He’s Far Too Pure of Heart

by Holy_Aardvark

Summary:

“No, I mean it. I really didn’t think he had romantic intentions,” Aziraphale said, legitimately meaning every word. “People don’t generally see me in that way.”
Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Well, clearly they do.”
The statement would have been something they could laugh about if either of them had been even remotely in a laughing sort of mood.
—
Aziraphale drunkenly kisses a human at the shop, and struggles to earn the forgiveness of Crowley (and, for that matter, himself).

Chapter 1

It had been years now since Crowley and Aziraphale had gotten together, and Aziraphale could honestly say that he’d never been happier. He was content with the love of his life, there was no looming threat of disaster, and he was free to spend his days how liked best. Which, as it turned out, was much the same as how he had been spending them before.

The bookshop carried on as normal, and when Crowley wasn’t around, Aziraphale spent his time reading and attempting to shoo the customers away. It usually worked. One day, though, a particular customer was looking at a section that Aziraphale hadn’t seen a human look at in years, and he couldn’t help but feel a hint of curiosity along with his usual apprehension.

“This is a great collection of Georgette Heyer novels,” said the man, looking at the shelf with wonder. They were some of Aziraphale’s favorites, and he couldn’t help but feel a bit protective.

“I’m afraid they’re not for sale,” he said quickly.

“Oh, that’s okay,” said the man, “I’ve still got my copies from when I was a teenager, and first-editions like these are probably out of my price range anyway. Still fascinating to look at, though.”

“Are you interested in Heyer’s works, then?”

“Oh, big time— I’m a huge fan of classic romance.”

“Well, feel free to look around,” said Aziraphale, “just so long as you don’t damage them or attempt to buy them off of me.”

At that, the man smiled and returned to his browsing.

In the subsequent few weeks, the man came by frequently. Though Aziraphale generally wasn’t a fan of returning customers, this one seemed different than most. He seemed polite and friendly, and had a legitimate interest in many of the classics and first-editions that Aziraphale stocked (though luckily not enough to actually buy any of them). It wasn’t often these days that humans were interested in the older books.

What was even more surprising was that he seemed interested in talking to Aziraphale. People rarely made small talk with him, and he had to admit it was a welcome change. As the days passed by and the customer continued to stop by and chat, Aziraphale found himself quickly warming up to the curious human.

One particular afternoon, the man was doing his usual browsing, the shop was otherwise free of customers, and Crowley was away for the night, supposedly to wreak some havoc at a garden show (Aziraphale suspected he actually just wanted to look at the gardens, but was polite enough not to press him on it).

Alone in the bookshop with nobody else to talk to, Aziraphale figured now was as good a time as any to reciprocate a bit of this human’s usual friendliness.

“You know, I don’t believe I ever got your name.”

“James,” the man replied with a smile. “And you’re A.Z Fell, I take it? What does that stand for?”

“You can call me Aziraphale,” he said, dodging the question.

“Aziraphale,” James repeated, practicing the syllables. “That’s such an interesting name. I sometimes wish mine was something more distinct like that. James Thomas wouldn’t exactly look too fancy on a book cover.”

Aziraphale smiled at that, intrigued. “Oh? Are you a novelist, then?”

“Well, I’m a teacher, but… I’ve always wanted to be. I was an English major in college,” he looked down, a bit sheepish. “That was practically millennia ago at this point, though.”

“I assure you it wasn’t that long ago,” said Aziraphale, laughing. He didn’t elaborate, unsure how to explain that in the grand scheme of both his own lifetime and the universe’s, James’s age was so small it was practically nonexistent. James smiled, taking it as a flattering remark rather than the literal observation that it had been intended as.

“Thanks. I’ll take compliments where I can get them, especially about my age. I work with kids, so I’m used to being asked if I rode dinosaurs to school.”

Dinosaurs were another hilarious joke, but Aziraphale managed to hold back his laughter this time, instead once again nodding politely.

“I understand the feeling. It certainly does feel like the world is passing me by at times. It’s changing faster than I can keep up, I’m afraid. I’m… very, very far from young myself.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be able to tell,” said James. If only he knew the extent of it. When Aziraphale didn’t reply, James persisted.

“No, seriously,” James said, gaze seeming to linger on Aziraphale’s form, “you look good.“

“Why, thank you,” said Aziraphale, blushing faintly. He wasn’t used to compliments on his appearance. Especially not from charming humans like this one.

He looked down at the book James was reading today— Maurice. It was the edition published in 1971, after the author’s death. Aziraphale, of course, had the original 1914 version— the only known copy of its kind— and wasn’t about to go keeping it on display on one of the more visible shelves of his shop. Still, something about this human seemed trustworthy. He didn’t seem like the type who’d abuse the knowledge.

