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The first day after Aziraphale left and went back to heaven, Crowley drank.
The following eight days he slept.
And on the tenth day, he bought a cottage in South Downs. Far away from London and the bookshop.
The cottage was love at first sight for Crowley. The thatched roof, the fireplace, the greenhouse in the garden and the build-in bookshelves that lined the walls of both the library and the living room. He’d been so smitten, that he hadn’t even noticed the leaking roof nor the plaster crumbling of the walls until he’d already bought it.
And wasn’t that ironic? A perfect redo of how he’d fallen in love with Aziraphale. All at once and without eye for the warning signs and flaws.
Luckily, all the cottage needed was a little demonic miracle and both the roof and the walls were sturdy again.
Now he could start building their home.
Their home. Even in his mind he referred to it as that. Refused to refer to it as anything else, really. Because what was Crowley’s was Aziraphale’s. That’s how it always had been. And how it always would be. Even if Aziraphale didn’t want it.
When the neighbors, an older couple named Bob and Marie, came by to welcome Crowley to the neighborhood and asked him whether he was a single man, he’d answered, “my partner’s currently away on business, but will join me later.”
He cried in bed that night.
The next morning he started working on the library, the room he planned for Aziraphale to occupy once he got back. Muriel had been kind enough to send him all the special first editions and signed copies of books they could find in the store, and Crowley had replaced them with new copies that Muriel could actually sell without pissing off the new Archangel.
Crowley could’ve used a miracle to put the books on the shelves. But he didn’t. Instead he spend three full days arranging and rearranging the books, until he was completely sure that Aziraphale would like it.
Aside from the books, Crowley filled the library with long velvet curtains, a bar cart stocked with Aziraphale’s favourite alcohol, a plush carpet and two comfy armchairs. One for Aziraphale, and one for Crowley.
Because once the angel returned, Crowley vowed to spend more time with him. Show him how important he was. If he’d only done that sooner, maybe Aziraphale wouldn’t have left.
He spend the rest of the day curled up in his armchair, surrounded by books and crying into his whisky.
Every day that followed, Crowley spend building and decorating their cottage. It kept him almost busy enough to not think about his angel, although Aziraphale was never far from his mind. Some days he swore he could feel a slight tremble in the earth, as if something was happening, above or below, but instead of worrying he painted the walls, or rearranged the furniture or fixed the leaking faucet in the kitchen.
An on the one-hundredth and fifty-third day after Aziraphale left, Crowley was done. From the soft green color on the walls in the living room to the bright yellow color of the study.
The house was gorgeous. The garden was lush. And the angel still wasn’t there.
Crowley was a patient demon. He’d waited 6000 years. He would wait 6000 more, no problem. But his new neighbors were a little less patient. They were nagging him.
It had started with little jokes. “Are you sure your partner is real and not just in your head?” - and eventually the jabs turned into pity. “Are you sure he’ll come back to you?” and “are you sure you want to wait for him?”
At one point, Bob and Marie even asked him if he didn’t want to meet their son, who was in finance and had always had a thing for men with red hair.
Crowley did his best to stay polite, plastering a fake smile on his face, but on his way out he had a stern talk with the couple’s rosebushes, who immediately wilted under his orders.
Of course, he would wait for Aziraphale. That wasn’t a question to Crowley. There was no doubt in his mind that the angel would eventually come back to him. Aziraphale loved him. He knew that. He had felt it. In longing looks, and chaste touches. During drunken nights and dinners at the Ritz. He’d felt it. They loved each other.
So Crowley would wait until the earth collapsed, if he had to.
But he didn’t have to.
One-hundred-and-eighty-nine days after Aziraphale left him, there was a knock on the door. And Crowley knew who it was, even before he opened it.
Aziraphale.
He stood with his hands in front of his stomach, fidgeting, not meeting Crowley’s eyes. His hands were slightly dirty, dark half-moons underneath his fingernails, stains spreading over the pale skin and when he finally did look up, his eyes were bloodshot.
Crowley wanted to cry. He wanted to grab Aziraphale’s lapels and kiss him again. He wanted to show him the house. Their house. The home he’d build for them. He wanted to fall to his knees and tell Aziraphale that he loved him, over and over again…
But he didn’t do any of those things.
Instead he froze.
