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Crowley stared at the beautiful, complicated, no-longer-an angel laying beside him and tried very hard not to scream. Whether the scream would have been one of anger, shock, or the kind of relief that comes from getting something you’ve desperately wanted for six thousand years wasn’t quite clear. All he knew was that his coworker turned hereditary enemy turned friend turned love of his life turned being-he-supposedly-despised-yet-still-desperately-loved was sleeping next to him, and he was breathing in the smell of old books, cologne, and rightfulness.
Think.
Right.
Thoughts were… supposedly a thing he was capable of.
At least, they were ordinarily something he was capable of. Right now he was having a hard time focusing on anything except for the sound of Aziraphale snoring beside him, which he somehow managed to make adorable.
What did he remember?
He remembered scotch. Enough of it to loosen them both up (and leave him with a miserable headache), but regretfully not enough to make him forget everything that had happened after the scotch.
He remembered the tense, sarcastic discussion about the day Aziraphale had left.
He remembered neither of them being clearheaded enough to make much progress, aside from agree that the kiss had been horrible.
Then he remembered the look in Aziraphale’s eyes as he asked him to try it again, which Crowley had been far too drunk on liquor and desire to decline.
And now here he was, naked in a bed that was foreign and cozy and patterned with far too much tartan. Under the covers, Aziraphale was still snoring softly, blissfully unaware there was a demon spiraling beside him. At least it would be easy to sneak out unnoticed. Maybe move to Alpha Centauri.
No, scratch that, that would be no fun without company. A pub, then. Sure, it would be several hours until any of the ones nearby opened, but pesky things like time were inconsequential to a disheartened demon.
With a few steps away from the bed and a flick of his hand, he was in his clothes and turning for the door. It only took a bit of a snarl under his breath for the hangover to leave him, knowing better than to stick around.
A yawn from behind him stopped him as he reached the door, hand hovering over the handle. Crowley wished he hadn’t looked the second he turned around.
There Aziraphale was, blinking open his eyes, which widened at the sight of Crowley standing by the door. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d ever seen him look so flustered in front of him, so stripped of his usual walls. Stripped of… well, many things. Most of his corporation was covered by the blanket, but his neck and shoulders were peeking out from beneath it. When it came to Aziraphale, that was the equivalent of waltzing through the streets of Soho wearing nothing but his standard mildly perturbed expression. Before last night, Crowley hadn’t seen that soft, pale-curled chest since Ancient Greece. And that was before all of these blessedly confusing feelings came into play.
Crowley’s hand dropped from the door handle, abandoning his plan to leave the moment he looked into those hopeful blue eyes. The amount of times that Aziraphale had weaponized that expression of his over the millenia told Crowley that Aziraphale was well aware of the effect it had on him. The bastard.
Crowley wasn’t quite sure how long they stared at each other, both unwilling to be the first to speak. After what felt like six thousand years, he cleared his throat.
“Breakfast?”
It was all he could think to say— his old habit of making himself useful so that Aziraphale might keep him around.
“Ah…” Aziraphale frowned, looking like he hadn’t expected the offer. “Thank you, but I’m not particularly hungry.”
Yet another first.
“Figured I’d ask.”
More silence.
“We should probably talk about last night,” said Crowley, finally. He wanted more than anything to not talk about last night.
“We certainly should,” agreed Aziraphale, looking equally unenthusiastic about it.
“Right. So. Where do we start?”
Aziraphale pursed his lips. They were the same ones Crowley had kissed last night. He tried very not to think about it.
“I daresay that your last attempt at a kiss was significantly better than the first,” said Aziraphale, immediately obliterating the goal.
“That’s what you’re leading with?”
“Would you care to start somewhere else instead?”
Crowley sneered, but wasn’t brave enough to bring up any of the real issues. Not yet.
“Fine, we’ll start there, then, if you’re so eager to discuss it. I’ve had some practice over the years with what we did last night. All of it. Just didn’t give me a fair shot the first time, that’s all.”
