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The Bentley rolled to a considerately-less-jolting-than-usual halt in front of the British Museum portico, just off of Montague and onto Great Russell. Aziraphale had just opened his mouth to chide that you cannot just park in front of the entrance, Crowley, the closest legal parking is a short 5 minute clip down the way, you’re bound to be towed, but the comment died in his throat with the recognition of the clear effort taken not to throw him through the windshield this time. He let it slide just this once. Crowley hadn’t noticed anyway; he was babbling away, a slight unusually chipper, about the museum as he checked his hair in the mirror.
“Anything in particular you wanted to see?” Crowley scoffed good naturedly, “Other than the café f’course.”
“Oh- hey!” Aziraphale retorted, pouting. “They do have the most lovely pastries, and you know that.”
“Hm.” Crowley hummed in vague agreement. His mind circled back fondly to that bizarre panna cotta concoction Aziraphale had had him try a few visits back, that he had admittedly made a point of getting again. “Well at any rate,” he continued, “I wanna take a look at that Greece n’Persia thing. ‘Power and Luxury’ or something. Wanna see what all they got right.” He smirked, “Sure you’ll have some things to reminisce about in there yeah?”
Aziraphale had been hearing Crowley talk, but not fully listening. “Ah-? Oh, oh yes I’m certain so.”
It is important to note, that there was something about their presence in the Bentley specifically that caused surrounding bystanders to pay very minimal attention to them. On one infamous, unfortunate occasion, this had led to an injury of a poor young girl and a poor young bike. Aziraphale had been watching the passersby, lost in his own thoughts; a mother and two very excited young children, one holding onto each of her hands before, being let loose to run up the stairs, accompanied by one very clearly and intently bored teenager scowling under their hood; a person walking their young puppy or, perhaps it was walking them, still growing into its large paws and ears, on a mission down the sidewalk to smell the very interesting smells at the nearby ice cream stand; two young men sitting on a bench nearby with their ice creams, clearly people watching and enjoying one another’s company. The one wearing black skinny jeans in the summer gestured at the person with the dog and the other, wearing a pink Hawaiian shirt with little frogs and strawberry milk boxes all over it laughed, elbowing him. He leaned in and gave him an exasperated kiss. Aziraphale let out a heavy sigh.
Crowley raised an eyebrow, waving his hand in front of Aziraphale’s face with a wry smile. “ Helloo ?”
“Hm?”
“Earth to Angel? I’d have thought you’d be pretty uh,” he searched, “ Heisky about goin’ here today. I mean, this’ne’s usually your choice and all.”
That managed to snap Aziraphale out of his reverie. “That- that is not even how -” he flustered, then sighed heavily. Crowley looked very proud of himself, and Aziraphale did not have the sufficient energy to explain the proper usage of a turn of the century phrase at the present moment. He shook his head. “I am, I am. I- just, before we go…”
“Yes?” asked Crowley, a tad impatiently.
“I…I wanted to, well,” Aziraphale fumbled, “There are some things I think we should erm, we should discuss.”
Crowley knit his eyebrows in confusion. “About the museum?”
“Wha- no, no , about…recent events, as it were.”
“Ah.” said Crowley, resting his forearm against the wheel in an attempt to seem casual. “Right.”
“Well,” Aziraphale fiddled with a button on his jacket, “I’ve been thinking quite a bit about-” he paused. “Well, actually, the museum, now that I think about it.”
Crowley opened his mouth, no doubt to interject asking whether it was or wasn’t about the museum, but Aziraphale pressed onward.
“What I mean to say is-...” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley again with a smile that showed a certain degree of desperation for the demon to figure out where he was going with this. “You remember our meetings here over the years, yes?”
Crowley nodded with a shrug and a smile, finally thinking he understood where this was going. “Well yeah, s’been the fifth rendezvous point for, pft, decades? Centuries. S’a good one I think. Interesting, discreet, pretty peaceful on the right day.”
“That’s just it,” said Aziraphale urgently, “it’s been a rendezvous , it’s been discreet . Don’t you see?”
“See..what, exactly?”
“Well, Crowley, things are…” Aziraphale searched, “Different, now. After well, you know.”
“No kidding.” said Crowley in a deadpan intonation.
“In a big way! A good way.”
“Well, yeah,” Crowley said slowly, realizing once again that he did not think he knew where this was going at all, “Not blowing up was a very good start I think.”
