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Aziraphale felt a strange softness in the air that morning, as if the world he had so messily saved had gone out of focus, and had faded away into the background of his life.
On that morning of the second day of the rest of eternity, Aziraphale woke from a pleasant sleep—one of the few times he indulged—and came downstairs to find Crowley sitting on his sofa.
“Good morning, my dear. Been there long?” Sometime late last night, after midnight, Aziraphale had risen to go upstairs, announcing his intention to have a wee lie-down. Crowley, nursing a glass of wine, simply sank further into the sofa and said, “Have a pleasant nap.”
And here he was, still on the sofa. “Did you ever leave?”
Crowley shook his head. “Nope. Fell asleep.” He looked at his watch. “Your little nap took eight and a half hours.”
“Ah. Yes, well, it has been a rather fraught few days.” Aziraphale crossed to the small kitchen area, where he filled a tea kettle and set it on the stove top.
“So even you need a nice long rest after stopping the end times?” Crowley rose, stretched, and sauntered over to stand close beside him.
Aziraphale filled a tea ball with Lapsang Souchong and then placed it into his favorite tea pot, the Victorian one with the entwined yellow rose pattern. “It was an exceptionally good rest. Not a single bad dream.”
Crowley leaned against the counter, arms crossed, gazing at him with the fond affection Aziraphale had seen more and more of lately. “You can miracle away nightmares, Angel. Or ask someone else—maybe your best friend, perhaps—to do it for you.”
“Yes, of course.” Aziraphale smiled softly. “I know you would do that for me.” He had known for a long time that Crowley would do anything to see him happy—and safe. He touched Crowley’s arm ever so briefly. “Bring the mugs over, would you, please?”
“’course.” Crowley went to grab two of the white mugs with the angel-wing handles. He set them on the counter.
The kettle whistled. Aziraphale poured the water into the tea pot, and then set the cosy on top. He did so enjoy a cup of strong tea in the mornings, and this Lapsang was his favorite, with a woodsy aroma and a lack of bitterness. No sugar needed, though a spot of milk would not come amiss.
He fetched the milk from the small fridge. “Do you want some?”
“Just a touch.”
Aziraphale poured a little milk into each mug. Crowley pulled open a drawer and took out two spoons. His friend knew where everything was here in the bookshop, and for some reason, Aziraphale suddenly felt intensely comforted by that simple fact. The bookshop was just as much a home for Crowley as it was for him.
When the tea had steeped, he poured it out, and they took their mugs to the sofa. Instead of taking his usual seat in his armchair, Aziraphale sat next to Crowley.
As they sipped their tea quietly, Aziraphale savored the utter relaxation he felt. He had spent far too much of his time on Earth worrying and feeling anxious over one thing or another. Especially during these past few days, his anxiety over Heaven’s plans had overwhelmed him. But now he was done with Heaven’s plans. He had never realized before how wonderful it could be to feel completely calm.
Or how it would feel to be so content in Crowley’s presence.
“Do you know, my dear,” he said as he let out a soft sigh of pleasure, “that whenever we met up for a meal or a drink or simply a chat over the centuries, no matter how enjoyable the encounter was, there was always a voice telling me that it was wrong.”
“Yeah.” Crowley smiled softly. “I could sense that.”
“All this time, I could never fully relax around you. Until now.” Not that there was a voice telling him it was right—there simply wasn’t anyone telling him anything at all. He simply knew this was right. “Such freedom is completely new to me.” Aziraphale took a sip of his tea, savoring it. He swallowed, then let out a sigh.
Crowley gazed at him with deep affection. “I can’t say that Hell kept me as worried as Heaven did you. Not most of the time, anyway.”
“Well, I don’t believe they constrained your activities as much.” Aziraphale smiled. “After all, how many of Hell’s minions could slack off by sleeping for nearly a century and get away with it?”
“Not a single one.” Crowley shrugged. “Lost track of how many times I tried to convince you that neither side was organized enough to know what we were really up to.”
“Yes, well, I did have a slightly stronger sense of duty, you know.” A duty he had struggled with to nearly the very end of things. Thank goodness he had made the right choice when he had. “I’m glad to be done with that lot.”
