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Crowley sat lazily at the park bench, watching the clouds drift idly across an orange sky. It had been a couple of months since the whole Armageddon #2 ordeal, and Crowley liked to think that he was carving out a fairly nice life for himself. He’d found a nice flat not too far from St. James’s Park, gotten the Bentley a much-appreciated paint job, and gave Muriel his number if they were to ever need help at the bookshop. He rarely visited (too fresh a wound, he thought begrudgingly) but was always willing to lend the chipper angel a hand if asked.
Just before sprawling across the bench, in fact, Crowley had successfully hunted down a book that Muriel had accidentally sold within their first few days as a shopkeeper. They had insisted that the customer was to get a full refund, so three ten-pound notes had miraculously replaced the old novel (not that Crowley would ever admit to that). He was actually feeling quite satisfied with himself when he felt the energy in the park shift.
He clenched his jaw as the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Through the tinted shades of his glasses, Crowley pointedly watched the ducks splashing in the pond ahead of him. Nothing was going to ruin this perfectly fine day on his watch, Crowley thought to himself, as if the one person he’d been aching to see wasn’t standing ten feet from him.
“Bugger off,” he finally said, listening as the angel’s breath hitched slightly.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured, almost too quietly to be heard. “I wanted to apologize.”
There was no response. Crowley figured if he did say something, it would be loud and angry enough to attract the attention of every human within his vicinity. From the corner of his eye, he watched Aziraphale wring his hands together nervously around a small bouquet of fresh flowers. He didn’t look too different from how he did before he left, aside from longer hair and an uncomfortable-looking gray-toned suit. What had Crowley expected? A Gabriel look alike? He shuddered at the thought.
“Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale continued anxiously, shifting from one foot to the other. “Would you please look at-”
“No,” Crowley interrupted, smoothing the nonexistent wrinkles in his jacket as he stood from his seated position. “I don’t think the bad guys are s’posed to fraternize with your lot. So, if you’ll excuse me.”
And with that, he started (what he hoped was) a nonchalant stroll to the Bentley. Crowley’s plan to relax at St. James's was out the window now that Aziraphale had decided to return to Earth, and the new plan was quite simple, actually; return to his flat and get absolutely pissed. He had reserved some of his best bottles of scotch for emergencies, and this very much qualified as such.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale pleaded, struggling through the crowd that the demon had slipped into. The swoop in his gut caused by the angel’s tone had almost made Crowley turn back, but he furrowed his brow and continued to push through the park-goers around him. Aziraphale had sounded so desperate and heartbroken, but that served him right, Crowley thought to himself. He knew he was being mean, but he was hurting so much. Aziraphale had no business upending the peaceful life he had so carefully crafted for himself, not after leaving like that.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, Crowley angrily marched toward the Bentley. Just before he could open the door, a little pop sounded from his right as Aziraphale materialized out of thin air.
“Bloody hell!” Crowley yelped, leaping back from the car while clutching at his chest. Staring at the angel with wide eyes, he tried to calm his erratic breathing. “You can’t just do that, Aziraphale!”
The angel at least had the decency to look sheepish. “I apologize, my dear-”
“Do not call me that.”
“Of course, I’m sorry, Crowley. I just wish to talk to you, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“ Out of my hair? ” Crowley scoffed, painting a harsh scowl across his face. “Angel, you really don’t realize how much you’re inconveniencing me, do you?”
Aziraphale took a watery breath before continuing, “I understand you’re upset-”
“ Upset? ” Crowley demanded, frustration bubbling up his throat. “That doesn’t even begin to cover how I feel!”
Aziraphale winced, toeing at the cracked pavement in front of him. “I do realize that,” he stammered, letting the bouquet fall to his side. “That’s why I’m here. To make amends.”
Crowley gritted his teeth as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Not this time, Angel. Not after how you left things.”
