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“Y-you ran into a burning building... for me?" Aziraphale stutters, his eyes almost widening as he takes in the sight of his demon.
"Well, yes.” Crowley shrugs, taking a swig from the glass in his hand, “Oh, don't look so bloody surprised, angel. I'd do it again."
“You must tell me more, my dear... which building was burning? Why were you searching for me?” Aziraphale asks, lightly nudging Crowley’s feet beneath the table.
“Oh... well uh...” Crowley trails off, suddenly overwhelmed by the realisation of how he’s shot himself in the foot.
He sorely wishes for the waiter to return, to bring him some more wine, or anything so that he doesn’t need to respond to Aziraphale, he can avoid the way the angel is looking at him with those big, love-filled eyes.
Unfortunately, no waiters come, and nobody can save him from himself.
“It was your bookshop, angel...” Crowley admits. He brings his attention to the table, fiddling with the napkin.
“Oh... yes... that...” Aziraphale trails off, his voice falling rather solemn.
Despite its return untouched by fire, the brief loss of the bookshop still pains Aziraphale deeply.
“Oh... but why did... never mind” Aziraphale wants to ask the question, wants to ask why Crowley went into the burning bookshop.
“No, go on angel...” Crowley responds.
Aziraphale chews his lip for a moment, before turning to face Crowley.
They’re so much closer like this, he can just about see the demon’s yellow eyes through the tinted glass.
“Why were you in the bookshop when it was burning? And where was I?” Aziraphale asks.
He can't quite see the terror that flitters behind Crowley’s eyes, something the demon is grateful for. Aziraphale knows though, of course, he knows. He can feel the way Crowley almost tenses for a moment.
“I thought you were in there, angel. Thought... upstairs... had caught on and decided to kill you. It didn’t occur to me that it could’ve been anything other than them out to get you...” Crowley shrugs, fiddling with his wine glass for a moment.
“Dunno where you were, I thought you were dead...” he adds.
Aziraphale frowns slightly, “...your best friend...”
“What?” Crowley responds.
“When I was... not around... you said your best friend died...” Aziraphale explains, and Crowley nods in response.
“Was that me?” Aziraphale asks with a surprising amount of confidence.
Crowley’s eyes falter away, and he stares at the table as he nods, stroking his thumb along the handle of a fork.
With an expression that screams love, Aziraphale reaches out with a shaky hand, stroking his thumb over Crowley’s cheek. The demon leans into the touch, only amplifying how touch-starved he truly is.
Aziraphale’s hands quake as he reaches up and gently pulls Crowley’s sunglasses from his face, placing them on the table.
“My dear,” he says softly.
Crowley wants to drag his eyes away, he wants to run and hide, anything to avoid the mortifying ordeal of being known.
Aziraphale won’t let him though.
Instead, the angel seemingly ponders for a few moments before pressing his lips to Crowley’s in a kiss that leaves them both breathless.
It doesn't matter that they’re in The Ritz, one of the most prestigious restaurants and hotels in London. It doesn't matter that they're surrounded by countless people who are undoubtedly judging them for this moment of affection.
Nothing matters.
It’s the first day of the rest of their lives, they’re going to celebrate it with each other.
And being on their own side means only one thing – no more hiding their true feelings, no more hiding who they are.