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Some people claim there is an art to conviction - particularly about when it strikes.
Catholic nuns have always felt that people could time it, scheduling for the prime hour of 3:30 p.m. so that, whether petty or proper, they could offer it up as a sign of modest progress and surrender to God - and also give the priest a wonderful earful of ripe gossip. Ordinary people and occasional church-goers felt like it struck between an hour to a week after a naughty deed was done, usually striking the way a sudden rain would strike an unexpecting cat, causing them to mewl and cower away with pathetically matted fur. The particularly dedicated Protestant Christian (read as lunatic) believed that it would strike at the perfect opportune moment to wound a person with guilt and lead them to right the wrong they committed before Shame took them as prey.
However, none of these claims are quite right, for they all failed to account for one thing: Heavenly beings are often busy - or more often, can’t be bothered. So their influence over conviction was very minimal to none. Rather, humans manifest convictions themselves most of the time, remembering the past and entertaining their emotions at random moments, which would then lead to what is called a conviction.
For Aziraphale, this conviction struck at around 10:44 p.m. on a Wednesday evening in the warm, low lighting of his closed bookshop, and when it struck, it was much unlike the cat in the rain analogy. In this case, it was more like a cat being run over by a truck.
Though, it wasn’t as unexpected as a roadkill. In fact, there was a slow build-up, even if Aziraphale himself wasn’t aware of it. See, at about 4:46 p.m. earlier, he received an order of exquisite Bibles (the English Standard Version, to be precise) that were hard-back and filled with old, colored ink illustrations, the binding decorated with patterns of fine gold and intricate engravings. He had thanked the provider profusely and then set them on the desk to be shelved later.
Then, come 10:08 p.m., he decided to take a break from some hearty re-reading of his favorite E.M. Forester novel to finally put the Bibles up on the shelf. He hummed a little melodic tune to himself, and it just so happened that as he did so, a book slipped out of his grasp, tumbled down, and fell open onto the ground. Aziraphale murmured “Oh dear” as he kneeled down to pick it up.
What he didn’t realize was that the book conveniently flipped open to the Book of James.
It was then that his eyes bounced down to a particular verse, James 3:16. It read, “For where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there will be disorder and every vile practice.”
He read it. Hovered over it. Then gave a little hum before smoothing out the pages and closing the book. He put it up on the shelf with attentive, careful hands, and went back to his desk to observe the orderliness and contents of some other new arrivals he received that afternoon.
The verse lingered in the back of his mind, a chilling London fog that rolled in until everything he read was wrought to obscurity as he turned the words over in his mind.
Selfish ambition…Selfish ambition, huh?
Well, Aziraphale recalled quietly, jealousy was quite a foreign concept to him. The more jealous he could ever recount himself being was when he saw a customer before him in line take the last bits of lavender vanilla gelato in the tin before he could. But even then, he was far happier for the customer to be able to enjoy it than he was jealous of him getting it first. Well, and he miracled himself one more scoop as well, but that was beside the point.
The concept of disorder was also foreign to him. Sure, he left documents on his desk sometimes and he didn’t always clean up a clutter of empty coffee mugs until a day later. But he took care of it eventually, and when it came to things of importance, he made sure they were very orderly! After all, the books and their organization were nailed down to a science so that if anyone asked him where a kind of book would be, he could lead them there immediately and with ease. So yes, he wasn’t disorderly.
And vile practice? Well, that was out of the question! He was an angel, for Pete’s sake. He didn’t participate in any vile practices of any sort. He wouldn’t even dare to.
But well…then there was selfish ambition.
Ambition wasn’t bad. Ambition couldn’t be! After all, was it not ambitious to plan a whole war for the end of the world, planning out dates and meeting locations and fulfilling prophecies to a tee? And yet it seemed that Heaven had been up to that since the beginning! And it was ambitious to try and perform miracles to bring random people to be good, though perhaps that was more minor than a war, but it was just as worthy. So no, ambitions couldn’t be bad, period.
