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Denial is quite a powerful opium. If one decides to dig their heels in and insist on turning a blind eye, they absolutely will not see whatever it is they're trying to ignore, no matter how painfully obvious it would be--no matter whether it's about a particularly unpleasant event they would rather forget, a person they would very much like to never have known, or perhaps a feeling that's been growing inside of them for so long it started biting at them from the inside, but one that would probably be best left alone. The problem with such a powerful coping mechanism is not only how harmful it is in a longer run, but also that it actually works. At some point, somewhere along this very unhealthy way, one learns to deny certain things so well that they completely stop picking up on the clues around them. Of course, there are instances when their brain does it for them, when a happening from the past is too traumatic for them to be able to process it, it just gets blanked out. But that's only sometimes. In most cases it's a conscious choice with the same reason standing behind--it's just better to forget some thing. It's better to not pick up on some things. It's better to ignore some things. For everyone's sake.
And this exactly what angel Aziraphale did. Well, has been doing, actually, and he has been doing it for many, many years, all the way since 33AD. You see, in 33AD on Golgotha is when Aziraphale fell in love, and he knew that. All angels are beings of love and they're perfectly able of recognizing when the feelings, emotions and experiences they sense come from the surroundings and when they come from within. Although it was the first time Aziraphale has ever experienced anything of the sort, he knew what it meant--even though this isn't something angels are exactly supposed to do, and even if they were, they certainly wouldn't be supposed to fall in love with demons. Now you can probably understand why the weight of it frightened Aziraphale to the point that he's decided to flat-out deny it, push it down to the deepest and darkest corners of his mind and pretend his feelings aren't there, or at least that they aren't true. And he wished they weren't. Loving someone you're not supposed to is painful enough on its own, not to mention the fact that Crowley would never, ever love Aziraphale back.
Except that he did. And he had loved Aziraphale long before the angel realized his feelings, long before he even caught them. Specifically, Crowley had loved Aziraphale since their encounter in the Garden of Eden, all the way back in 4004BC. You can probably guess why Aziraphale was so convinced that Crowley would never love him back, and thus why it would be best to repress his feelings and deny them to the point it hurt: it's because love is all he could ever feel radiating form Crowley. Since he didn't know anything else coming from the demon, it was only logical for him to assume that this is just what Crowley's aura felt like; and after nothing has changed through hundreds and hundreds of years, that Crowley simply didn't reciprocate his feelings. That is what caused him to shove his love for Crowley into denial, which, of course, meant that he would remain blind to everything--to all the signs on Heaven and Earth screaming that the feeling was mutual. No matter how painfully obvious Crowley would make it, no matter just how hard he tried to express his love without spelling it out, Aziraphale remained oblivious to it. If only he wasn't so persistent in his tryings to remain blind to everything that would point at Crowley reciprocating his feelings, maybe then he would see that the demon was always conveniently around whenever Aziraphale managed to get himself into trouble.
One of such instances happened back in 1327, when after a successfully completed blessing he was assigned with, Aziraphale decided to spend a bit more time in the little Scottish town his task sent him to. There wasn't much to do or see there, especially not in the fourteenth century, perhaps except visiting a tiny bakery with simply the most delightful bread rolls in the whole British Isles. Ever since developing a taste for human food back in the first century, Aziraphale would indulge himself with a treat every now and then--especially after getting a job done in such a wet, cold and overall unpleasant place as that town. He deserved a little reward. Just that standing at the wrong corner at the wrong time and with wrong people is what got Aziraphale arrested and thrown into an even wetter, colder and more unpleasant cell. The law system was very far from bring perfect at that time, and doing as much as enjoying your fresh baked goods too close a riot or other quarrel could get you put in a prison. Thankfully by a miraculous coincidence--or at least that's what Aziraphale had told himself--Crowley was just passing by there and got him out without waking anyone's suspicion. The use of his demonic powers balanced out the effect Azirpahale's divine powers have caused earlier that day, and as a consequence, it wouldn't get neither Hell's nor Heaven's attention directed at that particular part of Scotland. Truly, a miracle of its own that Crowley just so happened to be right there that day.
Another, similar instance took place in 1793, when in the midst of the French revolution Aziraphale had the brilliant idea to go to the chaos of Paris for crêpes dressed like an aristocrat. Granted, it was his usual manner of dressing of that time, but seeing what political state France was these particular years, it only went to show that as intelligent as the angel was, he somehow managed to be not very bright at the same. Unless, of course, no matter whether subconsciously or consciously, he held to a shred of hope that if he had gotten himself in trouble once again, Crowley would be there to rescue him. That went completely against insistent denial he was perpetuating, but this is just the thing with hope--no matter the desperation, denial or resignation, some pieces of it always manage to slip through and keep on burning bright. In the end, Aziraphale (or his subconscious) was right: Crowley did come to save him that day in 1793 and the whole event ended with them going out for lunch like they usually did. Sadly, at that point Aziraphale was so deep in his trying to repress his feelings that even yet another "coincidental" case of Crowley getting him out of trouble didn't give him the slightest clue of how fond of him the demon had become.
