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Aziraphale dithered outside the door to Crowley’s room, a cup of coffee clutched in one hand. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. It was okay. He could still back out of this if he chose to.
After repeating such reassurances to himself several times, he knocked gently on the door. At the expected lack of response, he opened the door and stuck his head inside. “Crowley? Are you awake?”
“Mmmrngnmmph.”
That was just as Aziraphale expected. He slipped into the room, stomach aching a little as he looked at the massive bed. Crowley didn’t take up much of it, not on his own.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale tried again, this time gently touching the lump under the blankets. “Do you still want to go out for our picnic today?”
Crowley pushed his blankets back and looked up at Aziraphale, golden eyes bleary and red hair a fluffy mess. “Wha’s time?”
“Picnic time.” Beaming, Aziraphale held out the coffee. “Here, you drink this and then get dressed. I’ll run the supplies out to our car.”
A little smile tugged at Crowley’s face. “Okay. Be out in a minute.”
Aziraphale left him to it, heart beating rather quickly. It had been two years since he and Crowley saved Earth again, two years of rebuilding their relationship. It was comfortable again, a solid friendship, both of them able to rely on the other. Just as they’d had for thousands of years.
But they still hadn’t addressed their other feelings for each other, not really. They’d discussed what happened before Aziraphale left, yes, and then mutually agreed to table discussion of romance until such a time as seemed appropriate.
Currently, they lived as roommates. Sharing a cottage, sharing a car, sharing a life to some degree. And it was a good life, really.
But Aziraphale still longed for something else, something he wasn’t sure he could ever get back.
He pushed the ache away for now, focusing on loading things into the Bentley. He opened the back door and carefully stashed the picnic hamper, along with blankets. “Hello, dear. Are you ready to go for a nice drive?”
The radio kicked on, playing “The Best is Yet to Come.” Aziraphale chuckled, patting the car. She’d developed a much wider taste in music over the past two years, now happily putting on his favorites without attempting to turn everything into “We Will Rock You” or the like.
“Are you making the car play Sinatra again?” Crowley called.
Aziraphale’s heart leapt, and he turned around. Crowley looked unfairly handsome, dressed today in a black polo neck to keep out the autumn chill, along with a sleek but warm jacket that Aziraphale had bought him earlier this month. It had a red tartan lining, and although Crowley had pursed his lips at that particular detail, he hadn’t protested.
“I’m not making the Bentley do anything,” Aziraphale said primly, patting her. She rumbled under his hand, practically purring. “She’s quite happy to play what I like.”
“Wish I knew what your trick was,” Crowley said bleakly. He brushed his hand against Aziraphale’s back on the way past, just a brief moment of contact, and then snaked around to the driver’s seat. “I still can’t get the damn thing to play me anything but Queen most of the time.”
“Well, I ask nicely.”
Crowley gave a mocking little head shake, as if to say “aren’t you lucky”. Smiling, Aziraphale climbed in as well, and then they were off.
Tummy aching a bit, Aziraphale twisted his shaking hands together. It was silly perhaps, to be this nervous. Or perhaps not, considering the total catastrophe that had occurred when Crowley broached these feelings. Aziraphale still felt as if he was going to have a panic attack whenever he thought of that day, and of all the lonely days after.
What if this was a terrible mistake? What if he ruined everything? What if Crowley didn’t love him anymore, in that way? What if—
“Are you gonna tell me what’s bothering you?”
Startled, Aziraphale looked up. Despite the sunglasses in place, he could easily pick out all the signs of Crowley’s concern. “Oh, um. Nothing’s bothering me, exactly. I’m just. Um. I-I wanted to…”
He stared out the window.
Crowley parked by their favorite picnic spot, then reached to turn down the Bentley’s cheerful selection of Sinatra. He was quiet for a moment, gazing out at the chilly day too.
Then he reached out, slender fingers brushing against Aziraphale’s knuckles. Gently, he pried Aziraphale’s right hand out of the nervous fidgeting and held it in his own. “Angel. Whatever it is, you can tell me. You can count on me.”
Tears sprang to Aziraphale’s eyes at the earnest devotion in that voice. He squeezed Crowley’s hand, struggling for words, and then turned to him. “Crowley, I… I very much enjoy our life together. It’s lovely, truly lovely. I never imagined we could have this.”
Crowley had been reaching up to take his sunglasses off, but he stopped now. “But?” he asked, tone guarded, shoulders going tight. As if he expected Aziraphale to declare—again—that it was over.
But everything was different now. Aziraphale brought his other hand to Crowley’s cheek, daring at last to touch. To stroke across the slight stubble, to trace along the sharp jawline. Even to brush his fingers against Crowley’s lips.
Crowley’s breaths stuttered, and Aziraphale gulped. There was no turning back now.
“There’s no ‘but’,” he managed, voice unsteady, “except that I… I love being with you, and you’re simply the most wonderful… I want to be with you always, I want…”
The words wouldn’t come, but the tears threatened to. He whimpered a little, and leaned in, and hoped that Crowley would understand.
Crowley did. He leaned in too, his free hand curling around the back of Aziraphale’s neck. Their lips met, this time gently, tenderly. No desperation and panic and anger, not like last time. Only acceptance and understanding and love.
When they drew apart, the first thing Crowley did was reach up and pull his sunglasses off. He tossed them aside, clattering on the dash, and met Aziraphale’s gaze intently. “Are you sure this is what you want? You know me, I’m in all the way. But is this too fast for you?”
Aziraphale gave a little laugh, tears still rising. “This is precisely what I want, and have wanted. In truth, I wasn’t sure you would still be ‘in’, as you put it. I was worried that, well…”
That too much had changed. That there had been too much pain.
“You idiot.” This time, Crowley said with words with utter tenderness. “Of course I still… hhhn. Aziraphale.”
“Mm?” Aziraphale managed.
“I still love you, angel. I’ve loved you this whole damn time.” Crowley kissed him again, quickly this time, and then grinned. “I just wasn’t sure if, y’know. If you—”
“I love you too,” Aziraphale blurted, and his heart leapt at the joy on Crowley’s face. “I love you so very much, Crowley. I want to spend all eternity with you too.”
Crowley gave a laugh of pure delight, grabbed him, and dragged him back into a kiss. Aziraphale met him happily, pressing against him, sinking into the passionate kiss with delight.
The Bentley’s radio kicked in as they kissed, serenading them with “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square”, and Aziraphale’s remaining anxiety evaporated. He and Crowley could do absolutely anything they liked now, and explore all the joys of being in love. After all, there were nightingales again, and they were together, and that meant that everything would be okay.