Aziraphale ignored that. “In- in that, we don’t need to, oh I don’t know, be discreet anymore. We aren’t running away from or, hiding from anyone or anything anymore. We…we’re free! ”
Crowley leaned back in his seat, turning the phrase over in his mind. “ Free …yeah, I ‘spose so. I mean, other than the whole rogue agent business.”
“But that’s part of it!” Aziraphale exclaimed, gesturing with his fists the way he did when he was really on to something, “You see, if they know, we don’t have to worry about being seen anymore! We aren’t against one other anymore.”
“Well we never really were, were we?” said Crowley softly, entering the thoughtful space Aziraphale had been attempting to lead him to. “ Our side. ” he said the lightest tinge bitterly, furrowing his brow.
Aziraphale knit his eyebrows guiltily. “Well, yes, of course it has, of course. For us, anyway. But, we aren’t just an angel and a demon anymore, expected to be on opposite sides with opposite goals, biding time for a final battle so to speak, a competition of deeds. We have no goals now other than to-...”
“To...?” Crowley raised an eyebrow.
“...be happy?” Aziraphale finished with a nervous smile. “We don’t have to circle around one another anymore, we can simply, spend as much time together as we want!” he chuckled awkwardly.
Aziraphale blushed at how pushy he felt that had sounded. He was about to backpedal when Crowley spoke up again after a moment. “You’re sure you really want that? To ‘spend more time with me’?”
Aziraphale felt a bit like he had been punched in the stomach. Crowley sounded so tentative , so careful. It made him feel terribly guilty for some reason. “Why I- yes, y-yes I would like that very much. Wouldn’t you?” He blurted out.
Crowley paused for a long moment, expression unreadable behind his sunglasses. He looked down at his hands as he squeezed the wheel. “Mhh, ngk- I mean, yeah, sure, why not, I guess.” he shrugged.
Aziraphale knew Crowley. He knew Crowley in a way no one who had ever existed had known another being, if he thought about it too hard. And if there was one thing he knew about Crowley, it was that his sincerity often came out in deflected disinterest when he was insecure or uncertain about something. A demonic coping mechanism perhaps? Or simply a Crowley coping mechanism. Either way, Aziraphale knew this to be a telltale sign that he had hit something deeply important and personal to Crowley.
The two were quiet for a long, tenuously silent moment. Aziraphale could hear his heart hammering in his chest. He had been the owner of a heart for over 6000 years, and yet it never stopped being uncomfortable when it pounded like this. He didn’t think it had ever beat this hard before, either. Not that he could remember anyway. He wondered vaguely if he was having a heart attack. Oh god…what would he do if he did ?
He quickly pushed the train of thought out of his mind before it led him into an unhelpful spiral.
“Crowley,” Aziaphale agonized, “I…I believe I need to apologize to you.”
“Apologize?” Crowley looked up confused. “For what?” Crowley scoffed, “Angel, I already told you I’m not cross about the whole bit with the book anymore.” Crowley looked to the side with the vaguest smile across his lips “…was kinda nice, actually. To see you in a body like that again.”
Aziraphale ran through a stilted gambit of emotions, all within the span of about thirty seconds. He first wanted to protest no, not the “bit with the book”, then felt guilt for that whole ordeal in the first place, then the startling rush of being flustered at Crowley making a remark about a…fondness? for his form? He knew Crowley liked to take on feminine forms as well for periods of time. Sometimes he would adopt forms that even Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure what they were intended to be, but he was always supportive nonetheless, as was Crowley of him. Supportive, yes, of course…but something about that comment felt a slight more than supportive, and Aziraphale’s poor feeble brain wasn’t ready to figure out what that could mean exactly.
This was articulated in the form of a rather unflattering splutter. “It- wh- n- uh- y-?”
He blushed and fluttered his hands in front of him, attempting to get a hold of himself. “N- no, no, no not the book, though I am still dreadfully sorry for putting you through all of that dear boy I cannot believe I’d- I’ll never think to- oh…” he trailed off hopelessly.
Crowley blinked at him in somewhat fascinated confusion.
