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Aziraphale likes to imagine that he was always eloquent – the type of person who knew exactly what to say and perhaps not exactly when to say it but close enough. He doesn’t know what to say now.
He just stands there. Crowley has poured his guts out on the floor and his eyes are so wide and he looked as though if he blinks a tear would roll down his cheek and, gosh, he is so vulnerable and so beautiful.
Aziraphale wants nothing more than to give him good news, to hold him and tell him everything is going to be okay and for once in his miserable existence he can.
“Come with me,” he says, “to Heaven. I’ll run it, you can be my second in command. We can make a difference.”
He’s offering everything he has here. He’s offering his heart on a platter and, in one devastating moment, he realises that Crowley doesn’t want it.
“You can’t leave this bookshop,” Crowley says and he looks so broken and maybe he just doesn’t understand.
Aziraphale can feel the weight of existence pushing down on him and he’s so, so aware of the Metatron’s eyes on them. His heart is beating rapidly, so fast that if he were human it might be considered life threatening, and all he can think is that he needs Crowley to understand this. He needs Crowley to come with him. He needs…
“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, soft and adoring. “Nothing lasts forever.”
He loves how sentimental the demon is. He does. He understands that this must be so hard for him but if Crowley will just come with him he’ll see that Aziraphale can fix this. He can make it safe.
Crowley nods, something akin to acceptance in his eyes and Aziraphale thinks he’s done it, but then Crowley’s picking up his sunglasses and putting them on, hiding those brilliant yellow eyes.
“No,” he says. “No, I don’t suppose it does. Good luck.”
Aziraphale’s heart shatters.
“Good luck?” he asks as Crowley walks away as if it’s nothing, as if Aziraphale is nothing. “C-Crowley! Crowley, come back…” He almost leaves it there and Crowley turns around. “To Heaven! Work with me. We can be together.”
That’s it, isn’t it? That’s what Crowley wants. That’s what Aziraphale wants too. Finally, they can be free of all the torment and the trouble and the fear and they can be together, whatever that looks like for them.
“Angels,” Aziraphale continues, “doing good.”
Something inside him breaks.
“I-I need you.”
Aziraphale wants to crawl into a ball and be vanquished by the pressure pushing down on him. He’s suffocating. He’s a wild, desperate animal caught in a trap and he can’t get free. Heaven is waiting. Heaven has expectations. Heaven is coming for him and for Crowley unless he can get Crowley on board and he needs it to happen now. They don’t have time.
“I don’t think you understand what I’m offering you,” he says because Crowley doesn’t. He’s offering him love, full and complete and safe. He’s offering to kiss away Crowley’s tears and building stars from his eyes, galaxies from his fears, nebulas from his happiness. He’s offering all he has to give and it’s not enough.
Sickeningly, Aziraphale is not enough.
“I understand,” Crowley says. “I think I understand a whole lot better than you do.”
Aziraphale has never wanted to cry before. He’s been upset, of course, but he’s never felt so human before. He’s never felt like this. Above all else, he’s embarrassed. He’s embarrassed that he ever thought Crowley could feel like that about him, could want him, could need him too.
Of course Crowley doesn’t want him.
“Well,” Aziraphale says, “then there’s nothing more to say.”
“Listen,” Crowley says, pointing up. “Do you hear that?”
“I don’t hear anything!” Aziraphale says, hands balling up into fists. Really, he expected more from Crowley. He expected him to at least offer Aziraphale his dignity.
“That’s the point,” Crowley says. “No nightingales.”
It’s a gut punch in itself that Aziraphale understands, that the entirety of their existence has led up to this moment where he gets what Crowley is trying to say. It’s over.
“You idiot. We could have been… us.”
They could have been. Crowley just doesn’t want that.
Aziraphale can’t take it anymore. He looks away.
His lapels are suddenly grabbed and he’s being yanked into a kiss and he hates it. He hates the harshness of Crowley’s lips and the bruising grasp on his coat and the feeling of Crowley’s sunglasses on his cheekbones and he hates the way he’s palming Crowley’s back, hands unsure of what to do, in a desperate attempt to pull him away or pull him closer.
He hates that, even though it’s an awful kiss, he loves it because it’s Crowley.
The kiss reeks of pity and sorrow. Aziraphale doesn’t want Crowley’s pity.
It goes on for far too long and, when Crowley pulls away, Aziraphale can barely talk. All he can think is ‘do it again’.
“I-I-I,” he says and his heart sinks. “I forgive you.”
Won’t he always? If it’s Crowley, he can’t not forgive him. Forgiveness is all that is left for them.
Crowley sighs. “Don’t bother.”
He’s gone.
Aziraphale very nearly does cry at that.
He presses his hand to his lips in desperation, trying to feel the kiss all over again. It doesn’t work.
He barely gets a minute to gather himself because the Metatron comes in.
“How did he take it?” the Metatron asks.
“Um, not well.” Aziraphale half-chuckles.
The Metatron’s saying something else but Aziraphale isn’t listening. All he can think about is Crowley.
“But my bookshop,” he says, knowing it’s futile.
“I’ve entrusted it into the hands of Muriel,” the Metatron says and they should be going. Aziraphale looks to the chair that Crowley was sprawled out in only a moment ago.
He can’t do this.
“I think I…” he trails off then continues with renewed vigour. “I think I have to turn down your offer after all.”
He isn’t sure why he’s doing this. Crowley hates him. There’s nothing left for him here. In Heaven, he can make a difference. He can protect Crowley. He…
He can’t leave this bookshop.
Crowley was right. He was cruel and he was right.
“Oh?” the Metatron says. “Whyever not?”
“My place is here,” Aziraphale explains. “I’m sure Micheal or Uriel will be thrilled to be appointed the new Supreme Archangel but I simply cannot do it. Thank you for the offer, though.”
“You will regret this, Aziraphale,” the Metatron says and he leaves.
Aziraphale is alone for approximately twelve seconds before Crowley bursts into the bookshop.
“What happened?” Crowley asks frantically. “I saw him leave without you.”
“I-I think I did something rather silly,” Aziraphale says. “I turned down the job.”
“You what?”
“I turned it down,” Aziraphale repeats. “Look, I know I misjudged our situation but I really couldn’t leave things like this. I just…”
“Misjudged our… What does that mean?”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale snaps, “you’re being deliberately obtuse.”
“Hang on,” Crowley says, frowning, “I think we’ve crossed our wires somewhere. What were you talking about?”
“I was talking,” Aziraphale says, “about being together, finally. Safe and happy. I thought you wanted to be together too but your rejection was quite clear enough.”
“Rejection?” Crowley’s eyes might bulge out of his head. “I kissed you!”
“And that was very cruel of you,” Aziraphale says, “toying with my feelings like that. I thought better of you.”
“Angel,” Crowley says, taking off his sunglasses. “I wasn’t toying with you. I… I lo– hmm. I… love you.”
Deep down in Aziraphale’s stomach, something flutters. “You do?”
“Yes!” Crowley throws his hands up in the air. “I thought I was being obvious! I thought I was telling you that and you were rejecting me! Oh, Aziraphale, how did we manage to misinterpret each other that spectacularly?”
“Rejecting you?” Aziraphale says. “Never! Crowley, you hold such a special place in my heart. Of course I love you. Do you… Do you think we might try that kiss again?”
He looks at Crowley hopefully and watches the demon’s eyes well up as he nods.
“Yeah,” Crowley says. “Let’s do that again.”