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“Hi, Angel,” Crowley said. “I got you this box of chocolates in this heart-shaped box which is supposed to mean that I love you.”
ARGH. That sounded godawful. He released a sigh. Why was this wooing stuff so hard? He shook his head as he stared at the empty spot on his sofa, where Imaginary Aziraphale sat. “Sorry. I can do better. Really. I think.”
He paced up and down his flat’s living room, wondering how the hell people managed to do this without cocking things up. How did you put words in your mouth that weren’t embarrassing?
The thing was, Valentine's Day was tomorrow. And this was the first time they had not been on opposite sides on that romantic day, and it seemed like the perfect time to finally declare his deepest feelings for his best friend. How to go about it, that was the question.
Practice. That was the best plan he’d come up with so far. Which was why he was pretending he was in the bookshop, and the sofa was standing in for the desk chair, where he had been visualizing an imaginary Aziraphale to practice romantic statements on.
So far, Imaginary Aziraphale was not impressed.
“Angel, I’ve got something to say. I’ve been meaning to say it for some time now. Months, in fact. Ever since saving the world and all that. Don’t know why it took so long but whatever. I’m saying it now. You’re the best. Um, I mean, you’re my friend. Best friend. Who I care for. A lot.”
NGK.
He tried flowery stuff, which went over equally badly.
“How do I love thee, let me count the ways. I love thee to the heights and depths…crap, how does that poem go? Heights…to the stars? The starry heavens and the deepest…ocean trench?”
Damn. Time to rethink this.
Crowley had been observing humans for a long time, and he had also seen enough romcom movies to understand the basic concepts. First, you were supposed to have a lot of sparky encounters full of teasing banter, pretending you didn't like each other when you actually did. He was pretty sure they had covered that territory more than sufficiently.
Next, you had some kind of obstacle in your path that forced you closer together, and you bonded under trying circumstances. Pretty sure they had that one down, too.
So having covered the first three-quarters of a standard romcom flick, the only thing that seemed to be left was the heartfelt declaration in a moment of heightened emotion. How exactly did that work? And would Aziraphale be ready for it?
Crowley paced some more. He couldn’t simply stand outside the bookshop holding a boombox that played a romantic song. He’d need a symphony orchestra out there playing some sappy classical music to impress Aziraphale. So that plan was out.
There was no rain in the forecast for tomorrow, and while he could try to whip up something on the fly, first he'd have to get them under an awning together under some unlikely pretext, which sounded too complicated of a plan which could easily go awry. So scratch that idea.
There didn’t seem to be any opportunities for a grand rescue from evil forces in the offing, nor did it seem likely that they would both be at a dance and spot each other from across the room, lock eyes, and instantly run into each other's arms.
He came to a halt in front of the sofa. He stared at Imaginary Aziraphale, and pursed his lips. Why? Why did the clever bastard keep looking up at him with that hopeful expression — raised eyebrows, wide eyes, tentative twitches of the upper lip into the anticipation of a smile — it wasn’t fair. He didn’t want to disappoint his best friend in the universe with a lousy performance.
“Sorry,” Crowley said with a sigh. “Saying sweet things isn’t exactly my forte, you know.”
Imaginary Aziraphale’s lips turned into a pout instead of a smile. Crowley could almost hear him say, “Well, then, I guess we shall go on as usual, and keep pretending, yes?”
No! Dammit, he needed to get this said, and he needed to do it right.
Maybe he could use some advice. Crowley crossed to the sofa and flopped down on it in an ungainly sprawl, being careful, though, not to bump Imaginary Aziraphale’s knee.
Then he dug out his mobile and went to work.
*
“Crowley, my dear fellow—oh, drat. That won’t do at all.”
Aziraphale paced slowly around the bookshop, in full rehearsal mode. When it came to critically important speeches, it always paid to practice first, and this was the most important of all critical speeches he had ever wanted to speak.
“My dear Crowley—yes, that’s better. My dear Crowley, I want to tell you how I feel. About you, that is. Oh, dear. Um, my point is, I have feelings. For you, I mean. Deep ones. Like the ocean is deep.”
He halted at the end of a bookcase. Why was this so difficult? He had been observing humans for thousands of years, and had performed countless miracles and blessings to encourage romance. He had read a great many romantic novels, too. He ought to know the basics by now.
