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He couldn’t remember a life before Aziraphale. Well. He could, technically, but that had not really been him, had it? It was just a corpse before. A corpse that did what he was told up to a certain point and asked too many questions and that didn’t know what joy felt like, let alone love. He hadn’t had all of the…of the FEELINGS human beings had, hadn’t been so full of them. So much so that he now couldn’t imagine a life without them. And subsequently he couldn’t imagine a life without Aziraphale, the angel being the source of said feelings. He really didn’t want to put a name on all of the things that Aziraphale made him feel but a very far and very well hidden part of himself knew exactly how to label them. Love. That was the word. But he wasn’t ready to accept this himself, let alone tell Aziraphale, especially when he knew that it would make the friendship they had formed throughout all of these years disappear and all that’d be left would be awkward small talks and a polite acquaintance. He didn’t want that. He wanted to be close to Aziraphale, and if that meant only being friends, then so be it. He never, in absolutely no circumstances, ever thought about confessing to Aziraphale. Not even once, but of course his angel had wanted to borrow his stupid car to go to Scotland. ———________——————________———- “My car is not yellow, it has never been yellow, it is not going to start being yellow now! Change it back!” “But it’s pretty!” Aziraphale did not, and would not have even if threatened with torture, say that it was pretty because it reminded him of Crowley’s eyes. What was he even supposed to say? ‘Oh, by the by, I changed the colour of -our- car just because I was missing you, and felt like changing the Bentley’s colour to the colour of your eyes would have made me feel better’. No. Not happening. Not now, not ever. Sometimes even an angel has to leave things unsaid. And he wasn’t exactly the best example of an angel anyway. After Cowley’s -suggestion- of going at a faster pace Aziraphale had really nearly had enough. He couldn’t make the car yellow AND couldn’t go slower than the speed limit? That was unfair even for Crowley. And the sun seemed to really want to bother him at the moment, so he lowered the sun visor and… And. What he saw there made him actually jump in his seat with surprise. It was a photograph, and an old one at that. Him and Crowley at the West End. That day was one of his fondest memories (mainly because of how good Crowley looked in that suit, but he was never going to actually admit that out loud) and he remembered it like it had happened just less than 10 years ago, while in reality it was almost a century. Guess time really does fly, doesn’t it? He remembered the day well, and yet he had completely forgotten about the photograph. He supposed he had put it somewhere in his changing room after that foul demon and the zombies went away, and that Crowley simply put it in his pocket while he wasn’t looking. That silly old serpent. But why put it here? Crowley surely must have put it here without thought and then forgotten about it. After all he wasn’t at all bothered by the sun with his fashionable sunglasses permanently propped on his nose. He gleefully thought of returning home, to the bookshop, and showing him the picture and having a laugh over old memories. Yes, he couldn’t wait to show Crowley the picture. _____—————-________——————-_____ “Back so soon, angel? Found anything interesting after going to Edinburgh with MY car?” “Our car”, Aziraphale corrected dismissively. “And yes, I did rather, but this odd affair can wait. I want to show you something first. Look what I found attached to your sun visor, old boy” Aziraphale took out of his slacks’ pocket the old Polaroid for Crowley to look at, and the reaction he got from his old companion was not at all what he had expected. He had expected a roaring laugh and an excuse as to why the picture was still there and not forgotten somewhere in Crowley’s -oh, so modern- flat. Instead, he got a blank stare. And then Crowley shot him a dark look and, while heat started to get to his cheeks (the angel couldn’t understand whether that was from anger or embarrassment. Probably both) Crowley spat “That’s low. Even for you, angel. I’d understand if you were offended. Embarrassed. Angry. But to actually confront me about this and making a fool out of myself? That’s just…low. I had hoped you would have just preferred not talking about this, if you ever found out. Which wouldn’t have happened, by the way, if you had just taken the bloody bus like I told you to do.” Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to be left speechless. Make a fool out of Crowley? That was not at all what he had in mind! He only had the intention of reminiscing old times. “Crowley, what…?” It was then that he saw it. He hadn’t looked at the picture properly before. Not at the back anyway. ‘I love you’ Three words. Eight letters. Two spaces. One phrase. . . It couldn’t be. It was impossible. Aziraphale had long since accepted the fact that demons simply couldn’t love. That was what he was thought in heaven, and heaven wouldn’t lie. Lying was a sin. He was kind of sure heaven COULDN’T lie. But then again, he said white lies all the time. And if he was able to lie, then why shouldn’t Gabriel? And why shouldn’t all of the other angels? Why shouldn’t God herself be able to lie? Lie to her children, like a mother telling her child to eat their veggies or they won’t grow taller. The thought had never crossed his mind, that these FEELINGS he had -of course he knew what they were, he always had, and he had soon enough learnt to ignore them and to bury them deep down where he wouldn’t be distracted by them that much-could be… mutual. He knew what those feelings were. Knew what they meant. But at the moment he just didn’t have the strength to name them. Just not now. Not after what Crowley had said earlier. Not after the way he had reacted. Not after what he had found written on the back of an old photograph portraying two very old friends And then suddenly the potential of being something else that wasn’t friends and wasn’t at all enemies with Crowley sent a surprisingly pleasant shiver down Aziraphale’s spine. Suddenly, he had the overwhelming need to laugh. He ignored it. And he realised that Crowley had been telling a very complex story about how, after one not very particularly gleeful meeting with some of the big guys downstairs, he got pissed and scribbled that nonsense on the back of that Polaroid. He was explaining that he hoped this wouldn’t change anything. Said that he was just very very drunk and happened to have a pen nearby. He also happened to have that specific Polaroid on the coffee table where his head was lying. And without thought he just wrote that. Because he just felt like it. He was drunk after all, and the day after he completely forgot about the whole matter and when he saw the Polaroid on the table he couldn’t bring himself to miracle the writing away, because -and Aziraphale was sure that if he had been human he wouldn’t have heard this, for it was not even whispered, but basically breathed and one needed to have supernatural hearing to hear- because it was the greatest thing Crowley had done in his life. ‘Loving you. Loving you was the greatest thing I’ve ever done in my life. And admitting it to myself was even greater.’ That was what Crowley meant. He didn’t have to say it, it was implied. Even not a particularly smart angel would have understood it. Crowley had just opened his heart out to him. And Aziraphale laughed. Historically. And for a good four minutes, with Crowley staring hopelessly at him. Crowley and his stylish sunglasses. Crowley and his skin-tight black jeans. Crowley and his stupidly modern flat. Crowley and his snake skin shoes. Crowley and his auburn curls. Crowley and the snake tattoo on his temple that Aziraphale had always so desperately wanted to kiss. His golden eyes. His wicked smile. His sly grin. The sarcastic bite in his voice. The way he raises his eyebrows when Aziraphale surprises him. The way he throws his head back when he laughs. His walk. His EVERYTHING. Just, him. And Aziraphale just couldn’t resist anymore, and he kissed him. Well, kissed is a strong word, but he threw himself at Crowley and connected their lips. The kiss was sloppy, but it was what both of them needed. Crowley was pinned in place. Someone could have mistaken him for a particularly realistic sculpture, as he had even stopped breathing. And then Aziraphale laughed again. Laughed at how STUPID both of them had been. How absolutely idiotic. And he kissed Crowley again and told him that if he had let him drive his Bentley sooner then they might have avoided a few decades of pining and this time Crowley seemed to get back to life and kissed him back, still unsure though, but all trace of doubt left him when Aziraphale slithered his hands under his shirt and then he just KNEW. Knew that everything he had ever hoped for was coming true. Knew that Aziraphale loved him back.