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It had been a month since the Non-Apocalypse, and Crowley was happy to see Aziraphale finally starting to settle into their lives as free agents. Well, maybe life is more accurate, considering how much of their time had been spent together in some capacity. To go from needing a well-developed excuse in order to see the angel for a couple hours max, to suddenly being able to stop by the bookshop for no rhyme or reason…it was jarring, even for Crowley. But it was a change he was ready to get used to. He was an optimist, after all, and he wasn't gonna waste any of his new time (time that he could be spending care-free with Aziraphale) waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He couldn't say the same for Aziraphale, though. The angel in question had spent a lot of their time together fretting about when heaven and/or hell would come for them next. The more he anxiously wrung his hands (or fiddled with his waistcoat, or waved his arms about), the more Crowley positively itched to take those hands in his, look him dead in the eye, and tell him to relax. Of course, he knew it wasn’t that easy, which is why he hadn’t—not to mention the fact that he started shaking at even the thought of initiating touch with Aziraphale.
After a month of no word from either of their sides (previous sides, Crowley reminded himself; unemployed life took some getting used to), Aziraphale was slowly starting to acclimate. Crowley knew how suffocated Aziraphale had felt as heaven’s earthly representative, though he’d never admit it, and was therefore happy to see him beginning to change—none of his core values, of course, none of what made him Aziraphale, but he was starting to be far more open than he had been under heaven’s watchful eye. Crowley would catch Aziraphale indulging in new things (sleeping, for instance, which he’d never done before; much harder to explain away than eating) and he had stopped fighting Crowley’s attempts at companionship almost altogether. It was like a weight had been lifted from him, and Crowley couldn’t be happier to see it.
For a while after the Apocanot, he’d continued to call Aziraphale and make excuses to see him, assuming it would take him several centuries (at the very least) to welcome unannounced visits. Crowley was proven wrong, however, when one day Aziraphale picked up the phone, listened to Crowley’s usual ramblings, and said, “you know, my dear, if you want to see me you can just come over. The bookshop knows to let you in.”
Crowley had reeled at the implication that Aziraphale always wanted him around—no, that can't be, he’d rationalized, he can always tolerate having you around. there's a difference—but he'd merely made a sound that could be interpreted as affirmation and hung up.
And that was that.
At one point, Aziraphale, having been thwarted in his attempt to read by Crowley’s restless pacing, wisely suggested he bring along something to do next time; maybe a plant to yell at. Crowley had rolled his eyes and grumbled that the warmth of the bookshop would give the plants ideas, but he recognized a good excuse to visit when he saw one. He was, admittedly, struggling to get used to the blanket permission given by Aziraphale to drop by anytime, and after years spent searching for justifications, Crowley held fast to any pretense he could grasp. He returned the next day with three plants in tow.
It was on one of Aziraphale’s better, less anxiety-riddled days that Crowley was hanging around the bookshop as usual, watering his plants as Aziraphale read some ancient manuscript. He absently glanced up from the rubber fig he was in the middle of muttering threats at—a far cry from his usual shout, but it didn’t do to interrupt Aziraphale’s reading—and froze when he saw Aziraphale looking right back at him, book closed and in his lap.
This wasn't the first time this had happened. Far from it, in fact. Even before Armageddidn’t, there were moments when Crowley thought he saw Aziraphale just…watching him. The pure adoration in his eyes never failed to shock the demon. Even knowing that Aziraphale looked at everything with that same love—being an angel of the Lord and all—didn’t stop it from taking his breath away every time. So yes, this bizarre staring had occurred plenty of times throughout their history. But Crowley had never felt brave enough to comment on it until now.
“See something you like, angel?” He smirked in an attempt to hide his blush—stupid bloody corporations just had to come with everything.
As soon as Crowley spoke, Aziraphale seemed to snap back to reality. Crowley instantly regretted acknowledging it at all as Aziraphale began stuttering out an apology and wringing his hands.
“I didn't mean to- I mean, that is to say, I wasn't-”
Crowley was at his side before he could finish, the smug smile wiped from his face.
He gently tilted Aziraphale's head up from where it was bent in shame, a silent request for eye contact which Aziraphale met hesitantly. Then, Crowley finally, finally acted on his impulses and grabbed Aziraphale’s soft, manicured hands with his own, rubbing soothing circles into the tops of them with his thumbs.
