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There was a soft snore beside Aziraphale, and he glanced away from his book to look down at the demon sleeping beside him. His love was lying on his belly, arms wrapped around a pillow, his face smashed into it. Aziraphale wondered how he could breathe like that, but the rise and fall of Crowley’s chest told him that he was breathing fine, and Aziraphale pushed away his worry. Content, he just gazed at his love for a time.
He loved every moment with Crowley. Every single moment of their lives together, now that they were free to be with each other, was a delight. He loved going places on Crowley’s arm: to plays, museums, and various restaurants together, letting the world see their love. He loved when they would sit on their favorite bench at the park, feeding ducks and holding hands, talking for hours on end. He loved their quiet moments at home, when they would share bottles of good wine and have deep, philosophical discussions. He loved the other, quieter evenings, when he would read a book in the corner of his couch and Crowley would lay with his head in his lap, letting Aziraphale play with his hair. Aziraphale even delighted in their occasional, minor arguments, because when those happened, they inevitably made up immediately afterwards, and he very much enjoyed making up. But more than anything else, he loved these unguarded moments when he got to see Crowley at his most vulnerable.
Crowley had worked hard over the last six thousand years to present a certain facade to the world. He wanted everyone to think that he was cool, aloof, and evil, although nothing could be farther from the truth. He wanted people to think that he was hard. And, Aziraphale had to admit, his love had done a very good job of convincing the entire world that he was a proper demon with a tougher-than-nails exterior.
But Aziraphale knew better. He knew that Crowley’s toughness was a complete farce, and, in fact, Crowley was about as hard as molten caramel (and twice as sweet). Crowley had a kind streak the way some humans had a mean streak. His beloved had a weakness for children and animals, and he never failed to stop and help turtles out of the road while driving, for example. He knew that Crowley donated money to orphanages, and had done so for as long as orphanages had existed. He knew that seeing people suffer caused Crowley intense pain, and that Crowley bestowed more blessings than he’d ever admit to on the homeless and hungry that they saw when they were out together. Anytime Aziraphale would remark on it, Crowley would scowl and change the subject.
Crowley, for all his bluster, was the softest creature Aziraphale had ever known. He was something like a geode, if when you broke open the rocky exterior, you found candy floss inside. The rest of the world thought he was hard and tough, a force to be reckoned with, but Aziraphale knew better. His love was softer than a newborn kitten, and Aziraphale loved him for it. And it was absolutely awe-inspiring, when he thought about it. Thousands of years in hell should have hardened Crowley into granite, yet it hadn’t.
He brushed an errant strand of hair from Crowley’s brow, smiling softly, and Crowley snuffled in his sleep, squeezing his pillow. Aziraphale had never loved anyone the way he loved Crowley - and it was in large part because his love was so soft. And he would never love anyone this way ever again.