He was aiming to see a flash of jealousy cross Aziraphale’s face. Instead, there was only hurt, which was far less satisfying. Crowley couldn’t explain why, but it made him long to lean over and hug him, whisper reassurances in his ear. This realization joined the kiss on the list of things he was absolutely not going to allow himself to think about.
A polite, practiced smile overtook Aziraphale’s frown. Somehow, it hurt even more.
“Ah, that would make sense. You’re very skilled,” said Aziraphale calmly. Like it meant nothing to him. Fine. Two could play this game.
“Same goes to you,” said Crowley.
“Well, you may be surprised to hear it, but I have some experience as well.”
“Gentleman’s club?”
Aziraphale nodded smugly, and Crowley’s mouth was very suddenly and unhelpfully unable to form words. He covered it with the most nonchalant grunt he could and searched his mind for something, anything, to change the topic as far away from this as possible.
“Did any of those past lovers of yours ever mention that you snore?” he asked, hoping to get rid of Aziraphale’s righteous little grin. It only partially worked.
“I’m afraid you’re mistaken, my dear. Angels don’t snore.”
“Oh, yeah? What was that sound you were making all night, then?”
“I was simply… emphatically inhaling and exhaling in my sleep. Regardless, are you quite certain you’d like to discuss sounds that were made last night?”
“Oh, don’t you dare bring that up…”
“I would never. Let’s simply that you can be quite vocal while in the throes of passion and leave it at that, hm?”
“I was— that’s not—“ he was far too busy attempting to hide his furious blush than to offer a proper excuse. “You’re impossible to deal with, you know that? A pain in the arse.”
“In more ways than one, I would imagine,” said Aziraphale, arching a self-satisfied eyebrow.
Crowley blessed under his breath and wondered what dimension he’d woken up in where he was acting like the more mature one in the room.
He wondered a lot of things, actually.
For starters, what he was doing standing in Aziraphale’s bedroom, light peeking through the blinds, playing whatever game this was. It was too early in the morning to keep up with the layers of code they were speaking in. Frankly, he was done with it.
“So, we’re just going to pretend you never left? Is that it?”
“What do you mean?” asked Aziraphale, tone slow and careful.
“You know what I mean,” replied Crowley, “are we going to go on like usual and make sure there’s just enough plausible deniability stacked on top of every interaction we have, because Someone forbid we actually like each other? I mean, it’s not like we already saved the whole bloody world together, or anything. No, let’s just pretend like I didn’t confess my love to you and watch you belittle me for it and leave me to rot. That’s far more reasonable than talking about it.” He said the words in the most sarcastically upbeat tone that he could. He was quite proud of that tone— he’d had millennia of practice perfecting it.
Aziraphale stared at him with that same hopeful expression as before, which seemed odd considering the rant he’d just heard.
“Confess your love to me?”
Of course that was the part Aziraphale had to focus on. Crowley may as well dive headfirst into a bathtub of holy water and be done with it— it would be a more merciful way to go.
“The specifics don’t matter,” Crowley said quickly, “the point is, I told you my deepest parts of myself to you and you rejected them and left.”
“Technically, you were the one who left the shop.”
“You should know I’m very close to leaving again,” Crowley warned, reaching for the door handle. He was fairly sure they both knew it was just for show, but Aziraphale surrendered anyway.
“I do apologize for not discussing this sooner. Given how uncomfortable you seemed when I tried to bring it up last night, I had assumed you didn’t wish to talk about… our last discussion.”
“I don’t. But we need to anyway, don’t we? You can’t return and pretend nothing happened as soon as it’s convenient for you. I spent too many nights drunk and crying alone in the Bentley to accept that.” His voice broke in a way that he hadn’t intended to, and he ducked his head. Of course the tears had to show up again, just like last time. As if this whole situation wasn’t already miserably embarrassing enough.
“Oh, Crowley… I’m so dreadfully sorry.” On anyone else, it would have sounded insincere, but Crowley knew him well enough to sense the pain behind the words. “Did… did you truly spend that much time thinking of me?”
“How could I not? You were… I mean, you’re my best friend.”