Who knows? Maybe if it wasn't for the fear he experienced pretty much on a daily basis and the denial he drove himself into, maybe then Aziraphale would notice, at the very least, that these weren't the only times when Crowley stuck around to make sure that the angel is safe. Of course, normally, due to their opposite auras, angels and demons are quite literally able to sense one another from a mile away. However, being so used to the way Crowley--or rather his love--felt rendered Aziraphale utterly incapable of differentiating when he was around or when he was not. It was as though no matter the distance between them and the plane of existence they found themselves on, Crowley feeling so strongly about Aziraphale caused the angel to always sense him, and since he always sensed him, he couldn't tell when Crowley was far away and when he was close. But those are just his angelic senses. He still had all of the ones usually described as human--he could still see the familiar fiery ginger hair and glimmering golden eyes in Rome when it fell; he could still hear snarky voice and distinctive hissing on the streets of London when the Black Plague broke out; he could even smell that specific, slightly spicy smell in his rather newly opened bookshop in the mid 1800s. He just chose to not notice it, to not pick up on it, to not register it. It was self-preservation, or so he thought.
The breakthrough came in 1941 on a fairly quiet night in a fairly quiet church during not very quiet times. Yet again, there is no way to actually know whether Aziraphale was acting on subconscious purpose or he was genuinely this clueless in his doings, but whatever one of these options it was, it eventually got him to being held at a gunpoint. Even though being shot point blank wouldn't kill him, there would be a lot of paperwork and Aziraphale really wouldn't want to part with the body he's had pretty much since the Beginning. Though, as always, Crowley was there to rescue him, it's not quite what was powerful enough for the truth to get to Aziraphale through the thick coat of denial. It was what happened after, exactly in the moment when Crowley handed him the untouched bag with books and a nonchalant "a demonic miracle of my own." That little, insignificant in the grand scheme of the Ineffable Plan miracle was exactly what made Aziraphale realize, what made him understand, what made him remember all those little moments scattered through time and space but screaming on unison: he loves me, he loves me, he loves me.
That is, sadly, not to say that he actually acknowledged it or acted on his realization right away--it took him until 1967 before he not only managed to gather enough courage to take an action, but also found a way to admit he's seen Crowley loving him for so many years without actually baring his soul or saying it directly. Aziraphale could certainly never tell Crowley of his feelings and they would absolutely never be allowed to be... Well, one or other way, ever since the fight they had in St. James' park in 1862, Aziraphale has known that Crowley wanted to acquire some holy water. "An insurance", he called it, but Aziraphale absolutely refused to provide back then, too scared that Crowley would use it as a suicide pill. That night in 1967, however, Aziraphale decided to use it as an excuse. Scared to no end but very much ready to gift the holy water to Crowley, he brought it along with him in a tartan thermos as he slid into the Bentley parked on one of the London streets. He was sure that Crowley loved him back at that point, and he worried that Crowley might know that Aziraphale loves him, so really, all Aziraphale wanted to achieve was to tell Crowley "I saw you, all you've done for me, every time you've been here for me, how you were looking out for me, that you're still here, I see you". That was the only reason he decided to bring Crowley the holy water, it was the only way for him to tell Crowley that he acknowledges his feelings, that he knows, that he saw and that the appreciates it. Saying this out loud was... just not an option. That's not how they did things, not ever. Actions spoke more than words. And it worked. Crowley knew: he knew as soon as he caught the sight of the tartan thermos being handed to him. And it showed. It showed on the smallest change of expression on his face, something Aziraphale learned to pick up on a long, long time ago.
This night could've ended right here and there. They could have... go their own separate ways like they always do, take some time to properly process, digest and take in whatever that was that happened between them in the Bentley, because there was no doubt in either of their minds that it was a confession. It was supposed to be. It was. Perhaps they could have even seen each other again in a very near future for lunch and, who knows, maybe even talk about this, if only Crowley didn't push. If only Aziraphale didn't become suddenly hyperaware of what he has done and how real the situation was, that there was no longer a way for him to pretend that this isn't real. If only Crowley wasn't desperate for just a few more minutes together after wanting to get to this point for five thousand nine hundred and seventy one years, maybe then the heartbreaking "you go too fast for me, Crowley" would have never happened. If only Aziraphale didn't know that his "I see you" was really a painfully obvious "I love you", maybe then Crowley wouldn't have to go another fifty one years believing that Aziraphale didn't love him after all.
If only.