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A few years ago, Aziraphale didn’t know if he would ever see Crowley again. It might have taken him a while to get used to that thought, but eventually, he was okay with it. The last time he’d seen Crowley was before he got on the elevator with The Metatron, leaving the demon all alone on Earth, and that was perfectly fine with him.
It wasn’t like Crowley needed him, anyway. He’s the one who walked out of the bookshop first.
They definitely didn’t need each other. Aziraphale did not need the demon’s help in preventing the end of the world again. He was absolutely not walking the roads of Soho, London looking specifically for the demon, for that reason entirely.
But, so what if he was? What if he did need Crowley’s help? It would be strictly for business, and nothing more.
And, so what if his heart sunk into his toes after he rounded the corner to an alleyway, after he caught a glimpse of the demon’s messy, crimson hair, poking out of a raggedy sleeping bag on the dirty concrete.
So what if he’s overcome with this ‘love’ sensation he’d been trying to bury for three years.
Aziraphale shifts anxiously on his feet and begins fidgeting with a button on his jacket. He clears his throat a little, hoping to get Crowley’s attention. Anything to not be the one to start the conversation.
Well, no luck. “Uh…” He forces a smile onto his face, “Hello, Crowley.”
He startles the demon, making him lift his head quickly off the concrete. He takes a long look at Aziraphale through his crooked sunglasses, before curling back into his sleeping bag with a very muffled, “Wha’d’ya want, Azir’phale?” At his own mention of the angel’s name, Crowley launches up in a sitting position and straightens out his glasses. “What’re you doing here?”
“Um…” Aziraphale starts, a pit growing in his stomach while he continues to play with buttons on his clothes, “the Second Coming is, well, coming.”
“And what do you think I should do about that, Aziraphale?” He glances around at the concrete slab he’s made his home for the past three years, before looking back to the angel. “Isn’t that what you want?”
“No…” Aziraphale sighs. “Actually, I need your help stopping it.”
Crowley rolls his eyes, “Why would I help you? I’ve been here waiting for you to come back for three years, Ang–.” He stops, sighs, and stands. “Whatever. The point is, before you left, you said you needed me.” He shakes his head. “Where’ve you been, Aziraphale?”
“I–”
“No.” Crowley wags a finger in front of his face. “You don’t get to come back here and pretend I mean something to you.”
Aziraphale scrunches his face, squinting his eyes a little. He knows this reaction all too well, but this time, admittedly, it hurts a little extra. “You’ve definitely had way too much to drink, Crowley.”
Crowley gestures vaguely to the alleyway of spilled and broken bottles and greasy pizza boxes, “And I’ll have some more, unless’ya plan on stopping me.” The demon stumbles away into the alley, snatches up a bottle from the ground and tugs off the lid.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale stomps over to him and grabs the bottle from Crowley’s hand, accidentally brushing his fingers against the other’s soft skin in the process. The demon snatched his hand away, as if he’d just been shocked by the angel. Aziraphale’s face softens as he whispers, “I’m sorry.”
Crowley locks eyes with Aziraphale, fire burning through them. He scoffs, “Right, okay. Let’s go.”
So, Crowley sobers himself up while Aziraphale waits away from the alley to give him some privacy. When he emerges, the angel can’t help but stare. Crowley looks absolutely astonishing, despite probably not leaving the alley for so much as a shower every week or so. His eyes shift from the stubble on his neck to the messy curls on his head.
“Stop looking at me like that.” The demon mutters, locking his eyes on the cracks in the concrete in front of him. Aziraphale doesn’t look away, a frown growing on his face. Crowley whips his head to Aziraphale, his glasses sliding down his nose a little; he could probably scorch him with the amount of anger in his eyes. “Don’t look at me like that if you’re just going to drop me back off at this alley when we finish whatever this saving the world shit is.”
The angel thinks he would probably prefer to be scorched than watch the moment that Crowley’s eyes shift from angry to hurt, but alas, here he stands.
“I’m serious, Aziraphale.” Crowley says softly, focusing his eyes back on the crack in the concrete, and settles his glasses back on the bridge of his nose.
Just then, the Bentley skirts up to the curb with the chorus of You’re My Best Friend playing loudly through the speakers. Aziraphale smiles and chuckles softly, “Oh, I missed you, too.”
Crowley scoffs, “Turn that off or I’m taking you to a junkyard tomorrow.”
The Bentley lets a puff out of the exhaust pipe and lowers the volume.