“I don’t often show people this, but… I have some rarer editions in the back room, if you’d like to join me. I trust you not to steal them.”

James grinned. “I don’t strike you as a book thief, then? I’m not sure whether to be flattered or disappointed.”

“Certainly flattered,” said Aziraphale, leading him to the back of the shop.

 

---

 

When James was done marveling over the first edition copy of Maurice (along with the original copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray and an unpublished first draft of Sense and Sensibility), he turned his attention to some of the other areas of the room.

“That’s a nice wine cabinet,” he said, eyes fixed on the fancy cabinet against the wall.

“Oh, thank you. Are you much of a wine drinker?”

James shrugged. “…when it’s on sale at Tesco.”

Aziraphale’s horror must have shown on his face, because James laughed a bit as his reaction.

“That hardly qualifies. Here, I have a vintage Chateau Latour that you simply must try.”

James laughed at that, joining Aziraphale at the table nearby. “Hey, I’m not about to pass up a free drink.”

A free drink turned into several, it turned out. James was a good conversationalist, and it had been ages since Aziraphale had met anyone who’d shared such an interest in classic literature, so it only seemed natural that the drinks and conversation continued on well into the evening.

After a while, a comfortable drunkenness has settled over the room, and Aziraphale found himself thoroughly relaxed. It had been a good idea to do this, he decided. He could use some more human friends.

“Oh, dear,” laughed Aziraphale, “three ferrets? That truly wasn’t the finest idea on your part…”

“My ex-boyfriend always said the same thing,” said James. He seemed to put an extra emphasis on the boy part of the statement, though Aziraphale wasn’t quite sure why.

James poured the last of their current bottle into his glass, then examined it when it was empty, a flush on his cheeks.

“God, this was the… third bottle, was it? I’m going to regret drinking all this in the morning,” he muttered. Aziraphale was confused before remembering humans couldn’t just sober up or miracle their hangovers away. He couldn’t imagine how they did it, frankly.

“I hope it was worth it nonetheless,” Aziraphale said. “I know I certainly had a marv… a marlva…” he shook his head, drunken mind completely unable to figure out the full word, so he redirected. “…a good time. So… thank you for your company.”

James smiled. “So did I. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you.” He stood up, a bit uneasy on his feet, and Aziraphale leaned over to help him balance. With a hand around James’s shoulder and another resting on his his chest, Aziraphale could feel how rapidly James’s heart was beating. Was that normal for humans? He wasn’t entirely sure, and frankly, he wasn’t feeling quite clearheaded enough to bother trying to figure it out.

“Oh, thanks,” said James, leaning against Aziraphale a bit more. “I’m not that far gone, am I?”

Aziraphale laughed. “Afraid we both are.”

James didn’t respond, his heart still beating rapidly under Aziraphale’s hand.

“Haven’t been this close to a human in ages,” said Aziraphale, recalling the sparse times he’d made physically contact with humans over the centuries. James looked surprised at that, and his heart was beating even faster under Aziraphale’s hand. Aziraphale still wasn’t sure why.

He led James over to the nearby sofa, collapsing against the cushions when he got there. He was tired, and both of their stumbling wasn’t getting them all too far. He decided they both needed a moment to get their bearings.

“How’s this? Sofa more comfortable?”

James nodded, relaxing against the cushions but still staying very close to Aziraphale.

“Yeah, thanks,” he said, leaning against him.

Aziraphale looked over at him and smiled, only then realizing just how close both of their faces were. There was practically no distance between them on the sofa, Aziraphale’s arm still around James’s shoulder, and his face still leaned up close to Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale was about to move away before James did something very unexpected. Something he had no idea how to respond to.

James was kissing him, and all thoughts in his head ceased to exist, replaced by pure shock. Though a fuzzy, deep down part of him yelled at him to stop, he didn’t do so. Instead, he found himself responding, kissing James with a similar intensity. He was a hedonist, after all, and this felt… well. It felt good.

He should sober up. This was wrong, and bad, and he needed to leave, and— James’s lips found his neck, and Aziraphale had no control over the sound that drew out of him. His body was undeniably responding, and it was getting increasingly harder to find the words to stop the situation.

James was on his lap now, moving his hips in a painfully irresistible rhythm, and the friction was driving them both mad.

As Aziraphale moaned at the sensation, James had pulled off his own shirt, and more guilty arousal pooled low in his stomach at the sight. The shirt was quickly discarded on the floor before James’s hands reached his waistcoat, working on unbuttoning it. Nobody had unbuttoned his waistcoat before. Nobody except for himself and…

Aziraphale tensed up as James undid the buttons. He needed to stop this. Now.

