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Aziraphale indulged in earthly pleasures: in oysters, and crepes, and vintage books, and the way humans looked at each other when in love. The way his lips curled when young children walked by, chattering happily to their parents, small hand in big hand, was admirable. It was kind and precious and benevolent. Aziraphale was a good being.
If you asked anyone to describe Crowley in one word ‘good’, ‘precious’ or ‘kind’ would not be one of them. Crowley laughed at public breakups and sneered at children bouncing about with too much energy at 4pm. Humans disgusted him and filled him with anger (ultimately released on his plants) yet looking at how they made Aziraphale feel made him second-guess his coldness. Suddenly, the squeals of children as an ice cream truck came near became slightly more tolerable and the ugly face-sucking of teenagers on park benches made him feel nostalgic for a human youth he’d never had. Not that Crowley ever focused on these things. He would look at Aziraphale’s face; at the slight quirk of the corner of his mouth as he walked past a playground, at the way his eyes crinkled as he laughed wholeheartedly, at the way a stray lock of white hair would sometimes fall on his face as he bumbled about his day, leafing through books and chatting animatedly. Crowley was at mercy to the glow in Aziraphale’s eyes as he spotted a new restaurant and the puppy-like disgust when someone purchased a book from him. Aziraphale was going to be the death of him and Crowley would gladly embrace his demise because he’d do anything for his dearest friend.
Including impromptu visits to Indian restaurants.
“Crowley, there’s this new curry place fifteen minutes away.” was exactly what Aziraphale had said, however, what it could rightly be translated to was, ‘Crowley, you and I are going to this new curry place fifteen minutes away.’
And so they did after Aziraphale fussed with his hair for a good ten minutes, re-tied his bowtie twice, changed his shoes (though Crowley saw no visible difference between the pairs) and brought a pink lip balm to his lips-
What.
That was new.
“Are you done yet, Angel?”
“Yes, yes just one moment.”
It was far more than a moment before they managed to finally sit in the car, Aziraphale having spent another 20 minutes fussing about. Not that Crowley minded. Restaurant visits were more of a pleasure to Aziraphale than him; Crowley’s experience consisted of watching the other delicately eat and listening to his high praises of whatever rested upon his plate. Aziraphale’s joy filled his stomach better than human food ever could.
Which is exactly what occurred as they sat down in a cosy corner of the restaurant, which neither of them had to miracle being free (definitely not). For Crowley, the rest of the restaurant’s patrons disappeared as he watched Aziraphale's content expression. Aziraphale was a burst star and Crowley was caught in the middle of his mesmerising explosion, watching the world form around him in millions of colours, all never seen before. Aziraphale was rebirth and justice and pure-hearted love, and Crowley floated around him like a lovesick lump of rock, waiting to be given permission to join his universe, for the honour to be near him as an orbiting planet. Crowley wanted to serve his angel, to create life just to impress him, to be his favourite planet but as Aziraphale hummed, poisedely spooning curry into his mouth, Crowley realised he was just as content watching him from the shadows as a piece of dust surrounding him.
Aziraphale dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a napkin and smiled at Crowley, his pearly whites unstained by the immense amount of turmeric, and not a speck of staining on his cream attire, perfectly ironed and perfectly worn. He was perfect, not a single part of him astray or off-kilter. A rosy sheen graced his lips and Crowley remembered how he had applied the lip-balm so softly, his eyes tracing the balm’s movements in the mirror like he was performing a ritual that he couldn’t afford to mess up. Not that Aziraphale was capable of mistakes— there was always a reason for any slips in his composure. Crowley’s mind was stuck, looping thoughts about the pretty gloss and Aziraphale’s lips. It felt sinful, like he’d brought unholiness to a temple, yet he couldn’t bring himself to stop. Was the lip-balm scented? What would Aziraphale have chosen? A sweet strawberry or an indulgent vanilla, perhaps it was citrus, thoughts of warm Italian summers spent with Aziraphale in the 50s bloomed in his mind, of juicy peaches and nectarines, decadent and holy yet sinful at their core. Over 70 years ago Crowley had felt the same about Aziraphale, watching him peel apart oranges and bite into their succulent flesh, one after the other, juices covering his pale hands, relentless in his pursuit for the perfect fruit (he’d decided on peaches in the end) and Crowley was shocked he hadn’t kissed the angel there and then to taste the aftermath of devouring the flesh of the fruits.
Aziraphale continued eating and Crowley sipped on a glass of wine nowhere near as good as the bottles Aziraphale had collected for hundreds-of-years but it was a welcome distraction from his descent into Aziraphale-related madness. The angel lifted a glass of water to his lips, sipping with poise and elegance; a single drop rested on his lip and in that infinitesmall moment all self-control left Crowley and he leaned over the table and kissed Aziraphale with a fervor that shocked even him. He could taste the lip balm, a sweet, tangy orange, and as Aziraphale began to kiss him back he felt his body melt and his mind fizzle pathetically. They pulled away from each other to catch a breath they didn’t need to take, warmth swimming around them.
“About time.”, whispered Aziraphale.
And Crowley couldn’t help but crash into him again, his body filling with adoration as the angel’s soft lips moved against his own, making up for millennia of lost time. Crowley collided with Aziraphale’s supernova, not as a part of him but as another dying star. He wasn’t as bright or fascinating as Aziraphale but as they combined they had created a galaxy far more beautiful and alive than anything else in the universe.
Crowley was in love with Aziraphale.
This was the second time he had fallen.