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“ You idiot. We could have been an us.”
Aziraphale turned away. He couldn’t bear to watch Crowley walk out. Not after everything. He was waiting to hear the bookshop door close, and then he would cry. He would cry and have his feelings until The Metatron came back. Then, he would do what he had to do.
That was his plan.
Of course, he should have known that in his world, his plans tended to go… awry. Especially where Crowley was involved. Nothing ever went as planned when they were together and yet somehow they always ended up okay. Somehow they kept one another alive.
He barely had time to close his eyes and bite back the oncoming tears before he was roughly pulled forward by his lapels. There was no time to protest or pull away as an insistent mouth landed on his, stealing away the breath that he didn’t need.
Was this a good kiss? Aziraphale didn’t know. He admittedly didn’t have much, (or indeed any), personal experience. It was warm. It wasn’t as soft as he thought a kiss might be. It was rough and full of awkward pressure. Aziraphale had the vague thought that if he had been human, it might even have been painful. He didn’t know how to respond and his mind was racing.
The Metatron had threatened Crowley. He had said that Heaven would not approve of Aziraphale’s association , (to this he had a look of extreme disgust on his face), with a demon and if he wished to keep him safe, Crowley needed to be out of the picture. Aziraphale knew that if Crowley caught wind of this, he would refuse to go anywhere. That was part of what he loved about him. He was so stubborn, so loyal. Crowley was truly good, even if he refused to admit it.
Aziraphale knew he had to get him out of there. He had to force him away. After six thousand years, you knew what buttons to press. You knew how to make it hurt the most. It had nearly destroyed Aziraphale. He had nearly broken when he said “ You’re the bad guys”. The look on Crowley’s face nearly shattered his resolve, but he continued on, pressuring Crowley to become an angel again. He knew that was the last thing that Crowley wanted, that it would make him shut down. He did not anticipate Crowley’s confession and that…
Well, that nearly brought him to his knees.
In all of their time together, Aziraphale had never thought that Crowley, the emotionally repressed demon who hissed at minor annoyances and shoved complimenting angels against walls, would ever love him enough to put aside his insecurities and take a leap of faith.
Aziraphale felt a piece of him discorporate when he crushed that hope.
He had powered through though, systematically severing every tie he had with Crowley. He made it clear that if Crowley didn’t come with him, and didn’t sacrifice everything to become an angel again, it would always be an angel and a demon. There would always be a clear divide.
Of course, his dear boy held onto his freedom, just as he had hoped he would.
Aziraphale had done it. He’d pushed Crowley away, or so he had thought. Why was Crowley still here? Why was he kissing Aziraphale?
Crowley’s mouth was hard on his own, unyielding. The kiss was desperate and demanded everything from him. Aziraphale didn’t know what to do, but in a moment of weakness, of indecision, he grabbed Crowley and clawed at his jacket. He didn’t want it to stop but he knew it had to. He ached to hold Crowley, to explore this with him. In the end, he just stood there. He couldn’t bear to push Crowley away. He wasn’t strong enough, but he knew if he so much as leaned into it he would be lost.
He couldn’t get lost. Not when so much was at stake.
Crowley broke away. He looked… Aziraphale couldn’t tell. Those glasses had gone back on his face and hadn’t moved. Aziraphale had a terrible feeling that it would be a very long time before he got to see those yellow orbs again.
Aziraphale felt the tears running down his cheeks. He wasn’t sure when they had started. He looked at Crowley. Do it again . No. He couldn’t ask that. Not now. He wouldn’t risk Crowley for anything, least of all his own selfishness. He searched his mind, combing through the mush.
“I-I forgive you.” Aziraphale barely got the words out. As he had hoped, this was the final nail in the coffin.
He would never forgive himself for the brief flash of pain that crossed Crowley’s features. “Don’t bother.” Aziraphale had never heard such cold disgust from him. He never wanted to again.
He watched as his best friend, his companion, his love walked out of the bookshop. Had it only been a few hours since he had decided that he would run away with Crowley? After all, if Gabriel and Beelzebub could, why couldn’t they? What was stopping them? There had been so much love in that room, and when Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s arm, he made a decision. He was going to tell Crowley how he felt. He was going to tell him how he had felt for what could have been millennia. Aziraphale loved Crowley and he couldn’t wait to finally be honest about it. In fact, true to his character, he had a whole lovely speech prepared. One that covered their history beautifully and laid out the possibility of a future together.
If only The Metatron had come twenty minutes later than he had.
He turned away from the door, allowing himself to cry. He wanted, oh he wanted. He couldn’t have though, and he’d have to learn to be okay with that. As long as Crowley was alive, as long as he was safe… Aziraphale felt he could learn to adapt. Maybe he’d even enjoy the job, perhaps he could do some good upstairs.
He brought a shaking hand up to his mouth, brushing his lips with his fingers.
Six thousand years of longing, of wishing, of being afraid, and now…
Now he couldn’t have it.
He tried to tell himself that he was used to longing, to wishing, but now it was different. Now Crowley had gone and cracked the wall between them, leaving them both open and vulnerable. Now, Aziraphale had a taste of what he could have had, what could have been, and it was almost too much to bear.
When The Metatron walked back in, Aziraphale had somewhat pulled himself together. He said some things that Aziraphale barely listened to and when it came time to go, he went. He paused, but he did go. He needed to go.
Outside, he felt eyes on him. With a sinking feeling, he looked around. Crowley was standing there on the other side of the street waiting by his Bentley. There was no question as to what, (or rather who), he was waiting for.
Seeing Crowley still waiting there, confident as ever that they would walk away from this together was enough to make Aziraphale stop short. All Aziraphale wanted was to give in, to run towards Crowley. He wanted to get into that car that he had sat in so many times and listen to whatever bee-bop Crowley chose. He wanted to complain about how fast the demon was going, (it really was much too fast) and watch as Crowley would roll his golden eyes at Aziraphale like he was the most irritating creature he’d ever met, but then slow down anyway. He wanted to run away to Alpha Centauri as Crowley had suggested so many times prior, but he’d always refused. He couldn’t remember why, standing there in that busy street. Why had he said no? Why had he spent so long denying how he felt? He wanted to follow Crowley everywhere, he always had.
It was too late for that though, and he knew it.
He just looked at Crowley for a moment. Six thousand years worth of memories, thoughts, and emotions floated between them. Aziraphale wasn’t strong enough for this. He was going to–
The Metatron came and ushered him forward, breaking the eye contact. He looked away, following him to the white-washed elevator. He tried to ignore his feelings as those doors closed.
He closed his eyes and prayed silently that this would not be the last time he saw his demon.
There was a tiny ding, a Miracle ding, but Aziraphale missed it.
He straightened, his chin held high, and the tears were gone.
He had a job to do.