."
Aziraphale flushes, shifting in his seat with restrained happiness. "Oh. Well, thank you, then. I really love it, Crowley."
And I love you.
The thought is in and out of his head in lightning speed, a phrase so rehearsed and longed for that it almost shoots out of his egg-filled mouth on the spot. He settles for quietly clearing his throat to stem the words that so badly wanted to be spoken.
"Don't mention it. I rarely get to cook for anyone but myself. It's my pleasure." Crowley says through a mouthful of food.
After the two had finished their food, they set out for their promised walk around London. Crowley so desperately wanted to hold Aziraphale's hand like he did last night, but kept his hands firmly shoved into his pockets to keep himself from grabbing the angel's hand.
"So..." Crowley begins, nervousness rising in his stomach in anticipation of what he is going to stay next. "Is this permanent? I mean, would you like to stay at my place for the next while?"
Aziraphale visibly tenses, his breath caught in his throat, and Crowley regrets opening his idiot mouth in the first place.
"I know you said I move too fast for you, and I'm sorry about that, angel, I just didn't know if--"
"Yes."
Crowley stops mid-sentence and looks at the angel incredulously. "You mean that?"
Aziraphale takes a deep breath, glances at Crowley nervously, and repeats himself. "Yes, Crowley. I would like to stay with you. As you said, we're on our own side now."
Crowley's heart is so full of joy and love and absolute adoration that he feels it may burst. He breaks out into a full-fledged grin, and in a bold moment of bravery, takes his left hand from its pocket and grabs Aziraphale's hand. The electric current was still there, and Crowley wonders once again why he waited so long to do that.
Aziraphale lets out a small gasp before tightening his fingers around Crowley's hand. The current grew stronger, and Crowley likes to think it's because Aziraphale enjoys it.
"I suppose this comes with the territory then, Crowley?" he asks breathlessly, still staring straight ahead.
"Only if you want it to, angel." Crowley says quietly, just audible enough for Aziraphale to heat. "I don't want to rush you."
"Rush me into what?"
Shit. He let himself slip up again. He hurries to correct himself.
"Well, I didn't mean like, rush into anything more, unless of course you want that, you probably don't though, so I just meant in the general sense of moving too fast, I mean first I ask you to move in, then share a room, and now--"
"It's quite all right, Crowley," Aziraphale cuts him off gently. "This is fine. Friends hold hands all the time, don't they? It's been 6,000 years, we know each other well enough."
Friends.
Nothing more.
Despite the happiness and joy that came with holding Aziraphale's hand, all he could think about is that he and that angel would never, could never, be anything more than friends. He was lucky as is to be considered a friend, but that victory in it of itself seemed hollow.
"Friends, yes. That sounds like us." Crowley managed to get out around the lump in his throat.
"Of course. We're friends." Aziraphale says quietly.
"Forever and always, angel."