“So am I—with my lot, that is.” Crowley looked thoughtful. “Well, yeah, both—I’m done with all of them, now.”
“All of them?” Aziraphale finished the last of his tea.
Crowley set his empty mug on the coffee table. “I’m where I’m supposed to be.”
Aziraphale frowned in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”
Crowley waved a hand towards the ceiling. “Got kicked out of Heaven.” He gestured towards the floor. “Hell wants nothing to do with me.” He looked around the bookshop, and then he turned to look at Aziraphale. “This is it. Earth. London. You. It’s the only place left—and the only place I want to be.”
“I see.” Aziraphale felt an odd fluttery sensation in his chest. He rose. “Have you finished your tea?”
“Yup.” Crowley handed over his mug, and Aziraphale went to the sink to rinse the mugs out.
As he walked back towards the sofa, he noticed sunbeams coming through the windows. “It looks like lovely weather,” he said. “Shall we go for a stroll in our favorite park?” Even before Crowley could reply, he went to the coat rack, knowing the answer would be yes.
*
Late morning sunshine warmed him as they strolled through St. James’s Park. A light, pleasant breeze ruffled Aziraphale’s hair. He vaguely noted the neat lawns, the trim shrubs, the magnificent trees, which he’d walked past countless times. Truly, he could have been walking anywhere—the view counted towards his happiness far less than the companion beside him.
“To the duck pond, I presume?” he asked, automatically heading that way.
Crowley nodded. He paused at a vendor who provided packets of cracked corn, the park-approved duck food. “They’ll have missed us.” He handed a bag to Aziraphale. “We haven’t been in a while.”
They strolled on to the pond, and found their favorite spot, where no one else ever seemed to stop. As Aziraphale leaned up against the fence and opened his packet of corn, a dozen mallards swam madly towards him.
Crowley stood close enough that their shoulders brushed. He tossed corn at the swirling, splashing group of ducks. “Calm down, you lot. Plenty for all.”
“I believe they did miss us.” The birds squawked and scrabbled at the food, raising quite a cacophony. Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the ducks instantly calmed, sedately pecking at the corn in a more refined fashion. “That’s better.”
“Frivolous miracle?” Crowley tossed the last of his corn.
“It gladdens my heart to know that I shall never be taken to task again for such choices.” Honestly, what was the point of having miraculous powers if one was forced to constantly curtail those powers, as if angels had all been issued ration books? “Did Hell ever admonish you for such nonsense?”
“Nope.” Crowley crumpled his empty packet and tossed it expertly into a nearby trash bin. “Never said a thing when I used a miracle to fix my hair every morning instead of using a comb. Don’t even own a comb.”
Aziraphale finished tossing corn. “That reminds me.” He handed the empty packet over to Crowley, who duly crumpled it and threw it into the bin with one fluid movement. “I rather preferred your hair when it was longer. Would you consider growing it out again?”
“Oh?” Crowley brushed his fingers through his auburn locks. “Thought this was more stylish. You don’t like it?”
“It’s fine, really—very modern, I suppose.”
“But you liked it better before. I should have known.” Crowley fingered the lapels of Aziraphale’s Victorian coat. “Never did care for change.”
“Well, some changes are a definite improvement. I shouldn’t fancy living in an era without central heating again.”
“Agreed.” Crowley stepped in closer, to place a hand on Aziraphale’s chest. “Didn’t know you paid that much attention to my appearance.”
Aziraphale swallowed as he felt a flush upon his cheeks, as the warmth of that simple touch flowed through him. “I suppose I shouldn’t have…and it isn’t your true form, but…well, it’s a pleasing appearance. I don’t suppose it matters how much you alter your hair or your clothes.” He placed his hand atop Crowley’s and pressed lightly. “You are still the same friend as always.”
“Thanks.” Crowley pulled him into a light hug, then stepped back. “Come on, let’s walk a bit farther.” As he took his hand away from Aziraphale’s chest, he added, “And yeah, I’ll let my hair grow out again.”
