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Chapter Text

The first time it happened was at Anathema and Newt’s. They’d travelled to Tadfield for an afternoon garden party that mostly involved their friends announcing their engagement and everyone drinking way too much champagne. Crowley and Aziraphale were having a lovely time, holding hands and nibbling appetizers in between sips of lovely alcohol, and enjoying the hijinks of Adam and the gang as they ran around the cottage garden causing general mayhem. Even Dog was in high spirits, running in circles and stealing bites of food wherever he could.

After a while, Anathema tracked them down, wrapped her arms around the two of them and uttered the fateful words that began everything which followed.

“So, when’re the two of you tying the knot?” she asked, her words just a little bit soft around the edges from a few glasses of bubbly. She stumbled just a little and Aziraphale righted her automatically, without thinking.

Crowley, for some reason, just laughed at the question. “Aren’t you a funny lady,” he said amiably. “Let’s get the two of you married off first, and then you can worry about us, all right?”

Aziraphale smiled along, not thinking much of it. But he did wonder a little, later that night, why Crowley’s reaction to that question was to make a joke of it.

“That was strange, wasn’t it?” Aziraphale said later as they were in the car driving back to London.

“What’s that, angel?”

“Oh, you know,” Aziraphale said with elaborate casualness. “The whole ‘when are you two tying the knot’ thing.”

“Ah,” Crowley said, sounding discomfited. He flapped a hand in an indeterminate fashion. “Don’t worry about that, angel. People just like to say things like that to people in a relationship. It’s just like asking about the weather.”

That wasn’t what Aziraphale had really meant. He screwed up his courage and tried again.

“Do you ever think about it?”

Crowley scoffed. “What, me? Marriage?” His fingers drummed the steering wheel nervously. “No, can’t really say that I have.” He paused and peeked over at Aziraphale. “Do you?”

“Oh no,” Aziraphale said, flushing a little. Thank goodness it was dark. “I’m just fine as we are. Whatever we like, right?”

“That’s right,” Crowley said, and put on some music to cover up the awkwardness.

I love him, Aziraphale thought later, as they lay in bed together dozing off. It doesn’t matter if we are married or not, because we’ve been through so much together. I don’t need it, and I don’t want it. Not if he doesn’t.

Crowley rolled over in his sleep and wrapped an arm round Aziraphale tightly, pulling him towards him and cutting off any further thoughts.

***

The second time it happened was at the bookshop, when Aziraphale’s favorite customer was visiting for tea. Mrs. Barlow was an older lady who had become a close friend of Aziraphale’s in the year that Crowley was napping, and still often brought her small dog around for conversation and tea, and to visit with Frederick. She was always welcomed whole-heartedly by the angel.

Aziraphale was showing her the latest pictures he’d taken on his mobile from one of their recent holiday weekends when she suddenly stopped and fixed a determined gaze on Aziraphale.

“You two are just darling together, you know,” she said firmly. “Now tell me you’re going to marry that skinny thing and make an honest man out of him. It’s high time.”

From his perch on the couch, Crowley looked up surreptitiously and watched as Aziraphale blushed from the roots of his hair to the top of his collar. He stammered, opened and closed his mouth a few times as if he wasn’t at all sure what to say, and then immediately set off to the kitchen to make another pot of tea. When he returned, he deftly turned the conversation in another direction. To her credit, Mrs. Barlow let him do so. But she did catch Crowley watching and gave him a huge wink.

Crowley sank back down in the couch and tried hard to wish himself back to sleep. He hadn’t failed to notice how the angel blanched each and every time someone said the word “married” around or about them. It was like the happy light just went out of his eyes each time it came up and he became stiff and anxious instead.

It didn’t matter, he told himself, if the angel didn’t want to get married. He was a demon, demons didn’t get married anyways. Of course, demons didn’t do any of the things he had been doing for the last few years – falling in love and kissing and making love and sharing a life. Perhaps they had already broken enough rules, he thought, and there was no need to add any further transgressions to the list.

His nap, ultimately, escaped him, and he gave up on it for the afternoon.

****

The problem with becoming regulars at an establishment was that eventually, the staff would inevitably get a little too familiar with you and start asking questions.

