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The bookshop stood silently on the busy street, a shell of its former self. No lamp light spilled from its windows. Some shelves were visible from outside, tragically empty of contents. It was now just a vague echo of the lively, warm, comfortable abode it used to be. People passed it without so much as a glance, paying no mind to the vacant building. After all, that’s what it had been for decades now. It meant nothing to them.
It meant everything to Aziraphale.
It hurt him to see it in such condition. The red paint had weathered and chipped, and there were cracks in several window panes. All the signage was sun bleached or had fallen away. It felt cold and unpleasant after so long. He dreaded what awaited him beyond the threshold.
But he needed to go inside. He absolutely, unequivocally had to.
His heart was pounding in his chest. Anxiety gripped every nerve in his body like a vice. He forced himself to step forward. Approaching the old doors felt like he was about to enter the mouth of a decaying carcass. He put a hand on the doorknob and turned. Locked.
He fumbled in his pockets until he produced a small keyring, adorned with the key and a charm of two wings. Material objects were not supposed to be in heaven, but he hadn’t been willing to let it go. He would rub the feathered motif between his fingers when the stress became overwhelming, hidden in his pocket. It was both comforting and a painful reminder.
Delicately, as if afraid the lock would break under his touch, Aziraphale inserted the key and turned. The old mechanism strained but clicked into place. He twisted the handle and the door creaked open, darkness inside waiting patiently to greet him.
It was both better and worse than he’d expected.
The furniture was gone. His armchair, the desk, lamps, even his ancient computer. Everything that had made it so uniquely his own little haven. The bookshelves were barren and a layer of grey had settled on every surface. More importantly, though, his books were somehow still there. Perhaps not all of them, it was hard to tell. They sat in huge stacks at the center and farthest corners of the room, piled nearly to the second story above. He would need to catalogue all the titles, but it brought a great sense of relief to see at least a healthy portion of them remained.
He made his way around the precarious towers of parchment and text. He gently traced his fingers along the aged spines. Spots remained in the dust where he touched, like tiny footprints in fallen snow. His heart sank, but he moved on. He wasn’t here for the books. He’d worry about them later. He turned to face the back of the shop.
It got darker as he left the light from the front windows. It was too quiet, as if even the ambient noise from outside couldn’t penetrate the emptiness within the shop walls. He got to the spiral staircase and looked upwards. Nothing but shadows awaited him. He steeled himself and gripped the cold railing before taking the first step up. The iron tapped quietly under his feet, each step muffled by the dust that had settled. He felt the grime under his hand and a pang of guilt stabbed at him. He wondered if it would be strange to apologize to a building for neglecting its proper maintenance.
Once he got to the landing, he turned to the hallway and the room beyond. The sun filtered in from the bedroom windows, and in the dim light he could see that the small twin bed managed to stay. A figure was perched on the bare mattress. His stomach lurched and his racing heart threatened to burst out of his chest. He tried to keep himself from panicking, but he couldn’t fight the wave of fear and shame that crashed down on him.
Crowley.
He didn’t even turn his head as the angel gingerly approached. He was staring out the windows, sunglasses concealing his eyes. His hair was long, tied back into a half ponytail and trailing in red waves down his shoulders. He remained motionless, a gloomy statue in the dark. Aziraphale stopped a few paces from the bed. His fingers trained shakily to his pocket watch, tracing the chain against his vest. Finally, he cleared his throat.
“Hello, Crowley.” He tried to keep his tone steady, but even he could hear the tremor in his voice. He cleared his throat again. “I…I hoped I might find you here.”
The man still made no move, acting as if he didn’t exist. Aziraphale didn’t know if he wanted him to react or not. “Listen… We need to talk.”
Finally, agonizingly slowly, the demon turned to face him. He couldn’t see his eyes behind his dark glasses, couldn’t read his face, but he immediately felt the intensity of his bitter gaze.
“Oh, do we?” he hissed. The words dripped with venom and it stung. It was the first time he’d heard that voice in almost a century, and it was all scorn and anguish. He watched Crowley push himself to his feet and slide his hands in his pockets. He wore a turtleneck with jeans and his old jacket, all black, as always. He moved closer, each footstep like a gunshot in the silent tension. His mouth was a tight line, and his shoulders hunched up around his neck like he was a beast stalking its prey.