Tomorrow was Valentine’s Day, that was the trouble. The most romantic day of the year! If he couldn’t declare his feelings then, when could he do so? It seemed like the perfect opportunity to channel all the happy, loving feelings emanating off millions of people in London, to tap into that shared joy, and to use it as inspiration. The very atmosphere of the city would be crackling with romantic energy. He had sensed it on previous Valentine’s Days. Surely Crowley could sense it, too, for Aziraphale had sometimes heard him complain about “humans cluttering up the background noise with their overblown emotions”.
But how to say what he wanted to express, that was the question.
Thus, his efforts at rehearsing the scene — which, thus far, had been utterly abysmal.
Aziraphale resumed pacing. He could try to keep things simple and straightforward. Perhaps he ought to have a gift in hand, such as a box of chocolates or a bouquet of roses? Or better yet, both! Then he could simply hand them to Crowley, and say, “I purchased these romantic items for you because I love you.”
Hm. Somehow that still didn’t sound quite right. Possibly a little too simple and straightforward. Alas.
His pacing brought him to the sofa. He halted there, and tried to picture Crowley sprawled across it in his usual manner. He visualized his best friend in the universe casually removing those ridiculous sunglasses, and tossing them with practiced ease at the statue on the end table, where they landed perfectly. He was so graceful at times, so languid, so at ease…or at least, pretending to be at ease in order to appear nonchalant, cool, and collected under any and all circumstances.
Silly fellow. Aziraphale knew what Crowley was feeling underneath that facade — he was worrying about Heaven and Hell just as anxiously as he was — or at least, that’s the way things used to be. Thank God, literally, that they were free now.
Free to be together…which they had been, these past months, more than ever before. Every day, in fact, they had been meeting and talking and walking and eating and drinking and just being with each other, and they had slowly and carefully rubbed away at both of their facades, for Aziraphale knew he had worn one, too. The mask of obedient, GOOD Angel, ever concerned about doing the correct things, while being quite disobedient underneath. And with that facade had come the hesitancy around Crowley, the need to avoid too much closeness. Layers and layers of defense against the very real possibility of being torn apart forever if just one mistake was made.
Over these past months, the layers came away, little by little. The tensions eased. They laughed more easily, and gradually relaxed their wariness, for no one was watching them anymore. Habits were ingrained, though, and it took time to feel truly free.
But Aziraphale did feel ready to take the next step in their complex relationship. And he wanted to do it tomorrow, on Valentine’s Day.
He stared at the sofa, and at Imaginary Crowley lounging there, smiling at him in that warm, affectionate way he’d seen a great deal more often of late.
Aziraphale sighed. How do I tell him? Simple and forthright had not sounded good. Perhaps he should try being poetic?
He cleared his throat.
“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach…”
No, no, Crowley wouldn’t care for such high-flown language. Surely there was a less flowery poem that would work?
He coughed a little cough, and tried again.
“Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
I love cocoa,
And I love you.”
Oh, dear.
Aziraphale went to his desk, and sank into his armchair. Maybe he needed advice. But who did he know who could help in matters of the heart? At that precise moment, he glanced out the window, and caught sight of Maggie walking across the street to the coffee shop.
Aha!
*
It hadn’t taken Crowley long at all to find a reddit for romantic advice, and after quickly creating an account, he put his plea out there.
demonfriend
Need help telling my best friend that I’m in love with him. We’ve known each other forever, but couldn’t be as close as we wanted because our families were hereditary enemies. That’s been recently resolved – they’re out of the picture, but I’m still having trouble telling him how I feel. Mental baggage and all that. Valentine’s Day is tomorrow. Want to make the big declaration then. HOW DO I DO IT WITHOUT BLOWING IT? I kind of tend to cock things up.
Then he sat back and waited for replies, which didn’t take that long. He read through them, hoping at least one human out there on the internet had a clue today.
sometimeshelpful
Bring flowers and/or chocolate. If you can’t speak well, why not write it down on a nice card? But keep it short and simple!
goober437
Warring families, huh? That’s wild. How well does your boyfriend know his Shakespeare? ‘Cuz quoting something romantic from Romeo & Juliet would be great. Check out the balcony scene. Good stuff in there.
stantheman
Dinner and a movie is a classic. Let a romantic candlelit evening at a fancy restaurant and a soppy romcom do the talking for you. Good luck!