Such was the case at one of their favorite cafes, where they’d struck up a light friendship with several of the waitstaff. On slow nights, one or two of the staff members would sometimes linger near their table, sharing stories and getting to know them. It was all delightful until it suddenly wasn’t.

For example, when this happened.

“So, when are you two going to make things official?” one of the more familiar waitresses asked one night as she brought them their dessert.

Aziraphale, distracted by the gorgeous piece of chocolate cake placed in front of him, didn’t immediately connect the dots. “Make things official?” he asked.

“You know –” she said, “—put a ring on it. Any wedding plans?”

Crowley, mid-sip on an after-dinner espresso, froze instinctively, afraid that just hearing the words might send Aziraphale running for the hills. It had taken him so long to even come around to the idea of admitting he loved Crowley – the last thing the demon wanted to do was spook him further. He’d gotten a clear enough picture of what Aziraphale thought about the whole thing from their last few encounters with this particular question.

He snuck a peek at Aziraphale, who looked like a deer in the headlights, and he suddenly found himself intensely irritated at the world.

“Why,” he snapped before he could stop himself, “does everyone keep asking us this? How is it everyone’s bloody businesssss?”

The waitress paled, stammered her apologies and left the table as quickly as possible.

Aziraphale glared at him disapprovingly. “That really was uncalled for,” he muttered. “No need to take it out on the waitress, whatever this is. And you hissed at her!” Hissing was generally reserved just for Aziraphale, when he was getting on the demon’s nerves. Which was fine, because Aziraphale could take it -- but there were standards to uphold with general humans.

Crowley blinked at the angel. “I’m just tired of everyone nosing around in our relationship all the time! How about some privacy? Is it so much to ask?”

Aziraphale continued to frown. “Well, as you said yourself, it is a thing that people say. Perhaps not the wisest question to ask, but it’s almost just a conversational entry point in certain circumstances.”

Crowley took a large sip of the port he found in front of his plate. “Well they shouldn’t. Always making trouble, people are.”

Aziraphale sighed. “I understand,” he said. “But can you please apologize to the waitress? I don’t want to have to find a new café.”

Crowley shrugged noncommittally, but before they left he did mutter a quick apology, which appeared to be accepted.

“Better?” he asked, sounding sullen.

“Yes, thank you,” Aziraphale said a little stiffly.

***

Aziraphale found himself awake again in the middle of the night. He hadn’t missed how Crowley’s reactions to the marriage comments were going from bad to worse. He’d passed from simply laughing it off and appearing not to want to talk about it to attacking whoever brought it up. And there was a moment, whenever the question was first asked, that he instantly froze. Froze in what, though, was the question. Shock? Horror? Distaste? Whatever it was, Aziraphale thought, it couldn’t be good.

Ah, well, he thought. It didn’t really matter if the idea of marriage revolted the demon. Many modern couples chose to buck the traditional concept of marriage, and it didn’t necessarily mean anything was wrong. But it did hurt a little that he was so apparently horrified at the concept. Aziraphale secretly thought it sounded rather nice.

He rolled over and carefully arranged his pillow just so, and tried again to drift off to sleep.

***

Crowley found himself mulling over the angel’s reaction the next morning while he lolled in bed. Aziraphale, always an early riser, was usually long gone before Crowley arose, giving him time to awaken slowly and reflect on his dreams, plan his mischief for the day, and otherwise work his way slowly into consciousness.

Today, though, that pleasant morning routine was cut short by the return of memories of last night's dinner and the tensions it left behind. Crowley scowled thinking about the waiter’s impertinence in asking about marriage plans, and then he frowned thinking over both his and Aziraphale’s reactions. The angel had looked almost pained at the concept. He pasted a smile and a brave face on it, but it had been easy to see his discomfort. And then getting lectured for pushing back at the nosy questions! Crowley was pretty sure that was just a distraction the angel came up with to take the focus off of himself. Was it just too early to think about a permanent commitment, or was the angel put off by the idea of marrying? And more importantly, was he against the idea of marrying at all, or just against the idea of marrying him?

Who would want to marry a demon, anyways? a traitorous part of his brain whispered. And another part of him acknowledged this, believed it, and all but hung it on the wall in a picture frame to remind himself of it in case he forgot.

He headed to the bathroom to brush teeth and wash up, and attempted to put it from his mind.

