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“I want a do-over.”
“You want a what, now?”
Aziraphale wets his lips. Drags in a deep inhale to bolster the confidence to push out the words again. “I want a do-over.”
He is back, and Crowley has been… there. Physically. He has not once touched on what happened before Aziraphale left and up until this point, Aziraphale hasn’t broached the subject either, too happy to not jeopardise the tepid welcome he received after everything was over and done with.
But it has been weeks now, and he can’t take it anymore.
So he stands there, hands fidgeting over his belly, waiting for Crowley’s judgement. He can do nothing but pray that the demon extrapolates what it is he wants, because whatever courage he had has been used up.
He stands there as Crowley blinks once, twice, sitting completely still in the armchair he has claimed as his whenever he is in the bookshop, the only sound filling the silence is the ticking of the grandfather clock. Perhaps Crowley needs a moment to fully grasp what Aziraphale is asking, because from one moment to the next, Crowley is suddenly there, hands grasping and tugging, not unlike that first time.
Only this time, this time, desperation is mere but a faint whisper, drowned out by the longing and love and hunger that Aziraphale was deprived of back then. One of them - or perhaps both - sighs as Aziraphale wraps his arms around him, not until that moment feeling like he is home.
Finally.
”Do it again,” he pants when Crowley pulls away to look at him, wonder shining in the golden eyes Aziraphale loves so much.
After another long kiss, Aziraphale remembers that this was not what he meant.
“Ask me,” he breathes against Crowley’s lips. “Ask me again.”
Crowley understands. Of course he does.
“You and me, angel, what do you say?”
“Yes.” Aziraphale nods eagerly. “Us. I want us.”
“Good thing then, because you’ll never be rid of me now.”
Aziraphale smiles. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”