Archive of Our Own

1. Paris, 1793

London was Crowley’s favourite place in the world, but Paris wasn’t far behind. It was a wild city, whose inhabitants overindulged in everything they could think of - and the demon hadn’t been particularly surprised when he had heard what was going on across the Channel.

What had surprised him, though, had been the presence of the angel in the Bastille.

Very early on, Crowley had discovered that he could sense Aziraphale whenever they were in the same area: the air was different, almost soothing, and it had always been difficult to resist the pull.

This time, when the demon had understood the angel’s predicament, he hadn’t hesitated to go into the prison for a second. Aziraphale’s reaction, his delight at seeing him again barely hidden behind his prim facade, had been Crowley’s reward.

That, and lunch.

Aziraphale had insisted on going for crêpes, and Crowley had followed, keeping to himself the fact that the best ones could be eaten not here but in Brittany - who knew, maybe he could use that knowledge for later, when it would be his turn to treat the angel. In the meantime, it had given him the opportunity to revel, once again, in Aziraphale's little moans and sighs of pleasure as they had been sharing a meal.

After lunch, Aziraphale had insisted on visiting that new museum the French had established inside the Louvre, and Crowley had followed, too. They had spent a couple of hours there, Aziraphale marvelling at the arts and Crowley pretending he didn’t really care, while silently cataloguing every single work the angel was enjoying.

They were now walking back to the inn where Aziraphale was staying, and Crowley was finding it incredibly hard to focus. Paris wasn’t particularly safe at the moment and they still needed to be careful if they didn’t want to repeat Aziraphale’s earlier mistake; but, after spending hours alongside the angel, basking in his happiness and stealing glances at his gorgeous face from behind his sunglasses, the demon was almost forgetting their current situation - almost forgetting himself.

How many times, after a moment spent with Aziraphale like this, had he wished he could have kissed him? Showed the angel how he really felt about him? How many times had he refrained from tempting him to possibly have more?

The fact that they were the only two supernatural entities on Earth had formed an unexpected bond between them, a bond that had only been strengthened by their recurring meetings over the years, even more frequent since the Arrangement. This bond was, on Crowley’s part, lined with a one-sided attraction that he had learned to hide, in order to preserve whatever kind of strange relationship they had going on.

Indeed, Crowley would rather have the angel staying on Earth with him, oblivious of his true feelings, than let him know the truth and scare him away, because how could he possibly be attached to a demon like him?

Crowley’s thoughts were interrupted when he sensed trouble coming their way. He couldn’t hear or see them yet, but he knew the very agitated group of revolutionaries that was getting dangerously closer to them was not to be trifled with. And, after a day spent with the angel, he wasn’t in the mood for trifling with anyone anyway.

Hurriedly, he grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and pulled him toward a dark alley on their left.

“Angel, come here. Quick!”

“Crowley? What’s-”

“Shhh!”

Pressing Aziraphale against the wall, Crowley put a hand over his mouth and waited. A minute later, a dozen of angry drunkards ran past them, yelling “A mort les aristos !” and waving all kinds of weapons in the air. Crowley waited another minute to be sure they were gone, then withdrew his hand and looked at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale, who had gone very still against his body, his entire face as red as the jacket he was wearing, his gaze fixed on Crowley’s. His eyes then dropped to his lips before quickly looking away - but not quickly enough for the demon to miss it.

He smirked.

“You all right, there, angel?”

He then looked at Aziraphale’s lips, too, at their tempting shape and colour he knew so well, and considered kissing them at last, here and now.

Kissing him.

But he didn’t, and took a step back instead.

Perhaps Aziraphale had been thinking about it, too, after all - it certainly seemed that way - but that didn’t mean he wanted it. The angel had learned how to bend the rules even before they had decided to come to the Arrangement, but Crowley highly doubted he was ready to literally sleep with the enemy. Or with anyone else, for that matter.

Aziraphale cleared his throat and smoothed down his clothes, still not looking at him.

“Perfectly all right, thank you. Can we go, now?”

They walked the rest of the way in silence, and Crowley didn’t fail to notice the distance Aziraphale had put between them. It didn’t dampen his spirits, though - for he now knew the angel was attracted to him as well, and wasn’t that some kind of miracle?

Once they were outside Aziraphale’s bedroom door, the angel stopped, took off his beret, and turned around to look at Crowley. He still looked flustered, but managed to offer him a small, genuine smile.