“You don’t have to be mean, Crowley.” Aziraphale says with a smirk.
“You still expect me to be nice? After all these years?” Crowley grips the passenger side door handle and yanks it open, making a quick gesture towards the inside of the car. “Get in, Aziraphale.”
The angel shakes his head slightly, a little frustrated at Crowley for trying so hard to not use the nickname he’d given him six thousand years ago. Aziraphale steps towards the car, “You used to be nice.”
Just as Aziraphale is about to sit, Crowley grabs the back of his jacket and pulls him back to the curb, slamming the door shut as he walks to the driver’s side. “I was never nice, just happened to like you. Open your own damn door.”
Aziraphale sighs, opens his own damn door and scoots into the passenger seat. He buckles the belt around him and shifts uncomfortably, getting ready to take cover as Crowley moves his foot to the gas pedal.
But, Crowley pulls away from the curb at an excruciatingly steady pace.
The angel rolls his eyes, “Why so slow, Crowley?”
“I apparently go too fast for you, ‘Ngel.” The demon’s face grows red as he pushes out a fake cough, presumably to cover up the accidental nickname.
He shakes his head again, “Well, you could step on it a little, my dear.”
“Don’t call–.”
“Don’t start with me, Crowley. We have things to do and it’s not going to help us if you continue to argue about everything I say. Now,” he pauses and pulls a notepad out of his jacket pocket. “Jesus is missing, we need to find him.”
Crowley glances over at Aziraphale and pushes his foot deeper into the pedal. He clears his throat and softly starts, “Angel, I’m–.”
“Not another word. Drive, Crowley.”
They sit in silence in the parked car. Aziraphale keeps his eyes on his window as he sits stiffly in his seat. They’d already tried a few stops where they thought Jesus might’ve wandered into, having no luck at all. “Any other ideas?” Aziraphale asks, finally looking over at Crowley. The demon turns his head away fast, but not quick enough. Aziraphale knew Crowley was already looking at him. His lips tug into a small smile. “Did he happen to have a favorite when you showed him all of the kingdoms of the world?”
“No, not really…” Crowley softly blows air from his lips and straightens out his back as he runs a hand through his hair. He glanced back over to Aziraphale and his glasses slipped down his nose again. He should really grab a new pair. Aziraphale smiles at him softly, causing the demon’s eyes to widen while he pushes the glasses back into place. “Ngk– I mean, he loved all of them the same.” He turned his head back to the road, “He’s Jesus, I don’t think he could have preferred one over another if he wanted to. And I don’t think he would want to because, well, he’s Jesus–.”
“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered, not really wanting to interrupt him, but they did really have to find Jesus, “We have to keep looking.”
“Right, yeah.” Crowley steals one more glance while he shifts the gear to drive.
They drive for what feels like hours, making a few stops at various shops in each area before moving on to another. Eventually, they make their way back to Central London.
“Angel, do you want to take a break?” There’s a hint of fondness in his voice; the same kind of fondness he used to have with the angel before Aziraphale had left for Heaven. “We can grab a pizza, head back to the bookshop, maybe?” He pauses, waiting for a response. When he doesn’t get one, he glances over at the angel.
Aziraphale feels a wave of sadness rush over him. He misses his bookshop, he misses Earth, he misses food. He misses riding in the Bentley, he misses going too fast, even if Crowley could get them both discorporated with the speeds he used to drive. He misses golden eyes and crimson hair, and pretty smiles paired with sunglasses. He misses the late night conversations after drinking extraordinary amounts of alcohol. He misses the electricity he would feel when him and Crowley would accidentally press their shoulders together as they walked side by side.
He misses everything he’s not allowed to have anymore. Because after they find Jesus, Aziraphale will have to go back to Heaven and be slaved around by The Metatron for centuries upon centuries. Crowley will stay on Earth, and Aziraphale will have to learn how to suppress the love he feels for the demon all over again.
“We can get a pizza, but no bookshop.” Aziraphale shakes his head slowly.
Crowley raises an eyebrow. “No bookshop? Don’t you miss it, Aziraphale?”
“Yes,” he nods, “but I can’t go back there, not when I’m unsure of how long I’ll be gone after we finish up here. I’ll just have to forget it all over–.”
“Angel…” Crowley’s voice croaks out beside him, “You’re leaving?”
Aziraphale looks over, but uses all his willpower to avoid eye contact with the demon. “I have to, Crowley.”
