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Aziraphale had not thought that he was a naturally jealous being.
Envy was one of the seven deadly sins, after all, so therefore theoretically it should have been utterly beyond him to feel any kind of envy. Besides, there was little on Earth that he truly had to be jealous of— he was an immortal angel who had witnessed ages upon ages, there wasn’t much anymore that could phase him. In theory.
But theory was not practice, it seemed. At least, not when it came to Crowley.
When he thought about it, Aziraphale knew he had been in love with Crowley for quite a long time. It had grown slowly, sprouting and blooming with every time they met, every meal they shared, every smile he was gifted.
But there was no way in the world he could ever act on his love, not with the way Heaven watched him, not to mention the way Hell watched Crowley. Any kind of relationship would be beyond dangerous. Even what they did together already, maintaining a casual friendship and an Arrangement, came with mountains of risk.
Besides… Crowley was a demon, and everyone knew that demons couldn’t love, not really. That’s what Aziraphale had thought.
That’s what he had thought, until he was standing in the ruins of a bombed-out church, sirens wailing in the distance, as Crowley handed him a bag of books. When their fingers brushed Aziraphale felt it, he felt the love rolling off Crowley in waves, so strong it made his heart stutter and swell. Crowley crunched off through the rubble and Aziraphale stared after him, his chest tight. He loved Crowley. And Crowley loved him.
And they couldn’t do anything about it, not with Heaven above and Hell below ready to destroy them for any misstep.
But that knowledge, the knowledge that Crowley loved him back, settled in his heart.
And that was why it hurt so much more when he saw others having what he just couldn’t risk.
1941
Aziraphale settled himself at the bar besides Crowley, clutching his drink in one hand. The demon at his side barely spared him a glance, nursing his own drink.
Aziraphale swallowed hard, struggled to think of something to say. This was the first time he and Crowley had been out together since Crowley had rescued him from the Nazis, and both the new knowledge of Crowley’s feelings and their… unresolved argument stayed his tongue. Finally, Aziraphale managed to say, “So, you’re, er… a spy?”
Crowley ducked his chin a little, took another sip of his drink. “Hm. Something like that.” He wrinkled his nose. “I’ve lost track of how many double crosses I’m meant to be doing. Quadruple agent? Quintuple?”
“My,” Aziraphale said a little faintly. “A single agent is all I think I could be.”
“Maybe not even that,” Crowley said wryly, raising one eyebrow, and Aziraphale gave him a stern frown. Crowley shrugged loosely, looking back down at the rough wooden grain of the bar. It was surprisingly crowded for the hour, people drinking desperately to forget the devastation of the Blitz before the air raid sirens went off again, so Aziraphale could hardly hear when Crowley murmured, “My lot want me working for. You know. Not the Allies. But I just—” He shook his head. “There’s evil, and then there’s evil. You know?”
Aziraphale nodded sadly. “All too well.” He dared to reach out and gently pat Crowley’s hand. “I truly do.”
Crowley cleared his throat, shifted just enough that his hand wasn’t under Aziraphale’s anymore. “Anyway,” he said, a little bit louder. “Calling me a spy is good enough. No matter the layers of confusion.”
Behind Crowley, a little ways down the bar, Aziraphale saw two women perk up at his words, clearly overhearing. He frowned worriedly. Oh, dear, what was it they were saying? Careless talk costs lives? And Crowley was certainly a little careless with his words when he was drunk.
Aziraphale forced himself back to the present just as Crowley said uncertainly, “Listen, angel, I…” He trailed off, fiddled with his glass. “About what I ssssaid. In 1862. I think, well… I mean to say, ngk— Well, you ought to apologize as well, you were also a bit of a prig, but I’m—”
“Excuse me,” someone said, cutting off Crowley’s apology, and Aziraphale looked up to see the two women from further down the bar standing in front of them. He stifled a frown, and took a small sip of his drink.
Crowley raised an eyebrow and slouched back, shifting his demeanor into the cool, confident facade he tended to affect when he was caught off guard. “Yes?” he said.
One of the women giggled, looking at her friend. “Well, it’s just,” she said, blushing a little. “My friend and I heard you say you’re a spy, is that true?”
Crowley’s other eyebrow went up to join his first, and he paused for just a moment before saying with a smirk, “I couldn’t possibly say.”