Aziraphale took a deep breath. Not very long ago at all, he would have never dreamt of being so bold. Mingling amongst human friends again had, however, changed his viewpoint. Perhaps the almost seeing the world crash and burn followed by the nearly being discorperated had some hand in it as well. Who could say. But there was something so tragic about their existence, humans. So fleetingly short. From the view of those who did not live amongst them, be that the legions of Heaven or Hell respectively, their lives could easily be considered trivial and meaningless. Destined not to live long enough to see the larger things through. Doomed to play an eternal game of telephone with those who came before them. How would they know the impacts of their actions, hundreds of years down the line when they came into proper fruition? Without such foresight, they could be said to live selfish and small lives, only thinking of the right now and not what would happen long after they were gone.
But, to the eyes of exactly one angel and one demon who had lived exclusively amongst them from their creation to now, Aziraphale found it desperately romantic. Humans lived their lives with such an urgency : they only had little under 100 years to do everything they needed to. To accomplish their hopes and dreams and to pass them on to the next generation; to find happiness, satisfaction, experiences, knowledge, relationships, love…to say what they needed to say now , lest they never get to say it at all. You Only Live Once, as that old human saying goes. Aziraphale quite liked that term when it gained a new prominence in the early 2010’s, with the acronymic “Y.O.L.O”. Aziraphale had said it exactly once in front of Crowley, who immediately had to leave the room to be ill. He was told in no uncertain terms to never speak the acronym again. He had no idea why the shortening of the phrase was so abhorrent, some sort of demonic interference he supposed, but the intent still resonated with him regardless.
With perhaps the phrase ‘Y.O.L.O.’ running through his mind, Aziraphale took a deep breath as though he was about to jump into deep water, and took Crowley’s hand. “My dear, I’m so dreadfully sorry I have dragged you along like this for so many years.”
“Ngk-?!” Crowley recoiled, incredulous, “Wha’ dya mean dragged me along ? You haven’t dragged me along any more than I have you, Angel. If anything I’ve made you ‘consort’ with me against your protests.” He looked away, muttering, “ I should be the one apologizing, if we’re playin’ that game.”
Aziraphale loved holding Crowley’s hand. And, though he wouldn’t admit it, so did Crowley. Usually they only held hands in less than happy circumstances to put it lightly. They had several times very recently; after they averted the apocalypse, and when they switched in and out of one another’s bodies. And yet it still felt sparse somehow. Aziraphale felt himself longing for it at times. It was the most he ever got to touch Crowley. Angels were programmed to love and touch after all, and touching Crowley was far different than any other human he had ever touched. He had never touched another Angel, but he knew he and Crowley were made of essentially the same Stuff. Crowley was warm. There was something in demons that kept them a slight warm at all times, at least to an outsider’s perspective. Crowley didn’t feel this warmth himself. His hands were well kept (though not as anally as Aziraphale’s), yet vaguely textured to the touch. He wore black nail polish on them that Aziraphale secretly loved, though he would lightly chide him for it sometimes.
Aziraphale gently ran his thumb over Crowley’s hand. He looked up into his eyes, which were partially visible over the rims of his sunglasses, his voice achingly tender.
“You have never made me do anything!” he furrowed his eyebrows, his eyes welling up slightly in frustration, “You shouldn’t have been made to feel that way either, I’ve- I’ve…strung you along, I have ! You’ve been unafraid to- to be here with me for quite some time. You’ve been so incredibly patient with me, and I’m not sure I’ve always deserved it but-” he took a shaky breath, “I think I’m ready to- t-to pick up the pace, as it were.”
“Wh- w-wha’ dya mean by that?” said Crowley slowly, almost accusatorily, with a tinge of fear that betrayed that, finally, he knew exactly what Aziraphale meant by that. His eyes darted back and forth between the angel’s.
“Well I-I…I think this might be a good place to start.”
Aziraphale had never been so afraid in his entire life, he decided. Not even when the Devil himself had risen up from the depths of Hell, which, had he had less control, he would have fainted right there on the tarmac. The beating of his heart reached a crescendo in his ears, his vision fuzzy with static. His hands shook. He balled his free hand into a fist of determination, before slowly bringing it up to cup Crowley’s cheek, silently praying it was not as clammy as it felt. There was the briefest moment of yellow panic and confusion in Crowley’s eyes, before Aziraphale pulled him into a kiss, his eyebrows furrowed in determination.
Their ears wrang. Like a million bells slowly clanging in a cacophony of metallic song. The world stopped for the briefest of moments, as if the birds were held midair, and the rubber of car tires compressed to a flattened halt in the streets. Something deep within them sung , it cried out, it screamed and beat its chest in fury and relief and terror. The human experience lived and died in the pit of them both, if only held for the briefest moment in time.