“No, Aziraphale. You don't.” Crowley furrows his eyebrows, and shifts the gear into drive again.
Aziraphale sighs, “Where are we going?”
“To the bookshop.”
“Crowley–!”
Crowley stomps his foot down on the gas pedal, and the Bentley takes off down the road. Aziraphale reaches his left hand up to the roof of the car, searching for anything to grip just in case things go wrong. He finds nothing, damn car, and begins searching with his right hand. He finds Crowley's plush wrist and decides that'll have to do.
“Satan's sake, ‘Ngel,” Crowley mumbles and shakes his head, “Six thousand years and you still think I'd let you get hurt.”
Aziraphale pushes a breath from his lungs, and they arrive at the bookshop in a matter of seconds.
Crowley shuts off the car and Aziraphale releases his wrist. They both get out swiftly, and the demon makes his way to the bookshop entrance, the angel tight on his heels.
“I told you I don't want to go in, Crowley. You never listen to what I want! Everything always has to go your way, you selfish de–!”
Crowley turns completely around to face Aziraphale, fire burning in his eyes again. He grips the collar of the angel’s jacket, and pins him to the outside bookshop wall. “‘Everything has to go my way,’ do you hear yourself, Angel?”
Aziraphale's train of thought left the station, and he can't stop his eyes from drifting down to Crowley's plush lips while he screams into the air between them.
“Everything I've ever done was for you, Aziraphale! Selfish?” Crowley applies a little more pressure to Aziraphale's shoulders. “After everything, I think I deserve to be a little selfish, Angel.”
“Crowley–.”
“I'm not done!” More shoulder pressure. “If it was my way, Aziraphale, I'd have my lips against yours until they turn blue.”
Aziraphale's eyes shoot up to Crowley's. And, he's right. It has always been about what he wants. He never stopped to think about what Crowley wanted, even today. Three years of no contact, and the demon still jumped on command.
Maybe it was time for both of them to get what they want. Maybe it was time for them to just be an ‘us’.
But then, Crowley released the angel's collar and stepped out of Aziraphale's space. He turned to walk back to the Bentley. “Sure, Angel. Go back to Heaven, see if I care.”
Aziraphale reaches his arm out and grabs Crowley by the wrist, pulling him back into the space they shared a moment ago.
He's not really sure if Crowley leaned in, too, but he was absolutely sure that he will never take the demon's soft lips for granted again.
He tastes familiar, like too much espresso, but feels soft like home. He realizes that home isn't actually a place anymore, but rather, a feeling. A feeling of unconditional, requited love; of beautiful smiles, beautiful crimson hair, and beautiful golden eyes. And Aziraphale misses home more than anything.
He reaches his left hand to Crowley's cheek, softly rubbing his thumb over his jawline.
Crowley grips Aziraphale's waist with his left hand, pulling him impossibly closer.
The demon releases him, keeping his forehead attached to Aziraphale's.
“‘Ziraphale…” Crowley whispers against his lips. His glasses had slipped down once again, revealing his teary eyes, pleading for him. “You can't leave me, Angel.” The grip on his waist tightens, “Please don't go.”
Aziraphale pulls him into his arms, and Crowley goes very willingly, dropping his face into the angel's shoulder. Aziraphale wraps his arms around his back and rubs circles with his thumb. “I don't want to go, Crowley.”
“Angel, please–.”
“Shhh,” He pressed his lips to Crowley's cheek. “I’m not going anywhere… I want you to be selfish, Crowley.”
Crowley releases his grip and wraps his arms around Aziraphale's back, releasing a choked, muffled sob as he pulls the angel in even tighter.
“I don't need Heaven as long as I'm with you, my dear. Please forgive me.”
Aziraphale hears a muffled sniffle, followed by a “donneeto'ngel.”
The angel smiles softly and a tear slips from his eye. He drops his head into an open space between the two of them and brings his left hand into Crowley's hair.
They stand like this for a few minutes, both the angel and the demon spilling tears onto the other, and neither of them really pays any mind.
When they separate, Crowley presses a kiss into Aziraphale’s hair. It’s soft and it’s tender and full of love, and it’s home.
Aziraphale lifts his head and smiles as he wipes a tear away from Crowley’s golden eyes. “Will you stay here with me? In the bookshop?”
“I’ll go wherever you want me to,” Crowley whispers.
“I believe it’s time for you to be selfish, actually.” The angel debates it for a moment as he runs his thumb over Crowley’s cheek, “How about that cottage, my dear?”