Both of the women (really, Aziraphale thought indignantly, they were honestly more like girls— couldn’t be older than twenty, the pair of them!) giggled. One of them reached out, brushing her fingers over Crowley’s arm. “That’s really swell,” she said in a low voice, looking up at Crowley through her eyelashes.
Crowley cocked his head slightly, apparently entirely unfazed by the remarkably blatant flirting. “I’m glad you think so,” he replied. “It’s my honor to work for the Crown.”
The woman slid her hand up a little further to rest on his bicep. “You must be terribly brave,” she said, and then bit her lip.
“Oh, really!” Aziraphale exclaimed, frowning disapprovingly.
Crowley shot him a sideways glance, looking vaguely amused. “Problem, Fell?” he asked pointedly.
Aziraphale cleared his throat, remembering himself. They were in Soho, after all, someone could very well recognize him, and he didn’t want to draw more attention than necessary to their friendship. “It’s getting late,” Aziraphale said, and then narrowed his eyes. “Oughtn’t you get home to your sweetheart?”
Crowley’s expression shifted almost imperceptibly, and then he shrugged. “You’re probably right,” he said, pretending not to notice the way both women deflated in disappointment. He flashed them a charming smile. “Lovely to meet you, ladies.”
“Thank you for your service,” one of them said.
The other gave his bicep one last squeeze before letting go. “Lovely to meet you too,” she said, giving him a rather salacious look over, and then they both returned to their places at the bar.
Crowley drained his glass and set it down on the bar. “My sweetheart, angel?” he said in an undertone ever as he stood.
Aziraphale left his own drink unfinished, getting up as well. “I, well,” he said, flustered.
Crowley gave him a searching look, clear even through his dark glasses. His expression seemed to wobble between concerned and teasing before settling in a smile. “I’d almost think you were jealous.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aziraphale blustered, lying through his teeth. It hurts terribly to see other people flirting with you, when that’s the only thing I want to do, now that I know how you love me, he couldn’t say. Even though you’re not mine. Even though you can’t ever be.
“I didn’t think you engaged in… relations with humans,” he said finally.
Crowley shrugged. “Not usually, no.” He and Aziraphale faced each other, both serious, and then the corner of Crowley’s mouth quirked into a smile. “I’ll see you around, angel,” he said. “I’ve got an, uh, apology, or whatever, to finish. I’ll see you?”
“Of course,” Aziraphale said just a bit breathlessly. “Dinner next week, perhaps?”
Crowley nodded. “Thursday,” he declared, and then turned on his heel, waving a hand in farewell as he left.
Aziraphale watched him swagger out, clutching at his waistcoat, and tried to convince his heart that it didn’t hurt so.
1956
Aziraphale waited patiently outside the symphony hall, his hands folded neatly in front of him and eyes on the road. Crowley had asked to meet, their first business meeting in quite some time— things were still a bit strange, after their falling out in 1862, even though they had both eventually gotten around to apologizing for what they had said. Things were just a little bit off, between the two of them, and it prickled at Aziraphale every time they were together.
As potentially stiff as their relationship was, though, Aziraphale had been quite happy when Crowley had called earlier in the week to ask if he would be willing to meet. Aziraphale hadn’t even been the one to suggest the symphony— Crowley did know he loved Beethoven, no matter which side had gotten his soul in the end.
Aziraphale was pulled from his thoughts as Crowley’s shiny black Bentley roared down the street and came to a stop at the curb, parked as illegally as always. Aziraphale rolled his eyes fondly as the demon got out of the car, and then his breath caught in his throat.
Crowley was dressed in a long, slinky, rather low-cut evening gown, her hair long and in loose ringlets that hung down to her shoulders. Her lips were painted a bright red, and her heels clicked on the pavement as she made her way over to where Aziraphale was waiting. “Hey, angel,” she said with a sly smile, coming to a stop in front of him. Crowley was a few inches taller than Aziraphale anyway, but when she wore heels she seemed to almost tower over him.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale replied, his mouth dry, and did his best not to give her too obvious of a once-over. “You look lovely tonight, my dear.”
Crowley’s smile lost a little of its cunning, and she looked genuinely pleased. “Thanks,” she replied. “I got this dress the other day, wanted to give it a whirl.”
Aziraphale offered her his arm, smiling invitingly. “Shall we get down to it?” he asked.