The words hurt to admit, but they were true. They had been true for thousands of years. A few months of separation hadn’t changed that.
“As are you,” replied Aziraphale, lowering his voice to a near-whisper. “it was quite miserable up there without you.”
Crowley wiped away a stubborn tear, forcing his face into a glare. “Yeah, got used to having me around, didn’t you? Have no idea what to do with yourself when I’m gone?”
He’d meant it as a dig, but Aziraphale nodded sadly, not seeming to sense the venom behind it.
“Indeed. It’s… well, you know what it’s like up there. Nothing like Earth at all. There wasn’t a single bite of sushi.”
“That’s what you were the most upset about? The sushi?”
“Oh, hush, you know what I mean.” Aziraphale opened his mouth, as though he had more to say, but the words never came out.
“Why did you go, then?” asked Crowley. It was the question he’d been wondering for months now, one that he feared he might never hear answered.
“I was trying to make a difference, Crowley. Not to mention the fact that I thought I could keep you safe.”
“Keep me perfect and holy, you mean?”
Azirpahale flinched as though scorched with hellfire.
“ No ! Not at all!” He sounded offended that Crowley would even make the suggestion. “For heaven’s sake, I would never want you to be anything but the way that you are.”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “You can claim that all you want, but you can’t pretend you wouldn’t be happier if I was an angel.”
“My happiness was never a factor to begin with,” he said, as though stating an obvious fact. “If it was, I would have stayed on Earth with you. Part of why I had offered for you to accompany me was that I had hoped I could make you happier. And safer, of course.”
“Me? Happier? In Heaven?”
“Well,” said Azirpahale, “you did look ever so happy creating those stars.”
“Do you understand how many of my nightmares revolve around that place?”
“I—“ Aziraphale started the sentence automatically but paused, frowning. ”No, actually. I had no idea. You get nightmares?”
Crowley leaned against the doorframe, just to have something to hold. “Of course! Almost every bloody night! It’s woken me up screaming before, that’s how bad they are.”
Aziraphale widened his eyes. “I had no idea. Frankly, I wasn’t aware that you regularly slept. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
“I mean, it’s not the sort of thing you talk about over casual conversation, is it? Never had a good time. ‘S an awkward topic. Same reason I never really talked about living in my car.”
“In your car?” Aziraphale looked horrified now.
“Yeah, after our body swap stunt. Hell kicked me out of the flat. Figured that maybe you pieced that together on your own it, but it seems like you didn’t.”
Aziraphale gestured around him. “If I had, I’d have fixed you up a nice room here in the shop. Perhaps one with a darker color scheme and one of those newfound television sets you’re fond of. Though I assume by now, you’ve found somewhere that’s much more suited to your preferences.”
At Crowley’s blank expression, Aziraphale’s expression turned to a level of shock Crowley previously hadn’t thought possible.
“We’re going to get that sorted out immediately,” he said, tone leaving no room for argument. Crowley, being the demon that he was, argued anyway.
“What makes you think I want your help?”
“I can’t have you living in your car, Crowley.”
“I’m fine.”
“You told me you spent the last several months drinking and crying alone in the Bentley. As far as I’m concerned, that’s precisely the opposite of fine.”
Just like him to be all stuck-up and obnoxious and correct. Crowley sighed, looking at the concerned expression on Azirpahale’s face, then at the bedroom, so different from what he was used to yet so, so familiar.
He wanted to leave and never come back. He wanted to curl up in the warmth of Azirpahale’s bare arms and stay there forever.
“You know,” said Crowley, after a more than lingering glance at Aziraphale’s corporation. “I was lying earlier.”
“Of course. You’re a demon, that’s what you do,” replied Aziraphale automatically. He paused for a moment, then asked, “…about what?”
Crowley looked down at the (still hideous) tartan bedsheets. “My… experience. I don’t have any. I was trying to make you jealous and it didn’t work. It was stupid.”
Crowley expected Azirpahale to laugh at him. Instead, he just glanced to his side, looking almost embarrassed now himself.
