Chapter Text
Sometimes Crowley would drive by the bookshop.
He didn’t exactly know why— after all, it’s not like it brought up anything but bad memories— but some deeply-buried part of him would always imagine he could catch a glimpse of Aziraphale through the window.
Of course, he never could. And that was fine by Crowley; he never wanted to see Aziraphale again (or so he told himself).
But one day, Aziraphale was there.
Several cars honked in irritation as the Bentley swerved in the street, but Crowley was too busy doing a double take at the angel in the bookshop.
It was actually him! Actually Aziraphale, there, after all those months of wondering— fine, hoping, that he’d be there.
Though, despite the weeks of longing, Crowley was at a loss for how to proceed. Eventually, he parked on the next block over and simply sat there, two different sides of him warring within, one trying to convince him to go to the bookshop, and one trying to convince him to ignore it.
Maggie and Nina had told him to talk to Aziraphale. Logically good advice, but considering how much of a flaming train wreck it was last time, he was somewhat apprehensive about the suggestion.
But could he risk leaving? Did he really want to turn his back on possibly the last chance he had to see Aziraphale again?
He turned around and, grabbing Aziraphale’s collar, pressed their lips together. At first Aziraphale drew back, and Crowley had instant regrets. He had done the wrong thing. Aziraphale didn’t love him— he never had and never would. Then, Aziraphale relaxed into the kiss, one hand coming around to rest on Crowley’s back.
He started opening the door, hesitated, then with a muttered “fuck it” he fully got out of the car, closing the door and walking towards the bookshop.
He had many second thoughts on the way there. After all, they hadn’t exactly left on good terms, Crowley thought, remembering Aziraphale getting into the elevator. The optimistic side of him tried to say that he had hesitated, but hesitation or not, he still went with the Metatron. Choosing Heaven over him.
Somehow, he forced his legs to move until he was just outside of the bookshop, standing under the awning. He could see Aziraphale through the window, talking to Muriel. Thank Satan for Muriel— without them there, Aziraphale surely would have turned to notice him.
“Come on,” he muttered to himself. “Just open the door. It isn’t that hard.”
As it turned out, it would be hard to open the door. It was as if his muscles had turned to stone. No matter how much he told himself to simply grab the doorknob and open the damn door, he body would not respond.
“Fuck,” he said. At this point he may as well turn around and leave. If he couldn’t even muster up the courage to walk into the bookshop, how would he actually talk to Aziraphale?
He raised his head, taking one last look at Aziraphale— only for Aziraphale to be staring right at him.
Right. At. Him.
Fuck, he thought. It was, apparently, becoming a common phrase in his vocabulary. But to him, this was a very reasonable moment to be thinking fuck, as he seriously considered opening a hole beneath him and falling all the way back down to Hell.
They stayed like that for several awkward moments while Crowley tried to read Aziraphale’s expression. Was that… regret? Sadness? Longing?
He was jolted out of the trance when the door suddenly opened.
“Hi Crowley!” Muriel grinned.
Crowley clenched his jaw, wanting to snap at Muriel to read the room. Instead, he took a deep breath and stepped into the shop. Aziraphale, who was standing in the centre of the room, still hadn’t said anything, but instead seemed to be hyperfixated on avoiding eye contact and fidgeting with the teacup in his hands. As Crowley got closer to Aziraphale, he expected to feel something– anger, perhaps– but instead there was simply a lessening of the ache he had felt since Aziraphale left, as if there was finally some slack in the thread connecting their hearts.
“Can I get you some tea?” Muriel piped up from behind him. “Humans often drink it when visiting others.”
“Not right now, Muriel, thank you.” Aziraphale said, quietly, finally looking up at Crowley. And his eyes were full of… tears? More likely, it was just a reflection of the light coming through the window or he had springtime allergies.
“So,” Crowley began, deciding to take charge of the conversation. “How’s Heaven? Good and pure enough for you? Are you enjoying being free of me?”
“Crowley—”
“No, don’t Crowley me. I don’t need you to explain yourself. You made your position quite clear last time.”
“Crowley, please listen to me—”
“Listen to me. When are you going to realize that Heaven and Hell are the same? Hell just doesn’t bother hiding the rot and the corruption. Aziraphale, we could have been free. We could have done whatever we wanted. No Gabriel, no Micheal, no Beelzebub.”
He stopped and took a deep breath, fighting the tears that threatened to overflow. “Just you and me.”
Aziraphale looked at a loss for words. “I…”
Why did he even bother? Crowley shook his head. “This was a mistake.” Turning to the door, he started to walk out.
“Wait!” Aziraphale called, but Crowley was determined to ignore him. He kept going until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Spinning around, he began to say, “just let me go” but before he got the words out, Aziraphale kissed him.
Feelings he had last felt before the Beginning, when he created the galaxy, flooded his mind, as Aziraphale’s hands caressed the back of his neck.
After the initial shock faded, Crowley relaxed into the embrace, his hands coming up to rest on Aziraphale’s shoulder blades, and kissing him back just as fiercely. As opposed to the last time, where all he felt was a dull pain, this kiss carried a warmth with it, finally causing the tears to spill over. After what felt like several lifetimes, they relaxed, drawing apart. Aziraphale’s face was stained from crying as well, as he whispered, voice cracking, “I love you.”
Crowley was speechless. This was everything he had wanted, for 6000 years. Finally, he had–
“Wow,” Muriel said softly, interrupting his train of thought. “That is a typical human way of affection! Are you two friends again?”
They really had to do this kind of stuff privately, thought Crowley, silently cursing Muriel.
“Um.” Aziraphale swallowed, looking at the carpeted floor. “Perhaps I should have started with sorry?”