Crowley took his arm, and Aziraphale absently took note of the fact that her nails were painted black to match her dress. “Sounds great, angel,” she said, and they walked inside together, quickly finding their seats.
In the hubbub of the symphony hall, as patrons found their seats and the orchestra on stage began to tune, Aziraphale leaned over and said in a low voice, “So, you said you wanted to meet about the Arrangement?”
Crowley’s lips twisted, and she shifted a little in her seat. “Right. Yeah.” She sighed, slumping back a little and staring up at the ceiling as though collecting her thoughts. “My lot has got me assigned to go over to the colonies next year,” she said. “America, I mean. I’m meant to be messing about with highways?” She wrinkled her nose. “It sounds a bit uninspired, honestly, I could probably do a much better job here in Britain. Anyway, I’d rather not go if I don’t have to. Has your side given you any work over there that we could toss for?”
“I’m afraid not,” Aziraphale said with a soft sigh, frowning. “The last official assignment I received was in 1954, I’m sure I’ll hear something soon.”
Crowley grunted, looking at him sideways. Her yellow eyes were just barely visible behind her chic sunglasses. “Alright, then,” she said with a loose shrug. “I thought it was worth a go, at least.” She smiled just slightly. “Now that our business is done…”
“Oh, you’re not going to leave, are you?” Aziraphale fretted.
Crowley rolled her eyes. “Of course not, angel.” She smiled sharply. “Now we can enjoy ourselves, though.”
Above them, the symphony hall’s lights began to dim, and Aziraphale excitedly patted Crowley’s arm. “Oh, it’s beginning!”
Crowley smiled back, her glasses sliding down just enough that Aziraphale could see her eyes. He sat back with an excited grin as the orchestra shuffled on stage before stilling, and the lights dimmed completely. He was pleased to see that Crowley clapped, albeit a bit unenthusiastically, when the conductor came on stage, raising his baton to signal the orchestra to begin.
Aziraphale lost himself in the music when it began, enjoying every moment— it wasn’t like celestial harmonies, to be sure, but there was something wonderfully enchanting about human music that he had enjoyed for as long as he had been on Earth.
When the concert finished and the lights went up again, Aziraphale immediately turned to Crowley again. “Oh, Crowley, wasn’t that lovely?”
Crowley gave him a fond look, smiling slightly even as she stood. “Sure, angel.”
Aziraphale bit his lip as he got up, and they walked together out of the symphony hall and into the lobby. “I do hope you enjoyed yourself, my dear,” he said.
Crowley rolled her eyes. “Of course I did, Aziraphale,” she said. “I always enjoying spending time with—”
Someone tapped Crowley on the shoulder, interrupting her. Aziraphale could see Crowley’s eyes narrow behind her glasses, and she turned with a frown. “What?”
A young man in an ill-fitting suit was standing behind her, smiling nervously. “Sorry, miss,” he said. “I just, er.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”
Aziraphale frowned. He couldn’t sense sin like demons could, to be sure, but he was nearly certain that was lust in the human’s eyes.
“I’m sorry if I’m being forward,” the man said, utterly focused on Crowley. “But I couldn’t stop myself from watching you the entire concert, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Can I buy you a drink?”
Crowley blinked at him, clearly surprised, and then her lips curled into a smile. “I’m the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen?” she repeated, clearly flattered.
“My dear, you can’t be serious,” Aziraphale exclaimed.
Crowley glanced over her shoulder to pout at him. “Oh, don’t be a spoilsport, angel,” she said.
The young man’s eyes widened. “Oh, I didn’t realize you were together,” he said quickly.
Crowley shot Aziraphale an oddly weighted look. “We’re friends,” she said, raising one eyebrow.
Aziraphale drew in a sharp breath. He tried to push down his seething jealousy, his desire to immediately invite Crowley out himself to compete, and schooled his expression.
Crowley turned back to the young man and said in a surprisingly kind voice, “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not interested.”
“Alright,” the young man said, looking very disappointed, and hurried away with his head bowed.
“You could have gone, my dear,” Aziraphale said, even though it hurt him to say.
Crowley made a face at him. “Why would I want to?” she said. “I’m here with you.”
“Even though we’re just… we’re—” Aziraphale tried to say.
Crowley gave him a long look over the tops of her glasses, unusually serious. “Yes,” she said without ceremony, and then her expression slid back to carefully unconcerned. “I’m inviting myself back to yours for drinks, angel.”