“Well, that was quite a day. But it was good to see you again, dear boy.”

“Same, angel. Until next time, then?”

“Yes. Until next time.”

As he discreetly admired the angel, his gorgeous features, his kind eyes and his fluffy hair, the demon couldn’t help himself. After making sure that no one was around, he bowed, then delicately took one of Aziraphale’s hands in his and brought it to his lips. There, he brushed them against the soft skin then planted a kiss, before raising his eyes to meet the angel’s.

Aziraphale was gaping at him, his whole face red again, and Crowley flashed him a mischievous smile.

“A bientôt, mon ange,” he said in perfect French.

He then quickly disappeared before the angel could say anything else.

2. Soho, London, 1800

Crowley secured the box of chocolates under his arm and waited for Gabriel and Sandalphon to leave before entering Aziraphale’s bookshop.

The angel was standing in the middle of his half-unpacked boxes, some kind of medal around his neck, looking flabbergasted. However, as soon as he saw the demon stepping inside, his whole face lit up.

“Crowley! Oh, my dear, you’ll never guess what’s just happened!”

Crowley tried to hide his smirk.

“I don’t think I have to if you’re going to tell me.”

“They let me stay here! On Earth!”

“That’s great news, angel.”

Aziraphale was rubbing his hands together now, looking all too pleased with this new turn of events, and Crowley felt very proud of himself.

“Yes!” the angel went on with a bright smile. “I really thought I was going to lose my bookshop for a moment, and that I’d never…”

His voice trailed off and his cheeks turned rosy as he flicked his eyes over the demon’s shape. Then, he swiftly turned around and took off the medal.

“Anyway!” he said as he put it around the neck of a statue. “Would you like to celebrate this unexpected victory with me? I can only offer you one drink, though, because I still have to organise all this before the grand opening.”

“One drink’s fine, angel.” Crowley walked up to him and handed the box of chocolates. “I’ve brought you these, by the way.”

“Oh, right!” Aziraphale took the offered box and looked at him with one of his rare smiles, the ones that were so open and bright the demon could barely stand them. “I know just the thing that would go perfectly with those.”

As Crowley had secretly hoped, a single glass turned into a whole bottle and, an hour later, they were both drunk on Port wine. The demon was sprawled on a sofa while the angel was sitting opposite him on a comfy chair, the empty box of chocolates lying between them.

It was perfect.

They had eventually fallen into a comfortable silence, until something popped into Crowley’s mind, and he flashed Aziraphale a demonic grin.

“Angel?”

“Yes?”

“D’you really think I’m wily and cunning and brilliant?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks, already red from the wine, turned a shade darker. “Wh- what? Why do you- I don’t- It’s not-”

“‘S what you said to Gabriel, earlier.”

“Oh.”

Aziraphale was now staring at the glass in his hands. In an attempt to distract himself, he reached for the bottle, only to find that it was already empty. He let out a long sigh, still not looking at the demon, still blushing furiously, and then said: “Yes, Crowley. Yes, I do think you’re… wily and cunning and brilliant. And I also think you’re kind and considerate and… and quite charming.”

Crowley felt his heart soar.

“Oh, angel, you don’t have to spoil it, you know.”

“I’m not-”

“For what it’s worth, I also think you’re brilliant,” Crowley went on, ignoring him. “Charming, goes without saying. And cunning, too, sometimes. Delightfully so.” He then sprang to his feet and gestured around them, arms open wide. “I mean, look at this! A real bookshop! Here, on Earth! I’m so proud of you, angel.”

Aziraphale was gaping at him, now. Which was understandable: the demon had never said those kinds of things out loud before. But then again, Crowley had never experienced the fear of losing his only friend before, his partner in crime, the being he had been in love with for thousands of years.

He started browsing the open boxes excitedly, picking up books at random. “All that poetry… and those ridiculous novels… oh, but those! Those are my favourites!” he exclaimed suddenly. “The Infamous Bibles! You’ve really outdone yourself with this, angel.”

That finally elicited a reaction from Aziraphale, who stood up from his chair before catching himself on its back. “Crowley! You know those books are fragile!” he spluttered indignantly. “Put it down, please!”

Crowley waved the Buggre Alle This Bible in the air with a sly smile. “Calm down, angel. Why don’t I help you shelve all this, mmh?”

Aziraphale walked up to him, flustered and frowning, slightly wobbling on his feet, entirely adorable. “I don’t need your help, you fiend. I need you to put it down.”