“Hey, it's okay. I was just joking, you don't have to worry anymore. At all. We're free.”
The more he spoke, the more Aziraphale deflated. He seemed more ashamed of his panic than anything, staring resolutely at the place where their hands met in lieu of looking Crowley in the eye. “I’m truly sorry, my dear, I didn't mean to worry you. I feel awfully foolish. it's just-” he broke off with a watery smile. “Old habits die hard, I suppose.”
Crowley felt a lump in his throat. “I know. Do you remember what I said to you, the night of the Apocalypse? Or, rather, the Notpocalypse?”
At this, Aziraphale chuckled lightly. He then took a deep breath and met Crowley’s eyes—which had never strayed from Aziraphale’s face in the first place. “‘Our own side.’” He squeezed Crowley’s hands, but made no move to remove his own afterwards.
“Right. Our own side. No more hiding, no more apologizing for arbitrary things, no more lying about what we want.”
In the back of his mind, Crowley was aware that he was being hypocritical. He was, of course, still hiding his 6,000 year old feelings for the angel in front of him, but that was a completely different story. Crowley knew—or rather, he hoped he knew—that Aziraphale would never hold his feelings against him. But he'd undoubtedly pull away, which was a risk Crowley just couldn’t take, especially since they were just starting to settle into this freedom business.
Just as Crowley was contemplating this, that was exactly what Aziraphale’s hands did: pull away. Crowley noted this with a twinge of grief—he had expected Aziraphale to remove them eventually, but that didn't mean he had to be happy about it.
What he hadn't expected was for those same, warm hands to merely travel upwards and land on his face, cradling his cheeks as if he were something to be treasured.
“What are y-?”
“If we're talking about what we want, I must confess that right now I would like nothing more than to kiss you.”
Crowley gaped at him for several seconds, shocked. There’s no way, he thought. No way in heaven he wants me. He waited for the other shoe to drop, for Aziraphale to come to his senses, but the angel only continued watching him with a soft smile.
Finally, Crowley regained some semblance of composure, closing his jaw with a clack, before opening it again to croak out, “Are you sure?” Aziraphale nodded, but he wasn't convinced. “Are you sure you're sure?”
Aziraphale laughed, though not unkindly. “My dear, I’ve been sure for several centuries.”
Crowley’s eyes, gone fully yellow at this point, widened to non-human proportions. He felt like a fish out of water. “Centuries,” he repeated in disbelief. “Several centuries. As in, multiples of one hundred. You're telling me you- what exactly are you telling me?”
As he blabbered on, Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled in fond amusement. “What I’m telling you, Crowley, is that I love you. Or rather, I’m in love with you, as the humans so eloquently put it. And I would like, very much, to kiss you. If you're so inclined, of course.”
“If I'm so inclined? I- if I'm so inclined?”
And well, what more was there to do than show him just how inclined he was?
Crowley leaned in, but paused just as Aziraphale’s breath ghosted across his lips. “Are you s-”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes and kissed him. He always had been the brave one between the two of them.
Crowley, mind, had been on earth for 6,000 years. He had been kissed before, plenty of times. There had been temptations that had gone too far, drunk humans who had thrown themselves all over him at parties, acquaintances who had misunderstood their relationship. Overall, Crowley had deemed kissing wet, uncomfortable, and more trouble than it was worth. He should’ve known how vastly different it’d be with Aziraphale.
This was a chaste kiss, delicate and gentle; concepts entirely foreign to Crowley. It was as though Aziraphale was communicating his love for him with just a soft press of lips, and Crowley couldn’t get enough. He thought maybe this was what euphoria was. Crowley was warm and satiated and fulfilled for the first time in his endless existence, and therefore rather confused and annoyed when he felt himself pull away to speak.
“‘If you're so inclined,’ he says, like I haven't been so inclined since I saw you on that bloody wall.”
Crowley froze for a moment, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. He hadn’t meant to say that. Sure, Aziraphale had told him he loved him—an unfathomable thing—but it was still disorienting to have a secret he's kept secure for 6,000 years out in the open all at once. In fact, this whole experience was pretty disorienting, so he was comforted when the angel only smiled, albeit a bit regretfully.