They strolled on. Aziraphale had no memory of the rest of that walk afterwards—the only thing in the whole of his mind was the affection and love contained in one brief embrace.
*
After the park, they wandered back to Soho. They had lunch in a café, then popped into a wine shop, and then a deli for some bread and cheese to go with the wine. Their final stop was a bakery, where Aziraphale picked out two slices of chocolate cake.
Somehow, there was an unspoken agreement that they were spending the afternoon and evening together—and possibly much longer.
Aziraphale carried the bag of wine into the bookshop, Crowley at his heels with the deli and bakery goods. Aziraphale locked the door and made sure the sign was turned to Closed.
As Crowley tossed his sunglasses onto the desk, he said, “You know, you don’t ever have to open it again.”
“No?” The idea hadn’t crossed his mind, but now it had, Aziraphale realized the bookshop’s use as a heavenly base of operations was indeed no longer needed. “I don’t, do I?” No more customers, no more fretting over someone buying one of his precious tomes. He could have his own private library here, in this place he’d come to call his home. “Splendid notion.”
Late afternoon sunlight filled the shop, nearly blinding him. Aziraphale started towards the windows to adjust the blinds, but then he remembered that there was a perfectly cozy sitting room upstairs. He turned to look at Crowley, who had hugged him in the park.
His companion stood there in a shaft of light, head tilted quizzically, his exotic eyes full of affection while a tender smile played at his lips. He simply stood there, with his dark red hair alight in the sun’s rays, glowing round his head like a halo.
Aziraphale stared at him, and the sunlight seemed to grow larger, circling ever wider until it encompassed him as well, and he felt a tremendous warmth, and he felt comforted beyond measure.
“Angel?” Crowley asked softly. “You all right there?”
“I love you,” Aziraphale said.
A sensation of great relief trembled through his whole body as he spoke the words which had been enchained within him for such a long, long time.
Crowley set his bags on the floor and strode over. “Put the wine down.”
Aziraphale did so.
They stepped together into an embrace, arms wrapped tightly round each other. Aziraphale sighed as he nestled his cheek against Crowley’s. “It just came out—sorry. Couldn’t help it. You looked so…” He smiled. “Well, you looked so angelic just then.”
Crowley brushed long, supple fingers through Aziraphale’s hair. “Do you think it ever left completely—what I once was?”
Aziraphale blinked, his eyes suddenly moist. “No, I don’t.” He kissed Crowley’s cheek. “To fall doesn’t mean to be lost, my dear. And I know what you are—someone who can love and be loved.”
“Just names then, are they? Angel. Demon.” Crowley touched his lips to Aziraphale’s forehead in a light caress. “Just words…is that right? They’re not real. They’re names, and names can be changed.”
“Friend,” Aziraphale said. “I call you friend, and that’s the only name I need.”
Crowley’s serpentine eyes looked a little misty. “I like that.” He bent his head, touching his forehead to Aziraphale’s, who felt warm breath on his cheeks. Crowley turned his head to put his lips against Aziraphale’s ear, and whispered, “My true friend, I do love you so much.”
Oh…Aziraphale heard a world in those words. He wanted to freeze this moment in time—and nearly asked Crowley to do so—to hold onto the sound of those words until time lost all meaning.
Though the words were fleeting, he knew the world behind them remained, and would stand forever. So he pulled away a little, just enough to see his friend clearly, and then he kissed Crowley’s lips just to see what that felt like—because he knew that he could.
It was only a moment. It felt quite lovely, really.
“Mm.” Crowley ran his tongue over his lips where Aziraphale had touched them with his own. “Nice.”
“Oh?” Aziraphale smiled. “Yes, it was. You know, I had meant to ask if we could go upstairs to the sitting room for our wine and cheese, where I planned to express my affections. I’ve rather spoilt that, I’m afraid.”
“Well,” Crowley said gently as he loosened his hold and stepped back, “you did just blurt it right out there.” He picked up the bag of wine. “Still, it’s a good idea. Shall we go get cozier?”
*
They did get cozier.