“Oh, are you?” Aziraphale replied, something like relief welling in his chest. Even though he couldn’t say it, couldn’t tease and flirt and invite and love like he wanted, Crowley understood.
Crowley smirked at him. “You have that nice whiskey from ’09,” she said. “It’d be a crime if I let you drink it all yourself.”
“A shame, certainly,” Aziraphale agreed with a tentative smile, and offered her his arm.
Crowley grinned back and took it, and they left together.
1978
“I wouldn’t have expected this to be your scene, angel!” Crowley said in a loud voice as he and Aziraphale walked into one of Soho’s gay clubs.
Aziraphale had to lean a little closer as he replied over the loud music, “The club part, no. But I’ve always found support here.” Crowley made a face at him, but Aziraphale could tell his heart wasn’t in it.
“Oh, I think you’ll like it,” Aziraphale said reassuringly, patting Crowley’s shoulder. “They play the music of that young man you like, what’s his name?”
“Freddie,” Crowley said grudgingly. He made another face at Aziraphale, this one critical. “I don’t object to clubs, angel,” he said, and gestured at himself. “Do you think I wouldn’t like it? I’m a demon.”
Aziraphale did his very best not to blush. Crowley was wearing tighter pants than normal and a silk shirt with a neck so low it put half his chest on display and he had finally shaved off his dreadful mustache, and Aziraphale had to admit that he did look rather fetching. He was dressed more for the club than Aziraphale, at any rate, who had left his jacket at home but stubbornly refused to remove his bowtie or waistcoat.
Crowley gave him a lazy smirk. “It’s only, I wouldn’t expect an angel to frequent such a den of iniquity,” he said, carefully over-pronouncing each word.
Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Oh, do be nice,” he said, and then grabbed Crowley’s arm and led him through the club, searching for someone he knew.
In honesty, he had some blessings to do, but Crowley hadn’t known that when he had shown up at the bookshop and had offered to take Aziraphale out. By coming to the club, Aziraphale figured, he could both spend time with Crowley and get some of his blessings of protection and support in.
Finally, Aziraphale spotted a table in the back with a group of people he recognized, that miraculously still had two chairs open. “Come,” he said, pulling Crowley along, and Crowley let himself be pulled.
Marcos, the owner of a cafe near Aziraphale’s bookshop, was the first to notice them, and he waved happily. “Hey, Ezra,” he called, grinning, as Aziraphale and Crowley joined them.
Aziraphale gave him a bright smile. “Good evening.”
Crowley gave him an arch look before sprawling into one of the open chairs, the neck of his shirt drooping a little more. “You going to introduce me, angel?” he drawled, giving Aziraphale a look that was distinctly making fun.
Aziraphale shot him a look back, and then said politely, “Crowley, this is Marcos, Sheila and Marissa,” he gestured to two women with their arms around each other, “Edward, Marcos’s partner,” Edward smiled a little shyly at Crowley, waving, “And Michael. Everyone, this is my friend Anthony Crowley.”
Michael, the last man, leaned forward against the table and gave Crowley a very obvious look over. “Well, Ezra,” he said, giving Aziraphale a quick glance, “Why’ve you never introduced your friend before?”
Crowley smiled back, gesturing bonelessly. “I travel a lot. For work, you know.”
Michael smiled slowly, his eyes never leaving Crowley’s face. “And what do you do?”
Crowley seemed to notice his attention, and preened a little. “This and that. All very successfully, of course.” He relaxed his slouch a little and rested his elbow on the table. “You know,” he said casually, “The only other Michael I know is a total wanker. Hope you won’t be the same.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Michael all but purred, biting his lip.
Aziraphale huffed. “Crowley, would you get us some drinks?” he asked pointedly.
Crowley gave him a sharp smile, and Aziraphale knew he was going to be hearing plenty about this when they were alone again. “‘course, angel,” he said, getting up. He squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder before sauntering off to the bar, hips swaying enticingly. Aziraphale resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
Before anyone else could get a word in edgewise, Michael leaned forward and said, “Ezra, are you and Anthony an item?”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “We, er,” he stammered, sure he was blushing. He took a deep breath, steadied himself. There was no way to know who was listening, who might learn of their fraternization if he said anything untoward—
“We’re… we’re not,” Aziraphale said, and forced a smile. “He’s just a friend.”
