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"Crowley! Is this all a game for you?" A chubby angel stood up frustratedly from the couch and stomped his foot on the ancient wooden floor.
"I'm sorry, angel. Can't help it," his demonic companion was now snickering hysterically from his lounging position between soft cushions, golden eyes sparkling.
"I'm trying here, Crowley," Aziraphale sighed disapprovingly. "We've been holding back so much for the past 6,000 years. I do so hope to enjoy our new found freedom together."
"Whatever is the problem, then?" The angel pressed when the laughter died down and Crowley began passively studying his fingers.
For the past few hours, he had been trying to discuss their 6,000 years on Earth and around each other with his best friend. The demon had been uncooperative, to say the least. Purposefully unproductive, if Aziraphale was honest to himself. Tickling the side of Aziraphale's waist or making up silly stories about the patterns of the fabric of the old sofa they sat in. There seemed to be something troubling the demon, preventing him to open himself in the conversation, and Aziraphale was determined to get to the bottom of it. They are free now. There's no problem too big to fix for a free man, well, free celestial beings, but still. The point stood.
After pushing his affections for Crowley to the lightless corner of his heart for hundreds of years, Aziraphale wanted to make up for every minute they spent apart. There'd be no more hiding and lying about feelings. There'd be love, instead, he thought, but it didn't seem to be the case.
Crowley had been hiding something, Aziraphale was sure of that. He had noticed the hitches of Crowley's breaths when their fingers brushed. He had tasted the unspoken confession of the demon's love when they waited silently for their trials.
"Crowley, if you're behaving like this," the angel sagged down, crossing his arms against his chest. He didn't know what to do anymore. They'd never been good at communicating.
"And what? Are you going to give up on me again? Hm? Just like you did every time we met for the past six millennia?" The angel looked down at Crowley, who held his chin up now, staring into Aziraphale's eyes with a challenging firmness. No, he was not looking into Aziraphale's eyes, the angel realised. Crowley's eyes had always been expressive, saying words that couldn't be spoken. But they were veiled by pain as they looked straight ahead into nothingness.
"Everything has been a ruse for you, Aziraphale," the angel winced at the sound of his name rolling off Crowley's split tongue.
"A game you play when you felt like it and I take the fall when you leave, isn't it?" Crowley shot up from his spot, standing face to face with Aziraphale for a second and stormed out.
Aziraphale was left alone in the empty bookshop at a loss. Had he misunderstood Crowley’s feelings for him? Had he been asking for too much?