The sitting room had a sofa and coffee table facing a fireplace. Aziraphale took off his coat and vest. After arranging the comestibles, they settled in, side by side, one arm round the other’s shoulder, the other left free to reach for bread, cheese, and wine.
“You weren’t ever going back to your flat, were you?” Aziraphale asked between bites of brie on chunks of baguette.
“Just to water the plants sometime.” Crowley nibbled on a cracker with cheddar on top.
“Bring them over here, then.”
“All right.”
With that easy assent, Aziraphale relaxed even more, content to know they would be living together from here on. “No yelling at them, if you please.”
Crowley grunted. “You’re no fun.”
“I have read that plants grow well to the sounds of classical music.”
“Ngk.” Crowley finished his cracker and reached for his wine glass. “So I have to be nice to my plants and listen to Mozart all day long?”
“Of course not, my dear. Some days it will be Handel.” Aziraphale felt full from his bread and cheese. “Mm. That was scrumptious.” He picked up his glass and raised it in a toast. “To living with my best friend.”
Crowley clinked his glass against it. “For better or for worse?”
“If the worst you can do is complain about my musical taste, then I believe we shall be fine.”
They drank their wine.
As the afternoon drifted lazily into evening, the weather changed. Rain pattered against the window, and a strong wind came up, rattling the panes. Aziraphale got up and went to the small fireplace, where he set about arranging a few logs. “I performed a miracle on the whole bookshop, by the way—after you told me about the fire. To protect it from all harm.” He knew Crowley would want to know that.
“Go ahead and light it,” Crowley replied. “I did the same thing.”
“Ah. Of course you did.” Aziraphale stuffed some crumpled newspaper between the logs and lit them, and soon the logs caught fire. He returned to the sofa and settled in again, curled alongside Crowley.
As he watched the logs burn, he felt mesmerized by the flickering dance of the flames. The crackling of the fire muted the stormy weather outside. He kicked off his shoes and brought his legs up, and turned to nestle his head against Crowley’s shoulder. He wrapped an arm round his chest. Crowley had removed his jacket, and Aziraphale could feel the taut muscles beneath his thin shirt.
Crowley put an arm around Aziraphale and began gently stroking his back in a circular motion that felt ever so soothing. He kissed the top of Aziraphale’s head. “We forgot about dessert.”
“What? Oh, yes.” The chocolate cake stood untouched on the table. It did look inviting, but he was far too comfortable to move. “It can wait.”
“Guess you really do love me.”
“Because I turned down dessert in favor of more cuddling? Yes, that is rather telling.”
They stayed in that delightful embrace for some time, while the fire warmed the room, while the rain and the wind slowly abated. Crowley’s caresses stilled, and his breathing deepened.
“Don’t fall asleep,” Aziraphale whispered. “Not here. Bedroom.”
“Mmph.” Crowley stirred. “If we have to move, we may as well have our dessert.”
They untangled themselves and set about consuming the two slices of chocolate cake. Aziraphale thought it was the most delicious cake he had ever eaten.
The fire died down, leaving only embers.
They retired to the bedroom, and after changing into pyjamas and climbing into the bed, Aziraphale glanced at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s only just gone nine.”
“Bit early for sleeping. Not that you sleep anyway.”
“True, it has not been a regular habit of mine. However…I believe it would be a good idea, for harmonious living, if we had similar routines, yes?” To lie here every night beside Crowley, asleep or awake, would be heavenly.
“Right,” Crowley said. “Sleep as much as you like, then.”
“I shall, my dear. At a reasonable hour.” Aziraphale examined the pile of books on the nightstand. He pulled one out of the stack.
“Read to me, Angel.”
Such a delightful request. Aziraphale beamed. “It’s a collection of short stories. The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. Is that all right?”
“Anything you like is fine.”
They lay there close together, on their backs, propped up a bit on two pillows each. Aziraphale found the bookmark where he’d last left off, and by the bedside lamplight, he read aloud the next story, The Adventure of the Speckled Band.
Crowley turned onto his side, curved towards him, his eyes closed.
Aziraphale had been reading for some time, slowly and steadily, with suitably dramatic inflections where required, when he paused to glance at his silent friend. Had he drifted off to sleep?
