Work Text:
Crowley was doomed the moment he saw The Look on Aziraphale’s face.
He had seen it many, many, many, many, many…well, countless times before. He knew exactly what The Look meant. It meant that he was about to be asked to do something which he didn’t want to do, and when he refused to do it, his angelic best friend would up the ante by raising his eyebrows, opening his irresistible eyes wide, and pursing those perfect lips into a pleading pout.
Crowley always gave in to The Look.
It was a perfectly ordinary afternoon in late May. They had been out to lunch, and then for a stroll around the park, and now they were back in the bookshop. He was sprawled across the sofa, drinking the glass of wine Aziraphale had offered. He noticed that it was especially fine wine, from an especially exceptional vintage, which put him on alert. He could almost see the gears rotating inside Aziraphale’s mental wheels. Get him in a relaxed frame of mind with a meal, a nice walk, and quality alcohol before dropping the bomb.
“So,” Crowley said by way of speeding things along, “what’s up?”
“Up?” Aziraphale sat in his desk chair, hands clasped, acting entirely innocent. “Why would anything be up?”
“You took me to the Ritz for lunch. You bought frozen peas for me to feed the ducks on our walk, and now you’re plying me with wine that I’m pretty sure was bottled sometime in the 19th century at a French chateau.” He raised one inquisitive eyebrow. “So what is it you want from me, hm?”
“Well, really, can’t someone treat their best friend to a nice day out?”
“Nope.” Crowley sat up straighter and leaned forward, fixing him with his patented Intensely Penetrating Gaze. “Just tell me what I’m supposed to do that I don’t want to do. Now.”
Aziraphale twisted his fingers together. Then he cleared his throat several times. “Nothing that awful, really. Just a teensy little favor. Won’t take that long. Only one evening—two or three hours at the most.”
“Uh huh. Okay. And what exactly am I doing for two or three hours? What evening?”
“The 25th. Of this month, that is.”
“That’s only three days away.”
“Yes, but still plenty of time to prepare!”
Oh, damn. There was preparation involved? “WHAT am I preparing for? Stop being cagey and spell it out!”
“Right, well, of course. Um.” Aziraphale fidgeted a bit more, and then took a deep breath before rattling off his explanation all in one go. “The thing is, the annual Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Street Traders Association Ball happens this Saturday evening and I have to attend because I promised to provide several cakes, and it’s expected that one stays around for at least two hours to mingle and eat and dance and it would be terribly rude of me to simply drop off the cakes and leave, but I also need a date for the evening because otherwise Mr. Brown will not believe that I’m truly engaged.”
Crowley gaped at him. “Engaged!? And who the hell is—oh, damn, is that the ruddy carpet guy?”
Aziraphale nodded. “One and the same. He’s been bothering me again.”
“Let me just miracle him to Siberia, then.”
“Certainly not! I do not wish any harm to the fellow. I merely want him to leave me alone. He was in here yesterday, you see, going on and on about how my shop needed shag carpeting—with a suggestive emphasis on the word shag—and then he started talking about the annual ball, and he winked at me!”
“Siberia is too good for him. How about sending him to the Andromeda Galaxy?”
“There is no need to send Mr. Brown anywhere. When he asked if I wanted to go to the ball with him, I panicked, and told him I couldn’t because I already had a date.”
Crowley had a sinking feeling. “Where is this going, Angel?”
Aziraphale gulped, and then tried out a winsome smile on him. “To you?”
“NGK.”
“Well, who else could I have named?”
“Anybody! Nobody! Why didn’t you say you were a monk or something? You know, celibate! For life!”
“Oh. I didn’t think of that.” Aziraphale’s brow furrowed. “Though he doesn’t take hints, you know. One time I tried explaining that I wasn’t technically gay, and he just laughed.”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I’m not surprised. This is ridiculous. Why don’t you file a restraining order or lodge a harassment complaint?”
“Because I am an angel, of course. That wouldn’t be very kind.”
Great. “So you expect me to escort you to the annual Whickber Shopkeepers whatever it is thingy as your date just because you don’t want to be unkind to the bastard? ”
“Yes. And it is just for a couple of hours.” Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “Please? We don’t even have to dance if you don’t wish to.”
“Stop with the eyebrows. I’m on to you.”
“I don’t understand. I’m asking nicely.” Aziraphale widened his eyes, and pursed his lips into a perfect pout.