Chapter Text

If there’s one thing guaranteed to make a demon who’s feeling unworthy feel worse, it’s being reassured by his loved one that the thing he secretly wants isn’t actually on the table to begin with.

Crowley noticed at breakfast that the angel appeared to have something on his mind. He was a little distracted, not as absorbed in the lovely morning rituals he enjoyed of making tea and breakfast. He carried breakfast over to the table and laid out two plates of blueberry pancakes and then all but fiddled with his fork, not appearing even remotely interested in eating.

Crowley looked up from stuffing at least half of the top pancake into his mouth, to find Aziraphale watching him, with an cautious expression in his eyes he couldn’t read.

“Wha?” he mumbled around the huge mouthful of food.

Aziraphale smiled a little at that. “Please,” he said, making a gesture, “feel free to swallow first.”

Crowley mock-smiled at the angel but did manage to chew and swallow the food before he tried again. “Why are you staring at me like that?” he said.

Aziraphale sighed. “I just – I just wanted to tell you. In case you were wondering – “ He paused, clearly trying to choose his words carefully.

“C’mon, angel, out with it. I can’t read your mind.”

“It’s just that – well, I love you, for one.” Aziraphale said, putting a hand over Crowley’s on the breakfast table. “And if you’re at all concerned about it, I’m absolutely fine with what we have. I don’t need anything more than this.”

Crowley knew he should be patient and understanding, but his morning musings about why anyone would love a demon enough to marry had left him feeling raw before Aziraphale even said anything. This – this disavowal certainly didn’t help.

He put his fork down decisively. “What in the blazes are you on about, angel?” he snapped.

Aziraphale looked taken aback at the unexpected level of aggravation he’d encountered. “Why – just, I see how it bothers you when people make assumptions about our relationship, and I wanted to reassure you that –”

“Assumptions?” Crowley said. “Why would I mind people making the assumption that we’re together? It’s you who’s bothered by it.”

Aziraphale sat back, eyes wide. “I most certainly am not!”

“Oh, yes you are,” Crowley said, pointing a finger at him accusingly. “I saw how you reacted last night when that waitress said the m-word in front of us. You pounded down your port and gave her one of those brittle smiles that are all strained around the edges and looked like you’d like to discorporate.”

“I did that because you were completely frozen in shock!” Aziraphale retorted. “Couldn’t even swallow your drink for horror at the thought of us being married!” He heard his voice rising and somehow couldn’t seem to control himself at all. “And then you shouted at her! Made it quite clear how you felt about it!”

Crowley balled his napkin up and threw it onto his plate. “Oh for Go—Oh for Sata—Oh for fuck’s sake, Aziraphale, I wasn’t horrified! I was just afraid you’d take it badly! You’ve pretty much shut down every time it’s come up.” He took a deep breath and tried to rein the shout back down to a speaking tone, but he knew he didn’t quite succeed. What came out instead was more venomous than he intended. “Didn’t want you to decide it was all going too fast for you again!”

Crowley watched in angry, agonized desperation as that unfortunate comment lofted its way across the table and detonated on impact. Aziraphale looked like he had had the air knocked out of him.

“Oh,” he said finally, his voice oddly breathless. “Oh. That.”

Crowley, unable to bear the tension and a rising sense of guilt, got up and paced over to the counter, where he stood with his back to the table and ran his finger over the various bottles in their spice rack, not really seeing any of them.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, his voice very small. “That was a long time ago, and I assure you I don’t feel that way any longer about us. I thought it had been rather obvious, actually, that I’m up to your speed, now. We’ve been living together for almost a year!”

Crowley felt a tightness in his chest that defied all rational sense. “I know we are. But I don’t know, do I, what you feel about the rest of it? If this is as much as you ever want us to have, or if you want to move to the country someday or if you want to have a big ridiculous wedding or if you’re still – still thinking it over on some level.”

Aziraphale’s heart ached. He stood and walked over to Crowley and hugged him from behind, laying his head against his shoulder blade. “My dear, I had no idea you were still doubting my commitment to you!” He swallowed the hurt he felt at the concept and tried to continue. “I love you. I adore you. I’m not going anywhere, not ever again. Not without you, that is. How could you doubt that?”