He couldn’t move. Couldn’t swallow away all the bile and doubts and fear he’d felt during the past months. Couldn’t hold back his sorrow.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale spoke, his voice soft like a breath across his lips.
“A-Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered. Not what he’d wanted to say, and he saw Aziraphale flinch at the use of his name. No angel. “You’re back then?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale nodded. “Muriel told me you lived here now.”
“They’re right.”
It’s ours angel. I know you don’t know it yet, but I’ve made room for you. Come live with me, please.
Oh god this was awkward. Why couldn’t he say what he’d wanted to say? He had waited for so long. He’d been so patient. And now he would ruin it all.
“It looks beautiful,” Aziraphale said, eyes darting around. “At least from the outside.” Crowley saw his bottom lip tremble.
Invite him in. Invite him in, you idiot!
“I— yeah.”
Fuck you. You pathetic excuse of a demon.
Aziraphale gave him a brief smile whilst shuffling his feet. “I-I just… I wanted to—”
“Oh my god, Mr Crowley!” Oh fuck. Not now. “Is this who I think it is? Finally saw the chance to get home to your man, did you!”
Aziraphale turned to the woman strolling up the path, two brown bags filled to the brim with groceries in her hands. “Excuse me?”
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry.” She put the bags down, and stuck out a hand. “I’m Marie, your next door neighbor. I’ve heard so much about you.” Marie giggled and leaned closer to Aziraphale. Crowley cringed. “I have to say, we all wondered if you really existed for a while. I mean… when you have a man as gorgeous as Crowley, why leave? Am I right?” Marie bumped Aziraphale’s elbow and Crowley could’ve died right there, but apparently Marie wasn’t done just yet. “We even tried to set Crowley up with our son. He has a thing for redheads you see. But don’t worry. Crowley’s been utterly faithful. Never wavering. Always certain that you’d come back to him. And here you are!”
“I— He was?”
“Oh yes,” Marie rambled on, clearly not seeing Aziraphale’s eyes well up with tears. “So, I reckon your job’s done now?”
“Ah—Yeah. Yes. Definitely done.”
“And you’ll come live here?” Marie smiled, before turning to Crowley. “Have you already shown him the library you created especially for him? Oh, it’s so pretty Aziraphale. A real beauty. A clear token of his love.”
Oh no. No. No.
“He…” Aziraphale turned to him then, and Crowley could see how he was fighting against the tears. “You made me a library… In your home?”
“Our home,” Crowley said. His voice seemed to come from somewhere far away.
“Our home?” Aziraphale gasped, his own voice soft and fragile.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. I’m totally blabbering all over your reunion. You must want some privacy. Don’t mind me. I’ll be gone.” Marie said, and Crowley wondered if the woman had finally gotten some insights or if this was Aziraphale’s doing.
Marie rushed away so quickly, and without even an invitation to tea or dinner, that he was almost certain of the latter.
He chuckled and the left corner of Aziraphale’s mouth chirped up.
“Didn’t mean to be rude,” he mumbled, eyes on the door mat. “She just took too long.”
Crowley hummed. “Want to come in then?” he asked, and Aziraphale nodded eagerly.
As soon as he stepped foot in the hallway, Aziraphale’s eyes were darting around, taking in every nook and cranny he could feast upon.
“Oh Crowley,” he swooned, as they moved forwards into the living room. “It’s all so lovely.”
“Thanks,” Crowley replied casually, even though his insides were doing summersaults and loop-de-loops at Aziraphale’s praise. “It all worked out quite well.”
Aziraphale looked at the plush velvet sofa, the woven carpets, the paintings on the wall and then his eyes fell on the build-in bookshelves and the books. He walked over, swiping his thumb across the spines. “Are these… Are these mine?”
“Yeah.”
Aziraphale turned back to him, the first teardrops rolling down his cheeks now. “You… You took my books with you?”
“Only the first and signed editions,” Crowley said, folding his arms across his chest in an attempt to steady himself. “The ones I knew you wouldn’t want to lose.”
“Crowley…” Aziraphale blinked, using the sleeve of his coat to wipe the tears away. “W-Why would you do that? After I hurt you so.”
“Because I…” Say it. “Because…” Say it. “I…” SAY IT. “I thought they’d look good here.” You coward.
Aziraphale knew he was lying. Crowley could tell. But instead of calling him out on his bullshit, Aziraphale turned back towards the shelves. “They do. — They look great here,” he said. “Have you saved the Jane Austen ones?”
