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Crowley furrows his brow, eyes hidden behind a new pair of sunglasses. As so often, Aziraphale yearns to see them. It's strange in so many ways. Firstly, he shouldn't yearn at all. Angels are creatures of divine intent. All he should strive for is serving Heaven. But well, he hasn't been good at that for quite some time now. Secondly, he shouldn't yearn for a sign that his companion has fallen, is from the opposing side. But Crowley has never felt like the enemy to him. Aziraphale has met so many angels still in full white regalia, who were more evil than the demon sitting next to him, sipping tea on the chaise longue in Aziraphale's bookshop.
The angel doesn't even know exactly how it happened that they're sitting so close, not as usual opposite from each other but shoulder to shoulder, as they use to on their park bench.
Their bench.
It's strange how Crowley is woven into the fabric of his life like no one else, not even the Almighty. Maybe, because he played an even bigger part in forging Aziraphale how he is today than the Creator themself. Crowley wormed himself into Aziraphale's life, unrelentingly and stubbornly, helped him out, saved him in a million ways.
Why? Aziraphale cannot understand, but he wouldn't want it any other way. Well, a tiny different way, maybe. He's just too chicken to admit it out loud in words or gestures, afraid to lose his only true friend in the whole wide universe.
The thought ties his stomach into knots. Such a human reaction. Aziraphale probably walked too long amongst the children of Eve. But can there be a 'too long' when it is the only way to spend time with the magnificent creature sitting next to him? No. Aziraphale doesn't think so.
Everything is easy when he's with Crowley. Not easy easy, but his burdens are lighter, his anxiety is calmer, and the yearning in his heart is simmering quietly, not boiling anymore.
Aziraphale knows he's a fool to want more than this. Crowley is his best friend, his companion, his... He'd say 'soul mate', but angels – fallen or not – don't have souls. Grace mates? It doesn't sound right in his mind's ear. No. Their connection goes beyond angelic and human words, transcends what the Almighty had planned out for them.
Maybe it is love, simple as that. Love has never been able to be captured in its vastness, every attempt to describe it just another sketch never showing the full picture. Yes, it must be that. The word feels right in his chest, tastes good on his tongue before it slips out between Aziraphale's lips.
"Yes, Angel?" Crowley replies, and Aziraphale's way too human heart plummets to the pit of his stomach.
"What?" he mutters.
"You said 'love'," Crowley states, a small smile audible in his voice.
"That I did," Aziraphale says. "It's a curious thing, isn't it?"
Crowley nods. "It is."
Aziraphale breathes a sigh. "It is indeed."