“I know that I was terrible!” Aziraphale pleaded, his chin wobbling in an effort to keep his tears at bay. “Please, Crowley, all I need is for you to listen- ”
“What about what I need, Aziraphale?” Crowley snapped. “Or is that too much to ask for?”
“That isn’t what I meant!” the angel interjected, raising his gaze to look Crowley directly in the eye. “I just-”
“I’m not listening to your half-hearted apology!” Crowley interrupted angrily. He was becoming increasingly aware of the eyes observing them, much to his dismay, and he needed to leave as quickly as possible.
“Crowley! Please!” Aziraphale begged as the demon wrenched the Bentley’s door open and threw himself in. He jammed the keys into the ignition, offhandedly making a note to apologize to the Bentley later, and shifted into drive.
Anywhere but here, Crowley silently pleaded, and the car took off.
The next few hours seemed to blur together as scotch bottles emptied themselves. Crowley had thrown himself haphazardly across the couch in his flat, too dizzy to do much else. He sniffled, scrubbing at his damp cheeks with his sleeve and taking another burning gulp of the amber alcohol in his glass.
“So fucking stupid,” he muttered to himself as he peered at whatever happened to be playing on his flatscreen. Golden Girls, it seemed. Usually, that would raise his mood in a pinch, but he just felt miserable. Crowley emptied his glass and set it on the sleek coffee table in front of him, preparing himself mentally for the hangover he’d have in the morning when there was a knock at the door.
He groaned and muttered angrily as he attempted to stand, grasping onto the armrest of the couch with all his might. There was another knock.
“I’m ffffuckin’ coming!” Crowley slurred in the vague direction of the door. He swayed dangerously as he made his way to it slowly. Without checking the little peephole, he opened the door, preparing to tell off whoever was knocking at his bloody flat at two in the morning when he paused, mouth agape.
There stood Aziraphale, in his regular 1940s get-up with a bottle of wine and a nervous smile on his face. The flowers from before were nowhere to be seen, which was probably for the best.
“Oh, my God,” Crowley cursed, letting his shoulders slump. He turned away from the door, although leaving it ajar. “Go away, Angel. I don’t wanna talk.”
Aziraphale silently followed him into the flat, flipping the lock and taking off his coat. Crowley flopped down on the couch again, almost missing, before blurting out, “How’d you even find this place?”
“I asked Muriel,” the angel replied sheepishly. Crowley blinked. Of course he did.
“Of course you did,” he replied flippantly, stretching out on the cushions beneath him. Aziraphale stood awkwardly next to the flatscreen and watched as Crowley attempted to make himself comfortable. There was an awkward pause only interrupted by banter between Betty White and Bea Arthur.
“Well?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow. “You gonna just stand there?” He motioned toward the other end of the couch as he ever so politely removed his feet from it and sat up.
“Ah, quite right,” Aziraphale replied, gently setting the wine on the coffee table and taking a seat. Crowley watched as he observed the empty scotch bottles littering the floor and table and glared as Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something. He reached for the wine bottle and popped it open, letting it almost slosh over the sides of the glass he poured it into.
“Not a word,” he muttered, taking a large gulp of the drink.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Aziraphale replied, the cheeky bastard. Crowley gave a half-hearted snort and took another large gulp.
“And why are you here?” he asked, looking the angel up and down. “Seems to me you can go back to your bookshop.”
“Er, I could,” Aziraphale insisted slowly, “but that’s not where I want to be, at the moment.”
“And where, pray tell,” Crowley snarked, “would you want to be?”
“Here,” Aziraphale said definitively. “With you.”
Crowley glanced at him with poorly concealed surprise. It was the first time since that day that the angel sounded sure of himself. He poured himself another generous glass and nodded for him to continue.
“I wish to speak with you, my dear- ah, sorry,” Aziraphale said, catching himself on the term of endearment. Crowley’s heart fluttered traitorously as he pulled his knees up to his chest.
“Okay,” the demon drawled, feigning disinterest as he picked at a loose thread on the couch. “Then speak.”