“Well,” he continued through gritted teeth, lips curled into a snarl poorly disguised as a smile. “What could you possibly need to say to me, Su-Preme Arch-Angel A-Zi-Ra-Phale?”
The anger radiated in waves, each emphatic syllable cutting into Aziraphale like a dagger. He forced himself to stay calm. Or at least, he desperately tried to. “And what in Satan’s name happened to your face?”
“M-my…” Aziraphale instinctively put his hands up to touch his cheek and felt the wiry, coarse hairs of his beard. “Oh. Yes. That. Just…ah. Wanted to try something new.” He ran fingers through it a couple of times. He didn’t want to admit that he’d grown it purely so he could have some semblance of control after arriving in heaven. Crowley made a noise of disapproval and leaned back, looking towards the window again. “And…it’s just Aziraphale now, actually,” he added quietly. He barely saw Crowley’s brow twitch. “Not Supreme Archangel. There isn’t one. Not anymore.”
The glass panes and rotting wood seemed infinitely more interesting to Crowley than the conversation. “That’s why I’m here, Crowley. I need to explain what happened up there, because…well, everything is different now,” Aziraphale said urgently, risking a step forward. “Please, I beg you, just…just give me a few minutes of your time. Then you can be rid of me, I promise.”
The demon’s chin dipped to his chest and his jaw clenched. After a few seconds he looked up at Aziraphale and sniffed, his nose wrinkling.
“Well,” he shoved his elbows out to gesture at the room, “here we are, then. Go on.”
“Of…of course,” Aziraphale replied. He said the words too fast. Crowley rarely used such a genuinely harsh tone with him, and it triggered fear he’d never experienced before. It left him flustered. He shook himself. “Well, um. Let’s see. Where do I begin—”
“Probably best to start with you shoving off with The Metatron,” spat Crowley. Aziraphale couldn’t help it, and flinched.
“Y-yes, sorry, yes. I…went with him. To heaven,” he stuttered awkwardly. “When he first approached me, he said they needed a new Supreme Archangel. Told me they wanted someone familiar with earth, with humans. So they approached me, since I’d spent so long here. They were…planning the Second Coming.”
Crowley’s face almost showed a new emotion, but he was quick to mask it.
“Had to find a way to wipe out humans again, huh,” he grumbled. He looked everywhere except Aziraphale and sighed. He sounded very, very tired. “When’s it happening.”
“Well, um, that’s the thing, you see. It, well…isn’t.” Aziraphale pursed his lips. Crowley’s brows furrowed.
“What.”
Aziraphale nervously licked his lips. “It isn’t happening,” he repeated. “I told you, things are different. Heaven isn’t the same way anymore. And I’m quite sure Hell is going to follow suit soon.”
Crowley scoffed. “No, really! It’s true! God Herself, She’s… Things have changed, everything is different.” He began to pace back and forth, gesturing energetically as he talked. “There’s no hierarchy in heaven anymore! No organized supreme system, no ranks, nothing. Just…all regular angels. I mean, Michael and Uriel and The Metatron weren’t happy about it, of course. Along with many of the others, but…well, none of them could argue with God.”
“Wha…” Crowley’s voice was now full of disbelief, his eyebrows raised and his mouth agape. He stumbled over his words for a moment. “What—that’s not—there’s no way—what did you do?”
Aziraphale stopped pacing and turned to face him. His stomach tightened.
“I, um, talked to Her,” he said.
“You talked to Her?” Crowley asked, incredulous.
“Yes,” Aziraphale confirmed.
“How…” A wild blend of emotions contorted the demon’s face. Aziraphale could only read one: absolute betrayal.
“Becoming Supreme Archangel had its perks,” explained Aziraphale, but there was no pride or happiness in the words. He knew this would hurt Crowley horribly. “I was able to speak with Her. Privately.”
Crowley went slack-jawed. He started to mouth a word, then a different one. Instead he ground his teeth, baring them and striding forward. He jabbed a finger at the angel’s chest.