Crowley relaxed and tried to discreetly wipe his eyes. “’m sorry, angel,” he said, “I’m being ridiculous.”

Aziraphale reached up and turned the demon around to face him, reaching up to lay a kiss on his forehead. “You’re being a little more human than demon right now, that’s all,” he said. It was natural to be scared sometimes when you love someone as much as this, he thought. Love makes you so, so much more vulnerable to loss.

“It’s fucking unbearable,” Crowley muttered, as if he’d somehow heard the angel’s thoughts. “how much it would hurt to lose you.”

Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley even tighter, and just held him. “You won’t. I promise you won’t. Just... have a little faith. In me, I mean.”

They stood that way for a few minutes, pressed up against the sink with Crowley’s head cradled on Aziraphale’s shoulder, just feeling the rise and fall of each other’s breathing. Aziraphale ran his fingers through the back of Crowley’s hair and felt the demon’s heart beat slow from a frantic, racing pace to a more comfortable thrum, and bit by bit some of the tension left his shoulders.

“I’d love to get married,” Crowley said, finally, his face buried in Aziraphale’s chest. “I just figured – you know, ‘m a demon and all. Makes sense, really. Can’t exactly be a feather in your cap to marry a demon.”

Aziraphale pushed back, affronted, and maneuvered Crowley until he was looking him right in the eye. “Anthony J. Crowley, don’t you dare say things like that about yourself. You are perfectly -- well, perfect for me. I don’t need a feather in my cap from Above. I need you. And if we ever did get married, I’d be delighted.”

Crowley searched the angel’s eyes and found only sincerity and an intense, mortifying level of love. “Ngk,” he said, his tongue suddenly several sizes too large for his mouth.

Aziraphale’s affronted look fell away and he laid another kiss on the demon’s forehead. “You’re a silly serpent, Crowley.” He kissed him again. “To be honest, the only reason I don’t care about whether we get married is because I essentially already think of you as my husband,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t see how we could possibly be more wedded to each other – do you?”

“Well no,” Crowley said. “You’re right, mostly. But, er, it could be kind of nice, couldn’t it? To make it official and all that. Have a big bloody party.”

Aziraphale smiled delightedly. “And rings?”

“Yes please,” Crowley said. God yes. “I’d love to wear a ring, for you. And for you to wear one! Be super handy for flashing in the face of all the hopeless, romantic twinks that come in the bookstore and make eyes at you, for one thing. The bigger the better. Maybe we could even get one that lights up, to really attract their attention.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “I really don’t think that happens anywhere near as frequently as you think it does, love.”

“It does, actually. You just don’t notice.” Crowley felt a lightness in his chest that he hadn’t experienced for weeks. “All right, then,” he said. “I’m not asking today, like this -- not after an argument. When I ask you, it will be a much nicer experience than this. I promise.”

Aziraphale smiled a little mischieviously. “Or perhaps I’ll ask you,” he said.

Crowley grinned. “Not if I ask you first.”

“Oh, lovely,” Aziraphale said, his smile almost painfully bright. “Just what we need, another competition.”

“Oh, shut up,” Crowley said, leaning in to nip at the angel’s lower lip. “You need a distraction.” He bent down to kiss his neck in a particularly sensitive spot.

“Fine,” Aziraphale sighed dramatically, nearly bubbling over with sudden happiness. “Have your way with me, dear. Do your worst.”

Crowley did his best to comply.

Chapter Text

For all his teasing about competing, Aziraphale knew that Crowley wanted to be the one to make the declaration and proposal, and that was fine with him. Crowley had waited for him all these years, he thought; the least he could do was wait back while Crowley figured out what to do and how to do it, to usher them into the next stage in their relationship.

That didn’t stop him, however, from making life as pleasant as possible for the demon. Over the next few weeks, he took care to spoil Crowley a little. Some actions were tiny, such as using a small miracle to leave his pajamas warmed up for him next to the bed in the mornings, or having his coffee perfectly prepared and steaming hot the moment he came down the stairs. Some were larger, like treating him to a variety of surprise trips out into the countryside and getting him fitted for a new suit to wear to Anathema and Newt’s wedding, which was coming up in a few weeks. All in all, he did his best to make the demon feel loved and appreciated as much as he was able – and when one was an angel, turning one’s full angelic power to such a mission carried quite a wallop.