“Likewise,” he admitted quietly.
“Really? You never…? Even at the gentleman’s club?”
“Oh, I had the opportunity, of course,” said Aziraphale. “I simply never quite saw the appeal, unless it was with someone I was close with. Which… I’m sure you’re aware has been limited. I do have standards.”
They sat for a moment, avoiding eye contact, until Crowley finally cleared his throat.
“Guess we have that in common. Seeing Adam and Eve in the garden really put me off of it, honestly. All seemed a bit moist for my taste.”
Aziraphale nodded, cringing at the memory himself.
“Point is, you’re the only one I’ve ever even wanted like that. And look how that turned out for me.”
“I rather see your point.”
Crowley thought back to their last exchange, frowning. “Who the fuck forgives a kiss? You know, they always say the worst they can say is no, and clearly that’s a big bloody lie, because—“
“It came out of nowhere, Crowley,” said Azirpahale, cutting him off.
“Not nowhere, you just said we both wanted it for years, didn’t you?”
“We were in the middle of an argument!”
“Which you started. You said I was one of the bad guys. You acted like Heaven hadn’t left me to rot forever in literal Hell for asking a few questions.”
Aziraphale took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Then, softly, he spoke. “I’m truly sorry for saying those horrid things to you. You should know that I didn’t mean them. It was an attempt to justify my decision— both to you and myself. I was also, quite frankly, worried that I was being watched. I trust I don’t need to explain to you the importance of watching your words in… certain situations.”
Crowley nodded grimly. Monitoring their words had become something like second nature to both of them. Through all of the centuries, it had never gotten any less painful.
“Regardless of the reason, I said things to you that I didn’t mean. I’m truly sorry, my dear. You’re quite special to me the way that you are, and I’m furious with myself for ever letting you think otherwise.”
Crowley sighed. He half-wanted to spit out ‘I forgive you’, but he couldn’t muster up the energy for anger when Aziraphale looked so blessedly sad.
“Look,” he finally said, “It’s not like you were the only one acting rashly that day. I’m sorry for grabbing you and kissing you like that.” He hadn’t known he was going to say the words until they were already out of his mouth, but apologizing was easier than acknowledging Aziraphale’s own apology and being forced to either accept or decline it. Besides, that miserable kiss had been eating away at him since the moment it had happened.
Aziraphale shook his head. “You have nothing to apologize for, Crowley. I’m the only one who acted horribly.”
“Doesn’t matter, I still shouldn’t have done it. It’s like you said before— you hadn’t been expecting it, and I took advantage of that. I didn’t want our first kiss to go that way at all.”
Aziraphale smiled, but it wasn’t the radiant kind that Crowley had been missing these past few months. It didn’t reach his eyes.
“Well. I think that’s certainly something we can both agree on.”
“Oh, angel…” the term slipped out before he could stop himself. Aziraphale’s hopeful expression was more than enough of a confirmation that he’d noticed. Somebody bless it all.
“I’ve missed you,” whispered Aziraphale. There was no hint of sarcasm, no layers of carefully constructed subtext that had to be untangled. There was only the unfiltered truth. It was so soft, so earnest, that Crowley could do nothing but melt.
“I’ve missed you, too. For someone’s sake…” he walked back over to the bed and collapsed atop the blanket, his own dark clothes standing out against the garishly friendly tartan.
“May I?” Asked Aziraphale the moment Crowley sat down, tone uncharacteristically shy.
Crowley nodded, not needing to consider it for even a second.
He’d expected another kiss. Fast and dizzying like it had been last night, enough to distract them both from silly, complicated things like feelings.
What he hadn’t expected was being wrapped up in a hug so tender that he couldn’t help but feel dirty for it.
Demons weren’t supposed to get this. They were supposed to want sinfully, carnally, lasciviously. Not in a way so soft and gentle and safe that it made their insides turn to mush and garbled poetry.
Aziraphale must have noticed him tensing up, because he loosened his grip for a moment, concerned. “Oh, dear. Do you wish for me to stop?”