“Oh I’ll bet you’re so happy!” he snarled. Anguish permeated his fury. “Got your own personal conference with God! What an honor! You must be so very important! I’ll bet you got anything you wanted up there! Was it everything you hoped it would be? Being God’s perfect little pet? No demons around to muck up your stupid plans?”
“That isn’t what happened!” Aziraphale snapped defensively.
“What did you talk about?” A cruel smile split Crowley’s mouth wide. “Gossip about your cushy life on Earth? Gossip about all your little books and foods and music? Gossip all about the humans…humaning?”
“It wasn’t like that—”
“And the god-forsaken, demon that you—”
“Crowley!” Aziraphale shouted. His fists clenched so hard his nails dug into his palms. “It wasn’t like that at all! Please, just—” He blinked away the tears in his eyes and tried hopelessly to regain his composure. His hands trembled. He uncurled his fingers and straightened his tartan bow tie and tugged on his faded vest. They remained exactly the same. “Please let me explain,” he finally said, voice meek and heavy with emotion. Crowley still looked livid and breathed heavily, like he might begin screaming again. He backed up and paced in a line for a few seconds. Then he stopped, folded his arms, and nodded impatiently at the angel.
Aziraphale inhaled slowly.
“I did tell Her about being here, among humans. But it was more than that. It wasn’t about my, er, indulgences. I told Her about the people I’ve met, the amazing individuals I’ve gotten to watch grow and excel and flourish, about all the tremendous progress and accomplishments of humanity, those even beyond worship. I told Her about the wars and the self-inflicted turmoils humans bring upon themselves, and how they always manage to rise stronger in times of peace and unity. I told Her about seeing death and sickness, and about medical discoveries to protect and heal. Doctors curing diseases and saving lives. I told Her about their drive for more, for better. The arts, philosophy, technology, science, law. And…I told Her about love.”
Crowley’s expression didn’t change, but a sound pushed out of his lips. “I told Her that despite Heaven and Hell nearly wiping out all mortal life, despite the struggles humanity brings upon itself, I…I’ve never felt more love than when I’m on Earth. And I only realized it once I couldn’t feel it anymore.” His voice wavered and he swallowed the lump in his throat. He gazed out the window. “I told her about what that love felt like, what it looked like. What it was truly like down here. I told Her humanity didn’t deserve destruction because they were wicked, because they aren’t. Not inherently. They are capable of so much love. They may make poor decisions, but they can make wonderful decisions, too. I said that I thought they deserved to be able to think and feel and choose how they continue living on Earth. It isn’t fair to punish them when they don’t know about the universe like we do.” He faltered. “And…well… She agreed.”
Crowley snorted loudly. “No, it’s true! She did! She disbanded all the rankings and assignments. All the authority and power Archangels, gone. Heaven finally changed.”
The demon considered him for a moment, then clicked his tongue.
“That must have been when Muriel left,” he mused off-handedly.
“Yes!” Aziraphale exclaimed, pointing at him with too much enthusiasm. “Yes, they came back because…well, everyone had to be informed and needed reassigning. All tasks were newly delegated and distributed. Because it isn’t about the Great Plan anymore. It isn’t about destroying humans or demons or even performing miracles in Her name. It’s just about letting humans be.”
“And how long did it take to figure that out?” Crowley sounded deeply annoyed.
“We’re only allowed to intervene if, and only if, humanity poses a major threat to itself.” He ignored him. “She…She told me it was always supposed to be about protecting them. The Ineffable Plan, that is.”
Crowley seemed to be rendered speechless now. He stared at him, eyebrows furrowed, for a few seconds before he finally opened his mouth.
“Are you telling me that God’s new plan is…” He made a puzzled face. “Effable?”
Aziraphale considered the word before he decided to nod. He didn’t know how else to explain it. Before it had been enormous and grand, so beyond comprehension that the only appropriate term was ‘ineffable.’ And now it was so simple that it could be described in three words: let them live.
“I suppose it is, yes,” he softly responded. When Crowley finally spoke again, his voice was low.
“What was it like? Speaking to…Her,” he murmured. In every word, Aziraphale heard the heartache, the frustration, something close to yearning. It made his chest ache.
“It was magnificent,” he answered, almost a whisper. “And absolutely terrifying.”