Crowley, for his part, showed no outward signs of his plans, but inside his thoughts were racing. He ran through and eliminated a variety of ways of proposing as too predictable, too boring, too ordinary. He briefly considered the Ritz and popping the ring into a dessert – but honestly, it had been done a hundred thousand times, and with his luck Aziraphale would just swallow it, and the Heimlich would certainly cut into the romance. He considered a hot air balloon, writing it in the sky from an airplane, and shouting it from the top of a mountain. None of these felt quite correct. He needed something that was completely unique to his angel, the one being in all the universe that he could ever have fallen for, and who had somehow miraculously fallen for him too.

It wasn’t until one day when he was restlessly looking through some of his old boxes he’d never fully unpacked, that he remembered something he’d forgotten for several centuries.

And with that, a plan appeared. Now he just needed the right moment.

++

It was on the drive back, late at night, from Anathema and Newt’s small, lovely, handfasting ceremony that the moment began to feel right. Crowley, resplendent in his new, slim cut, charcoal gray suit took a peek over at the angel beside him, who was looking ridiculously happy and content and just the slightest bit tipsy on leftover champagne, and began to think seriously about just asking him now.

Aziraphale, sensing his regard, smiled at him and reached over to lay a hand on his thigh.

“My dear, you looked absolutely gorgeous tonight,” the angel said. “You should wear that suit more often.”

Crowley smiled. “I could do that,” he said, “for you.”

No, Crowley thought, abandoning the plan to just pull over and spill the words out – please marry me -- and, with them, his heart, all over the front seat of the car. Back home first. Keep to the plan. He suddenly felt intensely nervous in a way he hadn’t expected, and he sucked in a breath more harshly and audibly than he’d intended.

Aziraphale glanced over at him in concern. “Are you feeling well? You look a little drawn around the edges.”

Crowley cleared his throat. “M’fine!” he mumbled. “Just concentrating. Dark out here.”

“It’s always dark at night,” Aziraphale said reasonably. “Your eyes are made for darkness.”

Crowley shrugged and leaned forward to stab on the radio, hoping for something to cover the sudden awkwardness. Luckily, they landed on some rather good music, and Aziraphale rolled down his window to enjoy the night air, and he never once mentioned the truly record-breaking level of speed they achieved on the way back to London.

++

“You sober?” Crowley asked as they made their way into the bookstore.

Aziraphale thought for a moment. “I think so,” he said, doubtful. “Or nearly so. Should we fix that with more alcohol?”

Crowley grinned. “We will,” he said. “In the meantime, just sit down on the couch and relax. I’m going to grab a bottle I’ve been saving.”

He heard the angel puttering around at the desk for a minute, and then he settled on the couch in happy anticipation. Crowley went to the kitchen and made just enough fumbling-around-in-cupboards noises to buy a few minutes of time to compose himself. Were his hands shaking? Demon hands weren’t supposed to shake.

Pull it together, he told himself. This is important. Do not fuck this up.

He took several deep breaths, despite having no true need for them, and set about gathering the things he required.

“Ah there you are!” Aziraphale said when he finally emerged, bearing a bottle and two of their nicer glasses. “I thought perhaps you’d gotten lost somewhere!”

Crowley set the bottle down on the table, the crystal goblets beside it, and gave Aziraphale a quelling look. “Sit tight. Need a couple more things.”

Aziraphale looked mystified, but he complied.

Crowley went into the back room and came back with a large paper envelope, which he put on the floor as he sat down close to the angel. Then, he looked around frowning, to see if the ambiance was right.

The ambiance, he thought, was not at all special enough. He snapped his fingers, putting soft music on the gramophone. He took one last look around and thought something was still missing. It came to him in a flash.

“This,” he said to the angel in a no-nonsense-will-be-brooked tone, “is absolutely a one-time-only event; don’t get any ideas.”

And with that he snapped and willed a handful of candles into existence around the shop, all lit. The shop lights dimmed a bit to allow the candlelight to be better appreciated.

Aziraphale gasped. “Candles? Oh, how lovely!” He peered more closely at Crowley. “Are you sure you’re all right? You made it quite clear I was never to light a candle in this shop again.”