Arrghhh. Crowley rubbed his hands over his face and groaned. He needed more wine but his glass was empty. “Are you sure one night will get him to stop?”
“Oh, yes, I am quite certain it will do the trick. Provided we behave as one would expect a couple to behave after recently becoming engaged, that is.”
“Engaged.” Crowley remembered Aziraphale mentioning that earlier. “That’s what you meant? You told him we were engaged?!?”
“I am so sorry. But when I told Mr. Brown that you were my date for the ball, he simply refused to believe it. He said he’d seen us together often—on the street, going for coffee, occasionally in the pub—and yet he’d never noticed any overt displays of affection between us, and thought we were merely friends.” Aziraphale chewed on his lip. “He thought I was lying to put him off.”
‘That’s because you were lying to put him off!”
“Not very effectively, apparently.”
“Right. And he still wouldn’t take no for an answer, then?” The Andromeda Galaxy was too good for the bastard.
“He looked awfully hurt. I felt sorry for him.”
If only Aziraphale had channeled that little bit of a bastard that Crowley knew his friend could be, instead of going all angelic. “And that’s when you told him we were engaged, I take it?”
“Yes. I said that neither of us cared for excessive displays of affection in public places, and that we truly were romantic partners and he really did need to cease trying to ask me out because my fiancé would not care for it.”
“Your fiancé still thinks Siberia is a viable option.”
Aziraphale ignored this. “Don’t be silly. We’ll need to get rings. By Saturday.”
“I’m not going.”
“But…but…I need my guardian demon by my side!”
“Hell disowned me, remember? Not sure I can claim to be demonic anymore.”
“I need my guardian fallen angel, then. It’s only for two hours. Please? For your best friend? ” Aziraphale lifted his eyebrows, widened his eyes, and pouted some more.
Damn. He never could stand firm against The Look. Crowley made a grimace, though, to be sure his best friend knew he was acquiescing under duress. “FINE. I’ll go to the stupid ball as your idiot fiancé.”
Aziraphale stopped pouting and beamed joyfully. “Oh, thank you.” He picked up the wine bottle. “Would you like another glass?”
Crowley rose, reached across the short distance, and snatched the wine from him. “Yup.” Then he sank into the sofa and started guzzling right from the bottle.
“Heathen,” Aziraphale muttered.
“Heathen fiancé.” Crowley grinned. “You’re well and truly stuck with me now!”
“Oh, dear.” Aziraphale rose. “I think I’ll just go fetch another bottle.”
“Bring the whole case while you’re at it!”
And he did.
*
What Aziraphale had neglected to consider were all the ramifications of his blatant prevarication. In the panic of the moment, he simply said the first thing to pop into his mind which he felt positive would stop Mr. Brown in his tracks.
But as he and Crowley stood at the jeweler’s counter staring at engagement rings, he belatedly realized that this was going to last a whole lot longer than a few hours over Saturday night. Engagements signified a committed relationship. They were now a couple. A couple of idiots, true, but still together. Not that they hadn’t been together before — they had, after all, been friends since, well, practically forever — but being a couple of idiotic best friends was entirely different from being an engaged couple who would be expected, by everyone who heard about it, to eventually get married.
“This one’s good.” Crowley held up a gold band which had an inner band of a shiny black material. “Look how it glistens when you turn it.”
Aziraphale peered closely at the ring as his fiancé moved it around to catch the shop lights overhead. “Oh, yes. There are tiny little sparkles within the black. Very pretty.” He smiled. “Rather like starlight.”
“Yup. Don’t need to look at any more. I’m done.”
“Oh. Are you sure?” They had barely examined most of the rings. “We may want to take more time with this important decision.”
Crowley lifted that one eyebrow he always raised whenever he was about to express disdain, disbelief, or outright snarkiness. “Seriously?”
Aziraphale crossed his arms. “Yes, seriously! A person only gets one chance to choose an engagement ring. Well, assuming they chose the right life partner.” He huffed a little. “I wish to look at more rings.”
“Okaaay…um…you do remember that we’re just pretending to be engaged, right?”
“Er…yes, of course I do.” He glanced at the trays of rings. The clerk, thankfully, was occupied with other customers, or he’d feel embarrassed by Crowley’s hasty disinterest in the whole affair. “However, I like to do things properly. Even if they are just for…well, for fun.” He pointedly leaned over the counter to study the engagement bands with intense focus.