“Of course.”
“Where—“
“Not here,” Crowley said. “They’re in the library.”
Aziraphale looked over his shoulder. “This is not the library?”
“No, this is a bookshelf in the living room.”
“I—“ Aziraphale ducked his head. “W-Will you show me?”
“Sure.” Crowley made a sharp turn and didn’t wait for Aziraphale to follow him. He knew he would, anyway. He reached the door, his hand already on the doorknob, when he felt the tremble in his body. The hesitation. This was it. The opening of this door would tell Aziraphale what this was. How he’d pined for him. How he’d waited.
With the opening of this door, he opened himself up for pain again. Aziraphale still hadn’t promised him he’d stay. Heck, he hadn’t said a word about anything. If Crowley opened this door and showed him… then…
Aziraphale’s hand came to rest on his own.
“You don’t have to, Crowley…I understand if you’re not ready,” Aziraphale whispered. “I sure don’t deserve it.”
Crowley looked back at him then. Eyes roaming Aziraphale’s body. He’d lost a considerable amount of weight in these last months. Probably due to there being no sweets in heaven. They should change that immediately, he vowed.
He realized then that it didn’t matter. He loved Aziraphale, and would withstand a million heartbreaks for him to be happy. And books made his angel happy. He knew. Especially after being denied access to them for so long.
Shaking his head, he turned the knob and pushed the door open.
Crowley wallowed in every little bodily evidence of Aziraphale’s bliss. His eyes that widened slightly, his mouth that dropped open as a soft ‘O’ sound escaped from his throat, his hand that flew up to his lips.
“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale marveled. “It’s so beautiful.”
Crowley leaned against the doorpost, following Aziraphale’s every move as he made his way around the room, touching everything he could get his hands on. Velvet lampshades, the wood of the shelves, book spines, the pillows in the arm chairs, the painting above the fireplace.
“It’s absolutely perfect, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered. “You…” He looked down and Crowley saw the one tear that drooped from Aziraphale’s eyelash onto the plush carpet beneath his feet. “Crowley… Why would you do all this?”
Again with that stupid question.
“I think you know why, Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale looked up at him, eyes sparkling. “Still?” He whispered.
“Of course,” Crowley answered truthfully, because lying wouldn’t do.
“Even after I—"
“I’ll always love you, Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale gasped and Crowley realized that was the first time he’d said those words. Not the first time he tried - not by a long shot - but the first time that the words just dropped from his tongue. Easy. Like they were meant to.
“Oh,” Aziraphale gasped, sinking down into the armchair, his hands on his knees as he softly rocked himself forward and back. “Crowley,” he whimpered. “How can you? I’ve been so terrible to you. I’ve betrayed you time and time again. Said so many things I didn’t mean… Never showed you how much— I’m not worthy of your love, darling. I’m not…”
“I know.” Again. No reason to lie. It wouldn’t do.
Aziraphale didn’t defend himself at all, instead he covered his face with his hands, digging the heels into his eyes. “I left you when you begged me to stay. I said… horrible things. Things I can’t ever take back, no matter how much I want to. But Crowley, you have to know that I only did what I thought was best… I-I wanted to make heaven a better place.”
“But you couldn’t.”
“I couldn’t.”
Crowley nodded. He’d known that.
“So,” he said. “How long do we have… Before The Second Coming?”
“Oh,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head. “No. I-I changed that. They’re not doing that anymore. No. I-I made sure of it.”
“What?” Crowley said. “You stopped The Second Coming?”
“I guess, yes.”
Crowley’s mouth dropped open and he had to hold himself back because what he wanted to do was drop into Aziraphale’s lap and kiss him all over. “Wow.” He said instead. “Then you did change heaven, after all.”
“No,” Aziraphale said. “I merely cancelled one of their plans. Changed the trajectory. But heaven is still empty. Still without laughter. Without color. Without friendship…” He hesitated, swallowing thick, before saying, “Without love.”
“Oh, I see.”
“I missed you,” Aziraphale said then, and if a voice could cry Aziraphale’s would have. He sounded absolutely exhausted. Broken. And the mere sight of his sad angel made Crowley’s heart ache. But instead of enveloping him into the hug, that Crowley knew they both desperately needed, he waited. Like the coward he was.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale sniffed. “I missed you so much. I-I thought about you constantly. About how I hurt you. I-I didn’t understand it then… but I understand now. After Armageddon, I-I told you I was on our side— but the first opportunity I got, I left. I left you.”