He shoved James off of him, realizing a few moments too late that humans were a bit fragile to be tossed around with that sort of force. He hadn’t even realized how hard he’d pushed him until he saw James stumbling backwards.

“Terribly sorry,” he said quickly as James struggled to regain his balance.

James looked back at him with surprise and confusion, and perhaps a touch of hurt. “…What was that for?”

Aziraphale looked at the ground, not wanting to look at James or his shirtless torso again. “It’s rather for the best if you leave now.” He gathered every bit of drunken energy that he could to miracle up a taxi to wait outside the shop. Through the distant window, he saw the cab pull up instantly.

“There’ll be a cab waiting for you outside. You don’t have to pay him anything— I’m good friends with the driver, and he knows I’ll pay him back later.” Not true, but Aziraphale didn’t know what other explanation to provide.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Aziraphale shook his head, unable to even form words to muster up an explanation. His cheeks were flushed, he was overcome with guilt, and there was still an incredibly obvious tent in his trousers. His mind knew how much of a mistake this had been. His body didn’t seem to get the memo.

When it became clear he wasn’t going to get more of an explanation than he’d been given, James sheepishly threw his shirt back on and left. Aziraphale barely noticed.

His body, still miserably affected, ached for attention, and Aziraphale half-heartedly finished himself off before staring into space, mind and body numb. The silence of the bookshop grew more overwhelming with every passing second, and Aziraphale was unable to stop his tears from sliding down his face.

He needed to tell Crowley about this.

The realization only made him sob harder.

Chapter 2

Aziraphale had spent the entire night tearfully practicing what he would say to Crowley when he saw him the next day. Even still, he didn’t feel remotely prepared when he saw him the next morning, walking through the door with his usual ease.

“Hey, angel,” said Crowley, sauntering into the shop, “they’re doing this music festival in the park, and I know you’ve always said the newer stuff is Bebop, but—“

“There’s something I must tell you,” said Aziraphale, cutting him off. He couldn’t bear seeing the carefree look on Crowley’s face for a second more.

Crowley’s expression instantly sobered, and he frowned, clearly sensing the gravity of the situation. “What’s going on, angel?”

“I did… something awful.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Look, whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not that bad. I’ll help you figure it out.”

Hearing the sincerity in Crowley’s voice, the genuine faith he had in Aziraphale, only served to feed his guilt.

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, his chest physically aching as he spoke. “Crowley, I was unfaithful to you.”

“You were what?” Crowley stared at him blankly. “What are you talking about?”

“I committed infidelity.“

“You… Are you saying you cheated on me?” asked Crowley, sounding confused.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale, “I’m… I’m so sorry I did it. I deeply regret it, and I understand that I broke your trust. You completely have the right to be furious with me, or to refuse to talk with me, or… frankly however you may wish to respond.”

“Furious? Angel, I’m… confused. What happened?”

Aziraphale frowned, unsure where to even start. “Well, it’s rather hard to explain…”

Crowley narrowed his eyes, expression growing cold. “Do it anyway.”

“There’s a human named James who’s been frequenting the shop. He always seemed like a friendly fellow, and he was frequently curious about many of the classics I keep in the shop. The other evening, I invited him to the back room to show him some first editions, and I offered him a drink. One drink turned into several, and things… well, they spiraled out of control.”

“Then what?” Asked Crowley, tone tense. “You slept together?”

“We didn’t, er…” his voice trailed off. The last thing he wanted was to explain this in detail to Crowley. But he knew he owed it to him to be honest, so he continued. “He kissed me, and I returned the gesture. He moved to my lap, began to grind against me, and removed his shirt. When he began to remove mine, I thought of you and I stopped him.”

“That’s when you thought of me,” said Crowley in disbelief. “It took a man being on top of you, shirtless and actively undressing you before you thought of me.”

Aziraphale looked at the floor, unable to meet Crowley’s gaze. “I knew it was wrong the entire time, but that was when it became too much to bear.”

“You should’ve stopped immediately.”

Aziraphale swallowed hard. “I know.“

“And you didn’t feel threatened? He hadn’t been trying to get you drunk or anything, had he? It wasn’t some situation where you felt like you couldn’t say no?”

Aziraphale shook his head, knowing he had to be honest. “No, it… it wasn’t that sort of situation. We had both been drinking, he wasn’t forcing me, and I could have stopped him at any point.”

“So,” said Crowley, voice shaky, “why did it take so long, then?”