“Yeah, but this ring is fine, so this is a waste of time.”
Aziraphale ignored him as he picked out several different bands to examine more closely. “If you say so.”
“Angel.”
“Yes, my dear?” He still refused to look at the irksome fellow. Instead, Aziraphale held a ring with a lovely blue and white inset band up to the light.
“This ring is more than fine. It happens to be perfect.”
“Oh?” He squinted hard at the band he was studying. “Why is that? Because it’s the first one you happened to pick up?” Such a careless attitude should not be tolerated. Yes, it was only a pretend engagement, but they were best friends who cared deeply for each other, and Aziraphale longed to express those feelings more openly. Perhaps he could find ways to do that now, and perhaps he could use this fake engagement to set the stage—but only if his best friend cooperated.
“No, that’s not the reason,” Crowley said softly.
Aziraphale, surprised at the change in tone, set the band he was looking at back in the tray. “Then why is it perfect?”
“Because it reminded you of stars. Because that’s where we first met.”
Oh. He gulped, feeling a rush of warmth in his chest, and was about to reply when the store clerk suddenly appeared. “Hello, there, gents. Found anything of interest yet?”
Drat. Aziraphale smiled at Crowley as he took the gold and black band from his fingers. “Yes. We’ll take this one. It’s exactly what we were looking for.”
Crowley returned the smile. “Thanks, Angel. After we wrap this up, how about lunch at the Ritz?”
“That sounds lovely, my dear.”
And it was.
*
The event, which started at 8pm, was held in a rented ballroom. A small combo stood on a raised stage at one end of the spacious, high-ceilinged room, playing soft rock and pop tunes.
Crowley made sure they arrived fashionably late, after all danger of having to listen to speeches had passed. Luckily, Aziraphale had delivered his cakes to the organizer earlier that day. There were a dozen or so round tables at one end of the ballroom, where people were eating and drinking, and a wooden dance floor between the tables and the stage. A few members were already dancing there.
Long, rectangular tables were lined along one wall beneath a row of two-story tall windows, laden with food and drink. “Eat first?” Crowley asked his date.
“Absolutely. Dinner was filling, but the Association always provides scrumptious treats. I can see from here that my cakes have already been appreciated."
As they headed across the ballroom towards the banquet tables, Crowley caught sight of Mr. Brown headed their way, and he also saw the sudden look of apprehension on Aziraphale’s face. “Leave it to me,” he whispered.
“Ah! Mr. Fell!” Brown called cheerfully, smiling for all he was worth.
The smile faltered when Crowley smoothly slid an arm around Aziraphale’s waist and pulled him in close. “Hello, there. Brown, isn’t it?”
“Um, yes.” The fellow frowned. “You know, Brown’s World of Carpets?”
“Oh, right.” Crowley grinned. “The shag man.”
“Er…uh, well, that’s a bit—um, I mean…” Brown was clearly flustered. “That is, yes, I sell all sorts of carpeting styles.” Then he narrowed his eyes. “What exactly is your line of business, may I ask?”
“Me? I’m retired. Total layabout. Nothing to do all day long except keep my future husband happy and suitably… entertained.”
Aziraphale made an unintelligible sound, and then blurted out a semi-strangled laugh. “Ha! Just joking!” He put his arm around Crowley and pinched his waist hard. “Come along, my dear. I am peckish!”
“Ow,” Crowley muttered as they swerved away from Mr. Brown. “That hurt!”
“You made me blush, you foul fiend!”
“I was protecting you!”
“Yes, well, thank you, but in future, I would prefer it if you did not go around implying that we…um…that you and I are…er…oh, you know what I mean.”
“That we’re shagging like rabbits?” Crowley asked sweetly as they reached the refreshment tables.
Aziraphale gasped, and pinched him again.
“Ouch!” Crowley slid out of their hold. “What was I supposed to say to the carpet guy? It worked, didn’t it?”
“I suppose it did, however, I must ask that you refrain from making prurient remarks such as that in future, as I do not care for the image it might put in people’s minds.”
“Fine. We’ll be an engaged couple whose personal, private activities are pure as the driven snow.”
“Thank you.” Aziraphale picked up a plate and began moving down the table, piling hors d'oeuvres and desserts on it as he went.