Crowley held the Bible high above his head, still grinning. “And what if I don’t?”

Aziraphale glared at him. “Then… I’ll banish you from my bookshop.”

“Don’t think so. You’ll get bored without me, angel.”

“Maybe.”

“Definitely.”

There was a silence, then the angel averted his eyes and muttered: “Probably.”

At that, Crowley dropped the Bible and Aziraphale let out a gasp of outrage - but the noise was quickly muffled by the demon’s lips, crashing on the angel’s.

For a short moment, Crowley felt nothing but bliss. Clutching at the lapels of his best friend, he was finally tasting those soft lips, and it was as satisfying as he had so often imagined.

But then, finally noticing that the angel wasn’t responding, he pulled away.

Wide eyes were staring at him, frantically searching his face.

“Wh- Why did you do that?”

“Because I wanted to.”

“But… why?”

“Come on, angel, I’ve just told you why! Because I think you’re brilliant and gorgeous and fascinating, and because I’ve been wanting to do this for decades, no, centuries… millennia even!”

“Mill- Millenia?”

Crowley eventually let go of his friend, feeling his own frustration building up. “Aziraphale, don’t tell me you don’t know? You must know, you’re an angel! You sense those things!”

Aziraphale, contrary to earlier, was now becoming paler by the second. “What things? What are you talking about?”

“Love, Aziraphale! ‘Flashes of love’, as you like to put it. Not sure I’ve ever been good at hiding those around you.”

The angel gasped. “Crowley…!”

“What? It’s true! I do love y-”

“No!”

Aziraphale had suddenly held up a hand and was now pressing it firmly against Crowley’s chest, pushing him against an empty shelf.

“What, no?”

“No,” he repeated, more firmly. “That's impossible.”

Crowley felt his heart sink. “Why? Because I’m a demon?”

“No!” Aziraphale replied as he withdrew his hand, then started to pace the room. “I mean, yes, you are, but that's not… It's just that you’re… and I’m… That is simply not possible, Crowley!”

“If you say so.”

The whole conversation had sobered the demon up completely, who was now feeling like a fool and didn’t want to carry it on for a moment longer.

In a few strides, he went to pick up the hat and cane he had left by the sofa, then walked towards the exit.

He was stopped by a hand resting on his arm.

Aziraphale was still looking at him with wide eyes, that were now suspiciously shining.

“I’m sorry, Crowley,” he murmured. “This is not how-”

“It's fine, angel,” Crowley replied sharply, feeling the overwhelming need to get away from the angel for once, and as fast as he could. “I get it.” He placed his hat on his head, shrugging the hand away, then looked straight ahead. “I have to leave, anyway. You’ve got things to do, and I… I’ve got my own things to deal with, so… Yeah. OK. Bye.”

Aziraphale remained silent as Crowley left the bookshop.

Saint James’s Park, London, 1862

“Do you know what trouble I’d be in if… if they knew I’d been fraternising? It’s completely out of the question.”

“Fraternising?”

“Well, whatever you wish to call it. I do not think there is any point in discussing it further.”

“I have lots of other people to fraternise with, angel.”

“Of course you do.”

“I don’t need you.”

“Well, and the feeling is mutual, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

3. London, 1941

In the Bentley that Crowley was driving to the bookshop, Aziraphale was quiet.

Not quiet as in let’s-spend-some-time-together-in-companionable-silence quiet, but more along the lines of I’ve-just-been-blown-away-and-can’t-really-talk-right-now quiet. He was staring out the window, clutching the bag containing his precious books on his lap - and Crowley, who kept stealing glances at his companion, had no idea what was going on in that clever head of his.

It wasn’t the first time they had cheated death - well, discorporation, at least. Aziraphale hated to find himself in those situations, and he usually complained loudly afterwards, to get it out of his system. Crowley, for his part, usually just stood there and listened - if nothing else, he was good at listening to the angel.

But tonight, Aziraphale wasn’t complaining, he wasn’t uttering a single word, and Crowley started to wonder if he had done something wrong. After all, they hadn’t talked to each other in a while, almost 80 years to be precise, not that Crowley had been counting or anything, and so many things had happened ever since, and when he had heard what the angel was up to, he had had to intervene, period, but Aziraphale hadn’t seemed very pleased to see him in that church, so maybe he-

“Crowley?”