“I was surprised. I wasn’t used to being desired by a human like that. It was exciting, and… I’ll admit, a bit enjoyable. It was difficult to think things through in the heat of the moment, and the alcohol made everything even more hazy and confusing. None of that is an excuse, I know. Being drunk gives me no right to betray your trust.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

Crowley glared quite frequently, but he very rarely reached this level of anger. The last time Aziraphale could recall seeing this look was when Shax had invaded the bookshop. Not once, in his six thousand years of knowing him, had Aziraphale seen that same look of fury directed at him .

He got up and began pacing rapidly around the room, not looking Aziraphale in the eyes as he scowled at the ground. “I can’t believe this!” he shouted, pacing, “I can’t fathom how you’d think for even a second that something like that was okay!”

He continued to pace, refusing to look at Aziraphale, his expression harsh and unforgiving.

“We were supposed to be a team, a…” his voice trailed off, and he collapsed on an armchair, defeated. He was turned away from Aziraphale, hiding his face.

“This hurts, angel. More than anything else in the world. I… I trusted you.”

Though Crowley was facing away from him, it was obvious to see that his body shook with tears. It was impossible to disguise the fact that he was crying, though he was clearly trying anyway.

Aziraphale instinctively reached over to place a hand on Crowley’s back, trying to provide some comfort. Crowley swatted it away.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, tone ice cold.

Aziraphale withdrew his arm, then held both of his hands awkwardly in front of him. They stayed in silence, Crowley crying and Aziraphale utterly powerless to help him, until Crowley turned to Aziraphale with an angry, watery expression.

“I need some time,” he said. His tone was numb, flat. “Don’t try to contact me or anything. When I’m ready to see you again, I will.”

“Okay,” said Aziraphale, fighting off tears of his own. There was nothing else he could say, no words that could make things right.

Chapter 3

The next few months passed by painfully slowly.

The bookshop looked even more cluttered than usual. Aziraphale could only imagine what the customers must think, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. Empty bottles littered the already-crowded floor, making it look less like a cozy hideaway and more like a crowded scrapyard. Crowley’s vice had always been alcohol, and Aziraphale couldn’t deny the grip it had on him too. He turned to it often, spending more nights than he cared to admit crying into an empty wineglass.

He had lost some weight. It wasn’t a conscious decision so much as the simple fact that he wasn’t eating much. Crowley wasn’t there to join him for dinners at the Ritz or to surprise him with chocolates or crepes, so he wasn’t met with unexpected food as often as he used to be. Even when he did eat, he found himself lacking his usual enthusiasm for it. Everything tasted bland and plain, and he found himself wondering why he’d even bother with it in the first place.

His appearance had changed in other ways, too. His eyes had lost much of their old spark and excitement, and he hadn’t been to the barber once since Crowley had left. He couldn’t find it in him to care about that, either. It was only fitting that he looked like as much of a mess on the outside as he felt on the inside.

When the familiar bell of the bookshop rang one day, it took a few seconds before Aziraphale processed who was standing there. The moment he did, he looked back again, unable to truly believe what he saw. A mix of shock and relief washed over him as he stepped over to the door.

Crowley looked like about as much of a mess as Aziraphale did. He reeked of alcohol, he looked tired, and his hair was a bit longer and more unkempt. A small part of Aziraphale was relieved he wasn’t the only one looking disheveled, but it was far outweighed by the pain of seeing Crowley in that state, much less knowing he was the one responsible for it.

“Hello,” Aziraphale said, biting back the additional dear that almost came after it.

“Hey,” said Crowley flatly, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but notice the lack of an angel that followed.

Aziraphale had been around Crowley long enough to know how guarded he usually looked when he was around almost anyone else. Around Aziraphale, on the other hand, he was always far more relaxed and comfortable. Today, though, Crowley’s expression was as cold and guarded as it was with any stranger he was just meeting. The sight of it made Aziraphale want to cry.

He pushed all thoughts of this away, forcing a smile.

“Thank you for stopping by. Please take a seat.” He guided Crowley in, who then sat rather awkwardly on the sofa.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“Nah, I’ve been having too much of that anyway recently. Actually…” Crowley’s voice trailed off, and he closed his eyes. With a grimace, he sobered up, cringing as the alcohol left his body.

Aziraphale was glad for it. He’d been drunk most of the past few months too, but he’d much prefer this to be a conversation they were both sober for.

“How have you been these past few months?”

Crowley sneered at that. “How do you think ?”

There was a silence. Aziraphale frankly wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting.

Crowley glanced back at Aziraphale, looking him up and down. “You’ve lost weight,” he said, blunt as ever.

“Yes, I have,” replied Aziraphale. Maybe if he was lucky, he could play it off as an intentional choice. “Do you like it?”