Michael added, “Is he single, then?”
Aziraphale shrugged helplessly— he was fairly certain Crowley didn’t really date, so to say no would be a lie, but if he said yes Michael would spend the entire night hitting on Crowley.
In front of everyone.
In front of Aziraphale.
“Oh, calm down,” Sheila said, elbowing Michael with a laugh. “He’s about Ezra’s age, isn’t that a bit old for you?” Aziraphale would have been insulted, if he hadn’t agreed so wholeheartedly.
Michael just shrugged, grinned. “I like older men,” he said. He raised an eyebrow at Aziraphale. “You should have introduced me earlier, angel, he’s exactly my type.”
Crowley chose that moment to return to the table, a drink in each hand. He handed Aziraphale his and then sat down. “You let other people call you angel?” he said abruptly, his glasses slipping down enough that Aziraphale almost imagined he could see his eyes.
Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I didn’t realize you had copyrighted it,” he said delicately, and took a pointed sip of his drink, wrinkling his nose at the quality.
“It’s because he’s always watching out for us,” Marissa said quietly, leaning against her partner a little. “He’s like a guardian angel for all of us here.”
Aziraphale blushed a little. “Ah, well, I do what I can,” he said, and then turned to Marcos and changed the subject. “Ah, dear boy, I remember last week you were asking about the newest books I'd gotten?” Marcos smiled indulgently, but let him change the subject.
And then Michael began to flirt with Crowley— subtle, at first, including Marissa and Sheila in their conversation, and then not subtly at all. Aziraphale did his very best not to get distracted from his conversations and his scattered blessings, he really did, only— only it was so obvious, so very hard to ignore. He did his best to pretend like he wasn’t seething every time Crowley let Michael’s hand linger on his arm, every time they stood to go dance together, every smile exchanged and soft word shared. Marcos probably noticed, going by his sympathetic smile, but he didn’t say anything.
Aziraphale was quietly beside himself by the time he and Crowley decided to head out (and the fact that Michael hadn’t managed to tempt Crowley into bed was a wonder in itself, the way Crowley had been acting, that fiend), and he had to stuff his curled fists in his pockets when Michael gave Crowley a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
Marcos pulled Aziraphale aside for just a moment and gave him a serious look. “You should tell your Anthony how you feel, honey, before someone else snaps him up,” he said in a low voice.
Aziraphale’s stomach sank. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he murmured.
“Angel, coming?” Crowley called, and Aziraphale gave Marcos one last strained smile, waving to the rest of his acquaintances before leaving the club with Crowley.
“I haven’t danced that much in a while,” Crowley said, sounding a little breathless. He tugged absently at his shirt before miracling himself a light coat to ward off the chill.
“Quite,” Aziraphale agreed stiffly.
“Get your blessings done?” Crowley asked, hands tucked in his pockets, and Aziraphale spluttered.
Crowley laughed. “You’re a bit transparent, angel,” he said. “I could smell the celestial stink a mile away. Figured you wanted to multitask, I didn’t mind leaving you alone for the evening.” He gave Aziraphale a searching look. “You could have told me to bugger off, you know, when I dropped by earlier. If you had stuff on.”
“I wanted to spend time with you, though,” Aziraphale said softly, studiously avoiding his eyes.
“Oh.” Crowley was silent for a long moment as they walked down the street, and then he said, “Thanks, angel.” He cleared his throat. “I should copyright that, by the way,” he said casually, but there was something tense in his voice. “Calling you angel, I mean. I was the first, you know.”
Aziraphale looked up at Crowley with a tiny smile, something warm swelling in his chest. “I know, my dear.”
Crowley looked down, scuffing his boots on the pavement. “Well. Good. As long as you know.”
Aziraphale touched his arm just for a moment. “You’re always first to me, dear.”
2009
Aziraphale was busy puttering around in the flowerbeds and pretending that he knew how to garden when he was approached by the Dowlings’ housekeeper.
“Hello, Francis,” she said a little nervously, pausing at the edge of the grass.
Aziraphale straightened and gave her a toothy smile, taking his hat off and clutching it to his chest. “Good morning, Ms. Cynthia,” he said politely. “How can I help you?”
Cynthia tucked a strand of hair behind one ear and said with uncharacteristic shyness, “I’d wondered if you might allow me to have some flowers. Enough for a little bouquet.”