Crowley turned his head. Aziraphale was finally looking at him, expectantly. It was only at that moment that the demon realised he had just parked the car in front of the bookshop and had been waiting.

For what, he wasn’t even sure himself.

“Yeah?”

“Would you like to come in?”

Crowley froze.

Aziraphale was inviting him inside. So maybe he wasn’t mad at him anymore.

Crowley certainly wasn’t.

“Sure,” he replied not-so-casually, “why not.”

The demon turned off the engine of his car and followed the angel to his bookshop, taking a deep breath as he stepped inside.

Everything was still the same since the last time he had been there, maybe with the exception of even fuller shelves. Not for the first time, though, Crowley wondered what had changed in Aziraphale’s life, during all those years they had spent apart.

After closing the door behind him, he watched as Aziraphale carefully placed his bag over his desk before taking off his coat and hat. The angel then started to light some candles while shuffling books and papers around, tidying up his ever-present mess.

“Please, make yourself comfortable,” he said, gesturing around. “Are you hungry? Would you like to eat something? Or maybe have a glass of wine?”

Crowley threw his hat onto the sofa and sat down beside it. “I could use a glass of wine, yeah.”

Aziraphale disappeared for a moment, then came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He poured them both, took a seat on his chair in front of him, then raised his glass.

“To demonic miracles,” he said with an uncertain smile.

“And to miraculous escapes,” Crowley replied, clinking his glass with his.

They drank in silence for a while, until Aziraphale spoke again: “So, what made you change your name again?”

“Habits of the 20th century.”

“I see.”

Realising that Crowley wasn’t going to elaborate, Aziraphale tried again: “And how did you know I was going to be in that church tonight?”

The demon was certainly not going to tell him the truth: that he had kept an eye on him all those years, as he had had for centuries.

“Got a whole network working for me now. Someone told me about the meeting, mentioning a bookseller wannabe spy. I just connected the dots.”

Aziraphale looked down and sighed. “I guess I’m not very good at this sort of thing,” he said. “And, once again, I had you to- oh!”

“What?”

The angel had suddenly stood up from his chair and was now gesturing at him alarmingly. “Your feet!” he exclaimed. “They must be burning still!”

Crowley swallowed. They did hurt, but he was used to suffering and, besides, he had had other things in mind since the angel had got into his car.

“Nah, it’s fine. Should be better in a few days-”

“Nonsense. You and I both know it won’t go away so easily, unless I do something about it.”

“Angel-”

“Please, Crowley. It’s the least I can do, after what you did tonight.”

Under the angel’s imploring look, the demon had no other choice but to yield. Slowly, he nodded, and stifled a gasp when Aziraphale went down on his knees and began to untie his shoes himself. He then took them off and removed his socks, entirely focused on his task and oblivious to the erratic thumping of Crowley’s heart.

His eyes went wide when the soles of his feet were revealed.

“Oh, my dear…”

Admittedly, it wasn’t a nice sight, although Crowley had seen worse. But it didn’t deter Aziraphale, either, who closed his eyes and, with the utmost care, applied his palms to the injured areas. Seconds later, Crowley felt the angel’s blessing radiating, healing his skin, spreading an entirely different kind of warmth in his body, and the demon had to resist the sudden urge to cry.

He was back in Aziraphale’s bookshop and the angel was there, taking care of him. They weren’t fighting anymore.

Despite everything, they were all right.

“How does it feel, now? Better?”

Aziraphale had reopened his eyes and was watching him intently. Crowley nodded again, suppressing his tears.

“Better, yeah,” he muttered. “Thank you, angel.”

The subtlest of blush covered Aziraphale’s cheeks, and he averted his eyes as he began to put his socks and shoes back on.

“You’re very welcome, my dear.”

After that, he took the demon’s hat, put it on his chair, and sat down in its place on the sofa, right next to Crowley. Who stopped breathing entirely when the angel took one of his hands in his and looked at him again, his stormy eyes shining in the candlelight.

“I missed you, Crowley. Terribly.”

Crowley inhaled.

He had missed him, too. Every day. Like hell. But when the angel was looking at him like that, all the words he wanted to say kept getting stuck in his throat.

“Aziraphale…”

"I regret the things I’ve said,” Aziraphale went on, his voice wavering. “You’re my friend, Crowley. My closest, most cherished friend. And with everything that’s been going on this century, not being able to see you or to talk to you has been…"

Crowley would never know what it had been, because Aziraphale had suddenly gone quiet and was now looking at their joined hands, hunched over as if he had been carrying all the suffering of the world on his shoulders. Crowley had no doubt he had had his share.

