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Aziraphale recognized the former starmaker as soon as he watched him collapse onto the ground, clutching his thigh in pain, shivering with adrenaline, with fear. He stared up at Aziraphale, waiting for what might happen next, holding the sword he had just taken so firmly.
Aziraphale helped him anyway, though he knew he shouldn’t.
Once he had covered the wound properly, and the former starmaker asked if he should say, thank you, Aziraphale told him he better not.
The former starmaker gave back the sword, laying crumpled at Aziraphale’s feet, staring up with wonder like he once stared at the stars as they were born.
Aziraphale looked at the pretty pink lips on that pained face, and for the first time he thought of them in a strange way that an angel should not.
…
When Aziraphale first watched the serpent morph into Crawley atop the wall in Eden, he tried not to feel excited. He admitted to giving up his sword, and he saw the same look of wonder that he once saw in brown eyes now reflected in golden ones.
He looked at the lips of the former angel beside him, and he remembered the way they stretched with excitement as stars burst into existence, how they grimaced in pain after the fights had ended.
He didn’t understand his yearning until he watched the humans over the next few days do what he craved he could.
But he couldn’t give in to that urge.
My dear, I fear if I kiss you now, like the humans below, I may fall, and something even worse may happen to you than it already has.
I see the pain in your eyes, and I cannot add to that.
…
Throughout history, Aziraphale saw his friend time and time again, and each time, he tried to quiet the whispers in the back of his head.
When they saw each other during the flood, Aziraphale tried not to think about the words that left Crawley’s mouth, how his friend, or enemy, or whatever he was really supposed to be, said things that one should not say, asked questions that one should not ask.
Crawley always had, even before he was Crawley. When Crawley called out about the unicorn, and then gave up with a frown, with a pretty little pout, Aziraphale had to shove all of his thoughts far, far, far down beneath his consciousness.
My dear, I fear I kiss you now the world might see, and I will fall, and they will fall further, and we will have to stop our meetings.
Aziraphale never tried sleeping, afraid of what he may dream of. But he did finally give in to eating. When they sat in the basement together, and Crawley tempted him to eat, and Aziraphale bit into the ribs that he held within his hands, he imagined his lips were moving against something softer, sweeter, something that he would never be forgiven for, even as that shimmer of wonder flickered through Crawley’s eyes once more.
My dear, I fear if I kiss you now, with the juices of meat dripping from my chin, I will be in much more trouble than I already am because I won’t be able to stop. I will devour you, and you will let me, and this deeper hunger in me will never be filled. We will keep coming back for more.
When Aziraphale tempted Crowley— or surely not tempted, as angels didn’t do that— to eat oysters, he saw the wonder light up in the former angel’s eyes at his offer. He recognized it as he always did. In fact, that night, Crowley did try the strange, slimy food, and when his lips moved over it, and they pursed, and temporarily grimaced, and his tongue licked across the bottom one, Aziraphale had to tell himself to not think too hard about it.
My dear, I fear if I kiss you now, I might reach beneath the table, beneath your robes, and take you somewhere private after.
When Crowley rescued Aziraphale in the Bastille, the angel couldn’t help the flush that rose atop his cheeks, the heat that bloomed within his belly, the butterflies that fluttered within his chest. He tried not to look at the outfit that was so wrong yet so right on the man-shaped being before him. They decided to eat crêpes, even though he wanted the taste of something far sweeter.
My dear, I fear if I kiss you now and let you taste the sweetness lingering on my tongue, I will keep making poor choices just to have you rescue me again and again.
When Crowley rescued Aziraphale in the church, hopping foot to foot to avoid the burning sensations, the angel’s heart sped up. When Crowley handed him his books, having saved them just because he knew what they meant to Aziraphale, the whole world seemed to come to a standstill.
Aziraphale stared, even as he was offered a ride home, even as Crowley sauntered away.
My dear I fear I fear if I kiss you now… I fear I might just have to… no I mustn’t… I can’t…
“There must be something I could do for you in return,” he’d offered, but been told to forget it, and he couldn’t stop the warmth in his limbs, the way his body wanted to fly to Crowley like a magnet.
“You go too fast for me,” he had once said in this very car.
But now a small voice in his head whispered that they couldn’t go fast enough.
At least the magic show allowed him to do something in return.
But later, as they sat and drank, reflecting on the evening they’d endured, Aziraphale kept looking at those lips, at the burgundy of the wine that painted them.
My dear, I fear if I kiss you now, I won’t ever stop.
My dear I fear I want to kiss so much it hurts.
But Aziraphale let Crowley leave, unable to let himself give in.
As the years went by, he tried to keep proper space, to force himself to focus on what he was meant to be doing, even with his friend by his side.
They’d dine at the Ritz and Aziraphale would pretend he couldn’t feel those yellow eyes focused on his own mouth.
The years working beside the nanny were torture. Crowley would paint her lips a soft pink, and oh that was too much. It kept drawing Aziraphale’s attention, no matter how much he wanted to look away, and the two of them were always so close to one another.
My dear, I fear, if I kiss you now, I’ll wear the lipstick you leave on my own mouth with pride, and the world will see and know just what I’ve done.
When Aziraphale called Crowley nice in the former satanic church, he found himself slammed back against the wall, and those lips were so very close to his own.
