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Partially pulled curtains and cloudy weather dimmed the inside of AZ Fell & Co., save for a few old, weak ceiling lights here and there, using the very last of their strength to illuminate at least part of the main room of the bookshop. The space was occupied for today by a singular aimless demon and his plants, set on any flat surface near the windows or any other source of natural light. Every other day, they had agreed, was Muriel’s turn to tend to the shop while Crowley supervised, but today, he was completely alone.
The leaves of his plants trembled as he paced past them, not quite having the energy to threaten them, but to them, his presence was threatening enough. His flat was still fully intact, and he didn’t dare change the layout of the bookshop from how Aziraphale had left it, but the slight disturbances in its original organization made it clear that the demon had mostly been living there for quite some time, and was absolutely miserable about it.
He wandered between the shelves, running his hands along the spines of the books and on the occasion pulling one out from between the others and reading an excerpt, only to shut it and quickly put it back if he caught even a glimpse of an annotation in Aziraphale’s near-perfect cursive. When that happened, and he was reminded too much of the angel, he made his way to the back of the shop where he knew the wine was kept, and took out the same bottle every time: the 1921 Châteauneuf-du-Pape they saved for special occasions.
Today was one of those days.
The clouds refused to let up as the hours went by, giving the bookshop an overall gloomy atmosphere, perfect for the depressed and horribly drunk demon inside.
He didn’t know why he stayed in the bookshop, why he bothered to move his favorite plants here, why he kept subjecting himself to the place the love of his life had abandoned him in. Muriel and the others that knew about the situation (see: Maggie and Nina) figured that, deep down, he still held a large amount of love for the angel despite what had happened, and took up caring for the bookshop in the hopes that Aziraphale would return and things would go back to normal.
Six months had passed since that day, and there hadn’t been an archangel in sight.
In that time, Crowley spent his mornings tending to his plants and reading books he knew Aziraphale hadn’t written in, and he spent most evenings drinking straight out of the same 1921 bottle of wine he was carrying around with him now, miracling it full and drinking it again whenever he found it empty. Muriel was good company, and at the very least they kept his mind off of things sometimes, but by the third month, they had learned to avoid Crowley whenever he reached for the bottle.
Today, he was performing the seemingly endless task of making sure every last book was in alphabetical order by author (Gabriel had completely rearranged them by the first letter of the first sentence, and Aziraphale left for Heaven before he got the chance to reorganize them). At the very least, it was something to occupy his mind, but he kept the wine bottle in one hand just in case, taking a drink whenever he stumbled upon a book he knew Aziraphale loved.
With a soft jingle of the doorbell, unbeknownst to Crowley, a worn, bearded Supreme Archangel silently entered the bookshop. Not yet realizing that anyone else was in the shop, Aziraphale glanced around, taking in the slight shifts in decor, and noticed that many of Crowley’s plants lined the windows and any flat surface with access to natural light. As he made his way towards the bookshelves, he ran a hand along his desk: no dust on it; someone’s been staying here, and he had a feeling he knew who. He stopped his hand at Crowley’s sunglasses, resting at the edge of the desk, which all but confirmed his hunch.
“Fuck off, shop’s closed,” Crowley called out from behind the shelves, making Aziraphale stop in his tracks, staring towards the sound of his voice.
After a few seconds of silence, Crowley grew irritated, not having heard anyone leave. “I said fuck off–” he said as he stepped out from behind the shelves, immediately locking eyes with Aziraphale and cutting his sentence short. The two stared at each other for what felt like an eternity before Crowley lifted the wine bottle and inspected the label. He then looked back over at Aziraphale, groaned, and took another drink, disappearing behind the shelves again and mumbling to himself. “Great. I’m so off my head I’ve started hallucinating.”
Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak. “Crowley, I’m–”
“No, no, no. Don’t start that with me. I’ve heard it all before.”
“My dear–”
“No. Absolutely not. All I need to do is sober up to make you disappear again.”
At this, Aziraphale followed Crowley behind the shelves, nothing but desperation in his eyes while Crowley looked him up and down skeptically. His hair was a mess, he hadn’t shaved in ages, his clothes were different… he was different. But it didn’t matter; he was just a hallucination. Crowley refused to believe that any of this was real.
“Crowley, listen to me.”
Crowley didn’t respond, trying to stay concentrated on his original task.
“I’m not leaving this place again, I assure you. You aren’t hallucinating, my–”
“Uh-huh, sure. Watch, angel, as my hand goes right through you,” Crowley replied bitterly, moving a hand to Aziraphale’s cheek, where it stopped, to his surprise.
He dropped the wine bottle in utter shock, shattering it, and sharply pulled away from Aziraphale, who was now very clearly not a hallucination of any kind.
His shock quickly turned back into bitterness, and his brow furrowed as Aziraphale took a step towards him and he stepped back.
“Oh, so the Supreme Archangel has finally decided to pay this lowly demon a visit, eh?” he spat. “Rip my heart out and disappear for six months, then come back to say you’re sorry.” He chuckled. “I know better now, angel, than to believe anything that comes out of your holier-than-thou mouth.”
“Crowley, you don’t understand.”
“I understand plenty . You had a choice between them and us, and you chose them.”
“Being archangel wasn’t anything like I’d imagined it,” Aziraphale replied quietly.
“Of course it wasn’t. Did you really expect Heaven to tell you the truth?”
Aziraphale adjusted his overcoat. “You’d be pleased to know that I’ve given up the position.”