Aziraphale unstuck his lips slowly from Crowley’s with a soft smack, his eyes cracking open. He looked up to see Crowley stock-still in shock, his yellow eyes wide and his pupils blown out into large black ovals. He simply blinked and stared at him, trembling.
Aziraphale’s eyes widened in terror and he frantically began to pull away, “Oh lord, oh I’m so sorry dear boy, was that too much? Oh God it was wasn’t it? I understand if you d-”
Aziraphale was rather resolutely silenced by Crowley grabbing him and pulling him back into the kiss. Crowley’s fingers wrapped into the collar of his jacket, holding him with a measured furiosity. Tears began to fall down his cheeks from his tightly shut eyes. Aziraphale’s face was soft and warm , so warm in his hands, and demons weren’t supposed to be allowed nice things like this. Be he’d be damned over again if he wasn’t going to take it. Not this time.
When he pulled back, he looked at Aziraphale with something that could almost be mistaken for fury. “Don’ be sstupid.” Crowley talked as if his tongue didn’t fit quite right in his mouth. That was because it didn’t. “Of course ss’not. Fuck, Aziraphale,” he gripped at the fabric of his jacket. “I-I’ve mnh- l-loved you ss-since the day I met you, you dense bastard.” He sniffed and wiped his eye quickly with the back of his hand, “Of course ss’not ‘too much’.”
“I-I lo- I have loved you, my dear.” Aziraphale whispered, staring up at him with tears starting in his own eyes. “I’m so sorry I-I haven’t-”
“Sshut up.” Crowley mumbled and pulled him into a kiss again for the sole purpose of stopping his rambling. He leant his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “I’d follow you t’the ends of the fuckin Earth, y’should well know that by now. Yeah, f’course I wanna spend more time with you, tha’ss kinda the whole fuckin point.” He swallowed hard, before speaking more softly. “S’not-...s’not too much, it jus’- it’ss gonna be a lot to get used to.”
“I-I know my dear, I-I feel the same believe me.” Aziraphale chuckled wetly as tears ran down his cheeks. He looked up at Crowley with a sheepish smile. “Y-you wanna start by…going to the museum?”
Crowley laughed and rolled his eyes, wiping his cheeks, “Satan, right the fuckin, museum. Sure, Angel, whatever you want.” He pushed the door open and straightened himself out, clearing his throat in an attempt to seem unaffected to any passing strangers.
Aziraphale walked around the car and nudged him, “You want to go as well, I know you like it.”
Crowley scoffed and looked to the side, “I don’t. I only do because you wanna go.”
“You dooo.” Aziraphale cooed teasingly, before taking his hand.
“Fine.” Crowley relented. He squeezed his fingers through Aziraphale’s, beginning the trek up the portico.
“Do..do you mind if we stop at the café first?” Aziraphale asked sheepishly.
Crowley looked over at him with a pursed, exasperated smile and shook his head. “Knew it. I know you.”
Aziraphale leaned his arm into Crowley’s and sighed contentedly, closing his eyes for a moment. “I know .”
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Down the street, two young men watched intently, eating their ice creams and failing to look discreet.
“Lookie there,” said the dark haired one, wiping a drip off of his bottom lip with his thumb as he gestured with his cone. “Look at those two, comin’ out of that big old black car.”
The blonde sighed wistfully, “Ah, I love old gays.”
The dark haired man leaned into him, throwing his free hand back dramatically on his forehead. He imitated the accent of one of the strange old men crossing the street. “ Oh, will you still love me like that when we’re old and grey my darling ?”
The blonde snorted and nudged him back, imitating the voice of the other mysterious man, “ Ey, who says I’m goin’ grey then? ” The two snickered and laughed, and snuggled closer.
A large, white feather drifted on the wind into the lap of the dark haired man. He held it up between them, turning it over with a curious smile. To say it was immaculate was an understatement: it seemed to glitter gold along the shaft and between the barbs. A light blue iridescence shimmered off of it.
“That’s good luck you know.” said the blonde, looking at it with curious wonder.
The brunette focused behind his partner at the two men walking up the stairs of the portico. The tall one with the red hair and glasses stalked forward, but the blonde was unmistakably cutting his eyes over at him. He could have sworn he winked.