Crowley followed, picking out a few tidbits here and there. At the other end of the table were the drink selections, and he made a beeline for the champagne on offer. “Glad your lot didn’t skimp on the alcohol.”
“No, we like to celebrate in style. Shall we sit down?”
They found a small table towards the rear, and Crowley looked forward to quietly staying out of the way back there while he consumed extraordinary amounts of champagne. This excellent plan was quickly derailed when a cheerful voice called, “Mr. Fell! There you are! Oh, I’m so happy for you!”
He grimaced as the blonde woman from the record shop — Peggy or Minnie or whoever — bounced up to their table with the dark-haired Coffee Shop woman — Tina or Nan or whatever — in tow. “It’s so utterly delightful. Mr. Brown told us all about your engagement!”
Oh, hell.
“Oh, I see.” Aziraphale’s cheeks turned red. “Um…why, thank you, Maggie.” He lifted his eyebrows at Crowley. “It was, er, quite sudden.”
“It was about time,” Coffee Shop woman replied in a stern, slightly grumpy tone which Crowley totally related to at that moment. “You two idiots were clearly made for each other.”
“Nina! Behave!” Maggie smiled while she said it, though. “Now, then. We simply have to know how we can help!”
Nina rolled her eyes. “We don’t.”
Crowley liked her attitude. “Thanks, but we’re good.” With a cheeky grin, he grabbed Aziraphale’s hand and squeezed it. “Everything is just tickety-boo. Right, my beloved Angel?"
“Um…of course it is, my…er…ah, my dear.” Aziraphale put his other hand on top of their joined ones.
“But Nina and I would love to be involved with the wedding plans in some way! What about catering? Or I could help with the invitations, or just anything you need!” Maggie bounced on her heels. “When is the big day?”
Aziraphale’s eyes went wide as Crowley just stared raptly at him, channeling his Intensely Penetrating Gaze at his beloved Angel for all it was worth.
“The date?” his best friend repeated. “You mean…the wedding date? As in when is that going to happen? Um, not sure yet!” Aziraphale gulped as he squeezed Crowley’s hand hard. “We may want to have a very long engagement before making that final leap!”
Crowley leaned in close to his ear and whispered fiercely, “You’re hurting my hand.”
“Oh, so sorry.” The grip loosened and they let go of their handhold.
“Don’t be silly,” Nina put in. “It’s already late May. Summer weddings are perfect. Get it over with before you two dolts do something stupid like change your minds.”
“Yes!” Maggie clapped her hands. “A summer wedding outdoors! You could have a rose-covered arbor! It would be wonderful.”
“Thank you for the suggestion, but we have only become engaged rather recently and are still getting used to the idea, and—”
“OOH, is that your engagement ring!? May I see it closer?”
“Of course.” Aziraphale held his hand out so Maggie could examine it better.
Nina leaned in close to her friend as they studied the gold ring with the inner band of sparkling black. “Nice. Kinda like stars.”
“Oh, yes, that was precisely the idea, you see, because we first met in the—uh—I mean, well, we were sort of stargazing at the time.”
“How lovely.” Maggie gave Nina a soft smile as they both stepped back. “Isn’t that romantic?”
“Yeah, sure. It’s great. Congratulations, you two.” Then she took Maggie’s hand and pulled her away. “Come on, let’s dance.”
With a gleeful wave, Maggie let Nina lead her off.
And that was only the start of the annoyance, for over the next hour, nearly every single member of the Whickber Street Shopkeepers and Street Traders Association stopped by their table to offer congratulations, and many of them asked about the wedding date. Crowley managed to drink just two glasses of champagne due to constant interruptions, while Aziraphale had to nibble his treats quickly between visitors.
When the last people conveyed their best wishes and departed, Crowley turned to Aziraphale and said, “I want a divorce.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. We aren’t even married yet.”
“I know. But apparently, we’re getting married this summer.”
“Oh.” Aziraphale sighed. “People do seem awfully enthusiastic about the whole thing.”
“I noticed.” This pretend engagement was turning out to be more complicated than Crowley cared for. “Tell you what. Let’s just elope.”
“What?” Aziraphale gasped. “Elope? Are you mad?”
“No, no, no! Hear me out. All we have to do is get out of London for a few days, maybe a week at most. Doesn’t matter where. Then when we come back, we tell everybody we didn’t want any fuss over a wedding ceremony, so we just got married somewhere else.” He was quite chuffed by his plan. “That way, we’ll be left alone. Right?”