Silence engulfed them. It was awkward and tense. Aziraphale fidgeted until he finally cleared his throat.
“She plans to. Um. Speak with the Devil about it all. She wants to make a truce.”
Now Crowley burst into laughter. It was harsh and scathing.
“Oh, I’d love to see that,” he jeered. “Satan’s definitely ready and waiting for God to invite him for a spot of tea! I’m sure he wants to sit politely and discuss the future of humans, who he wants to destroy, and demons, who he’s had control over for centuries.”
“They used to be on the same side, once,” Aziraphale reminded him in a hushed tone. Crowley sniffed and turned away.
“Yeah, so did we.”
The words were said with so much vitriol that the angel felt ill. He almost stopped breathing. He knew Crowley would be angry, justifiably so. But the way he’d said those words hurt Aziraphale so much more than he anticipated. He hated himself for being the cause of such harrowing resentment. “Well then. Isn’t that nice. No more insane plans to wipe out demons or humans. No more pissing contests. Brilliant.” He finally faced the angel again, his tone colder than ever. “Are you done?”
“No!” said Aziraphale hurriedly, desperately. “Please, no, not yet. I have one more thing that I really must tell you. And then—then you’ll never have to see me or…or speak to me ever again.” Even saying it felt painful, like a scalding iron to his heart. “One more thing. Then I’ll disappear, i-if that’s what you want.”
Crowley didn’t move or speak. Aziraphale couldn’t see beyond his tinted glasses, and part of him was glad. He didn’t know if he could handle seeing the turmoil in those golden eyes.
“I—” He halted to reel in his emotions. He sniffed and swallowed before forcing himself to continue. “I-I wanted—I needed to tell you just how truly, deeply sorry I am for what I did. I…I’m so, so sorry. After everything you did for me, and everything you said—” His voice quivered and tears welled in his eyes. “I just…I just left you here. All alone. I was such a fool. I left thinking it was for the best…that I could fix things, that I could—”
He choked out a sob, and his shoulders shuddered. “I just wanted to see you smile again!” he cried. Tears finally streamed down his cheeks. “I wanted you to smile the way you did when you created the stars. I thought, if you came with me, if I could restore you to your angelic form, then maybe—” He struggled to speak and spent a few moments trying to find the right words. He couldn’t. None of them actually seemed right.
He stared at Crowley, who remained unreadable.
“I’m so sorry,” he said again, and his voice cracked badly. “After everything, I selfishly tried to change you. And then I left! I ran away from you, from us. And…dear God, I missed it, I missed it so, so much. It was all I could think about while I was up there, surrounded by—” He recentered himself. “All that love I felt here. It…it was you. It was always you, all along.”
The room fell quiet again. The stillness was horrible. Aziraphale anticipated the worst as seconds crawled by. Crowley shifted, casting his gaze to the window again. Aziraphale felt like he was fighting for his life as he waited for a response. His lungs constricted painfully and his ribs felt too small for the wild beating of his heart. He even wondered if his knees would buckle under the tremendous, wretched weight on his shoulders.
After a few more agonizing moments, Crowley finally looked back at him. Fear pulsed through the angel’s bloodstream.
“So what happens now?” he asked. His voice was carefully even, and it terrified Aziraphale more than anything.
“I…I leave that decision in your hands,” he uttered, gesturing to him. “If you never want to see me again, then I—I understand. I’ll disappear. I’ll go and never bother you again.” He bit down on his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. “If that’s what you want, then before I go, all I can ask, all I can beg for is your forgiveness. Please, Crowley, please forgive me. I know how much I hurt you, and I can’t stand it! I feel like—I can’t—” He stopped. Tears leaked between his eyelids. He ran his hands through his hair, fingers clasping to the wispy white strands. He thought he was ready to pull them out of his scalp. “I feel like I’m being torn apart! Please—”
He finally stopped. He’d finally said what he’d needed to for decades. Whatever happened now was out of his control.
Crowley finally moved and Aziraphale stiffened. In a slow gesture, the thin man reached up and put his fingers on the frames of his glasses. He pulled them off, folding them and pocketing them meticulously. His eyes burned like a fire, bright and sharp and furious. But there was grief, too, a melancholy so deep that Aziraphale felt it too. He held his breath.