“Don’t. Big fan of this, me. Just… not used to it. That’s all.”
At that, Aziraphale seemed to relax again, wrapping his arms around him. It was far cozier than it had any right to be.
“I’m lucky I didn’t lose you,” said Aziraphale, holding him tightly. “I was quite worried I had.”
Crowley let out a noise like a wounded snake. His capacity for speaking eloquently went out the window the second he was wrapped up in the softness of Aziraphale’s arms.
“I’m still angry,” he muttered, the effect somewhat ruined by the way he nuzzled his head against Azirpahale’s chest as he said it.
“I don’t blame you,” Aziraphale replied, running a gentle hand through his hair. “For what it’s worth, you’re quite cute when you’re cross.”
“Cute?” That was somehow more offensive than Aziraphale thinking he’d be happy to join him in Heaven. “I’m a creature of Hell. Nothing about me is cute.”
Aziraphale laughed. For the first time of the morning, his smile actually reached his eyes. For someone’s sake, Crowley had missed that.
“If either of us is cute, it’s obviously you,” he said, admiring the crinkled corners of Aziraphale’s eyes. “It’s unfair. Have you seen the way you bounce about when you’re excited over something? And don’t get me started on that smile. It’s impossible to stay angry at you.”
Aziraphale blushed, turning his gaze to Crowley’s lips. “If you’re trying to tempt me, I fear you’re succeeding.”
He was just speaking the truth, really, but it was still flattering to hear his temptation skills were still intact after years of retirement.
This time, when Crowley leaned in to kiss him, Aziraphale had absolutely no reservations about returning it, cupping Crowley’s jaw tenderly.
It was nothing at all like their first kiss; painful and wrong. It was also nothing like the kisses they’d shared last night; rushed and soaked with confusion and a more than advisable amount of alcohol.
Instead, it was slow, sweet, and trusting. It was everything he’d hoped it would be but had feared he’d never get.
When they finally pulled away, Aziraphale held his gaze, eyes wide and slightly watery. “I know you mentioned earlier that you’re still angry with me, and I’m aware it will take centuries to rebuild our trust. I hope you know that I fully intend to put forth the effort required to—“
“I’m not angry at you, angel,” said Crowley, cutting him off. “Not really, at least.”
“You aren’t?”
“When it came to you, I could never manage to be.”
Something like surprise crossed his features. Or maybe love. Crowley couldn’t be sure, and he wasn’t about to ask.
He wasn’t sure how long they laid there, occasionally exchanging banter, but mainly enjoying the quiet calmness. Long enough for both of them to relax their position on the bed, falling into a worn-out cuddle (though Crowley personally preferred to think of it as mutual lurking in coincidentally close proximity to one another). Aziraphale’s yawn from beside him disrupted his cuddle-lurking, bringing him back to the present moment.
It occurred to him that Aziraphale had never asked Crowley who he was angry at after Crowley had told him he wasn’t angry at him. It was just as well, because Crowley wasn’t quite sure he knew, either. Maybe the Metatron. Maybe God Herself. Maybe the whole bloody world.
All he knew was that Aziraphale, the wonderful, complicated, no-longer-an-angel in his arms, was one of the few beings in the world that made him feel happy.
For a very brief, uncharacteristically vulnerable moment, Crowley debated looking over to Azirpahale and telling that to him aloud. The moment he turned to look at him, though, he saw the angel’s eyes were closed, already back asleep.
Probably for the best— the amount of disgusting warmth in his chest at the moment wasn’t conducive to intelligent thought to begin with. They’d had enough heartfelt discussions for one morning.
When Aziraphale woke up, there would undoubtedly be time for talking, for touching, for piecing together a life for themselves. Right now, Crowley didn’t want any of those things.
Instead, he simply wanted to curl up closer to Aziraphale and rest.
The bedroom was hideous. The blankets were a garish tartan. Aziraphale was snoring again, and it was every bit as loud and obnoxious as last night. Crowley closed his eyes and smiled.
For the first time in months, he was somewhere he belonged.