Unable to resist his craving any longer, the demon raised his free hand and gently placed it on the angel’s cheek. Aziraphale looked up at him, startled - and Crowley knew their bond was still fragile, after so many years of silence, of yearning and regrets, but all he wanted was to offer the angel, in his own way, some of the comfort and affection he kept giving so freely.

So he leaned forward, slowly, this time giving Aziraphale all the time he needed to refuse - but Aziraphale didn’t. Instead, he parted his lips in a trembling sigh, and Crowley tentatively brushed them with his. When no rejection came, his heart still thumping in his chest, Crowley cradled Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kissed him, with all the tenderness he could muster in that single gesture. Seconds later, he felt the angel place his hands over his and squeeze, tightly holding onto him - but eventually, he pulled away, and when Crowley looked into his eyes, he knew the moment was over.

“Crowley,” he murmured, “you know we can’t-”

“I know, angel,” the demon cut him in a husky voice. “But I wanted you to know that my feelings for you didn’t change.”

Forcing himself to stand up, he put his hat back on, then turned to look at the angel again, who was now staring at him the same way he had in that church.

“I am your friend, Aziraphale,” he said. “No matter what happens between us, I will always be there for you. Always.”

He then leaned over and placed a kiss on the angel’s forehead. When he pulled away, he saw that he had closed his eyes, and that tears were running down his face.

Aziraphale was right, there was too much at stake, and Crowley, who had had enough time to ponder it, now knew it. He also knew that if he stayed a moment longer in the bookshop, he wouldn’t be able to control himself, and they would both be doomed.

So he left.

Soho, London, 1967

“It's the real thing?”

“The holiest.”

“After everything you said… Should I say thank you?”

“Better not.”

“Well, can I drop you anywhere?”

“No, thank you. Oh, don’t look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could… I don’t know. Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.”

“I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you wanna go.”

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

4. The Dowling’s residence, four years before the end of the world

It was a beautiful summer afternoon. Crowley - well, Nanny Ashtoreth - had parked the Bentley in front of the Dowling’s residence and was now looking at Aziraphale, sitting in the passenger’s seat. Looking, decidedly not ogling. It had absolutely nothing to do with the angel’s new striking appearance.

A few days ago, they had discussed their plan to follow up on Warlock’s education. The boy had reached an age where a nanny wasn’t useful anymore; and the garden was blessed enough for several years to come. It was Aziraphale who had come up with the idea of the tutors, and Crowley with the idea of how to introduce their new characters - Mr. Harrison and Mr. Cortese - to the Dowlings.

In Crowley’s opinion, it was an excellent plan - but Aziraphale still seemed reluctant.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” he asked as he checked himself in the mirror, running a hand over his perfectly trimmed beard.

Crowley, too busy admiring the angel to reassure him properly, only replied with a low “mmh”.

Aziraphale snapped the mirror shut and glared at the demon. “Crowley, could you focus, please? I don’t think I need to remind you what will happen if we don’t-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, angel. I’m focusing, stop worrying so much.”

“We should have bought rings. A married couple-”

“-is not a good backstory. We’ve talked about this, Aziraphale. I’ve played the single nanny for years, and now suddenly I have a husband? No, it doesn’t make sense. What I have is a secret lover, who also happens to be an excellent tutor. Isn’t that right, Mr. Cortese?”

As she said those words, Crowley reached out and straightened the angel’s tie with a sweet smile.

In response, Aziraphale batted her hand away then cleared his throat, a blush spreading over his cheeks. “Yes, all right.” He needlessly straightened his tie as well. “I just hope they won’t recognise me.”

Crowley’s smile turned into a smirk. “Not without those teeth, they won’t.” She didn’t say out loud that, unlike Brother Francis, Mr. Cortese was a bloody handsome man, and that would distract their attention enough. “And don’t forget to mention your good friend Mr. Harrison during the interview.”

Aziraphale shot her a glare. “How could I forget to mention my good, obnoxious friend?”

They got out of the Bentley and walked to the front door, shoulder to shoulder. After a single ring, a butler welcomed them inside and led them to Thaddeus Dowling’s office upstairs. The Cultural Attaché was already waiting for them, displaying his usual cheerfulness.