“You know,” Crowley began. His voice was low, nearly a growl. “I spent all these years being angry. Ninety-seven years, to be exact. Didn’t even know if you’d ever come back. But in case you did, I made a plan. Made an enormous list of what I was going to say to you. Call you every name in the book, say things to you that even Satan himself wouldn’t dare speak. I was going to rip you apart.” It was said through clenched teeth, a half snarl. Aziraphale screwed his eyes shut. Crowley’s boots tapped the floor as he approached. He wondered if the demon would attack him, literally rip him limb from limb.
He would let him do it.
“Oh, yes, I had some choice words for you. None of them pleasant, I can tell you that.”
Aziraphale couldn’t bring himself to meet Crowley’s eyes. So he stared, wide-eyed, at their feet. They were only inches apart. He heard the demon heave a long, deep sigh, and he seized up. There was an agonizingly long, drawn out pause. He awaited his fate.
“Now you’re here, right in front of me…” Crowley’s tone changed abruptly, much softer than before. It confused Aziraphale, and he risked a glance upwards. Crowley stood so close to him now. His face was weary, worrylines framing his eyes, mouth, and creasing his forehead. He looked exhausted. “And I can’t seem to remember a single thing I was going to say.”
Aziraphale gawked at him. He searched his face pleadingly, trying to understand what he meant. Crowley’s eyes seemed different, not as bright as a few moments ago. They held something Aziraphale couldn’t name. Fear? Relief?
“Oh, angel,” Crowley muttered. Aziraphale’s heart jumped into his throat at the old nickname. “I can’t stay angry at you. You should know that.”
What? No—no! That wasn’t fair.
Aziraphale pressed his fingers against his eyelids until he saw stars against them.
“H-how can you—!” He couldn’t finish, a swell of emotion choking him to silence.
“I know you. You’ve been making yourself miserable all this time,” Crowley told him. His voice was too gentle, too calm. He ought to be outraged, Aziraphale thought. He ought to be full of fire and acid, screaming and shaking and throwing him across the room. But he stood there quietly instead, nothing but softness to his words.
Aziraphale sobbed. How could he possibly deserve such treatment after what he’d put him through? “I could be mad for hundreds more years, sure,” Crowley told him. “But it wouldn’t change anything, would it? We’d both be miserable then. Fat lot of good that would do us. So. How about you give me a proper apology, and we’ll say it’s been settled?”
Utterly dumbfounded, Aziraphale stared back at Crowley’s face, blurry through tears.
“Th-the dance?” was all he could manage to stutter out. Crowley frowned and shook his head.
“Nahh, doesn’t seem appropriate. Maybe later.”
It didn’t make any sense, but Aziraphale found himself nodding. And, despite himself, he half smiled, mostly out of sheer disbelief. He gathered himself. He wiped his eyes and nose. His hands smoothed his vest and he cleared his throat. When he looked at Crowley, he nearly broke down all over again.
His gaze was so weary, reflecting the true ancient age of his soul, but there was a warm fondness in it. And Aziraphale suddenly recognized it. He realized just how many times he’d seen the same tender expression, over and over and over, not once understanding what it meant until this moment.
“You…you were right,” said Aziraphale, voice thick with emotion. “You were right. I was wrong. You were…” He inhaled a shuddering breath. “You were always right.”
“There we are.” A smirk cracked the look on Crowley’s face. It made Aziraphale’s heart lift in his chest, but he was weeping. How could Crowley treat him with so much dignity and gentleness? How was he so quick to forgive after being asked to change, then rejected and abandoned? Perhaps Aziraphal had been a bigger influence than he thought.
Or perhaps Crowley had always been this way, and he was too naive to see it.
Crowley waited patiently as Aziraphale’s sobs echoed through the room. He wasn’t certain how long he cried, but it had to be several minutes. His eyes stung and his cheeks became tender and raw. But eventually, he managed to somewhat calm down. At the very least, he’d become quiet.
“There, it’s settled,” said Crowley. He looked like he wanted to do or say something else, anticipation in his face. “So…”
Maybe it was risky right now, but Aziraphale had to ask.