“Bit late for that, isn’t it?” Crowley said. “I don’t care that you gave it up. You made your decision the second you left the bookshop with the Metatron.”
“It was the wrong decision!”
“Six thousand years of friendship, and the second you’re offered a promotion you throw it all out. We could’ve had a nice life together here. Just the two of us.”
“Crowley, listen to me! I still haven’t told you why—“
“I’ve heard enough from you,” Crowley cut off Aziraphale, attempting to walk past him to retrieve his glasses. Aziraphale, however, placed a hand on his chest and stepped in front of him to stop him.
“There were so many meetings, so many specific protocols, my office was completely bland, and on top of it all, there was no you. ”
Crowley merely stared down at Aziraphale, waiting for him to continue.
“I needed you, and I still need you. Crowley, you have no idea how terribly I’ve missed you.”
“And?”
“...And I was wrong. I thought I could make Heaven good enough for you again if I took the job, and I was wrong. My only other option was to return to you.”
Crowley sighed, looking as if he was trying not to give in, trying not to listen to or believe Aziraphale, but something in his chest softened at the way the angel spoke with such sincerity in his eyes.
“Nothing felt…worth it if you weren’t there by my side.”
“For the record, nothing was worth it here without you either,” Crowley muttered.
“You still cared for my shop, even though you didn’t know that I was ever going to return.”
“Yeah, well…” he looked around, trying to find an excuse. Aziraphale kept his hand on his chest. “...That was mostly Muriel’s doing. Was just something I did to keep me going.”
“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sighed fondly. “I’m so sorry I ever left you, my dear.”
Crowley stepped back from Aziraphale, letting his hand drop from his chest. “I don’t believe you yet, angel.”
“Wh-what?” Aziraphale’s face fell in confusion.
Crowley crossed his arms. “You know what to do.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“The dance.”
“You can’t be serious–”
“Do it.”
Aziraphale huffed. “Fine.”
“No, no, not there. Not enough space. Do it out here.” Crowley gently took Aziraphale’s arm and led him out into the open, then stood opposite him and crossed his arms once again.
“Apology dance. Now.”
“I suppose you deserve it.” Aziraphale did the dance reluctantly, ending it with a polite curtsy, and Crowley nodded in approval. He then wandered over to Aziraphale’s reading chair, grabbing his sunglasses on the way, and leaned against the armrest, hanging them off the neckline of his shirt.
“What’s our next course of action, then, former Supreme Archangel?” he asked expectantly.
Aziraphale followed him with his eyes as he did this, and tilted his head slightly. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know. Any new plans to end humanity as we know it? They love to do that.”
“Ah. Well…when I left, they were just beginning preparations for the Second Coming.”
“...Jesus.”
“Yes, precisely.”
“It’s you and me again, then?”
“Well, yes, obviously, but…” he wandered closer to Crowley, his hand running across the table where Crowley had previously kept his glasses. “There’s one more thing.”
Crowley’s eyebrows knit together in concern. “What could they possibly be doing on top of the Second Coming?”
“No, no, it’s not anything to do with Heaven,” Aziraphale responded, stepping closer to Crowley again, forcing him to lower his gaze slightly to meet Aziraphale’s eyes.
“It’s not?”
Aziraphale moved a hand up to Crowley’s cheek and cupped his face, causing his eyes to widen ever so slightly, unable to tell what the angel was planning. He leaned into the touch so gently neither of them noticed.
“Crowley, do you remember when you first offered that ox rib to me all those years ago?” Aziraphale asked softly.
“...Yeah.”
“And I ate nearly the whole animal in one night?”
“Wouldn’t forget that in a millenia. Why?”
“Well, I hadn’t realized that for my whole existence, up until that very moment, I was starving.” Crowley glanced down at Aziraphale’s lips briefly, and back up to his eyes.
Aziraphale continued. “There was another thing you introduced to me, and I’ve spent the past six months with an almost all-consuming regret that I let you walk out the door after you did it.” Aziraphale then also glanced at Crowley’s lips and returned the eye contact, smiled gently, and slid his hand back through Crowley’s hair. Carefully, he brought his face closer and placed another hand on his chest, and their eyes fluttered shut as their lips finally met.
This was it. This was what Crowley had wanted ever since that fateful day. He kissed back passionately, moving his arms around Aziraphale and pulling him closer, feeling him fully in his embrace. When they finally parted, they looked into each other’s eyes with an indescribable— no, ineffable — love, and Aziraphale moved his hand deeper into Crowley’s hair, slightly longer now out of neglect.
“You need to shave,” Crowley muttered, removing a hand from Aziraphale’s back and rubbing his chin where Aziraphale’s beard had touched.
"You need to take better care of your hair,” Aziraphale retaliated, still not moving his hand from the back of Crowley’s head despite the oiliness of his scalp. “And stop drinking all my wine. That winery doesn’t exist anymore, you know.”
“Oh, calm down. I’ve been miracling it back whenever I finish a bottle.”
Aziraphale shut him up with another kiss, a longer one this time, tasting the wine Crowley had been “borrowing” and feeling him hum in surprise.
“Bold, angel. Didn’t think you were the type.”
“I’ve decided I’m through with being so amicable.”
“That’s my angel.”
“Yours?”
“Unless you’d rather me call you something else.”
“No. I quite like being yours.”
Now, if you listened very closely, as the two said their first proper “I love you”s to each other, a nightingale sang in Berkeley Square once again, for the first time in months. Nobody else heard it over the noise of the traffic, but it was there, right enough.