“Right.” Again. Lying wouldn’t do.
“But you have to know that I did it for us. I-I didn’t want to run, I wanted to stay. On earth. To enjoy life here. Safely. Together, and...“
Crowley held his breath.
“We can now. I-I’ve prevented The Second Coming. They’re going to leave earth alone. They’re… focusing on other lifeforms than humans. On other planets. So, we can. Be together,” Aziraphale whimpered. “If you still want me, that is.”
“‘Ziraphale…”
“See… I-I didn’t come here to try and get you back. I promise you I only came to apologize, profusely for my actions. I was going to tell you how much you meant to me, that I didn’t mean any of the horrible things I said and… and then I was going to leave you alone.” Aziraphale looked up at him then, eyes sparkling through the tears. “I-I didn’t dare hope you’d still want me, Crowley. Not after how I acted. But then… You said this was out home. You talked about me to your neighbor. Calling me your partner. Told her I’d be coming back… You—You build me a library…” Aziraphale blinked, and Crowley followed the tear that slid across Aziraphale’s pale cheek and landed on his upper lip where it was eventually caught by Aziraphale’s tongue. “Crowley, If I’m wrong… Please tell me so at once and I promise I’ll leave you alone but… If you’ll let me, I will spend the rest of our immortal lives proving how much I love you.”
How much I love you.
Crowley didn’t know how long he just stood there. Quiet and unresponsive on the outside, but meanwhile his mind was racing at a million miles per hour. He wanted to jump Aziraphale. He wanted to strangle him. A small and unwanted part of his brain offered up the idea of hurting him, hurting him like he’d hurt Crowley… But most of all, Crowley wanted to kiss him again. He wanted to leave all of this behind.
He wanted their side back.
But he could feel the anger, the rage bubbling underneath his surface. And he knew that if he didn’t talk about it now, didn’t express all the anger and pain and sorrow he felt, that he would eventually combust. He knew. And he couldn’t let that happen.
He opened and closed his mouth multiple times… without saying a word.
And Aziraphale let him. Sat there, staring up at him and waited. Patiently. And that irked Crowley. He was the one who waited. For so long.
“I—I,” he tried. “I’m still a demon.”
There it was. His worst fear now floating in the air around them, thickening the tension that pulsed in the small library. The absolute worst thing that had come out of this.
Before their separation, Crowley would’ve sworn that Aziraphale saw him. The real him. Without labels. But he was no longer sure of that. Not after…
You’re the bad guys.
You’re the bad guys. Not them. You.
And apparently he hadn’t been the only one remembering that sentence, because Aziraphale cringed and bowed his head as if in shame. “Oh Crowley,” he mumbled. “I-I can’t even begin to tell you how sorry I am for ever implying you are anything other than perfect, my dear. You- You must know I don’t believe you to be like them.”
“I used to.”
Aziraphale’s face crumbled at that and Crowley had to avert his gaze. Everything inside of him was screaming, look at what you’ve done. You’ve made him sad. He’s an angel. He’s not supposed to be sad. What have you done, you idiot.
He had to remind himself that he was sad too. And that his sadness was the angel’s fault.
“Oh dear,” Aziraphale whimpered. “I-I don’t even know how to tell you how sorry I am. I didn’t mean it. I swear. I-I was trying to make you understand and… I didn’t even hear myself talk until it was too late.”
Crowley had gathered his beating heart enough to look back at him, catching Aziraphale’s bright blue eyes, looking all soft and sad now. “I’m so sorry, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, holding his gaze even through his dark glasses. “Please allow me to tell you how highly I think of you. You— You’re the best being I’ve ever met. The most sincere, honest, loving being I know.”
Crowley grumbled but Aziraphale kept going.
“You’ve shown me so much love over the eons. So much patience. So much strength. You’ve saved me more times than I can even remember. Helped me, even when you didn’t agree with my actions. You’ve been the bestest friend anyone could ever wish for, my darling.”
Darling. That was new.
“And…” Aziraphale took a deep breath in, pausing. “… If you’re willing to, maybe… I would love to find out what kind of lover you are.”
