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Crowley thought about it a lot after it happened.
So did Aziraphale.
As the angel neared heaven, which was always supposed to be his home, his heart stayed tied to Earth, consequently sinking lower and lower bellow him the higher he reached. There was part of him that wanted Crowley to have never confessed. It was selfish, but that distance is what kept him sane for 6000 years. It's what stopped him from hurting as much as he would've whenever he pushed Crowley away, whenever they spent a prolonged period of time apart and especially moments like these, where he had to make big decisions for the both of them.
Part of him wished he had more time to think this through.
Part of him hated Crowley for making him doubt his choice. His obvious choice. The only choice that would give him peace. Or so he wanted to believe, oh so desperately. For heaven was good. Heaven was the home of his god, heaven was the light at the end of the tunnel of time and the warmth wrapping around the universe. Hell on the other hand, was the literal opposite, demons were the opposite, Crowley was... supposed to be the opposite, an adversary. But in all their years together, Aziraphale was reminded time and again that he wasn't and probably wasn't ever going to put any effort into being it. It wasn't right, or maybe proper would be a better descriptor, in Aziraphale's opinion, for the two of them to be so fundamentally different from their peers and to act so close and yet, he couldn't help but increasingly hate himself in secret each time he put up that barrier between them.
Crowley knew it, that Aziraphale was lying to himself that is, and had even reminded him on multiple occasions why that was the case, though accusatory statements could only get him so far before the angel shut him down again, or in a rare instance reluctantly agreed. Something in the back of his head told Aziraphale that the demon might not even bother reminding him from now on. That they will disappear from each others eternal lives, for good this time.
He couldn't help the tears that returned to pool in his eyes at the thought.
Memories flashed by like a movie, which he thought only happened in them and it took everything to stop himself from sobbing. Just a couple of months ago he was fighting for Earth, fighting to keep it alive, spent the last 12 years hoping to keep his bookshop, to keep his frequent visits to local restaurants and tip waiters, to keep his precious records that he listed to on a near daily basis; only to now throw it all away for this chance. Crowley always seemed to like using those material things to tempt him to his side, even back then. It worked, quite well, if the fact that all he could think about right now is how much he would miss them was any indication.
It wasn't helping either of them now, Aziraphale imagined, only added to the hurt.
Those material possessions weren't going to last him forever, Aziraphale knew and accepted that, in the past relying on humans seemingly infinite imagination to satisfy his need for new experiences, bits and bobs and all that. Relationships were different in the way that he didn't actually have many. Apart from the few friendships with humans, lasting a short while here and there, Crowley was really his only constant, he also knew that quite well. Yet, Crowley's words still shocked him, somehow. Aziraphale never really expected that he'd to want to have that conversation.
Having suspicions was one thing, but actively knowing Crowley's feelings was another. Aziraphale had always recognized the odd bond between them, in some rare moments, when the two were alone in the Bentley, Crowley driving slightly slower in the late hours of the night, when Crowley looked at him longer, emotions hidden behind his sunglasses, grateful and pushing experimentally for something more, when he put his life and trust into the demons hands. There were times, too, when the angel recognized his own feelings, but those were fleeting moments that didn't amount to much. They didn't change his mind, nothing could, he thought, or else he wouldn't be here after 6000 years of sticking to his biases.
Maybe if Crowley said something sooner, it would've been different.
Maybe if Aziraphale had just let him talk first, had let him lead them away, had acted upon the wants of his heart instead of the wants of his ambition and righteousness and had just been brave enough to go his own way, it would've ended differently, or rather, wouldn't have ended at all. They'd be nearing Alpha Centauri right now, not a care in the world, just the two of them.
Reality seemed bent on making them suffer instead.
Aziraphale, unlike Crowley, accepted his fate all too easily, however cruel it was, for he believed. He believed in God, in the Divine Plan, even now he believed in heaven, or at least what heaven could be like. He would believe in it, even if the hurt in his very soul would not relent for the coming days, months or even for eternity, he had to believe that it was all worth it. What was it all for otherwise? He didn't want to have to answer that question. Aziraphale was an angel of principality and at the moment, he wanted to uphold that.
Crowley would just have to accept that.
"Ready to start, Supreme Archangel Aziraphale?", the Metatron asked with a smile on his face, a cruel little quip of the edge of his lips, snapping the angel out of his thoughts, the doors opening for them. Aziraphale nodded, for lack of a better response, took one final breath, stepped off the elevator.
And smiled.