Crowley’s eyes opened. “You stopped.”
“Sorry. You were awfully quiet.”
“I’m awake.” His eyes closed again. “I like the way you read. And it’s about a snake.”
“Sorry?”
“The speckled band—it’s a snake.”
Aziraphale had not remembered reading this story before, and he didn’t know the solution to the locked-room mystery. “How do you know that?”
“I kind of know something about snakes. Go on, finish it.”
Aziraphale continued reading, and was not terribly surprised when the resolution to the murder turned out to be, indeed, a snake. “Very clever,” he said.
“Good snake,” Crowley murmured. “Poisoned the bad guy.”
“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Shall I read another one?”
“Please.”
Aziraphale read until nearly eleven. Such a pleasant thing, to engage Crowley in the stories, to share this love of books with him. Perhaps they could make it a regular habit.
They would have a lifetime of habits to develop now, new ways of being together, and old ways to revisit time and again. They would have an eternity to spend learning to live the way they wished to.
Aziraphale set the book down and turned off the lamp. “Sleep?”
They rearranged their pillows, settling down for the night, Aziraphale on his back with Crowley turned towards him, his head more on Aziraphale’s pillow than his own.
An eternity together.
“Crowley?” he whispered.
“Hm?”
“What do we do now…with the rest of forever?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I thought perhaps I could stand close beside you every morning and help you make tea.”
“Yes, that’s a good start.”
Crowley wrapped his arm round Aziraphale. “And I could stroll along whenever you go to the park. Or stand around in the aisles getting in everyone’s way while you putter about in antique shops, or sit and watch while your barber trims your hair.”
Aziraphale placed his hand atop Crowley’s. “When your hair gets longer, you can get it trimmed there, too.”
“Yup.”
“What else?”
“Well,” Crowley said softly, “I’d like to join you for every restaurant outing, and share every bottle of wine or champagne. I want to come along on every visit to the café down the street, and every bakery trip to help you find the best brioche.”
Aziraphale sighed in contentment. “Eternity doesn’t sound as daunting now.”
“Not with you by my side.” Crowley nuzzled his cheek. “Shall I take you on picnics? Or drive us to the beach without going over the speed limit?” He kissed Aziraphale’s forehead. “Can I listen to you read every evening? When I lie down, will you lie down beside me, and forget all about the world?” He nestled his head on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Can we just have an ordinary life now?”
Aziraphale clasped Crowley’s hand and brought it to his lips. “Yes, we can do that.” He kissed Crowley’s fingers before laying their joined hands back down.
“Aziraphale, I have loved you since the day I met you.” Crowley briefly tightened his embrace, and then relaxed against him. “What I want is to spend the rest of forever with you.”
He had yearned for this deep affection for so long. “What I have done for thousands of years,” Aziraphale said, “is to grant love to all of God’s creation—to every being I came upon—while they were not meant to know that I was even here. In all those years, only one being returned love to me unconditionally, and steadfastly.”
“Couldn’t help it,” Crowley replied. “You were kind to me when you had every reason not to be.”
He had seen something in Crowley, even at the beginning, that warranted such kindness. He had seen doubt—the same doubts he himself had expressed over whether he was doing what he ought to be doing, here on Earth. And when he saw that they shared uncertainty—when he realized that Crowley could question his role in the same way that he did—in that moment, Aziraphale knew they were not true enemies.
He cupped Crowley’s chin and lifted his head, the better to kiss his lips, and the touch lingered as Crowley responded. When that gentle caress ended, Aziraphale said, “It has pained me to know that I was not allowed to acknowledge you as a friend all these centuries, let alone to tell you how deeply I love you.”
He kissed Crowley again, and a few more times for good measure.
“Gone all sentimental, we have,” Crowley said as they nestled down on the pillows.
“I believe we’ve earned it, my dear.”
“And then some.”
“Well, then,” Aziraphale said, “welcome to the second day of the rest of our lives.”
As they lay there in the stillness of the night, he wondered, ever so fleetingly, if he could hold on to this astonishing happiness for all of time.
Yes, he decided.
He could.