9livesonanotherplanet
Ignore the standard old boring advice. Forget the classic crap and go big or go home. Think skywriting big. If it’s sunny where you’re at tomorrow, take your friend to a park and get a plane up there in the sky to write I LOVE YOU NAME except shit you left this pretty late to be finding a pilot. Call one RIGHT NOW. You never know.
Stupidisasstupiddoes
Hey demonfriend I was in the same place last year and nervous as hell so I brought her a bottle of champers and we got drunk on her sofa and somewhere in there I blurted out “Damn girl I love you” and now we’re engaged. True love forgives everything.
Crowley stopped reading. He had enough to get started on. Except for the nutty airplane idea…well, okay, he could probably use a miracle to encourage a skywriting pilot to fly over say, Hampstead Heath tomorrow, and he could maybe talk Aziraphale into taking a stroll there at the proper time, and hope there weren’t any clouds in the way, but the words I LOVE YOU AZIRAPHALE would take so long to spell out that he could see the first part of that long name fading into disparate puffs before reaching the end, and if he used I LOVE YOU ANGEL instead, that could easily apply to any of the dozens of happy couples strolling around, and he could just see his clueless friend looking up and saying, “Oh, isn’t that sweet. I wonder who it’s for?”
No, he needed to be more obvious.
First, he tried writing out his thoughts to put on a nice card, which would accompany the flowers and chocolate. He spent nearly an hour writing, editing, rewriting, editing some more, all on the notes app on his mobile, feeling more and more confident that he was getting it right at last, and that this would actually work, before he accidentally deleted the whole thing by hitting that unusual combination of keys which accidentally deleted things forever which he should have known about because he had designed that particular flaw himself, back in the day.
Idiot. He snarled at the blank screen. Hoist by my own petard.
Which reminded him of Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet. Yup, his “boyfriend” knew his Bard, alright. Crowley poked at the phone screen until he found the balcony scene, and read through it.
O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
That I might touch that cheek!
Well, first, Aziraphale would need to be wearing a glove, and then he’d need to touch his cheek with it. Nope.
With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls;
For stony limits cannot hold love out,
And what love can do that dares love attempt…
Hm. Not bad. Good metaphor, with the walls and stony limits thing. He wondered how good his ability to memorize poetry was. He tried remembering the lines, but got bolloxed up every time. Nope.
My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
The more I have, for both are infinite.
Okay, a little bit simpler wording…and a good romantic thought. He spent more time trying to memorize it, and did a pretty decent job, but when Crowley got to the end of the thought, it felt lacking in some sort of grandeur. It needed more. Aziraphale was everything to him. This quote focused more on how much love Crowley had, and not enough on what Aziraphale meant to him.
Sadly, nope.
He moved on to the next useful suggestion. Dinner and a romcom flick. Getting a table on Valentine’s Day at the Ritz was no problem. All he had to do was snap his miraculous fingers. Fine. The movie part was the sticking point. Aziraphale didn’t watch movies. He didn’t even own a TV. He preferred the stage, so Crowley spent more time on his mobile, scanning the offerings at the London theaters. There were musicals, and dramas, and some Shakespeare but not the funny ones, and there was that mystery play that seemed as if it had been running since the neolithic age, and there were comedies but nothing that leapt out as romantic comedy. Plus the whole venue was wrong — the idea was to be intimate. As in sitting on a sofa in front of a TV in the privacy of the bookshop, because that was where this declaration had to occur, not in Crowley’s dark sterile flat. He could hardly make heartfelt declarations in the middle of a crowded theater.
Damn.
That left the “get drunk on champagne” suggestion. When in doubt, break out the bubbly. Let the alcohol loosen his tongue. It had done so in the past, more than a few times, and Crowley enjoyed the way alcohol cut quickly through inhibitions. It had worked for that reddit user, so maybe it would work for him. Maybe all he had to do was imbibe extraordinary amounts of wine with Aziraphale to be able to Say Anything. Without the boombox.