His eyes moved down to stare at the snarling mouth and he couldn’t think of anything else.
My dear, I fear if I kiss you now, I’ll lose all interest in doing anything else that we have to do.
My dear, I fear I just might give in and kiss you now anyway.
But they were interrupted, and Aziraphale remembered himself.
When they stopped the apocalypse, it seemed they’d finally be left alone. So many times, Aziraphale almost gave in and kissed Crowley.
So often, he tried to remind himself that they could, that they were safe now, and he really hoped his suspicions were true: that Crowley wanted the same thing.
That’s why Aziraphale could barely focus on anything Crowley was saying as he insisted they dance.
My dear, I fear if I kiss you now, it will be just as I secretly planned.
But it did not happen. Instead, it happened the next morning. Crowley wouldn’t come with him, and it hurt that they finally had a way to both be happy together, and he was still saying no.
Crowley tried to make a confession: “I was to spend… mmmm.”
“Come with me,” Aziraphale had begged, and he’d blurted so many other accidentally hurtful things in his desperation and haste.
My dear, I fear if I kiss you now, I won’t go. And I have to go.
“You idiot. We could have been us.” And then Crowley was marching toward him, pressing his lips to the angel’s, and it was shocking, and it was angry and new, and Crowley tasted of sulfur and ash and something sweeter and deeper that he didn't have the words for.
Aziraphale didn’t know what to do with his hands. They fluttered to the sides and then found Crowley’s back, and he held on, as if he knew this was all they’d ever have: this one moment here.
When Crowley pulled away, Aziraphale sucked in a shuddering breath and tears streaked his face.
“Do it again,” he wanted to say.
“I love you,” he wanted to say.
“I forgive you,” he said instead.
When the world narrowed down to a single bookshop in the abyss, and Aziraphale and Crowley were left alone, finally alone, it seemed maybe they’d have something of a chance.
But it was wrong.
“To the world,” they’d once toasted, and that was what they loved so much.
And now this was all that was left.
The books were empty. There was no music or food or words or anything.
“We have nothing,” Crowley said.
“We have each other.”
But the words were hollow. They’d failed the one thing they had set out to do: save everything, make the world a better and free place.
My dear, I fear if I kiss you now, it would be wrong, and it would taste of melancholy and salt and despair.
At least, just a little bit later, Aziraphale was able to say out loud that he recognized the artist Crowley had been.
Crowley got to hear of his messy and predictable and silly love.
And still, the former demon could only look at him with longing and pain.
Aziraphale began to understand that they were right back where they began. Crowley didn’t want the universe to end, even when he was the starmaker.
He wanted freedom and choices and love and the chance to live in it all.
And when there was the opportunity for a choice, Aziraphale could only leave it up to him.
He knew what it would be. They both did, and truly they wanted the same thing. But no matter how much Aziraphale wanted to keep Crowley, no matter how much that was what he wanted most of all, he would always do the right thing.
And he wanted to respect Crowley’s decision for once, wanted to give him the world and the freedom he’d never been able to before.
And so Aziraphale laughed and cried, and he supported Crowley, and even though it was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, it was also the easiest. Giving Crowley what he wanted should always be that simple.
And when Aziraphale looked into his eyes, he saw exhaustion. He saw the pain from the millennia of fighting and being cast out and having to play the role of the scary creature he wasn’t. He saw the remnants of the starmaker’s eyes in the slitted pupils and the golden irises that had become his favorite color.
Aziraphale recognized what Crowley needed.
They joined hands, silently saying their goodbyes, saying all the things with looks that their words never could.
Aziraphale remembered the taste of Crowley’s mouth. He wished to lean in one last time.
He recalled the way he’d touched his own lips after Crowley had stormed out, and he touched them once more now, pulling up the memory and the sensations into the tips of his fingers, and he reached forward and pressed them against Crowley’s lips.
He knew Crowley would understand what he meant by it:
My dear, I fear if I kiss you now, we won’t do what we need to do. We won’t follow through with it. We would be selfish. We’d stay here together.
My dear, I fear this is all I can give you, and I hope it’s enough.
And they smiled with bright eyes and a quiet understanding passed between them. It was everything.
And then there was nothing.
…
Asa didn’t understand why Anthony Crowley was so familiar to him, so right.
But at the end of their first date, Asa stared into the professor's eyes, and he recognized something on a deeper level that he couldn’t put into words.
They'd walked back to the bookshop together, and Anthony whispered goodnight, glancing at Asa with a type of wonder, the same look he got when describing the stars earlier in at dinner.
“Goodnight,” Asa breathed, reaching out to touch Anthony’s arm. “My dear, I fear if I don’t kiss you right this second, I might just combust.”
Anthony’s eyes widened and a deep crimson painted his pretty cheeks, and oh no…
“Oh. Oh dear, I’ve said that out loud, haven’t I?” Asa gasped, moving to pull his hand away. “Oh I’m sorry. That was so forward. I don’t know what’s come over me. I—”
Anthony reached out and grasped his forearm, pulling Asa in with a strange fluidity, a grace that made his heart flutter wildly. Their lips met, and oh yes.
This was right: the right moment, the right person, the right lifetime…
Finally, something very deep down, far beneath his consciousness whispered in relief. Finally.
We made it.
I’m home.