Crowley ignored him and poured them each a nice glass of wine. “I’m fine,” he said firmly, “and they’re just for tonight.”

“Are we celebrating something?” the angel asked, rather shyly. He took a sip and murmured appreciatively at the fantastic Bordeaux the demon had produced.

“Perhaps,” Crowley said, leaving his own wine untouched. He could barely remember how to breathe at the moment, not to mention drink something. “Have a present for you, anyway.”

He opened the envelope at his feet and passed a battered-looking leather folio across the couch to Aziraphale.

Crowley had made a habit, over the centuries, of presenting Aziraphale on occasion with the crème de la crème of the rare book world – obscure scrolls, editions of old plays, original manuscripts, author’s notebooks. He had used them to wile his angel, delight him when he’s been sad, and, on at least one occasion, to offer an intense and heart-felt apology for a wrong he’d committed.

It had been, by his count, something like eighty years since the last time he did so. Long enough that it took Aziraphale a moment to process what he was seeing, before a look of delight broke out across his face. The angel knew from centuries of experience that whatever was in there would be thoughtful and intriguing. He ran a finger over the front edge of the cover.

“For me?” he asked, lashes fluttering. “Oh, you darling boy, what have you found for me this time?”

Crowley motioned that he should go ahead, and then lounged back on his end of the couch and waited with his hands in his suit pockets.

Aziraphale opened it carefully and found a single sheet of parchment inside, inscribed with looping handwriting in faded iron gall ink. He fidgeted around to hold it a little closer to the light, read the first line or two, and then looked up in utter shock.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said slowly. “What is this? I know this handwriting. This is – why, it can’t possibly be – is it – “

Crowley smiled at him like the cat who ate the canary. “Yes, it is.”

“This is Will’s handwriting!” Aziraphale breathed. “William Shakespeare! What on earth! Where did you get this?”

“Well, I got it from the man himself,” Crowley said, grinning. “Commissioned it, even. Long time ago. 1605, to be exact.”

Aziraphale stopped reading and pushed his glasses up to his forehead. He rubbed the bridge of his nose as if his brain might explode. He honestly didn’t know whether to be amazed or affronted on behalf of the literary community as a whole. “You – you’ve – you have had an unpublished, and if I’m not mistaken, completely unknown Shakespearean sonnet in your possession for four centuries? No one in the whole world knows of its existence?”

“Just you and me,” Crowley said happily, enjoying the sight of the angel’s complicated reaction: shock, happiness, outrage, joy, befuddlement, and intense, intense possessiveness of that little piece of paper. The angel was cradling it like a newborn babe, like it was the most precious piece of paper in the whole world.

At the moment, it just might be.

“But why?” Aziraphale said breathlessly. “Why would you keep something like this from the world? It’s a priceless literary treasure!”

“Because,” the demon said simply, “it was for you.”

Aziraphale blinked at him, struggling to understand. Then he blinked some more. His hand, holding the parchment, was shaking slightly.

“And you’ve had it all this time? Just, what, sitting in a drawer?”

“I didn’t need it until now,” Crowley said, gently. “Please, just stop with the interrogation and read it.”

Aziraphale took a deep and shaky breath and shifted his focus to the parchment in front of him. It took him a few tries to still his hands enough to be able to make out the words. When he finally succeeded, he read the first few lines aloud in a tremulous voice.

Since looking upon thee in the garden day
Upon thy side against myself I’ll fight
For life no longer than thy love will stay
To steal sweet hours from thy love’s delight…

Aziraphale looked up, eyes full of tears, and his voice was hushed. “You commissioned a love sonnet for me, four hundred and fifteen years ago?”

Crowley tried to swallow the suddenly huge lump in his throat. “I did.”

Aziraphale, voice simply not working anymore, stared at him for a long moment, and then leaned down to read the rest quietly. He sat in stunned silence after, lost to everything around him, and then he read it again. And again a final time.

“It’s – it’s –” he faltered, his heartbeat pounding in his ears and drowning out all sound around him. For once, the angel was unable to find a single word.

When he looked up, dazed, Crowley had moved from his spot beside him, and was now kneeling on the floor in front of him, his golden eyes impossibly warm.

