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“We could have been… us.”
And that sentence broke something inside him, something not all too together in the first place. Aziraphale suppressed the urge to break out right then and there, to embrace Crowley and never let go.
Then, the next thing he felt were desperate, oh-so-very-desperate lips on his own, and that felt amazing, it felt as if he were taking a breath for the first time in such a long time. As if he were drowning and the fucking demon, his best friend, was the extra oxygen, the extra air he required to live.
Crowley began to deepen the kiss, and Aziraphale could feel his shaking hands, clutching his coat with longing, desperation, his pounding heartbeat, an erratic rhythm , the tears coming down his slick cheeks as he pushed, pushed to be closer, as if to conjoin as one.
Fighting back tears, Aziraphale pulled back, and let out a little sob at the expression on Crowley’s face. He was devastated. No, he looked… words couldn’t describe. As if he thought Aziraphale hated him.
“I forgive you,” he said, a broken doll and full at the same time, the only thing keeping him sane far away now, never to be reached. And Crowley gave him a look that haunted him.
He looked complacent. As if he had accepted Aziraphale would never love him back, but oh, that was so far from the truth, but words, the damn necessity to express his feelings, failed him. Got caught in his throat on the way out, didn’t pass inspection.
Aziraphale watched, devastated, as he turned away. And if his hands were trembling and he couldn’t breathe, well, those were mere side effects of being first in the head office. Right?
He turned around to bite his lip as Crowley began walking out the door. “No need,” he snarled, and Aziraphale flinched when the door banged against the stopper.
He got farther. Farther than his arms could reach, farther than, if he wanted, to take back his words, his sins against his one true love and friend. And he let him. Let him travel away from his desperate embrace to uncharted territories and didn’t bat an eye. Those who say otherwise were lying.
𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙
“I do say, Aziraphale, I quite like the get-up you’ve adorned!” Metatron complimented, as they stood in the ever-so-particularly clean elevator on the way to Up. And while Aziraphale appreciated the compliment, he was currently attempting not to have a full-blown panic attack in the elevator.
He was torn.
Should he go back? Should he stay?
Realizing that his coworker needed an answer, Aziraphale raised his eyebrows with a painfully fake smile he had mastered over the years.
“Thank you! You do know, my friend says he really liked when I-“
He cut himself off, and blast it, Metatron chuckled. “I knew it,” Metatron tsk’d. “You’re still thinkin’ of him.”
“Uhhh… nope! Not at all!” Aziraphale felt his chest close up at the lie and let out a long, pathetic breath. “Well, I am, but not in the way… you know. Uh. Yeah.”
Metatron smiled faintly. “You know, you don’t have to come Up if you really don’t want to.”
Aziraphale blinked. Then again. And let out a small laugh. “Why, you think I don’t appreciate this opportunity?” His tone had an edging of desperation.
“I never said that, lad,” Metatron smiled again, patting Aziraphale briskly on the shoulder. “You’ve been tense this whole time. I can tell you’re having some internal debates about this whole thing. “You’ve been tense this whole time. I can tell you’re having some internal debates about this whole thing. I’m here to reassure you the whole way.”
Aziraphale pushed his lips together, briskly nodding. “Thank you, Metatron.”
𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙
The elevator opened to the cold, unwelcome frigid-ness of Heaven. Aziraphale gave an involuntary shudder, then laughs awkwardly at the Metatron’s stifling gaze.
“Sorry… just. Have to get used to it again.”
“That’s fine. I’ll leave you to it.”
The Metatron gave a wink, and vanished into thin air.
Aziraphale found himself still smiling after he had disappeared, but it felt… painful. Like he was a marionette in his own rib cage. He put a hand to his face. It was strangely cold.
Oh. He was crying.
He sniffed, covering his face and retreating to a corner of the white halls. Biting, stabbing at his own lip to stop the sobs. To stop the emotions. He was their ruler now. He couldn’t be weak.
Putting on a brave smile, he got up, ignoring the trembling of his own hands at the cracks on the linoleum floor, he had gotten over that years ago, surely, and tried desperately to breathe.
𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙
It all was worth nothing, was it? Everything. Job, the zombies, the magic show, was the kiss, our relationship nothing to you!? I wonder, Aziraphale, how you would feel in my place?
𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙
Meanwhile, on earth, a certain demon was sitting in his Bentley, alcohol lazily in a glass cup that would surely shatter at any moment, the poor thing was holding on by a thread.
And trying to stifle his own crying. Demons didn't cry.
Well, he wasn’t really a demon anymore. Or an angel. He had given that opportunity up over an hour ago.
Crowley let out a shaky breath. “Oy, Bentley, play me some good blues, I’m ina-moo’ for jaaaaaazz-“
Cue Good Old Fashioned Lover-
“OH, SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
His hands moved on their own, and he now looked at his broken radio station.
That was the last straw.
𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙
“FUCKING- I HATE YOU, DAMN YOU, AZIRAPHALE!!! WHY-WHY-DID NONE OF THIS MEAN ANYTHING TO YOU!?”
𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙
The phone rang.
𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙𓆙
“Crowley! Wake UP!”
Crowley blinked. “Whoa-whatta-“
His hands blindly shot out and felt a connection with someone’s neck. That someone sounded awfully familiar. He was just hallucinating again.
“Crowley, it’s me.”
Crowley blinked.
There was no way.
Aziraphale was sitting in the passengers seat next to him, an anxious look in his eyes.
“We need to talk.”
“I-“
“Wait, wait, let me say my stuff, please, please,” Aziraphale begged, and Crowley now noticed the tears in his eyes, steadily flowing down his cheeks.
He crossed his arms. “Explain.”
“Okay, so I-I-I made a really big mistake on purpose in heaven and they basically banished me so I can be with you forever now but I feel bad because they were my family and I-I,” Aziraphale couldn’t catch his breath. “And- And I feel so terrible about what happened and I promise I love you back and-“
“Hold on. Pause.” Crowley put a finger up. “You love me back? The hell’s that’s supposed to mean?”
Aziraphale continued his rant.
“And I shouldn’t of ran off after your kiss because I’ve been in love with you for over 8000 years and now I’ve gone and messed everything up and oh, I’m so tired of doing this-why-why do I always end up being the liability-“
Aziraphale’s next words got caught in his throat. The warm, familiar press of lips. And an embrace.
It was so warm.
And, oh.
Crowley’s heart. It was… beating.
He was actually there.
Tears welled up in his eyes. He took a shaky breath and bent into Crowley’s shoulder nook, somewhere no one would ever find him.
“You’re safe now, Angel,” Crowley murmured, slowly petting his hair and rubbing his neck. “You’re safe.”