Crowley smiled. He had a plan. He would still turn up with the box of chocolates and the flowers. No card. He would also turn up with a ton of champagne, and hope for the best. Either it would work, and their relationship would be tickety-boo, or it would backfire on him, and their relationship would be back to square one.
Where it already was, so what did he have to lose, really?
*
Aziraphale had noticed the flirtation going on between Maggie and Nina over the past few months. Things had been tentative at first, and a bit awkward, but eventually the smiles and the teasing turned more serious, until one evening he had watched as Nina closed up her place, and Maggie strolled over to greet her, and they both walked off together, laughing and holding hands.
So he asked if they had time to pop by the bookshop after closing to give him some advice about “a personal matter of some import.”
And now here they all were, the two lovely women on his sofa, while he took his usual desk chair, having given them cocoa and biscuits for their trouble. After some initial hesitation, he was able to explain his difficulty to them, and when he finished by asking for advice, Maggie set down her mug and gave him a big grin.
“I’m so happy for you, Mr. Fell.” She turned her beaming smile on Nina. “Isn’t it wonderful?” Then she sighed. “They’re in love.”
“‘Course they are,” Nina replied brusquely. “I told you that ages ago.” She took a long drink, and smacked her lips. “Ah. Great cocoa.”
“We need to help them!” Maggie took Nina’s hand. “They need to be as happy as we are.” Then she turned back to Aziraphale. “Nina and I are together now, you see.”
Nina rolled her eyes. “Of course he sees! That’s why he asked us!”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Look, it’s simple.” Nina finished her cocoa and put the mug aside. She squeezed Maggie’s hand. “All you have to do is take his hand, and start stroking the top gently with your thumb. Like this.” She demonstrated the touch.
Maggie released a deep sigh, and her eyelids fluttered.
“See? Works every time. Then you press your hands together firmly, look into his eyes—wait, does he ever take those stupid sunglasses off? Cuz this won’t work unless you can see his reactions.”
“Yes, Crowley usually removes them when he’s alone here with me.”
“Great. So you look into his eyes, and you say, ‘Darling, you’re the best thing that ever happened to me. I love you.’”
“Oh!” Maggie giggled. “That’s exactly what she said to me!”
“And then you pull him into an embrace, and give him a kiss. Not too short, not too long. Like this.”
Aziraphale gasped as Nina planted her lips on Maggie’s mouth, and they kissed for just long enough to make him feel a little uncomfortable before parting, with more sighs on Maggie’s part, while Nina grinned triumphantly. “Easy peasy.”
“I cannot do that!” Kiss Crowley? Good heavens. “No, no, that is far too intimate! I only wish to express my deepest feelings for him. In words.”
“Pffft.” Nina shook her head. “Bollocks. Kiss the bastard. He needs it. I mean, look at him — all swaggering dark mysterious tall stack of posturing nonsense. The bloke could use a good smack to his idiotic head, if you ask me. I mean, it’s bloody obvious he loves you.”
Aziraphale gaped at her. “It is?!?”
“Oh, she’s right, Mr. Fell. We’ve all seen it. The way he follows you around like a lost puppy, and how he likes to hold the car door open for you and how he’s always circling around you as if he’s protecting you from something.”
“Yup,” Nina added. “You should see the way he smiles when he’s in the coffee shop and you walk in. Like the heavens just opened and threw a bloody great ray of sunshine on you. As if you were an angel or something.”
“Really? An angel?” He squirmed a bit, and adjusted his bow tie. “How odd.”
“What I’m saying is, there’s no problem here. Just grab his hand, say your thing, and it’ll be fine. He’s so ready for it.”
“Now, now,” Maggie said as she gave Nina’s cheek a quick peck. “Maybe Mr. Fell wants to be more romantic. Not that you weren’t, mind, I was over the moon when you did that, but Mr. Fell likes old-fashioned things, you can tell that by the suit and the books and all these knickknacks.” She waved at the bookshelves. Then she turned to Aziraphale and said, “You’d like to say something kind of fancy, is that right?”
“That’s quite right, my dear. I feel that Crowley deserves nothing less than a grand declaration befitting someone who has stood by me through thousands of — er, well, um, I mean, he means so much to me. More than anyone could possibly comprehend. But he isn’t exactly into poetry, and I’m just not sure what to say that will be impressive enough. I get nervous when I know something truly important is on the line. And then I get tongue-tied.”
