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There have been many times over the millennia that Crowley had come close to holding Aziraphale’s hand, to kissing him, to telling him just how much he loves him.
Perhaps none of those were the right moment.
Six thousand years of waiting, and he couldn’t think of a better time or place than Aziraphale’s newly restored bookshop after saving the world they both love from total annihilation. They’re surrounded by books--many centuries old, others only a couple years old--that hold the histories and stories that have made them both come to love humanity.
That love for humanity has served as a backdrop for their own love story.
Theirs is the first and longest, after all.
They weren’t made for one another like Adam and Eve. They came together at the start of everything, met each other east of Eden, beings on opposing sides of everything. Nevertheless, they came together again and again, chose each other over and over for six thousand years.
To Crowley, Aziraphale was unlike any other angel. He was Good in a way that others weren’t, and so contrary to the strict order of Heaven. Aziraphale made his own choices according to what he thought was Good and asked no one for permission.
Choices.
Choices are the answers made for the questions not to be asked or that are left unanswered.
Crowley had Fallen because of the questions he asked, but Aziraphale didn’t ask questions. He simply did as he saw fit. Crowley should have been angry or at the very least upset that he had Fallen for his questions, but Aziraphale had not fallen for his actions. However, this was never the case.
Crowley loved him for his choices.
Aziraphale chose to give his God-given sword away because of his concern for humanity beyond the garden.
Aziraphale chose to thwart evil by encouraging humans to do so on their own.
Aziraphale chose to enjoy the creations of humanity whether it was books, food, music, art, dance--he loved all of this because in and of themselves, they were the result of choices.
Crowley loves Aziraphale for the same reason they love humanity.
Crowley, in the quiet evening after the end of the world, chooses to take Aziraphale’s hand as they wind through the bookshop towards the back. Aziraphale falters a step, feeling the world shift on it’s axis, and stops amidst the tall shelves and stacks of books.
“Crowley?” There’s a question there, in the way Aziraphale says his name. The words aren’t spoken, but Crowley answers him with a kiss.