“Ah, good morning, Ms. Ashtoreth! And you must be Mr. Cortese. Pleasure to meet you!”

Aziraphale shook the offered hand, and replied with a deep voice and a distinct Welsh accent: “Likewise, Mr. Dowling. Likewise.”

Crowley tried very hard not to stare at the angel playing his part to perfection, then remembered their plan and decided to indulge herself.

“I’ll leave you to discuss whatever you need to discuss,” she offered, “and go check on our lovely Warlock.”

She then turned towards Aziraphale, smiled, and placed a hand on his arm. “Good luck, darling,” she whispered, before she leaned over and placed a kiss on Aziraphale’s bearded cheek.

Crowley felt the angel tense under her fingers, but Mr. Dowling, oblivious to what was really going on before his eyes, gestured at his desk, cutting the interaction short. “Please, Mr. Cortese, have a seat. My wife will be joining us shortly.”

Crowley left the room, not without one last glance over her shoulder. When her eyes met Aziraphale’s, she offered him another smile before exiting the room.

As expected, the interview went smoothly, so smoothly that Mr. Cortese had been hired by the end of it, and invited to come back in a few days with his friend, Mr. Harrison.

The Dowlings told the good news to Nanny Ashtoreth, while Aziraphale was standing by their side, stiff and quiet. He simply nodded to Warlock, who ignored him completely, and didn’t utter a single word as they shook hands with the American couple before walking back to the Bentley.

Once in the car, Crowley put the key in the ignition and remarked: “I thought you’d be happier about getting the job, angel. Now you can play the do-gooder as much as you want, while Mr. Harrison still needs to-”

“Did you really have to do that?”

Crowley frowned at the angel, who was now looking very much annoyed. “Do what?”

“Kiss me!”

Crowley huffed. This was not what she had expected. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Aziraphale. It was only a kiss on the cheek!”

“Still. I’m asking you to not do this again.” His eyes roamed over her face. “It’s already difficult enough to…”

“To what?”

Even with the beard, Crowley could see that Aziraphale’s cheeks had turned crimson. She had had enough experience now to know what that meant - and wasn’t that interesting.

The angel quickly looked away as he loosened his tie and muttered: “Never mind. If you could be so kind as to drop me off at the bookshop, please.”

Crowley chose to ignore the four-letter word, and started the engine with a smirk.

“Of course, angel. Anything for my beloved.”

London, the last day of the world

“Afraid I’ve rather made a mess of things. Did you go to Alpha Centauri?”

“Nah, I changed my mind. Stuff happened. I lost my best friend.”

“I’m so sorry to hear it.”

5. Mayfair, London, the very first day of the rest of their lives

Unbeknownst to humanity, the sun was rising over London for the first time since the averted Apocalypse. Somewhere in the city, inside a cold, minimalist flat, an angel and a demon were facing each other, their eyes closed, their hands joined, their forehead pressed together.

They had spent the night together, tangled in each other’s arms, and had just come up with a plan to save their lives. For them, the battle wasn’t over, but at least they had each other to soldier on.

As discussed, the demon was about to transfer his appearance to the angel, when his soft voice called his name: “Crowley?”

“Yeah?”

“What if… what if it doesn’t work?”

Crowley exhaled and squeezed the angel’s hands in his. “Then, we’ll find another way. Maybe there are some incantations we could use, or-”

“No, I mean… What if we got it all wrong, again. What if Agnes Nutter’s prophecy doesn’t mean what we think it means, and…”

When Aziraphale’s voice trailed off, Crowley opened his eyes, only to meet the angel’s, wide and bright, fixed on his face. He forgot to breathe for a moment.

“It will work, angel,” he managed to say eventually. “It has to.”

Aziraphale kept staring at him for what seemed an eternity, until he looked down and whispered: “What I mean, Crowley, is… what if… we never see each other again?”

Crowley felt his heart shatter then and there. After the Blitz, after the holy water debacle and Aziraphale’s words uttered that night in the Bentley, he had promised himself he would never cross that boundary between them ever again - but so many things had happened, since then. So many things had changed.

And yet, his feelings were still the same.

Actually, he now knew how desperately in love he was.

“Well. In that case…”

Crowley closed his eyes again, then the small gap between them, and fervently captured Aziraphale’s lips with his. Expecting the usual reluctant rejection, the demon was taken aback when the angel immediately reciprocated the kiss, parting his lips to offer his tongue and throwing his arms around his neck. Quickly recovering from the shock, he wrapped his arms around Aziraphale to pull him closer, as close as physically possible, eliciting a moan from his friend.

