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If you were sitting on the couch with Aziraphale in his bookshop, in that moment a few months after the Apocalypse That Wasn't, and you asked him when he'd fallen in love with Crowley, he'd probably scold you for asking such an impolite question, especially since he doesn't know you.
But at that moment, on the couch in his bookshop, he happened to be thinking about exactly that.
The sun was setting, and its light was slowly fading down to a soft orange glow. There were barely any clouds in the sky, and the first hints of starlight could be seen past the purple and red sunset. It was almost picture perfect, but the angel found himself unable to appreciate it. On any regular day, he would sit in a comfortable chair by a tall window and let the fiery glow light the pages of a centuries-old book. However, today, that plan had been rudely interrupted by thoughts of another fire: one of crimson hair and slitted yellow eyes.
Aziraphale didn't have a precise answer to the question of love. To him, the process of falling in love had been really gradual, but constant over the past six millennia. He'd always loved Crowley in some form or another, the romantic form just happened to be a more recent development, which would only become clear after all those years. However, the reason Aziraphale had never told the demon all these things was because he'd only realized them in that exact moment, on the couch in his bookshop.
He figured that he should probably tell Crowley about all of this. After all, he never wanted to keep secrets or lie to the demon. Thinking about hurting him that way sent a piercing feeling through Aziraphale's stomach, like a blade sent straight from Hell. He stood up rather abruptly, marking his page in the book he'd had open but had stopped reading an hour ago. But then, the angel hesitated. Will Crowley even believe me? What's the point? There's no way he feels the same… Can a demon even fall for an angel at all? Let alone, someone like me?
Aziraphale ended up standing there for a solid half hour, pondering whether or not this was a good idea. He'd reach a decision, and then think of yet another reason why that decision was the wrong one. In the end, after the sun's orange glow had completely faded and been replaced by only streetlamps and starlight, he relented and sat back down. Maybe the next time I see him, I'll have more courage.
It turned out that the angel wouldn't have to wait too long for that opportunity, because someone had just entered the bookshop, and seeing as it was past 2 in the morning, it could really only be one person.
Thoughts of I'm not ready for this and What will I even say? ran rampantly through his head, interrupted only by Crowley's greeting of, "You should really keep that front door locked, angel." Aziraphale, who hadn't been listening, nodded distractedly and tried to keep himself busy by moving around some books to make room for him and Crowley to sit in the back room, despite the fact that there was always plenty of room for the demon, something Aziraphale was not likely to admit.
"So, ah, what brings you here at this hour, Crowley?" the angel asked, surprised that he'd been able to form such a coherent sentence without much stuttering. "I thought you would be asleep, or something of the sort."
The demon sprawled out on the couch in a position that couldn't be described as sitting. Aziraphale sat down next to him, and noticed that something seemed off about Crowley, but he couldn't quite place it. He only grew more concerned when the response was, "I- ah, nothing, nothing really." A blatant lie if the angel had ever heard one, and he had certainly heard many.
Aziraphale sighed, but instead of pressing the issue further, he opted for an offering of tea, which was refused by Crowley in favor of miracling up some wine. "You looked pretty deep in thought there, angel," the demon commented, taking a long sip. "What's up?"
Crowley clearly intended to steer the conversation away from himself, but Aziraphale had the exact same intentions, leading to a winding and circling conversation about nothing at all, where the question "What about you?" was asked at least twenty times.
Eventually, Aziraphale grew tired of waiting. He knew that the words in his head, words that would undoubtedly hurt like razorblades slicing through the air, needed to be spoken, and fast. The angel could sense a growing feeling of concern from Crowley, and even though the demon chose not to mention it, it was obvious that he knew something was off.
The two of them sat in silence, Crowley spreading himself out further on the poor couch they resided in. He'd basically melted into it. Aziraphale, on the other hand, was not at all relaxed, and found that the wine had simply made him even more tense. "Crowley...have you ever been in love?" he asked suddenly, the words flowing out unbidden.
Crowley sighed, and it was a sound that held the burdens of thousands of years. There was a long pause as Crowley seemed to hesitate on what he was about to say. "Only once," he finally replied softly, and with surprising honesty, looking everywhere except the angel's bright blue eyes.
"How should I tell… someone ... that I love him?" Aziraphale asked, gaining confidence after hearing Crowley's answer. He glanced across into dark sunglasses, saw himself reflected there, and carefully removed them, fingers brushing just a little on the demon's pale cheeks. He could not have made his intentions any clearer unless he outright stated them, and the shock in Crowley's serpentine eyes showed that the message was received.
"Just be loud and clear, Zira," he answered, and that nickname struck Aziraphale deep in his soul. "Don't let there be any… misunderstandings." The words Crowley referred to rang out between them, not needing to be spoken (and would never be spoken again).
"You go too fast for me, Crowley."
"Loud and clear…" Aziraphale repeated to himself. He inched closer to Crowley so that there was barely any distance left between them. "I'm not too good at that sort of thing…" he began nervously, and started to blush. "But after so long, you deserve it," he whispered. "I love you, dearest. I think I always have."
Crowley took Aziraphale's hand and squeezed it gently. "I love you too, angel…" He sighed in relief, as if a weight had been lifted, and leaned in close, eyes searching for hesitation or regret. "Can I kiss you…?"
Aziraphale smiled brightly, and instead of answering, closed the distance between them himself. The kiss was slow, and maybe a bit hesitant, but it was everything either of them could ever hope for. It tasted of red wine, cinnamon, and hope.
Neither of them needed to break away for air, so they stayed like that for quite a while. By the time they'd separated, the clock read 3:24 AM. Despite technically not needing to sleep, Crowley's body had grown accustomed to it over the years, and he yawned, one arm letting go of Aziraphale.
The angel laughed quietly and asked, "Do you need to sleep?"
"Shut up," Crowley replied, blushing for more than one reason.
Aziraphale shifted slightly and guided Crowley downwards so that his head was in his lap. "Comfortable?" he questioned, although the delighted smile on Crowley's face was already enough of an answer. "Oh, you never told me why you came in the first place!" Aziraphale started to absently play with Crowley's fire-red hair, making the demon relax completely.
"I needed to see you…" Crowley replied quietly, his eyes starting to close. "Wanted to make sure you were okay…"
Aziraphale leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on Crowley's lips. "I'm here," he whispered as the demon fell asleep. "I'm here, and I always will be."