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“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, “I need to tell you something.”
Crowley, who had been stealthily people-watching from behind his sunglasses, arms crossed, squinted over to the angel at his side. It was mid-afternoon, overcast and promising rain, but comfortable for the moment as people wandered St. James, oblivious to the angel and demon (and four sets of secret agents) in their midst.
Crowley opened his mouth to say something teasing, but Aziraphale’s anxious expression pulled him short. It was hardly an unfamiliar expression, but the angel had been much more relaxed since the obvious. He’d secretly been hoping he wouldn’t see that expression again for a long time, but he supposed old habits, and all that.
“Go on, then,” Crowley replied after a beat. He tried to sound comforting, but it came out brusque.
“The thing is,” Aziraphale said anxiously, twisting his fingers together and gazing out to the lake. “The thing is…I-I love you.”
Crowley lifted his eyebrows at him. He hadn’t expected that one. “Yeah?”
Aziraphale nodded.
Smiling fondly, Crowley looked to the lake, as well. Two ducks were fighting over an over-large piece of bread some sod had tossed their way. “I know. I feel the same, obviously.”
“Obv-” With an odd, frustrated noise, Aziraphale cut himself off. Crowley turned to see the angel gaping at him, and Crowley met him with another cocked eyebrow. Aziraphale stared for a moment before repeating back in a harsh whisper, “Obviously?”
“‘Course.”
Aziraphale didn’t seem to know what to do with that. “Well. Well, that’s…” He visibly changed his approach. “W-What on Earth did you mean that you know, then?”
Crowley gave a long, slow blink. Seeing that the angel’s confusing anxiety was only worsening, he tipped the sunglasses onto his forehead for a moment to squint at his counterpart incredulously. “Of course, I do. You think I haven’t noticed? The glances, the puppy dog eyes, the fond smiles? That whole tiny detail where you chose me and the Earth and rebelled against Heaven? And literally went to Hell for me?” Letting the sunglasses fall back into place, he dramatically placed a hand over his chest, as if affronted. “Angel. I’m shocked you have such a low opinion of my intelligence.”
Aziraphale stammered, fidgeting with his pocket watch chain as he tore his eyes away. Crowley continued to stare at his profile. “I suppose that…quite. Erm. Then, you…”
“I what?”
“You meant that? That you feel the same?”
Crowley rolled his eyes, even though Aziraphale wasn’t looking at him. It was the principle of the thing. “I may be many things, angel – devastatingly handsome, devilishly charming, debonair and suave as fuck – but subtle? Subtle is not one of them.”
Aziraphale looked at him a bit helplessly. “I don’t understand.”
“What part are you caught on, angel?”
“We…I thought this would be different,” he said, clearly scrambling for words. Crowley felt bad for apparently increasing his anxiety, but he also didn’t totally understand what was causing it, and so sat as still as possible as the angel continued. “Shouldn’t this be more of a – a moment?”
Crowley huffed. “You’ve been reading too many novels.” Shoot, the angel actually looked a little hurt now. Crowley sighed and set aside his Very Cool Indifferent persona for a mo’, sitting up so he slouched about 20% less than usual. “I didn’t really think we needed to talk about it,” he said plainly. “I mean, we’ve both know for ages. Or…I thought we did. Didn’t think we needed to bother with the words, so I didn’t. Figured there was no point in scaring you off, anyway.”
The crease between Aziraphale’s eyebrows deepened. “Scaring me off?”
Crowley nodded.
Aziraphale studied him like an alphabet he’d once learned and long forgotten, or a language he was supposed to know but couldn’t figure out how to conjugate. “I…suppose I did know,” he said softly, and some of Crowley’s tension eased away. “But I didn’t know you did. About me. I didn’t want to think I was so…obvious,” he added with a shy twist of the lips.
Crowley grinned, and it was gentle as anything. Bloody brilliant that he could show that now, that gentleness and fondness and other sugar-spun bollocks. “Like I said,” he drawled, relaxing his posture again, “much more obvious than you think. Think we know each other too well for subtlety at this point.”
“If you knew…why didn’t you say anything?” Aziraphale asked. He held up a hand to stop Crowley’s response. “Yes, I know you said we didn’t need to talk about it if we both know, but don’t you…want to?”
Crowley paused for a moment. He could tell this mattered to Aziraphale, his answer, and wanted to give it due consideration as a result. The truth was that he had never been one for sweeping declarations. Now, he was all for dramatics, don’t get him wrong, but he had never wanted to do anything that made Aziraphale uncomfortable, and displays of affection, in whatever form, had always fallen under that category. He realized suddenly that he had not taken the time to consider whether that still held true.