Nina shrugged. “You could always try booze.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Get drunk. It’s what I do when I want to free up the brain chains.”
Aziraphale frowned. Brain chains? “Ah. I take it your colorful phrase was meant to convey those vexing inhibitions which humans — er, I mean, which people including me — often find troublesome when they are overly obstructive to one’s true desires.”
“Yeaaaahhh…right. Something like that.”
Maggie smiled at her. “Remember that night we had too much bubbly?”
Nina grinned. “Oh, yeah. Well, I remember the best parts, anyway.”
“Are you suggesting that I overindulge in drink?” Aziraphale started to regret seeking romantic advice from these two. “Is that wise?”
“Both of you need to overindulge,” Nina replied. “It works better that way. Free up everybody’s brains, loosen the tongues. The truth comes out under the influence, you’ll see.”
“Ah. In vino veritas.” She did have a point. Probably a foolish point, but he was at a loss as to what else he could try. “Are you sure I couldn’t just present Crowley with a box of chocolates and some flowers instead?”
Nina raised a single eyebrow. “Does he like chocolates and flowers? Or would he rather have champagne?”
Aziraphale pursed his lips as he considered. Crowley never did eat as much as he did whenever they were dining, he merely nibbled, and he rarely expressed any opinion on the food he consumed. Though surely he would have said something negative about chocolate if he didn’t care for it, yes? Damn. Thousands of years of exploring human food, and he hadn’t paid enough attention to what his best friend in the universe preferred! He felt remiss.
As for the flowers, well, at least he knew that Crowley was quite fond of plants and gardens, so that ought to be fine. Though on the other hand, what if he only liked living plants? What if the idea of cut flowers appalled him? Oh, dear. There was one thing he did know for certain, though. Crowley definitely liked extraordinary amounts of alcohol. Oh drat.
“Mr. Fell.”
“What? Oh, sorry, I was just thinking.”
“Too much thinking,” Nina said. “It’s time for action.”
“Action,” he repeated glumly. He didn’t think he was any further ahead in this whole mess than he was before they came in. But it was nice of them to try, so he smiled and gave them a thumbs-up gesture. “Right. Tomorrow. I’ll be ready.”
“Good.” Nina got off the sofa, and gently pulled Maggie up. “Come on, we’ve got things to do this evening,” she said with a wide smile.
Maggie blushed.
“Yes, thank you for stopping in.” Aziraphale rose to show them to the door.
“I’m so glad we could help you,” Maggie said on the way out. “And I do hope everything turns out happily.”
“I am certain we shall be just fine. Goodnight, my dears!” He waved them off, and then shut the door. He didn’t have to turn the VERY CLOSED sigh over, because it was always turned outward these days, as he had absolutely no reason to ever open his beloved home to something as dreadful as customers again, thank God.
Literally.
Then he sat down once more, and had a few thoughts about Valentines’ Day, love, and massive quantities of champagne.
*
VALENTINE”S DAY: MORNING
Crowley didn’t really do mornings if he could possibly help it. This day, this most meaningful of all days in his long long LONG life, he slept in. A lot. Mostly to avoid the whole thing, even though he knew that he couldn’t.
But he tried.
*
Aziraphale had taken up sleeping after losing his job, just to fill in those extra hours he’d previously spent doing miracles and blessings with something other than More Reading or More Restaurants. But he liked mornings, especially his ritual cup of tea with a bakery treat. So he was up by eight, refreshed and ready to face the day.
Until he looked at the calendar, and remembered exactly what day it was.
He spent the rest of that morning drinking cup after cup after cup of tea while munching through a dozen croissants, five slices of angel cake, and ten raspberry scones.
Then he threw it all up.
*
VALENTINE’S DAY: AFTERNOON
Crowley got up. He snapped his fingers to produce perfect hair and the usual black ensemble. Then he called the nearest provider of alcoholic spirits and paid for a case of champagne to be delivered to a certain bookshop in Soho at six that evening, asking them to just leave it on the steps because it would be closed and not to worry about thieves because he had a way of ensuring everything would stay put. A very demonic way.