Aziraphale’s smile managed to widen. “Of course!” he said, already bending to look at what there was.
Cynthia matched his smile. “Thank you,” she said. “I know it’s a bit cliche, giving flowers to someone you fancy, but I can’t help but imagine she’d like them.”
Aziraphale sighed happily. Young love (young by his metric, at least) was always a beautiful thing to see. “May I ask who these are for?” he said, pondering whether roses might come on too strong.
“It’s, well,” Cynthia said, and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for Antonia. Ah, Ms. Ashtoreth, rather.”
Aziraphale froze.
“I know it’s a bit silly,” Cynthia added. “But she’s so lovely… I suppose I don’t know if she likes women, although I kind of get the idea she might, but I thought it might be worth a try. My job is certainly easier now that she’s here to take care of Warlock, and she’s such a wonderful conversation partner, and she’s quite pretty—” She cut herself off, and laughed softly. “I’m sorry, I’m rambling. I’ve fancied her for a while, it’s like being a schoolgirl again.”
Aziraphale pressed his lips together and tried his best to school his expression before standing up again. “Well,” he said with forced cheer, “That’s rather lovely! Very, er… very sweet.”
“So you’ll help me?” Cynthia said hopefully, and Aziraphale just couldn’t find it in himself to refuse.
“Of course,” he said, maintaining his smile. He considered for the barest moment giving her flowers that he knew would make Crowley sneeze, before dismissing the notion. That would be unconscionably unkind. “I believe she’ll like these,” he said softly, gathering a few different kinds of flowers into a small bouquet.
Cynthia took it when he offered, smiling brightly. “Thank you ever so much, Francis,” she said. “If you ever need a favor, let me know!”
“Quite,” Aziraphale murmured. He took a deep breath and forced the smile back to his face. “Good luck,” he said, the words rather bitter on his tongue. It made his stomach churn, to wish someone luck with accomplishing the one thing he would never be allowed to try, but it wasn’t as though Crowley was his in any way.
Cynthia gave him one last smile before heading back to the house, flowers clutched in her fingers. Aziraphale watched her go, and then forcefully returned to his ‘gardening.’
He did his very best not to think about how Crowley might react, how she might smile and fawn and accept Cynthia’s affections. Knowing Crowley, that kind of reaction wasn’t likely. She was most likely to be rude and bluntly turn Cynthia down. But the idea of his best friend, the being he loved, kissing someone else, made Aziraphale feel oddly shivery and nervous and sad.
Aziraphale didn’t see Crowley until later that afternoon, when she made her way across the lawn with tiny baby Warlock cradled in her arms and a frown firmly on her lips.
“So,” she said, stopping in the grass and absently rocking the baby in her arms. “I hear you’re giving out flowers now.”
Aziraphale avoided her eyes, fiddling with a bush. “Um.”
Crowley stalked closer, until she was right behind Aziraphale. “So now you’re helping people who want to ssseduce me?” she hissed in his ear.
Aziraphale jumped back nervously, and then said with an anxious laugh, “I hardly think a bouquet of flowers counts as seduction!” He let out a quiet sigh. “I don’t suppose it, er, worked?”
Crowley huffed, and when Aziraphale dared to look up there was an amused tilt to her head. “No,” she replied. “It was worth a try, I suppose. Better than some awful pickup line.”
The baby in her arms burbled, and Crowley patted his back. “Hello, darling, I’m here,” she said softly, cupping the back of his head with one hand, and then she returned her attention to Aziraphale. “For the record,” she said significantly. “Flowers could work. Potentially. If they came from the right person.”
She nodded significantly and then turned on her heel and walked back to the house.
Aziraphale pressed his lips together and thought longingly of a day when it would be safe for him to give Crowley all the flowers she deserved.
2019
Aziraphale was busy reorganizing his bookshop. His books had gotten rather mixed up after the Apocalypse, what with the the shop having been burned down and then magically restored by Adam’s powers. Aziraphale had been moving books around for weeks, putting them back in their proper places— Adam had restored them according to the Dewey Decimal System, the nerve!
While he worked, Crowley was lazing indolently in an armchair and scrolling through his phone. He had been making a nuisance of himself earlier, scaring away customers, but it seemed he had gotten bored of that for the time being.