But selfish ones? Yes, selfish ones were bad. And yet…the word “selfish” was enough to make something twist and strain within him, as the word escaped the page and promptly pasted itself to Aziraphale’s forehead as a label.
But he wasn’t selfish, was he?
What was “being selfish” defined as again? Wanting something for yourself. Usually, it was at the expense of others, but it didn’t inherently have to be. Just wanting something for yourself was enough to count. And well, Aziraphale had wanted things for himself. He’d even obtained many of said things. But, well, selfishness was only truly bad when it accumulated to too much wanting, right? The verse couldn’t have been referring to wanting one good serving of hors d'oeuvres once in a blue moon. Or wanting to watch the evening moon hang from the dark navy blue sky on a clear night. Surely not.
But…if it was defined by accumulation, what were things Aziraphale had wanted over the thousands of years? Well, he had come to want food. First, it was meat, but then it expanded to many more unique and complicated dishes and desserts. So yes, he did want to eat. Well, and then there was music. He liked listening to music - except for bebop - quite often, choosing various instrumental and orchestral arrangements. He had come to memorize his favorite classical pieces, playing them in the bookshop to give the shop the perfect ambiance. So yes, he wanted to listen to music. And well, then books! He wanted loads and loads of books. He loved to seek out the authors of the past and get the original signatures, building up a collection of rarities - the finest treasures of literature.
So yes, he wanted food…He wanted music…He wanted books…And he especially wanted them all to himself…
Oh no…all to himself.
Oh no.
Oh no.
It was then at 10:44 p.m. that he realized that he was, in fact selfish. And if he was selfish, that meant a whole lot of other things, all of which were not good. It crashed to him in tidal waves, his hands shaking as he felt the panic starting to set in, and a myriad of emotions all settled on one conclusion.
He was sinful. And this meant he had fallen.
His vision began to blur as his breath shook, and suddenly, he stood up, walking away from his desk as the word repeated in his head. Fallen, fallen, fallen. He would fall. He would fall from Heaven. He was sinful, and sinful things didn’t belong in Heaven. They were flawed. Broken. Blemished. And that was him. Oh, that was him.
For a moment, his memory flashed back to the first lie he ever told. The lie that allowed Job to keep his original children. And Crowley's reassurances echoed in his mind.
Heaven wouldn’t check. Not unless he went and told them. So wasn’t it alright? What he was doing? Wouldn’t it just wash out?
But wasn’t this also wholly different? That lie was to save children! Something that was for someone else, and something that was most definitely good. Indisputably so!
But well…this was for him. And so, was it good? It wasn’t helping anyone.
So well, it couldn’t be good.
He wasn’t good.
His heart raced, pounding in his chest as his lungs tightened and he struggled to take in air. His hands trembled as he scratched his arms and his face, a cold heat seizing him as he wondered just how little good was left in him. Just how much evil he might have sown in just by example. How greedy he must be to have come to desire not one, but multiple earthly goods, goods he was depriving others of! He was depriving others! How Heaven had let him run as scotch-free as he had so far was almost unbelievable!
But it wasn’t even about being caught. It was about being good.
And he had been oh so very bad.
It was then that the phone happened to ring. It was both muffled and all-too-loud, echoing in Aziraphale’s ears with a shrill sound. He stumbled over to the phone, his hand struggling to pick up the phone.
“Yes I’m sorry, w-we’re very, very busy at the moment-”
“Angel, hey.”
Aziraphale jolted a bit. Crowley. He swallowed roughly as he tried to keep himself together.
“Oh, Crowley! H-Hello.”
“Hey, I just wanted to see if you wanted to dine at the Ritz tomorrow. I heard that they have a new seasonal menu, and Hell is too tired to check in on me anytime soon, so we should be able to have a free evening. What do you-?”
“S-Sorry, I’m not hungry!”
There was a deafening pause on the other end.
“...Not hungry? Angel, you’re never NOT hungry. You’re always up for food.”
“Y-Yes, but that, um…that’s been changing, so I’m not hungry! N-Not right now, at least!”
“Angel. What’s going on?”
“N-Nothing! Nothing! G-Goodnight!”