Next, he went out in search of chocolates. He bought three boxes, unable to decide which one Aziraphale would like best. Then he hit a florist, where he picked up a bouquet of a dozen red roses. Finally, he called Aziraphale’s favorite sushi place and ordered all of the things he adored, for delivery at six-thirty. And last but hardly least, he phoned the bookshop.
“I’m so sorry, but the bookshop is permanently closed—”
“It’s me.”
“Oh. Oh dear. Oh my. Um. Yes. Hello!”
Crowley frowned at the screen. Why did he sound nervous? “Yeah…uh, right. Hi. Thought I’d come over there around six for dinner. Got some sushi for us. Okay?”
“Dinner…ah…um, yes, of course it’s okay. Yes. I’ll be here. I’ll be ready!”
“Uh huh. Everything tickety-boo over there, Angel?”
“Everything is fine! Why shouldn’t it be? Dinner at six. Sushi is good. See you then!” Click.
Weird. But whatever. He had a plan, and all he had to do now was stick to it. Chocolate. Flowers. Dinner. Champagne. Get totally sloshed and blurt out his feelings and hope for the best. It was a totally idiotic plan.
But it was totally him.
*
Aziraphale had spent the afternoon by going to a florist to buy a huge bouquet of red roses just in case, and then stopping by a sweets shop to pick out a huge box of chocolates, and finally popping into the wine shop, where he bought three magnums of champagne.
He spent the rest of that afternoon fretting. When he wasn’t fretting, he was busy pondering what to do about dinner. Should they order takeaway? Should they go out? Should they go to the Ritz? Or somewhere more casual, such as his favorite sushi place?
Just when he decided that sushi was best, and was about to pick up the receiver to make the call, the telephone rang. It was Crowley, inviting himself over. And he’d already ordered their meal! Goodness. There was nothing left to do now other than stare at the roses he’d put in a cut-glass vase on the small round table they usually ate at, which he did whenever he wasn’t staring at the enormous chocolate box taking up half the sofa. At least he didn’t have to stare at the champagne, since it was chilling in his small fridge.
At five minutes to six, he heard a thump by the front door. When he went to investigate, he found an insulated box containing a massive amount of chilled champagne. Oh my.
He hauled it inside, grateful for the cooling materials in the box, as there was no more room in his refrigerator. It had to be Crowley’s doing, yes?
Well, he’d get his answer shortly, as a minute later, he looked out the window to see the Bentley roaring up. With a fluttering feeling in his abdomen, Aziraphale gulped, strode into the center of the bookshop, adjusted his bow tie, and waited.
Action time!
*
VALENTINE’S DAY: EVENING
Crowley sauntered into the bookshop bearing the roses and the chocolates, and came to a stumbling halt at the sight of an enormous bouquet much like his own on the table where they always ate. Then his gaze traveled from there over to the sofa, where a massive heart-shaped box took up nearly half the surface.
He looked back at Aziraphale, who stood between the two signs of Valentine’s Day affection, gaping at him.
“Um,” Crowley said, “did you get the champagne I sent?”
Aziraphale nodded. “I also bought some myself.”
“Seriously?”
“Mm hm.”
They stared at each other some more. And then Crowley burst into laughter. Oh hell. This was priceless. And so utterly them.
Aziraphale tittered. Then he giggled. And then he said, “Oh, what idiots we are,” before breaking down in a fit of laughter, too.
Crowley closed the distance between them, still chortling with both joy and relief. He thrust the flowers and chocolates at Aziraphale and said, “Will you be my valentine, Angel?”
Grinning madly, Aziraphale said, “Of course I will!” He set the roses and chocolates on the table and pulled Crowley into a hug. “And here I was fretting over nothing.”
“So was I.”
The laughter died away then. They stood there for some time, simply holding each other, and Crowley felt only warmth and affection flowing between them, and he adored the way Aziraphale’s arms embraced him with strength, the way one hand caressed his upper back, the way their heads nestled together, breathing deeply together…and he adored the sweet sensation of wrapping his arms around that same strength…and as they stood there swaying gently to their own joined rhythm, luxuriating in a closeness which had been denied them forever, he spoke the words he should never, ever have feared to say aloud.
“I love you, Aziraphale.”