“May…may I make a selfish request?” he said timidly. Crowley raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. “Can you—” Aziraphale’s voice hitched. “C-can…please can you do it again,” he begged, voice full of more yearning than ever before. He’d never wanted anything more than this “Crowley, please—”
The demon reached his arms up. He cupped the angel’s cheeks, a thumb stroking against his skin and into his beard. His own eyes now gleamed with tears. He said nothing, but Aziraphale could feel it again—love. Tenderly, so tenderly, the demon leaned down, tilted Aziraphale’s head up, and pressed their lips together.
A violent wave of emotions came rushing over him. All Aziraphale could do was allow himself to embrace Crowley, pushing closer. He held him desperately, afraid that if he let go, he would vanish. He couldn’t lose him, not again. Crowley’s hands shook and Aziraphale realized they were both crying. Crowley was silent but he felt the wetness of his tears against his face, his staggered breath.
The kiss was different from their first. Previously it had been an act of desperation on Crowley’s part, a final urgent attempt to keep Aziraphale from leaving. After that was when Aziraphale realized he was starved of him, that he longed for his presence and touch more than anything else in the universe. It consumed him. And if that was how he felt, he couldn’t imagine what Crowley had endured.
Yes, this was entirely different. This was their truest feelings for one another in the most intimately human display of affection. It carried so much more meaning to them now; anticipation, relief, hope, and love. It washed over them like the warmth of a sunrise.
Crowley finally tugged back. Aziraphale instantly put his hands to Crowley’s face, wiping the tears from his cheekbones.
“Embarrassing,” grumbled Crowley weakly, averting his eyes to the ceiling. Aziraphale somehow managed to choke out a laugh.
“Oh, please, my dear boy,” he said. Crowley’s face softened and his shoulders slumped, his eyes shining. “Th-there’s no need to be ashamed. After everything, I…I quite think you deserve a good cry.” He could tell the demon was trying to control himself but was hugely unsuccessful. More tears flooded from his eyes as his face twisted into one of utterly exhausted relief. Aziraphale grabbed him and pulled him in, enveloping the man in his arms and squeezing tightly. He felt Crowley shake as a mangled sob wracked his body.
He wept into his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s waist and clawed at the fabric of his overcoat, clutching it in his fists like it was a lifeline.
“You came back,” he wept. His voice was muffled against the angel, but the heartbreaking relief was unmistakable. “You really came back.”
Aziraphale didn’t know what to say. His chest felt like a spring pulled taut. He moved a hand to stroke Crowley’s head, delicate fingers combing through long locks of hair.
“Of course I did,” he finally said as mildly as he could. “I always planned to.”
“I didn’t know. Jus’ waited. All I could do,” Crowley cried. His grasp somehow tightened even more. “You idiot! I missed you so damn much!”
“I’m never leaving again,” Aziraphale promised sincerely. He tucked a tress of hair behind Crowley’s ear. “Never.”
“You damn well better not!” barked Crowley. He hit his fist on Aziraphale’s back. Not violently but emphatically. “Not if I have anything to say about it!”
Aziraphale cautiously tried to pull away. Crowley’s eyes were red and his face was puffy and wet. He tried to clean himself up. Aziraphale reached up and took his hands into his own, squeezing them gently.
“Please look at me, Crowley,” he said. After a moment’s hesitation, Crowley finally managed to lock his gaze on Aziraphale. “Nothing will ever take me away from you again, I promise. You are everything to me. You were right, we…we spent so long pretending. Too long. What is it you said…?”
He remembered every single word. He’d replayed the confession in his mind hundreds of thousands of times. But he needed to be completely certain that they were on the same page. They’d made incorrect assumptions before, and they could not risk doing that now. “I would like to spend…”
New droplets rolled down Crowley’s cheeks as he inhaled shakily. Aziraphale nodded once at him as tears stung his eyes again.
“…I would like to spend our lives…not pretending anymore.” Crowley barely got the words out. Aziraphale smiled shakily and nodded again.
“If you would have me,” he replied. Crowley surprised him by flinging his arms around him. He clung to him again, fingers pressing into his back. Aziraphale hugged him back, silently crying against his chest. They held each other for several minutes, perhaps longer.