He slammed the phone down with a rattle.
For the next couple of minutes, he paced around, desperately trying to breathe as he tried to think of ways to redeem himself. Okay, he could start removing things one by one. First, he would stop eating. Then, he would stop listening to music. And lastly, he would sell the books. But he loved food! He loved music! He loved books! He wanted all of them so much! Even the thought of removing them from his life made his stomach turn and his chest ache, as if someone was scooping out his heart from his chest.
Oh, how far had he fallen?
It was with that thought that he heard the familiar squeal of tires, and a few moments later, the doors swung open with a clatter. With his usual black attire and wild-swept, whirling red hair, he walked in, and Aziraphale felt his blood run a bit colder as he felt caught, like a deer in headlights.
“...T-The door should’ve been locked,” He meekly stuttered out.
“Yeah, miracled it open,” Crowley responded nonchalantly. “So what the HELL is going on, Angel?? Not hungry? What happened to you?”
“It’s true!” Aziraphale protested. “I just - I lost my appetite!”
Crowley stared at him with an eyebrow raised, looking as if Aziraphale had just grown a second head.
“Yeah, uh huh. That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one. You always have an appetite.”
“Not always!”
“Well, often.”
Aziraphale can’t say anything to that.
“So? What’s wrong?” Crowley pressed again.
“Nothing!” Aziraphale insisted.
“Nothing’s wrong?”
There’s a pause before Aziraphale breaks.
“No, no, everything’s wrong! Everything’s wrong, Crowley! I’m - I’m -”
“You’re…?”
“I’m fallen!”
Crowley froze for a moment, his pupils dilating as the yellow suddenly burned with urgency as if a flame had caught on the edge of a piece of parchment. He assessed Aziraphale again.
“...Heaven kicked you out.”
“Well, n-no, not like that but like - I might as well be!”
“What’d they do to you?”
“Nothing! N-Nothing! They did nothing, but I did everything!”
“You’re not in trouble?”
“Well, no. No, n-not really, but-”
“Then what the Hell is the problem?” Crowley gestured in disbelief as he smiled, guffawing at Aziraphale’s strange conundrum. Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth, struggling to find the words.
“I…I…”
“...You’re?”
“I’m sinful! I’ve been - I’ve been evil! I am evil!”
“Pfft, you’re not evil, Angel. There’s not a single evil bone in that body of yours!”
“But I want things, Crowley!”
“And what the Hell is wrong with that?”
“I’m being selfish!”
There was a pause before Crowley spoke again. His words were still snippy, but the tone showed that he thought a bit more before he spoke.
“Angel, wanting things does not immediately translate to being selfish.”
“But- But I want too many things!”
“How could you possibly want too many things? If anything, you want too few things at any given moment.”
“But I’m taking them from others!”
“You ever heard of copies, angel? Humans make copies of things all the time! They’ll get the things they want soon enough.”
“But I still want more than I should!”
“Alright, well, what do you want?”
Aziraphale flailed for a moment, struggling to find a way to answer that in his panic. How could he adequately portray how much he desires things? And how wrong he was for it? But Crowley was looking at him with a raised eyebrow, so he had to start somewhere.
“...W-Well, I want too many books-”
“Didn’t see anyone else minding that. And it’s thanks to you that they don’t have to go scouring the streets trying to find them all. If anything, you’re doing them a service.”
“I want food…”
“So you’re given the chefs a job! Humans have had an excess of food! So much food waste in their bins all the time. I think they have plenty of food to give.”
“...I like buying music…”
“And you’re keeping the music industry alive. Nothing wrong with that. I would like to think Heaven isn’t against supporting small businesses.”
“...W-Well, no, I don’t think so either. Unless they’re cult leaders or…Satan worshippers.”
“Are you telling me you’re dying to buy an Ouija board or something?”
“Good Heavens, no!”
“Then what’s the problem?”
What was the problem? At this point, Crowley’s points were all rather sound, and Aziraphale was having trouble justifying the overwhelming dread that was eating at his insides. But the feeling didn’t go away. It only lessened a little, and Aziraphale still needed to explain its existence.