“Oh!” A little gasp, eyes wide, a joyous smile. “Oh, Crowley, I love you so much. I’ve wanted to say it for so long and I couldn’t and then I could but I didn’t know how and it worried me for too long and then this day was coming and I had to find a way to—”
“Shush.” Crowley put a finger to his lips. “Calm down, Angel. It’s alright. Those are my thoughts, too. And it’s alright now. Okay?”
Aziraphale nodded. “Yes. Yes, we’re alright now.” Then he brushed his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “It’s lovely to touch so freely.”
Crowley responded with the lightest caress of his lips against Aziraphale’s forehead. “It’s amazing.” He smiled. “I did have a plan, you know.”
“As did I, obviously. What was your clever scheme?”
“Flowers, chocolate, champagne, sushi dinner — which ought to be arriving in a bit — and then getting so drunk together that we got past our inhibitions and blurted out grand declarations. What was yours?”
“Almost the same. I was just pondering the question of dinner when you called.”
“Ah. Good timing.”
“Yes, I am looking forward to the meal. However, may we dispense with the intoxication part of our plans? It’s no longer needed. We can still have some champagne, by way of celebrating.”
“Sounds good to me. Can we break into it now?”
“Certainly.”
Soon they were on the sofa, side by side, champagne glasses in hand. The oversized box of chocolates had been shoved aside, and they were sitting closer than close, thighs touching.
“To love,” Aziraphale said as he raised his glass.
“To Valentine’s Day,” Crowley replied as he clinked it. “Cheers.”
They did not get drunk that evening. The sushi arrived, and Crowley enjoyed watching Aziraphale indulge with his usual murmurs of delight, and he also enjoyed letting himself be handfed from time to time throughout the scrumptious meal.
After letting their dinner settle a while, they broke into the chocolates, and this time it was Crowley who delighted in popping select treats into Aziraphale’s mouth.
They did drink more champagne, but only enough to feel a light, pleasant buzz. After they had eaten enough chocolates, and had enough alcohol, Aziraphale miraculously instructed his gramophone to play soppy classical music, and pulled Crowley up and into the center of the bookshop. “I want to dance, please. Slowly.”
They did. Crowley draped his arms over Aziraphale’s shoulders, while Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley’s waist, and they shuffled around the small circular rug, not paying much attention to the tempo. It didn’t matter. The point was to hold and to touch. This wasn’t about dancing…this was about learning the ways of loving someone, all the ways they wished to learn, the ones they knew had always been there, so heartbreakingly out of their reach.
No more…Crowley clasped Aziraphale in his arms, and every touch he gave and every caress he received was a revelation. This is what we have missed. And this was what he craved now, to revel in the splendor and the astonishment and the sheer joy of love. To hold it beneath his hands, and to hold onto it forever more.
“I want to stay here,” he whispered. “I never want to leave your side again.”
Aziraphale smiled, not just with his lips, but with his whole being. “Are we moving in together, is that your clever idea?”
“If you’ll let me.”
“Hm. Let me think…move in with the only true friend I’ve ever had, who I utterly treasure…I wonder…”
“Just say yes, Angel.” Crowley smiled, and then kissed his cheek. “I promise not to play loud rock music. I’ll use earbuds.”
“Ah. Very well, then. Yes.”
“Thanks. This is the best Valentine’s Day I’ve ever had.”
Aziraphale shook his head. “You had to spend all the previous ones tempting people to stray, as I recall.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t very good at it.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I got to bless unions on this day, which brought me great happiness, but this is absolutely the best Valentine’s Day that I have ever had, too. In fact, if you like, we might consider using it in the future as our anniversary.”
“I like that idea. Anniversary of our confessions of love?”
“And the anniversary of our final freedom from the past. Every last hindrance to being fully together — both external and internal — has finally fallen away today.”
“I feel another champagne toast coming on,” Crowley said.
“Indeed.”
As they shuffled about in their embrace, they made their way slowly to the table, where a half-empty bottle and two glasses stood. Without breaking their hold, they managed to pour out enough champagne, and raised their glasses high.
“To freedom,” Aziraphale said.
“To the freedom to love,” Crowley replied.
And as the music continued to fill the bookshop, and as they moved together in each other’s arms, they both drank their fill.
***