Unlike Aziraphale’s soft gasps, Crowley’s was sharp and thick. Lovers. Holy shit. He swallowed against the lump in his throat. “So, me being a demon,” he said. “Not an issue then?”
“No dear,” Aziraphale shook his head. “No. Not an issue. Never was. I-I love you. Just as you are.”
Crowley nodded. On to the next important topic on the list then.
“Were you mad at me?” He asked, and Aziraphale tilted his head at that question.
“No dear,” Aziraphale said. “I understood why you couldn’t come with me. I was… sad and disappointed. But never angry. I suppose some part of me expected—“
“No. Not about that,” Crowley said. “Were you mad because… you know, I kissed you.”
Aziraphale’s mouth gaped open.
“Because you looked mad,” Crowley said, remembering the haunting look on Aziraphale’s face. “And you said you forgave me which… I mean, must’ve meant that you hated it.” He shivered. “And I didn’t even ask if I could… you know, kiss you, and I should’ve--“
“Oh, darling,” Aziraphale said, “No. No. None of that. Absolutely not. I—“ He stood up from the chair and took a step towards Crowley, but out some stupid bodily or mental reflex that Crowley surely didn’t want, he took a step back. Keeping the space between them.
Aziraphale halted, looked down, fidgeted with the buttons on his waistcoat. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long, Crowley…” His voice was soft. “And your kiss was… passionate and fiery and so good. I-I… wanted you to do it again. But we were about to separate and… I hoped that by saying those awful words, those horrible words that I said once before… I hoped to save you from pain.”
“What?”
“I knew that me leaving would hurt you,” Aziraphale said. “And I figured it would be better if you were angry with me. That way you could move on. I know you, Crowley, anger would spur you on but a broken heart… “ Aziraphale sniffed. “I was willing to suffer to keep you safe. But I didn’t want you to suffer too. So, I said the words you hated most…”
“It broke me,” Crowley confessed. “Hearing those words…. It felt like you denying our friendship all over again.”
“I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale gasped. “I never wanted that to happen. If I could take it back I would in an instant but… I can’t.” Aziraphale shuffled his feet. “I’m so sorry for hurting you, Crowley. I’m so sorry for putting you through all that pain.”
He nodded. He understood why Aziraphale had done what he did. He probably would’ve done the same. He always did like keeping his angel safe.
And then he spoke the words that had carried such a load for so long. He spoke them to finally get rid of the negative connotations and he spoke them because they were true.
“I forgive you.”
Aziraphale looked up at him, his fingers finally coming to rest on his stomach. “Can I ask you something,” he asked, voice brittle and on the verge of stuttering.
“Sure.”
“Will you let me see your eyes?”
Crowley hadn’t taken his glasses off since that day. But he realized that so far he’d had an unfair advantage. He had been able to see all that Aziraphale was feeling in his eyes. From the twinkle when he’d first seen his books to the tears that had fallen ever since they’d started talking. And if he wanted the scales to balance, he owned Aziraphale the same privileges.
So he lifted his hands, fingers skimming across the glasses before he froze and his hands fell back down to his sides again.
“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed, disappointment clear in his voice. “I-I understand. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. You— It’s a trust thing, isn’t it? I-I understand. You don’t have to—“
“Will you do it?”
“Me?” Aziraphale’s pupils got wider then. “You…You want me to take your glasses off?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure, dear?” Aziraphale asked. “Just now you… shied away from me coming closer. I-I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Angel,” Crowley said, closing his eyes. “Please.”
Aziraphale nodded then, taking a moment between every cautious step, to give Crowley time to object - but he didn’t. Obviously. Instead Crowley was standing perfectly still, letting Aziraphale come close enough to touch. Close enough to kiss.
When Aziraphale’s hands reached up, Crowley could see his fingers trembling. As soon as they took hold of his glasses, he tipped his head forward a little, the movement as much a permission slip as a way of making sure he would be directly gazing into Aziraphale’s eyes, the moment his glasses were discarded.
Aziraphale moved slowly, lifting the glasses off his nose and carefully taking them away from his eyes. He let out a surprised gasp when he noticed Crowley was already looking at him, but didn’t avert his gaze.
“You’re so beautiful,” Aziraphale murmured, Crowley’s sunglasses still carefully clutched in his hands. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve dreamed of those eyes.”