“…I guess it couldn’t hurt,” Crowley replied carefully, watching Aziraphale’s face for any reaction. He remained neutral, so Crowley continued, “but I don’t know what we’re supposed to talk about. We said the things. What else is there?”
“Well.” Aziraphale blinked twice. “This is where humans would discuss the – their relationship. How it should proceed, change, and be defined.”
“Right. Labels,” Crowley replied. “Lil’ bastards, if you ask me.”
Aziraphale hummed. “They can help clarify expectations, though. And offer options henceforth unknown.”
Crowley conceded that with a grunt. “’In that case…we’re friends, right?”
Aziraphale hesitated – old habits, old habits – then nodded once. “Best friends, you’ve called us before.”
“Right. And I don’t want to change that. Don’t want…” he calculated the risk and leaped. “More than that. I don’t want the – ya know, the stuff humans say is ‘more’ than friendship.”
With a slight lowering of the brows, Aziraphale clarified, “You aren’t interested in a romantic relationship, that is to say? Or a sexual one, perhaps?”
“Yeah. Either, both. I mean…I’m sure it’d be fine, and all, but it just…never appealed to me.” Crowley sighed deeply. “Which is part of why I never said anything, I guess. Didn’t want to give you a false impression, or false hopes, or whatever. I don’t know if best friends go declaring love willy-nilly.”
Aziraphale was nodding slowly at that, but not responding. Feeling defensive, Crowley added, “’S not like I can’t. I mean. Want you to – have whatever, and all. So I can. Do whatever you want.” He felt distinctly uncomfortable with such an open offer, but there it was.
A hand landed on Crowley’s forearm, which was when he realized he had stopped looking at the angel some time ago. He looked back now, and Aziraphale was looking at him almost…warningly. “Crowley,” he said, “I think that, as we are talking openly, we should establish some boundaries and rules for our relationship.”
Crowley nodded. “I-“
“And the first rule,” Aziraphale cut in curtly, “is that we do not lie to each other about what we are comfortable with."
“R-right.” Crowley swallowed.
“So, to reiterate,” he continued crisply, “you have no interest in a relationship of a romantic or sexual nature?”
It sounded so clinical like that, but it almost made it easier to talk about. Like it wasn’t the entire nature of their relationship, but instead a table of data, a set of statistics, a series of calculations. Crowley felt his Awkwardness hesitate and decide to step back and let Trust do its thing. “Yup.”
Aziraphale nodded with a small smile, marking the response down in some mental board of data. “Can you tell me…what romantic means to you?”
Crowley cocked his head. “Bloody difficult question, innit.”
The angel hummed noncommittally.
“I guess…” He scratched the back of his skull and smoothed the coif absently. “Declarations. Kissing. Flowers. Calling each other ‘baby’ and ‘honey.’ Holding Hands. Living together. Umm…cuddling on the sofa. Getting married.”
“And you don’t want any of that?”
Crowley hesitated again. “Some are fine. But I just don’t like all the…the cliché romantic rubbish. Nothing wrong with it, exactly…’s fine in stories and all. But I don’t…”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale cut in. The demon looked at him, and he was looking both stern and completely fond. His earlier nervousness appeared to have dissipated in the face of Crowley’s own – they always did balance each other perfectly like that. “We are not going to do anything either of us aren’t comfortable with, my dear. You don’t need to justify yourself. Besides,” he added sheepishly, “I’m not particularly interested in such things, either. I’ve always been a little bit curious about romance, I suppose, but if you don’t want a romantic relationship, then we won’t have one. It’s of little consequence to me.”
Crowley looked at his companion. His best friend, his (platonic) soulmate, his forever. An angel, deprived of love for his entire existence, from the very beings who had promised it to him. Who owed it to him the most. “You deserve to be loved,” Crowley admitted softly, “in whatever way you want to be.”
Aziraphale looked stunned and rapidly blinked, though it didn’t hide the shininess of his eyes. “Crowley,” he said a little brokenly. “I…I want to – I want you to love in a way that is right to you. That’s what I want. And you deserve to be loved in a way that is right to you, too.”
Crowley swallowed around the growing lump in his throat. “Sap.”
Aziraphale shook his head with a wet chuckle. “I don’t want to kiss you, but can I…are you alright if I hold your hand? You can say no.”