“...Well, but I want more than the necessities.”
“Pft, Angel, I’m pretty sure everyone wants more than the necessities.”
“But I shouldn’t!”
“And why’s that?”
“Because I’m an angel. And an angel should be able to function on necessities and give as much as they can to others.”
“You can give plenty without giving everything. As long as you aren’t leaving kids starving in the streets, there’s nothing wrong with taking some things for yourself.”
Aziraphale thought long and hard. That was certainly quite a point.
“...But I want…I want to be happy.”
Crowley looked at him with a conflicted and confused expression, his brows furrowing even further.
“There’s nothing wrong with wanting happiness.”
“...But it feels wrong.”
“Why? Don’t tell me Heaven doesn’t like happiness.”
There was a very long silence - one that hung in the air like a dense, chilling fog.
“...Well. Sometimes it feels like it. But anyways.”
When Crowley looked at Aziraphale, he felt his mouth dry a bit at the soft and unidentifiable emotion in his eyes, so golden and graceful.
“Anyways,” Aziraphale pressed on, “I must want something that is depriving others. Otherwise, I wouldn’t feel this dreadful sense of guilt.”
“But can you name anything else that you want? Okay, so you want books, food, music, and a good time. We’ve covered that you aren’t depriving anyone of anything with that. But is there anything else?”
Aziraphale turned the question over in his mind, his brow creasing and eyes narrowing as he tried to find the answer.
Did he want anything that no one else could have in him having it?
He thought about the books, and suddenly his mind flickered back to the feeling of a leather bag being shoved back in his hands, the worn handle warm from the explosion that once surrounded them. And the only thing that felt aflame was his cheeks as he gazed at the nonchalant expression of Crowley, who gave him back the books he cherished so dearly. Every meal was tied with a memory of stupid arguments and fun conversations with Crowley as they tried new menus and experimented with new places. And when he thought back to music, he could only think of the immense amusement he felt as he held a record and gazed at an angry Crowley who was adamantly trying to convince him that it was not Bebop.
And then suddenly, as if reliving life in a single second, his thoughts circled back on a single person. Every instance, every moment of joy and hope and reassurance led back to him - his eyes as golden as the sun and his hair with the hue of crimson roses. And in one shocking, everlasting moment, everything seemed to click.
And Aziraphale felt his world fall apart.
“Angel? What’s wrong?”
Crowley looked at him with concern, and suddenly the warm familiarity of his eyes was all too overwhelming. Aziraphale felt his heart stop as he struggled to breathe steadily.
“...Oh…Oh, dear…Oh no, oh no-”
“Angel, what’s-”
“I know what’s wrong. I know why I’m selfish. And oh - oh God, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I…I…”
“What, did you think of something you-?”
“I think you ought to go.”
“What?”
“I think you ought to go!”
Aziraphale’s voice rang out, but it didn’t sound angry. Not even in the slightest. It just sounded frightened and desperate. Crowley assessed him before snarling in response.
“Nuh-uh. I’m not leaving until you tell me what you just thought of.”
“W-What could you possibly mean-”
“What did you realize? What do you realize that you wanted all along that has you acting so afraid? Clearly, you’re even more panicked now.”
“I-I’m not!”
“Then tell me, Angel.”
“I-I didn’t think of anything!”
It was clear that it was a lie to both of them. Aziraphale started to walk away, hoping to escape to a back room as he kept glancing back at Crowley, who started encroaching in on him with the usual swagger of his gait, his eyes beaming like headlights.
And Aziraphale was the deer.
“Tell me.”
“There’s nothing to-”
“Tell me, Angel!”
“No! I-I can’t-”
“What do you want, Angel?!”
“I-Crowley, I-”
“WHAT DO YOU WANT?!”
“I WANT YOU!!”
Dead silence.
Aziraphale felt his mouth opening and closing in horror at the words he just uttered, his eyes wide as he stared at Crowley, whose expression had smoothed out into complete and utter shock, everything and nothing being processed all at once. Aziraphale slowly touched his own mouth, the fingers trembling as they touched his chapped lips. He felt his vision blur as tears sprung up, and his gaze skittered about as he felt everything else starting to burst forth.