“Dearest,” Aziraphale called from far in the depths of the shop, checking the time on his pocket watch before peering through the shelves. “Would you like to get lunch soon?”
“Sure,” Crowley called back. He snickered, presumably at something on his phone, and then added, “What do you want?”
“I could go for sushi,” Aziraphale said with a thoughtful smile. “If that’s alright with you?”
“Tickety-boo,” Crowley replied drily.
Aziraphale thought he heard the bell above the door jingle, and resolved to ignore it— if it discouraged a customer from buying any of his books, he would ignore them for as long as possible. Aziraphale happily reordered his books, mixing them around supposedly at random, and hummed under his breath. He thought he heard low conversation somewhere near the front of the shop, but ignored it. Hopefully Crowley would scare away any customers that came in.
By the time he was finished organizing the set of shelves he had been working on, Aziraphale was more than ready for lunch. When he made his way to the front of the shop, though, he didn’t find Crowley alone or scaring away potential customers— instead the demon was being flirted with by an attractive woman in a long overcoat.
“Are you free tonight?” the woman asked, leaning seductively against the counter and smiling charmingly at Crowley just as Aziraphale reappeared.
Crowley made eye contact with Aziraphale over the woman’s shoulder and answered, “Nope.”
“Tomorrow?” the woman persisted, inching a little closer. “I’d just love to take you out on a date, sweetheart.”
Aziraphale felt a surge of jealousy deep in his gut, but firmly pushed it down. He had no right to interfere, after all, and—
Crowley didn’t exactly move away, but Aziraphale saw his shoulders tense. “No, I’m not free ever,” he said pointedly. “I’m married.”
The woman squinted at him. “Oh, you are?”
“My husband’s right there,” Crowley said, jerking his chin in Aziraphale’s direction. Aziraphale started, and then blushed when the woman turned to stare at him.
“Really?” she said doubtfully.
“Oi,” Crowley snapped, animated for the first time. He pushed away from the counter and scowled, irate. “One more word about my husband and you’ll find all your socks are missing their match. Scram.” The woman gave him one last look before leaving, her coat sweeping dramatically behind her before the door slammed shut.
Crowley flashed Aziraphale a smile. “Thanks, angel,” he said.
Aziraphale sighed softly, making his way to the counter and fidgeting with the till in order to avoid Crowley’s eyes. “Of course, dear,” he said quietly. “I’m always happy to pretend to be yours.”
When he looked up, Crowley was gazing at him seriously. He took his sunglasses off so Aziraphale could see his golden eyes. “Aziraphale,” Crowley said. “If you wanted. Ngh. We, uh, could not pretend. If you wanted.”
Aziraphale inhaled sharply. “You’re saying...”
Crowley fiddled with his silly little tie. “I’ve always liked it when you get jealous, angel,” he said, changing the subject just a bit. “Let me pretend, you know, that you might have a reason to be? Not that you’d, um, need to be, you’re the only one I’d ever— I’d ever want. To date, that is. So no need to be jealous. But it was... well, I never minded.”
Aziraphale let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he said, and Crowley’s eyes widened just slightly.
Aziraphale gasped as he realized what that had sounded like. “Oh! Dear, oh, my dear, you’re the only one I’d ever want to date either. I’m only, I’m sorry for acting jealous. I know I don’t have the right, I—”
Crowley leaned across the counter as if to kiss him. Just before their lips met, he whispered, “Angel, can I—?”
Aziraphale wordlessly closed the distance between them, kissing him gently. Crowley brought one hand up, cupping his cheek and brushing his thumb over Aziraphale’s skin.
“Angel,” he whispered when they parted, resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s.
Aziraphale smiled soppily. “Hello, my dear,” he replied.
“So,” Crowley murmured, his eyes sparkling, “Does this mean we’re together now?”
“I’d love to be,” Aziraphale replied.
Crowley kissed him again. “We'll give other people something to be jealous of,” he promised, and Aziraphale laughed.
“My dear, is that your goal?”
Crowley winked dramatically at him. “Causing discord and encouraging discontent is always my goal,” he replied. “Except with you, angel.”
Aziraphale smiled, gently cupping Crowley’s face in both hands. “I don’t think I have any need to be jealous,” he said. “I shouldn’t ever have, but now...”
Crowley gave him a sweet smile. “No need at all, angel.”
2024
Ultimately, it was all Crowley’s fault.