“Azira—“
“Crowley, please. I know I don’t have the right to ask. But I-I don’t want to spend eternity without you. I don’t want to spend another second without you. Please. I’m asking - no, I’m begging you, Crowley. One more chance.”
Crowley crumbled then, his resolve to guard his heart vanishing quicker than snow melts in the sun.
He stepped forward, hand finding its way around Aziraphale’s waist and pulled him flush against his body.
Aziraphale tilted his head up, eyes sparkling with anticipation and tears, tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip.
“I can’t go back to being friends again,” Crowley said, his eyes dipping from Aziraphale’s eyes to his mouth. If I kiss you, will you kiss me back this time? “I want more, angel. I’ve always wanted more.”
“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale breathed. “I don’t think we’ve ever just been friends.”
Crowley smiled then, knowing that he didn’t misinterpreted all those longing looks over the years, the lunches and dinners, all the times they came through for each other.
“Stay with me,” Crowley said, saying the words he’d been rehearsing in his mind for one-hundred-and-eighty-nine days now. “Be with me, angel. Be mine.”
Aziraphale sniffed as his lips curled into a broad smile. “I’ve always been yours, darling. Always.”
Crowley smiled then, and as he didn’t smile very often, his smile immediately broadened Aziraphale’s. For a tranquil and lovely moment they stood there, demon and angel, staring at each other with was could only be described as making lovey-dovey eyes.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, breaking the comfortable silence. “Won’t you save me from this agony, and kiss me again?”
“No.”
Aziraphale’s smile faltered, and Crowley could tell he was about to avert his gaze, so he quickly added, “I need it to be you who kisses me this time, angel.”
Aziraphale swallowed then, and Crowley could feel his hands reaching up between them, one coming to rest on Crowley’s chest and the other reaching up and cupping his cheek. “You’re right,” Aziraphale whispered, his eyes fluttering shut as he closes the gap between them.
The kiss is completely different from their first. No sharp edges, no desperation, no underlying fear. It’s all love this time. Soft lips meeting even softer ones. Sliding together, as Crowley presses his body even closer to Aziraphale’s. When Aziraphale lets out a soft moan, Crowley is the one who slips his tongue inside, tasting Aziraphale for the first time. And when they eventually pull back, there are no I forgive you’s. No turning away. No hearts being broken.
Instead there’s a light in both of them. An unconditional love. Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and pressed soft kisses on each of his knuckles. “I haven’t showed you the kitchen yet,” he whispers, looking up through his lashes.
“No, you haven’t.”
“I’ve kept it stocked with everything you like. Eccles cakes, wine, cheese… I think I have all the ingredients to make crepes or pasta from scratch.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale whispered, “I don’t know how—“
“I do,” Crowley said, throwing another surprise at his angel and marveling in his response. “I’ve been learning myself how to cook.”
“Have you really?” Aziraphale gasped, the admiration clear in his twinkling eyes. “B-But why? You don’t eat that much.”
“Nah, but you do.”
Aziraphale kissed him again, albeit a chaste one this time. “Crowley,” he whispered against his skin. “You’ve saved my books. You’ve build me a library. And you learned how to cook… for me? I-I don’t know how I can ever repay such kindness.”
Crowley gritted his teeth. “Not kindness, angel. All for selfish reasons, really. Just… don’t want you to ever leave again.”
Aziraphale shook his head, but didn’t press the argument any further and Crowley was grateful for that. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that he was, indeed, kind to Aziraphale. But it didn’t need to be said aloud. Better to keep it quiet. He hoped that Aziraphale would find different ways to thank him, with bottles of wine or whiskey, late night talks and maybe - if he was ever so lucky - cuddles and kisses.
“I’m here, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, “I’m here, and if you’ll really have me, then I’d love to spend the rest of eternity by your side.”
Crowley smirked, flicking his nose against Aziraphale’s. In his mind he was already in the kitchen, making them the seafood pasta Aziraphale liked so much. After dinner they could walk to the ice cream parlor and if he was feeling brave he might hold Aziraphale’s hand. And then - when the sky turned dark - they might finally have one of their late night drunken talks that Crowley had missed so desperately. And maybe, finally, this one would end in the two of them retreating to the same bedroom.
Full of excitement about their future, he pressed a kiss to Aziraphale’s lips and whispered, “Welcome home, angel.”