Aziraphale took a steadying breath, holding on tightly to his pant legs. “Right,” he murmured, looking up at Crowley with a look of desperation. “I made a mistake.”
“That’s one way to put it,” Crowley sniffed, ignoring the pout the angel sent his way.
“I made a mistake,” Aziraphale continued, “and I would like to apologize. I can’t even begin to imagine how I’ve hurt you.”
“You only left me at my most vulnerable after confessing my six-thousand-year-old feelings for you,” Crowley said bitterly, looking away in embarrassment. “Even a sorry, Crowley, I don’t feel the same would have been better, I think.”
“I- what?” Aziraphale asked, looking genuinely taken aback.
“Don’t pretend you didn’t know, Angel,” Crowley huffed. “I made it pretty obvious.”
“N-no, that’s not what I’m confused about,” the angel said. “What did you mean when you said I didn’t feel the same?”
Crowley scoffed, “Did going back to Heaven make you denser than usual? I meant that you left me behind after I told you that I loved- bugger- love you! ”
They stared at each other in miserable silence.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said slowly, reaching out to rest a hand on the demon’s knee. “I didn’t say I don’t love you.”
“Well, you certainly didn’t say it back!” Crowley replied angrily, blinking away tears. He felt his face flushing and turned away to pour another glass of wine. His hand was gently intercepted before he could reach the neck of the bottle.
“Crowley, my darling ,” Aziraphale chuckled with a watery smile. “Please look at me, my dear.”
The demon turned slowly, still avoiding the angel’s eyes. Another hand came up to hold the side of his face, warmth radiating into his skin.
“My love, I’m ever so sorry I made you feel as if I didn’t feel the same way. I was just incredibly nervous, which doesn’t excuse it, of course! But I didn’t…”
Aziraphale’s voice faded out as Crowley took in his words, slowly dropping his jaw in surprise.
“Hold on, Angel,” he interrupted, shaking his head as though to clear it. “What did you just say?”
Aziraphale smiled at him tearfully, still cupping his face in his warm hands. “I said I love you, too, my silly demon. I just didn’t know how to vocalize it, I’m afraid.”
Crowley stared blankly for another five seconds before launching himself into the angel’s arms. Aziraphale let out a small oof as the demon landed on his chest and wrapped his arms around him tightly. Tears were falling freely between the both of them as Crowley clung to the angel’s waistcoat. If this was a drunken delusion, he was going to march straight up to Heaven and have a word with The Almighty Herself once he was sober.
“I’m so sorry, my dear. I’m sorry I ever made you believe I didn’t love you,” Aziraphale whispered, letting his fingers gently glide through Crowley’s hair. After the demon’s sniffling died down, he sat back up and wiped at his face. He’d never let anyone see him this upset before, and it was hitting him with a wave of unease as he collected his thoughts.
“Er- sorry,” he muttered, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.
“No need to be sorry,” Aziraphale said softly, brushing back the hair that had fallen into Crowley’s eyes during their long-awaited embrace.
“I need to be sober for this,” Crowley muttered, primarily to himself. The scotch and wine bottles began to refill themselves.
“Sober for what?” Aziraphale asked, watching as the demon took a deep breath. He was about to ask for clarification again when a flash of deja vu hit him as hands grabbed his collar and a pair of lips met his. Aziraphale took a sharp breath before reciprocating, letting his arms settle gently around the demon. Crowley melted into his touch like ice cream on a sweltering day, humming contentedly against the angel’s soft lips. When he slowly pulled back, Aziraphale leaned forward as if chasing him, and Crowley laughed heartily.
“Angel, you have no idea how long I’ve needed to hear that,” he said, tucking a grown-out curl behind Aziraphale's ear and smiling brightly.
“My dear, if I had known that was what you wanted to hear, I would have said it ages ago,” Aziraphale said, leaning in to give Crowley’s lips a quick peck.
“Say it again?” Crowley asked hopefully, and Aziraphale laughed.
“I love you, my wily demon.”