“Angel,” Crowley said, “I knew four hundred and fifteen years ago that I loved you. I knew six thousand years ago, to be honest. It’s the one thing I’ve known from the start. Took me a while to accept it, took you a while too, but here we are, together finally, on no one’s side but our own.”

Aziraphale watched, spellbound, as the demon reached into his pocket and pulled out something shiny and small.

“Would you please do me the immense honor,” Crowley said, looking suddenly very pale, “of marrying me and making me the happiest demon alive? Or possibly the only happy demon?”

In his hand was a small gold ring, with a smoky, ancient diamond in the center, cut in ways they didn’t cut them anymore, and with the faintest etching of a snake chased around the edges of the stone. It was old and simple and perfectly, utterly the best thing the angel had ever seen.

Aziraphale, unable to even speak, nodded helplessly, and Crowley slipped the ring onto his finger, where it fit perfectly because it knew better than to not do so. Aziraphale admired it for a moment, then leaned in to run a hand down Crowley’s face.

“I love you,” he whispered, and then pressed a kiss to his forehead, his temple, and finally his mouth.

Several minutes later, when they broke for a breath they didn’t need, Aziraphale took a moment to examine the ring more closely.

“Like it?” Crowley asked.

“I adore it,” Aziraphale said, still a little stunned. “It’s just… I was wondering…”

“Yes?”

“Oh, please just tell me it doesn’t actually light up, does it?”

Crowley laughed. “No, angel,” he said. “It doesn’t. You’ll just have to wave it around obnoxiously whenever you have an admirer.”

“I can do that,” Aziraphale said. He rather relished the idea, actually.

Crowley got up from his perch on the floor and sat next to him on the couch, as close as it was possible to be to his angel. Aziraphale sighed happily and leaned into his side.

“My dear,” he said, “that was lovely and perfect! But one thing is missing, I think.”

Crowley frowned. What had he missed? He had the music, the candles, the big and utterly unique romantic gesture, the candles, the ring, the bloody candles…

Aziraphale tutted a little at the demon’s obvious discomfort and turned to face Crowley a little more fully, tucking one knee under himself. He placed a hand on either side of Crowley’s face and pulled him in for a gentle kiss between the brows, then leaned back and snapped his fingers beside one of Crowley’s temples.

“What’s this?” he said theatrically, a soft but still mischievous smile on his lips. “Why, what do we have here?” He made a little flourish with his hands and pulled them back from Crowley’s head bearing something the demon couldn’t make out. “I do believe I found something in your ear, my dear.”

Crowley groaned. “I can’t believe you’re doing magic tricks during my proposal. If that’s a coin, I’m taking the ring back.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Our proposal,” he said, smiling his most radiant smile. “And anyways, you’re missing the point.”

The angel picked up one of Crowley’s hands and opened it carefully, laying something inside it and wrapping the demon’s fingers carefully around it.

“I picked this up for you,” the angel said, “because I want the world to know that you’re engaged to me, too. Would you please wear this for me, my love? I mean, if you like it…”

Crowley opened his hand carefully and looked down. It was a ring, cool and platinum, wider than Aziraphale’s, with black diamonds spaced around it at even intervals and light brushstrokes that looked a little like feathers between them. It was simple and modern and utterly the demon’s style.

“Ngk—” the demon said, then closed his mouth and tried again. “You… you got me a ring, too?”

“Yes of course I did,” Aziraphale said fondly. “Been carrying it with me for months, just in case. Didn’t want to not have it on hand when you finally asked me.”

The angel plucked it out of Crowley’s hand and slipped it on his ring finger. Crowley tried to admire it but he suddenly found he couldn’t see at all because of the immense amount of wetness in his eyes.

Abandoning all pretense of cool, he leaned into Aziraphale and wrapped his arms around his neck.

“There, there,” the angel said, petting his hair and shoulders. “I’ve got you, Crowley. I love you. I have you.” He hugged the demon tightly and thought about all of the straightforward routes and winding paths and wrong turns and backpedals and absolute roadblocks and immense leaps forward that had brought them here over six millennia’s time, about the love and the friendship and the shared experience and the slow march of time that had brought them closer and closer.

“I’ve always got you,” he repeated softly to the demon who even now could hardly accept being loved so deeply. “Always.”
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THE END