“I-I want you and it isn’t fair! It isn’t fair to everyone else, and it isn’t even fair to you! I want you, and I…I…I don’t know, I think I want too much from you! For acquaintances, for friends, for…for whatever we are! I want your time, and-and I’ve already taken so much of it, but it isn’t enough! I want to be around you - for you to be with me more often when you would probably have better ways to spend your time. I want your attention. I-I want you to look at me and keep looking at me when I tell you about my latest reading discovery - and you probably don’t even CARE about them! I want to talk with you, to be with you! I want you to keep saving me, and isn’t that just the worst?
I-I just…I don’t know, I want all of you, Crowley! And isn’t that wrong? To want an entire person? I shouldn’t! I shouldn’t hog you all to myself, I shouldn’t! That’s just-”
Out of nowhere, Aziraphale’s shaking words were interrupted by a rush of warmth and an overwhelming flood of touch.
“...selfish.”
It took a few seconds for Aziraphale to realize why he was surrounded by warmth. Crowley held him in a tight embrace, his figure bowing over a little to completely envelop him, his hands grasping at the back of his coat. His head rested on his shoulder, his nose nuzzling against Aziraphale’s cheek, and Aziraphale already felt dangerously fond of the gentle touch.
“...Crowley?” He asked, his voice breaking. Oh. He didn’t even realize that a few tears had begun to slip from his eyes.
“Shut up,” Crowley rasped out, the bite from his voice completely gone. As a matter of fact, Aziraphale wasn’t sure he had ever heard Crowley’s voice being so…gentle. So delicate, as if he was stripped raw and the most fragile parts of his heart were finally seeing the light of day.
The hug lasted for a long time. And yet it wasn’t long enough. How could it be, when Aziraphale felt like it was the truest form of comfort and peace he had ever felt in his thousands of years of existence? Crowley kept holding him close like he was the most precious thing he had ever cradled in his arms, and Aziraphale felt breathless from how all-encompassing the warmth and fondness were. They lingered, and Crowley gave Aziraphale an occasional squeeze. With every press closer, Aziraphale felt his breath hitch a little, and he knew that his selfishness ran so much deeper than he ever thought it would.
He didn’t want to let go.
“What if I told you I don’t mind?” Crowley spoke in a hush after a long moment. “You being selfish, that is. With me.”
“...What?” Aziraphale slowly withdrew just enough to look into Crowley’s eyes, their foreheads resting against each other as he stayed in Crowley’s arms. He looked up at Crowley in bewilderment.
“I don’t mind it. I…I quite like it actually.” The stutter and the slight twinge in his jaw were the only things that hinted that Crowley was just as nervous as Aziraphale was. However, in a way, Aziraphale had the sense that Crowley’s nervousness was different from any of his distress.
“How could you like it?” Aziraphale questioned. “I’m taking things from you!”
“And I like giving them to you.”
“I…But…I talked about taking…just taking you!”
“And I don’t mind it.”
“You…You don’t mind…giving yourself to me?”
“...Well, I mean, if you phrase it like that, yeah. Yeah, I…I don’t mind. Not really. Not at all.”
Aziraphale felt his heart stop, but it wasn’t unpleasant. He couldn’t stop looking away from Crowley. In contrast, Crowley seemed to only be looking away, his golden eyes bouncing around and looking at everything and anything that wasn’t Aziraphale.
“I-I still have a problem with it, though. Being selfish, that is. I don’t want to be,” Aziraphale persisted (albeit weakly due to his sudden entranced state with Crowley’s eyes).
Crowley opened his mouth. Then closed it again. He tried a few sounds, all of which were incoherent, before finally piecing together some words.
“W-Well, y’know, I mean….we…Well, it all can be fixed with some…some reframing, y’know? We just gotta reframe it.”
“How could we possibly do that?”
“I mean, well….nyeh…meh, y’know, like…Look, trade has never been selfish, because well…the exchange, the whole deal, it’s equal by nature, and both parties get something.”