“Well, but…people will be disappointed. Especially Maggie. She has her heart set on making our special day…well… special.”
Crowley groaned. “Angel, it isn’t our special day! We aren’t actually engaged, and we aren’t really getting married!”
“Sh! Keep your voice down!”
“You said it was only for a couple of hours!” The teensy little favor was clearly expanding into a whole lot more. “Now I’m wearing a ring, and putting my arm around your waist, and holding your hand—”
“You like holding my hand. We’ve done it before! And you adore that ring. You said it was perfect!”
“The ring is perfect, but that isn’t the point. The point is, we’re not human, and there’s no reason to go around having human ceremonies that aren’t meant for beings like us. This is ridiculous. But we can fix it. What’s wrong with my fake elopement plan? It goes really well with your idiotic fake engagement plan, if you ask me.”
Aziraphale crossed his arms and huffed. “Not being human has hardly stopped us from doing human things!”
“Eating and drinking and sleeping, and driving cars and reading books don’t count. That’s just so we fit in.” He shrugged. “Well, okay, and also because they’re fun and we like doing those things, but that doesn’t mean we have to do all the things people get up to.” Crowley was determined to draw a line in the sand before his best friend went off the deep end and started talking about honeymoons and buying their first house together with a garden to putter around in like an old married couple and…and… hm. He frowned. Suddenly, this crazy idea didn't seem entirely barmy...the house part didn’t actually sound bad at all. He liked the idea of having a garden.
“I do not want to elope.” Aziraphale’s voice took on an insistent tone. “I refuse to disappoint all these nice people who just congratulated us. I want a proper wedding!”
“Sh!” Crowley hissed. “Now you’re drawing attention to us. What is wrong with you?”
“Nothing is wrong with me!”
A few people sitting nearby turned to stare at them. Crowley gritted his teeth as he scooted closer to Aziraphale, grabbed his hand again, and whispered fiercely into his ear. “Angel, you’re getting carried away.”
“I don’t care.” But he did lower his voice, and then he looked intently at Crowley, a little crease in his brow. “It’s not only about not disappointing other people,” he said softly. “I wish to make my feelings known…” He gulped as he twined their fingers together. “My feelings for you. I want everyone to know that I am committed to you.”
“Oh.” Crowley suddenly felt an unusual warmth in his chest. “You do? You are?”
“Yes.” Aziraphale smiled. “I have been longing to say that for a long, long time. And I believe now that my small prevarication about our engagement stemmed from deep within—that perhaps my subconscious thrust it out there because I wanted it to be true.” He pressed Crowley’s hand, and ran his thumb over their engagement bands. “However…if it is truly making you uncomfortable, then I am willing to fix it…in fact, I shall stand up right here in this ballroom and tell everyone the truth.” He shoved his chair back and stood.
“No!” Crowley leapt up, still grasping Aziraphale’s hand tightly. “Don’t you dare!” He noticed heads turning their way again, and anxious to avoid a scene, he simply pulled Aziraphale through the tables towards the dance floor. “Come on, Angel. We’re going to dance.”
“Oh, my!”
Just as they reached the space, the band started playing a slower waltz. Crowley knew the steps, having learned them back when the dance first became popular. He loved to dance, and had followed every trend throughout history, and while he hadn’t been ballroom dancing in ages, the steps were simple enough to remember. He put a hand around Aziraphale’s waist. “Do you know how to waltz?”
“I do, indeed. I learned it at a gentleman’s club over a century ago. If you lead, I believe that I can follow well enough. But why are we dancing?”
“Because you were about to make a fool of yourself, and because I’m no longer uncomfortable with the whole wedding thing, and because this is what engaged couples do.” Crowley took Aziraphale’s right hand in his left, and began to guide him around to the music.
As they slowly danced about the floor, he felt Aziraphale relax within the hold. There was a natural flow to their rhythm as they stepped, glided, and turned, and as the waltz progressed, Crowley felt an increasing ease to their movements, as if they were falling into a harmony all their own. He pulled Aziraphale in closer, wanting to feel more of him, wanting to lose himself in this sweet communion.