He was the one who had been hanging mistletoe all over the shop, in some kind of attempt to get Aziraphale to kiss him more. As though Aziraphale wouldn’t kiss him anyway! So it was completely Crowley’s fault when he ended up regretting his attempts to wile.
Aziraphale was busy putting up Christmas decorations of his own, hanging up tinsel and Christmas lights around his shop, when Crowley shuffled down the stairs with his blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders.
“‘ziraphale” he greeted, his voice sleepy, and then yawned and repeated clearer, “Morning, angel.”
Aziraphale smiled cheerfully, stepping over to give his husband a kiss on the cheek. “Hello, my darling,” he said. “You’re up early.” Crowley tended to sleep until at least noon in the winter, and once he was established somewhere warm wasn’t particularly inclined to leave. He had seemed quite comfortable and warm upstairs in Aziraphale’s bed, under his covers, and Aziraphale hadn’t expected to see him until after lunch.
Crowley gave him a smile, leaning against a bookcase and pulling his blankets a little tighter around himself. “Wanted to get up,” he replied. “I smelt coffee.”
Aziraphale smiled indulgently. “The pot is in the kitchenette, dearest,” he said. “I’ve kept it nice and warm for you.”
Crowley gave him a quick kiss. “You’re the best, angel.” He wandered off, returning a few moments later with a steaming mug of coffee cupped in both hands. “What have you got on for today, angel?” he asked.
Aziraphale smiled, hanging up another string of lights at the window. “Nothing in particular,” he replied.
“Can we stay in?” Crowley asked, sipping at his coffee. “It’s bloody cold out.”
Aziraphale eyed the frost on the window and the light flurry of snow falling outside. “That sounds like an excellent idea, love.” He hummed thoughtfully, stepping away from the window again and stopping in the middle of the shop before planting his hands on his hips. “Maybe I’ll close up early,” he added.
As of his words had summoned them, the door opened with the tinkle of a bell and a customer walked in. “Hello,” he said, giving Aziraphale a friendly smile. “You’re still open, right?”
Aziraphale sighed softly and tried to smile. “I suppose so,” he said, absently straightening his bow tie. Without looking, he could tell that Crowley was rolling his eyes.
The customer smiled, striding forward. “Excellent,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve been looking for a certain Shakespeare folio, I hope you might have it—” He paused in front of Aziraphale, and then happened to look up. “Oh,” he said. “Mistletoe.” He gave Aziraphale a considering look, and then smiled teasingly. “Does this mean I get to kiss you? I wouldn’t object.”
“Nope!” Crowley exclaimed, stepping over to stand right beside Aziraphale.
He didn’t look particularly intimidating, with his mussed-up hair and tartan blanket cloak and coffee mug, and the man gave him a doubtful smile. “Oh?”
Crowley planted a dramatic kiss on Aziraphale’s cheek. “Yep, my husband,” he said.
Aziraphale smiled, delighted. “My dearest, are you jealous?” he said with a laugh.
Crowley squinted back, an action clear even behind his sunglasses. “Me?” he scoffed. “Never. Don’t be silly, angel.” He slid his free arm around Aziraphale’s waist, pulling him closer, and he looked so cutely ruffled that Aziraphale couldn’t resist leaning up to give him a quick kiss. Crowley smiled against his lips and immediately deepened the kiss.
By the time they parted, the customer had long left.
“Oh, no, he’s gone,” Crowley said with a wide smile, giving Aziraphale one last kiss on the forehead.
Aziraphale chuckled. “I’m not going to complain,” he said quietly. “Not when he wanted to buy something!”
“The nerve,” Crowley agreed. He looked up at the mistletoe hanging above them, grinned. “This worked out the way I wanted it to.”
Aziraphale’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, did it?” He poked Crowley teasingly on the shoulder. “I’ve not seen you that jealous in a while, my love.”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “Oh, jealousy,” he said scathingly. “One of the Seven Deadlies, innit? I’m just doing my job.”
Aziraphale smiled shyly. “I rather like when you do,” he admitted, and then reached out to take Crowley’s hand. “I’m going to put the kettle on, would you like breakfast?”
“Anything you want, angel,” Crowley said earnestly, letting Aziraphale lead him to the kitchenette, and Aziraphale smiled quietly.
Jealousy, indeed.
There was no need for that, not anymore, not now that he could be with the one he loved.