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“Little demonic miracle of my own.” Crowley held up the bag of books, and Aziraphale’s heart swelled.
He couldn’t think of what to say; his mind raced with the realisation of what his love for Crowley truly was and his need to thank the man and-
Crowley cut off his spiralling thoughts. “Lift home?”
He gave the smallest of nods, and the demon turned to walk to the Bentley. Aziraphale stayed behind for a moment, now unable to hide his smile, and memories of their time together throughout the last 6,000 years or so, and how evident Crowley’s love had been. He’d been unforgivably foolish in his thinking that demons couldn’t love; Crowley had been so loving to animals and children and even humans – but he had so obviously loved Aziraphale, probably since Eden. And Aziraphale realised in that moment how much he’d messed things up.
The angel tottered along in Crowley’s wake, clutching his bag with both hands, until he shifted the bag to just his left hand and lifted his right up to his face. As he stared at the back of Crowley’s head, Aziraphale pursed his lips and blew a kiss right at him.
Though Aziraphale assumed it was simply a silly cheesy gesture, the demon could barely stop himself from doubling over as he was hit by a strong wave of a feeling he’d never felt in that potency, not towards himself, and he choked on nothing. Crowley looked back at Aziraphale, who was trying to catch up to him, holding his bag and trotting along down the path from where the church once stood. Crowley shook his head in confusion as he leaned against the Bentley, though the wave of emotion didn’t go away for the rest of the night (or, as he’d realise later, ever, though he got so used to it that he barely noticed it after a few weeks).
“Well, maybe there is something to be said for… shades of grey.” Aziraphale grinned, sitting next to Crowley at a small circular table in the shop.
They clinked glasses, and Crowley took an inhumanly large gulp.
“Shades of… dark grey.” Crowley smirked at him, and Aziraphale looked away, poorly attempting to hide a smile behind his wine glass.
“Shades of a very light grey, I rather fancy.”
Crowley snorted into his next sip of wine, and Aziraphale barely held back a laugh at the poor demon’s expense. They drank together for the rest of the night, getting drunker and drunker on wine, Aziraphale even more unable to hold back the love he felt for the demon radiating out of him. Crowley had set down his glass, at some point, to make some grand point, and it just so happened that Aziraphale’s had been also sitting on the table. Crowley was fairly drunker than Aziraphale, so the latter was cognizant enough to register when Crowley picked up his own wine glass and took a sip – right from where Aziraphale’s lips had been pressed to the glass just moments before. Aziraphale felt his face heat up in embarrassment, and quickly picked up the wine glass that was originally Crowley’s, taking great care to sip from the exact place that Crowley had.
The angel smiled, aware that he was probably imagining the slightly different taste, what Crowley smelled like up close, and what it would feel like to press their lips together, their mouths opening, saliva mixing-
“Angel?” Crowley slurred, squinting at him, sunglasses having long been taken off. “You ‘lright? You’re all- all red?”
Aziraphale nodded quickly, feeling even more heat rush to his face and ears at having been caught. Crowley was too drunk to tease him, though, and continued on with his rambling, until Aziraphale stopped him a few minutes later.
“Crowley?”
“Ngh?”
Aziraphale couldn’t help but giggle at the demon’s response, which ended in a drunken hiccup. “Crowleyyyy…” Aziraphale dragged out the last half of the name, staring dreamily at him. “We should sober up, Crowleyyyy-” He cut himself off, giggling, resting his head onto his arm as he watched the demon.
“Ough, don’t wanna…” Crowley grumbled, slumping down in the seat, “long day, angel, lemme enjoy it!”
Aziraphale shrugged and sobered up himself, shuddering at the awful taste and feeling, before he felt embarrassed again upon remembering what he’d been doing. He ran his fingers through his white curls, biting his lip. “Alright, dear. Let’s get you to the couch.”
Aziraphale stood, pushed his chair in, and held his hand out for Crowley. The demon took it without a second- no, without a first thought. He slung an arm around that slim waist, pink rising again to his pale cheeks upon the feeling for the first time that century – and second time ever – and he helped a very wine-drunk Crowley to the bookshop’s couch, where he lounged as usual. Aziraphale sat down on one end, picked up a book, and began to read, deciding to keep Crowley company while he went about taking his alcohol like a human.
Aziraphale was perfectly happy, distracting himself in his book, until he was startled by a half-asleep Crowley scooting towards him and resting his head on Aziraphale’s lap. The angel froze for a moment before he put his book down and looked down at Crowley. He almost couldn’t tell if the demon was asleep or awake due to his fluttering eyelashes until a soft snore met his ears. And Aziraphale couldn’t help but swoon again, barely holding back an audible coo – like one would do at an adorable animal – and brushed his hand over Crowley’s cheek. The demon’s hand reached towards his own face in his sleep, and unconsciously rested his hand on top of Aziraphale’s, where it rested on his own cheek. His eyelashes fluttered against Aziraphale’s soft fingers, and the angel found himself contemplating their relationship, yet again.
How could one not rethink the nature of their arrangement when the most beautiful, kind, funny, and wonderful being they’d ever met was asleep on their lap? He regretted not saying anything before they were both drunk. Maybe he’d have gotten a hug – or his new wish– a kiss.