He tucked a strand of hair behind Crowley’s ear and gave him one more lingering kiss before saying, “I’m sorry I've made you wait so long. I was focused on all the wrong things; I see now that you're the only one who matters.”
Crowley swallowed back a sob and leaned his forehead against Aziraphale’s.
“Ngk, angel—it’s fine. I mean, water under the bridge, right? Besides, it's not your fault. Heaven was all you knew. I shouldn't have continuously pushed you against them. Not when it was clear you weren’t ready.”
Aziraphale’s smile turned more genuine. “Thank you for being so understanding, my dear, even though I truly don’t deserve it. I just can't help but wish– I mean, so much time wasted–”
Crowley was shaking his head rapidly before Aziraphale could even finish. “Not wasted. None of the time I've spent with you has been wasted.”
He could feel his face flush and turn hot, but refused to take it back. It was the truth, no matter how vulnerable it made him feel to say out loud, and the way Aziraphale seemed to glow at his words made it all worth it.
“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale breathed, awed.
Crowley bent his head and resolutely did not meet his eyes. “Shuddup.”
Aziraphale smiled indulgently and tilted Crowley’s chin up, waiting until he reluctantly met his eyes before saying, “I hope you know that I feel the same.”
Crowley felt his face get, impossibly, even more red. “You don't have to say that.”
“Oh, but it's true! I’ve cherished every moment with you…even when I behaved as though I didn’t. I truly am sorry for how abominably I’ve treated you over the years. Do you think you could forgive me?”
Crowley rolled his eyes, but couldn’t resist kissing away the pout on Aziraphale’s face. “Please, angel, spare me. I’ve had enough apologies and atonement to last me a lifetime. Forgiveness is a glorified concept anyway; I love you, that’s gotta be worth more.”
Aziraphale’s eyes visibly lit up , causing Crowley to realize that this was his first time actually saying the words out loud. He was startled by how unthinkingly he’d said it, after all those years, but hardly disappointed. How could he be, when the angel seemed to radiate pure bliss? Crowley spent several seconds merely admiring Aziraphale in all his glory, marveling at his own luck, until a question popped into his head. As per usual, once the thought was there he couldn’t shake his curiosity.
“So, er, when…how long has it been? For you?”
“How long has it…Oh! Well, that depends. I suppose I’ve felt this… this magnetic pull toward you since the beginning, but I refused to acknowledge it until, oh, 1793. Kept telling myself the rush of emotion I felt whenever you were near was hatred, you know.”
Crowley, who had recognized that he was smitten upon first meeting, and therefore did not know, nodded anyway as if he did.
“So I suppose I acknowledged my attraction in 1793, but I wouldn’t let myself call it love until 1941.”
While not the first time, Aziraphale using the word “love” in relation to Crowley still shocked him into a wide smile. He didn’t bother trying to stifle it; he was completely and utterly satisfied, for the first time in his interminable existence, and he intended to savor it.
“1941, eh? What did it for you? The hair? The suit? The daring rescue?”
Aziraphale sighed dreamily, as if reliving the moment. “The books.”
“The books ?” Crowley raised an eyebrow. Saving Aziraphale’s books hadn’t seemed all that significant to him; certainly not worthy of a realization of love. He had anticipated Aziraphale forgetting about them in all the excitement, and didn’t want to have to see his look of despair when he did. Performing a quick demonic miracle to ensure the books’ safety really was just the natural solution.
It had clearly been more meaningful to Aziraphale, who was currently beaming at Crowley as though he were more than an incompetent demon. As though he were sacred. “Yes, dear, the books! You remembered them when even I didn’t. You don’t even like books, and yet you went out of your way to save them for me. You had done good deeds for me in the past, of course, but that was when I truly opened my eyes to how very considerate you are.”
“It, er, wasn’t that big of a deal.”
Aziraphale only smiled wider, clearly recognizing his inability to accept compliments. “Well, it was to me. You really are quite thoughtful.”
Crowley squirmed, secretly pleased by the praise but longing to change the subject. “So, um, do you wanna try the whole kissing thing again?”
The enthusiastic sparkle in Aziraphale’s eyes made his embarrassment worthwhile.
“My dear, I’d be thrilled.”