They made their way around the large ballroom in a series of long, sweeping circles, and at times Crowley felt as if they had been dancing together forever. It was so simple to hold onto his Angel. It was so easy to move as one. The music swelled and flowed and ebbed over and over, filling him with a great joy, and he no longer saw any other dancers, only Aziraphale, and he no longer felt any concerns at all over pretending to be bound to each other because they were, and always had been, and the fact that engagement and wedding were human terms didn’t matter—they were nothing but different words for the same commitment they’d had to one another since the first starlight was born in the heavens.
The waltz came to an end, and an even slower song started. Crowley smiled as he drew Aziraphale into a tight embrace, both arms around his waist. “Angel?”
“Hm?” Aziraphale had a dreamy sort of look in his eyes as he draped his arms around Crowley’s shoulders. “Yes?”
“Will you marry me?”
Aziraphale smiled and nodded. “Of course I will.”
As they gently swayed to the music in a slow shuffle, Crowley nuzzled his Angel’s cheek, and whispered, “I know what this is all about now.”
“Oh? Do tell me, please.”
“Love. You and me, and commitment, and doing human things because we enjoy them…including getting married.” He pressed his lips lightly against Aziraphale’s temple. “It’s all because you love me, isn’t it?”
“Yes. I do love you so very, very much.”
“That’s what I thought.” Crowley pulled away a little. “I love you, too. May I kiss you?”
“Um…er…” Aziraphale glanced around the room. “I told Mr. Brown that you and I were not keen on intimate displays of affection in public…can you see him anywhere?”
Crowley scanned the event space as they continued to shuffle in a slow circle. He had just about given up when lo and behold, the carpet world man himself appeared far off by the food and drink tables. “Um, you might not need to worry over being caught in a lie, Angel.”
“What do you mean?”
He turned so his partner could see the refreshment area, too. “Does that look like what I think it does?”
Over by the tables, Mr. Brown stood chatting with a fellow Crowley didn’t recognize, both of them drinking champagne, and both smiling and laughing as they frequently touched each other’s arms. Brown’s companion was a sturdy looking man with curly, pale blond hair. Apparently, he had a type.
“Good heavens. Did I just see Mr. Brown whispering in that fellow’s ear?”
“Yup. Do you know him?”
“Yes. He’s one of the other barbers at my barbershop. Name of Filch, I believe. I’ve never used him, as I don’t care for the cologne he favors. It smells like an entire flower shop gone rampant.”
“Oh, look at them now!” Crowley grinned as he watched the two set down their champagne and stroll off towards the ballroom exit, arm in arm. “What a cute couple they make. Hard to believe that carpet guy got over your rejection so quickly.”
“Shush. I am glad that he has apparently moved on.”
“I’m ecstatic he’s moved on.”
“Yes…now there is no reason for me to fret anymore over my little fibs.” Aziraphale put a hand to Crowley’s cheek. “So you may, in fact, kiss me now.”
He did. The kiss was a brief touch only, a tender and light caress, for that was all they really needed to say you are my best friend who I love.
Then they shuffled and swayed a bit more, until the slow song ended. When the band started a faster tune, Aziraphale shook his head vigorously, and yanked Crowley off the dance floor.
“What, you don’t want to twist and shout?” Crowley said.
“No one needs to see me attempting to ‘boogie down’,” Aziraphale replied. “Trust me on this one, please.”
Crowley laughed. “Fine. What do you want to do now? Eat more? Drink more? Wait for another slow song and dance more? Or can we go home and cuddle on the sofa instead?”
“Home. Sofa.”
“Got it.”
As soon as they were out of the ballroom and in the empty lobby, Crowley pulled him into a quick embrace. “Thanks, Angel.” He stepped back, hands still on Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Thank you for letting your subconscious wishes come out in the open. I didn’t realize how much I needed to know what they were.”
“You’re very welcome, my dear.” Aziraphale took his hand. “Thank you for being open to trying one more human custom. Shall we set a date this summer?”
“Yeah, I’m good with that.”
“Then let’s go home now.”
“Okay. I’ve got this idea to tell you about a cottage in the country with a garden we can putter about in like an old married couple—”
“Gracious.” Aziraphale smiled. “Are you getting carried away with this whole engagement and wedding idea, my dear?””
Crowley grinned. “Let’s both get carried away together.”
“Very well.”
“I love you.” He kissed Aziraphale’s forehead.
Aziraphale kissed his cheek. “I love you, too.”
Then they strolled off to their new life, hand in hand.
*