The angel was kissing him with a sense of urgency now, a desperation that made Crowley go weak at the knees.

If this was how Aziraphale kissed, it couldn’t be the first and last time he had the chance to experience it.

Their plan had to work.

Reluctantly, Crowley broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Aziraphale’s once again. “Come on, angel,” he breathed. “Let’s do this.”

Aziraphale nodded and, a minute later, Crowley was facing himself - a visibly kinder, but also more worried version of himself.

It was a strange sight, but it was even stranger to hear himself call his own name. Then, the angel spoke in a low but determined voice: “There’s something I want to tell you, Crowley. Something that I should have said a long time ago, but couldn’t, and now-”

Crowley interrupted him by placing a plump hand over a hollow cheek. His cheek. “Whatever it is you want to say to me, angel,” he replied softly, “save it, for when we see each other again. All right?”

After a beat, Aziraphale took his hand in his, and lowered it from his face. “All right,” he said.

And it was obvious, how the angel was terrified of losing him, and so was Crowley - but he couldn’t tell him that. He had survived that nightmare the day before, and couldn’t face it all over again today.

Their plan had to work.

“We’ll meet at the fifth alternative rendezvous in two hours.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, then nodded. “Yes. Two hours. I’ll see you there, my dear.”

He squeezed his hand, one last time, and then they left the building in opposite directions.

5+1. London, that very same day

The night had settled when they walked out of the Ritz side by side, full and content. Crowley stopped on the pavement and inhaled deeply, letting a smile stretch his lips impossibly wide.

“Can you believe it, angel?” he said as he held out his arms. “We’re free! Free to do whatever we want, whenever we want!”

When he received no answer, he turned around.

Aziraphale was standing there, beaming at him, the crinkles at the corner of his eyes more visible than ever. He was absolutely gorgeous but, for once, that was not what struck the demon the most.

“What?” he asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Still silent, Aziraphale took a step closer to him, placed both his hands over his hips, then leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against his.

Crowley stared at him, in shock.

Aziraphale had just kissed him.

Deliberately.

In public.

“I love you, Crowley,” the angel said then, still beaming at him, still holding him. “This is what I wanted to tell you this morning. Well, what I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time, if I’m being honest. Which I intend to be at all times with you, from now on.”

Crowley kept staring at him for a moment, processing the words, the touches, the sight, the feelings. Then, he grabbed the angel’s head between his hands and kissed him back, pouring into the gesture everything he had held back for so long. Aziraphale reciprocated eagerly, deepening the kiss and sliding his hands along his spine to pull him closer.

“I love you too, angel,” Crowley eventually murmured, breathlessly, against his friend’s lips, before grinning at him. “But you already knew that.”

Aziraphale mirrored his smile. “Indeed. But it's very nice to hear it. Shall we go back to the bookshop, now?”

Crowley captured his lips once again, just because he could. “Sure, angel.”

Aziraphale pulled away, then slid his hand into the demon’s. The touch was warm, as warm as the smile that was still directed at him, and Crowley felt his heart flutter in his chest.

Humanity was safe for now, the Earth still existed, they were on their own side, and they had plenty of time to explore those new circumstances.

All in all, life couldn’t be better.

They walked in companionable silence, and weren’t far from the bookshop when Aziraphale spoke again: “Crowley?”

“Yes, angel?”

“How about a picnic, tomorrow?”

Crowley glanced at his friend’s expectant face. “Sounds like a plan.”

“How exciting,” Aziraphale replied happily. “Our very first picnic! Can you believe we’ve never done that before?”

“There are a lot of things we’ve never done before, angel.”

They looked at each other again, the demon with a mischievous smile that didn’t fail to make the angel blush.

“That’s very true,” Aziraphale replied, before he went on with a glint in his eye: “But we have kissed before.”

Crowley’s smile grew wider. He had certainly made a lot of mistakes during his time on Earth, but those were not on his list of the ones he regretted.

“That, we have,” he agreed.

“And I’m looking forward to doing it again,” Aziraphale added.

Crowley squeezed the angelic hand in his, his demonic heart filled with happiness and something else, something that had always been there, for 6000 years.

“Me too, angel,” he said, allowing love to flow freely at last and radiate. “Me too.”