After a moment, instead of replying, Crowley offered his open palm. Aziraphale took it carefully, a finger at a time. Crowley’d not held hands much, in his thousands of years of life. Mostly handshakes and the like. Though it had romantic associations now in western culture, he wasn’t averse to it like he was to so many other things – the beds and mouths and such. But, after a few seconds palm to palm, Crowley gave a sharp nod. Yes, this was perfectly acceptable with Aziraphale. Whatever onlookers would assume, be damned. Touch was not inherently romantic or sexual. It was just human, really.
“You’re so warm,” Aziraphale commented, the joy audible in his voice, and likely not because of the heat.
“Of course, I am. I’m a demon. My core burns with eternal Hellfire.”
“Or, possibly, you’re wearing all black in the middle of a hot summer day?”
Crowley shrugged. “To-may-to, to-mah-to.”
“How American of you,” Aziraphale teased.
He shrugged again. “How British of you.” After a few beats, he added, “So, er. Was there anything else to cover?”
“Hmm?”
“With talking relationship stuff.” Crowley counted them off on his free hand. “We told each other the Thing, we decided on our label, we ‘established some boundaries.’ We missing anything?”
Aziraphale gave a hum. “I did want to ask, of those romantic things you listed, which ones do appeal to you? If any? You mentioned that you don’t dislike them all.”
Crowley bit his lip a moment, but decided he’d gotten this far, so it probably wasn’t much of a risk anymore. They were holding hands, for Someone’s sake. “I’d be fine with…living together, I think. Would probably be nice. Doesn’t have to be immediately, but, ya know. Down the road, or whatever.”
Aziraphale squeezed his hand. A sweet and strange gesture, but he still didn’t mind it. “Nice?” he questioned, with a little bastard smirk.
“I am bearing my demonic soul to you, angel, and this is how you-“
“I’d like to live with you, too,” Aziraphale interrupted, still beaming.
Crowley glared a moment (fruitless, considering the sunglasses, but he knew Aziraphale got the message) before sighing. “Right. Think there’s already plenty to get used to right now, but…soon.”
“Soon,” Aziraphale echoed quietly. “Very soon, I hope.”
Crowley huffed happily. “That desperate for a roommate, eh?”
“Hmm. I’ll expect you to pay half the rent, of course.”
“You’ve never paid rent a day in your life, bastard.”
Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. “How dare you!” he exclaimed, free hand flying to his breast in a perfect echo of what Crowley had been mocking earlier. “I’ll have you know, I’ve filed all my taxes like a respectable citizen on my computing device for decades! I’m always very careful with my finances!”
“I didn’t think you had any idea how to use your computer,” Crowley replied with a gleeful, unrepentant grin. It was so wonderful to get the angel all riled up; it was probably his favourite hobby after tax evasion. “I would’ve also accepted PC, for the record. Or even IBM.”
“Of course, I know how to use it,” Aziraphale replied with a sniff. “I’ve had it since, oh 1980, I believe.”
Crowley made a face. “You do your taxes on a dinosaur.”
“Well, no, my 'computer' actually exists, for one.” Aziraphale looked heavenward, as though for guidance. “Besides, I can’t imagine these electrical devices have really changed so much in only, oh, about forty years is all. Hardly a blink.”
Crowley cackled, head thrown back and all. “You do realize my phone is a computer, right?”
Aziraphale gave him such a confused, bewildered look that Crowley could hardly contain himself. That is to say, he could not contain himself, and scared away all nearby waterfowl with his demonic cackling. He gasped for breath, wiping away a tear. “Oh, angel,” he muttered. “What am I to do with you?”
The angel’s stomach gave a grumble right at that moment, and Aziraphale looked at him, still a bit embarrassed, but the joy shone through it. “I have a few options for your consideration on that front,” he replied with a pat to his belly.
“Wherever you want to go,” Crowley said, all dripping, soppy earnestness. He stood, giving the angel’s hand a tug so he’d follow. “Didn’t you say you wanted to go back to that Indian place, soon?”
Aziraphale stood, wiping invisible wrinkles out of his trousers as he did. “You know me so well, my dear.”
“Course I do.” Crowley grinned (he was doing so much of that, today). “Come on, let’s go.”
They set off, and it felt the same as it always had. Only more honest, more open. Was he imagining that they seemed closer than ever as they walked down the street? Crowley wasn’t sure, but he did know he had rarely felt happier than with Aziraphale at his side, safe in the knowledge that they both belonged exactly where they were.
He loved his friend, and his friend loved him. And wasn’t that a thing?