Aziraphale thought that, despite the demon’s flippant attitude towards those around him, his life had been lonely. That was why he’d filled his flat with lush greenery, why the Bentley was more companion than machine. And, he suspected, that was why they always managed to conveniently bump into one another over the centuries. He wondered if, when Crowley felt too isolated, he would go out of his way to find Aziraphale. The angel had always enjoyed the demon’s company, even if he acted like he didn’t. It took far longer to admit than it should have. He had no idea how he’d ever ignored the way his heart swelled when he heard Crowley’s voice.
He decided from this point on, he would do anything and everything for Crowley. He deserved someone who he could truly rely on. Aziraphale had broken that trust, and he was determined to repair and rebuild it tenfold, even if it took another six thousand years. Crowley had waited, and so could he.
When they eventually parted from the embrace, they each tried to regain themselves. Aziraphale took a steady breath as he dabbed his eyes with a handkerchief from his pocket. He’d forgotten about until his sleeves were already damp with tears.
“Well, um, what now?” he asked. Crowley sniffed and rubbed his nose.
“Alcohol,” he stated. “A lot of alcohol.”
“Oh, yes, that would be quite nice,” sighed Aziraphale. A good wine or sherry sounded ideal right now. But he paused. “I do mean in the long-term, though. The shop is obviously closed…”
“Oh yeah,” Crowley muttered. “Kept the doors locked after the government came in. Took most the furniture. But all your books should be there.”
Aziraphale would cry again if he weren’t so drained already. He smiled gratefully.
“Oh, thank you,” he said warmly. “Well. Perhaps it’s time for a change of scenery. Maybe we could…find someplace quiet and calm, out of the city. We could spend time catching up. You know. Have lunch or dinner, share a drink. Like the old days.”
Crowley pondered, eyes shifting around the room.
“Well…I’ve heard,” he began tentatively, “that the South Downs is a nice place. Remote. Lots of greenery. I’m sure we could…” He hesitated as if unsure of his next words. “I dunno. Find a cottage. A big one. One with space for your books and my plants.”
Aziraphale stared at him. It was like he already had it planned out. And perhaps he did. Perhaps he would have suggested it all those years ago, if he’d gotten the chance.
All he could do was smile.
“Yes,” he replied to him. “Yes, I think that sounds quite lovely.”
****
“Oh. Nnk. Actually. All my plants died.”
Aziraphale blinked in surprise. He’d asked about them as they packed his books.
“Oh—oh dear. So sorry to hear it,” he said sadly. Crowley sighed and made a face.
“’S alright. I can get new ones,” he said. Aziraphale watched him lift a stack of Jane Austen novels and cautiously lower them into the cardboard box on the floor.
“Or…we…could get new ones,” he offered with a light smile. Crowley straightened to look curiously at him. His eyebrow lifted.
“Since when were you interested in plants?” he asked. Aziraphale, beaming, just shrugged.
“Since you started being interested in books,” he answered. Crowley opened his mouth to respond, but then pursed his lips and looked away. He wasn’t sure, but Aziraphale thought he caught a glimpse of a slight blush in his cheeks. But it could have been the poor lighting.
“Hmgh,” Crowley mumbled. He shifted his weight and put his hands on his hips, staring at the empty bookshelves. The angel waited patiently, gathering some ancient and outdated encyclopedias in his arms. He could tell when Crowley was devising a plan, so he let him stew. Finally he continued.
“There’s…a greenhouse. Downtown. Got loads of stuff. Bromeliad, dracaena, ficus, cacti.” A pause. “I think there’s a little…bakery or cafe or something around the corner from it. I’ve heard it’s got fantastic brioche.”
Aziraphale’s heart fluttered like a bird taking flight. His cheeks felt warm. He glanced up at Crowley, who was watching him, looking flustered. It was adorable.
“Oh, that sounds delightful,” he replied. He fidgeted. “We’ll, uh… It’s a date, then, yes?”
Crowley’s energy changed. His shoulders relaxed and his face softened, just a little bit.
“Yeah. Yeah, okay, angel. If you’d like,” he replied gently.