“I…Yes, that is fair, but how does that apply here? With me?”
“Well, I mean…if you gave yourself to me, we could call it even. Give the ‘selfishness’ a new name, even.”
Aziraphale blinked, gazing at Crowley in shock. There was so much, SO much to unpack in those words alone. Aziraphale didn’t know where to even begin. So he just said what first came to mind in his baffled state.
“But…B-But how could you possibly want me?? That…That hardly seems fair! I-I’m not enough compared to you.”
Crowley’s gaze suddenly fixed on him, his golden eyes boring into his soul in a way that rendered Aziraphale speechless. He felt both afraid and in awe of whatever burned within Crowley, his gaze seeming brighter than the stars themselves that burn in their passion and fury.
“Oh, Angel. You don’t know how long I’ve wanted you, and how much I want you. All of you.”
Aziraphale could hardly breathe, but it was a good thing. It was like watching the galaxies form for the first time, unfolding in front of his eyes like blooming roses.
“...But…would this really fix it? My selfishness?”
“Meh, maybe not fix in the traditional sense, but it would make it right. Wouldn’t be unequal anymore. And we’d be giving to each other. Isn’t that something good?”
“Yes…I think that would have to be nothing short of divine.”
Oh, Aziraphale needed to see Crowley’s cheeks turn pink many more times. Just this instance, in the warm lighting, it wasn’t enough to see it once.
“...But…what would we call it instead?” Aziraphale asked.
“W-What?” Crowley blubbered.
“You said we could call ‘selfishness’ something else if we…if we did this. So what would we call it?”
There was a long pause. Crowley looked around at some distant bookshelves before finally taking a shaky breath and meeting Aziraphale’s gaze with a tender, yet determined look.
“I dunno. Love, maybe?”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened, his heart stopping in his chest. He thought about it. Turned the word over and over in his head. He thought of his calling from Heaven and the austere white halls. He thought of every cold word that told him how to be. But then he thought of his books. Of the Ritz. Of symphonies. And of Crowley, who was looking at him with such affection and fear.
And when he finally managed to speak, he felt like he finally took one true step towards something new - something freeing and something that was so, so right.
“Love…I…I, um…I do like the sound of that.”
Crowley looked at him like he was watching the rising dawn, his eyes glimmering with something so unbelievably fond.
“...Yeah?”
“Mm. I think…if you’re willing…to make this exchange of sorts…I would like to call it that. Love. Yes, I think…I think that’s far better. And I can stay out of trouble for this.”
“...Yeah. Let’s…let’s do that, then.”
There was a long pause. They both gazed at each other, both feeling settled and yet on the precipice of something, the warmth and affection threatening to bubble up and burst. They both chuckled softly at nothing in particular, looking around before gazing back into each other’s eyes.
Slowly and cautiously, Aziraphale reached up, looping his arms around Crowley’s shoulders. Crowley gently tightened his grip around the small of Aziraphale’s back. Aziraphale felt his eyes steam up as he felt the words stumble haphazardly out of his mouth.
“...Crowley? Um, unfortunately, I think…I think I want something again.”
“Hm? And what’s that?”
“I…I think I want to kiss you. I-If that’s okay of course. But if not, we don’t-”
His words were cut off. Beautifully, wonderfully, divinely cut off with the press of Crowley’s lips against his, sealing off his speech and his doubt in a single swoop. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut as he breathed in through his nose, a few tears trailing down his cheeks as he faintly tasted the bitter wine and felt the slightly chapped texture on his lips. He leaned in eagerly, and Crowley let out a soft hum, his grip tightening even further as he kissed and kissed and kissed him. It was thousands of years of unspoken affection and enchantment rendered into wordless words, finally spelled out in their touch.
For a moment, they parted, both of them letting out a soft gasp as they hovered close to each other. Their breaths lingered together as Crowley looked at Aziraphale with heavy-lidded eyes.
“Never stop being selfish with me, Angel.”
And Aziraphale knew at that moment, in blissful surrender, that he would never be able to.