“No.”

Another awkward silence. Crowley suddenly looked like he was about to cry, and Aziraphale had to remind himself not to reach out and touch him.

“You’re the only person I’ve ever allowed myself to love, you know,” Crowley said, unprompted. “I gave up so much for you. I thought we were on the same page. This… this was the most painful, unexpected thing of my life, and it’s making me wish I’d never loved you at all.”

It was the most heartbreaking thing Aziraphale had ever heard him say, and all he wanted to do was lean forward and hug him.

He couldn’t, of course, so instead, he said, “Is there… is there anything I can do for you to even begin to ease a bit of the pain I caused you? I would do anything in the world that you asked.”

“Oh, yeah? Gonna come grovel on your knees for my forgiveness?”

Aziraphale dropped to his knees without a second thought, looking up at Crowley with a pained look in his eyes.

“Fuck, ang— Aziraphale. What are you doing?”

“Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“No, I wasn’t serious. Get off the floor.”

Aziraphale did as he was told, joining Crowley on the sofa but putting some distance between them. It was less than a few feet, but they may as well have been miles apart.

“…it’s not that easy, you know. It’s not like you can do some sort of huge favor for me and we’ll just be back to normal. That’s not how it works.”

Aziraphale looked at the ground where he’d just kneeled. He hadn’t expected Crowley to miraculously forgive him, but he had admittedly hoped it could help. In retrospect, the notion seemed silly.

“I suppose it’s not, no.”

“I’m not used to you agreeing with everything I say,” said Crowley. It lacked his usual bite, sounding more like defeat than anything else.

“I’m not about to bicker with you at a time like this. I owe you that, at the very least.”

Crowley shrugged, studying Aziraphale’s face intensely. “I never asked how you’ve been the past few months.”

Aziraphale winced. “Much the same as you, I imagine.”

“I shudder to ask this, but…” Crowley began. Before he finished the statement, he put a bit more distance between them, scooting back and averting his gaze. “…how’s your boy toy? Did you see him while I was away?” His tone was sharp. Aziraphale deserved it.

“No,” Aziraphale said, “I miracled it so that he won’t come by again. I’ve also erased his memory of the shop and me.”

It was true. Aziraphale couldn’t bear to see or think about James any more than he had to over the past few months, and it was something he’d done immediately after first telling Crowley what had happened.

That seemed to catch Crowley by surprise. His widened eyes quickly narrowed again though, resuming his glare.

“Why? I would’ve thought you planning to run off into the sunset together, or get married and have freakish little angel-human babies. He’s so thrilling and charming and handsome, after all.”

“I don’t care about him,” said Aziraphale truthfully. “I know it doesn’t excuse the behavior, but I really do mean it when I say I had never intended for things to become physical between us, nor did I know he had any intention of doing so before that night that he kissed me.”

“He was flirting with you for weeks before, wasn’t he?”

“I had assumed he was just being friendly.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“No, I mean it. I really didn’t think he had romantic intentions,” Aziraphale said, legitimately meaning every word. “People don’t generally see me in that way.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “Well, clearly they do.”

The statement would have been something they could laugh about if either of them had been even remotely in a laughing sort of mood.

“I suppose I likely did miss his signals, yes,” said Azirpahale, slightly embarrassed. “It’s just…. rather hard to believe sometimes that anybody would see me in that way. That’s part of why I didn’t stop him when he kissed me. It was a bit flattering that he’d taken interest in the first place.”

“What about me? I take interest, don’t I?”

“Of course you do. You never make me doubt how attractive I am in your eyes, or how much you adore me. I really do appreciate it, and it’s always made me feel quite loved. Still, sometimes I can’t help but feel as though you may be a touch biased.”

Crowley looked offended, and Aziraphale explained, “…we have known each other for 6,000 years after all. So I admit, it was rather nice to hear it from someone else. It doesn’t reflect very well on me, I know.”

“…so that’s a no to running off in the sunset with him, then?” said Crowley weakly.

“Most definitely,” said Aziraphale with a smile. The smile faded immediately when he noticed the legitimate insecurity in Crowley’s expression.

“Crowley, I mean it when I say that the way I felt for this human was of curiosity, flattery, and perhaps a bit of excitement. But not love. Not even remotely. With him, the entire appeal was that we essentially knew nothing about each other, not to mention the novelty of being desired by a human. I have absolutely no wish to legitimately pursue him, and never had.”

He looked at Crowley, the face he’d grown used to over the years. The face that had seen him through his best and worst. The face he had knew better than any other in the world, likely even his own.

“With you, on the other hand, I know you inside and out. I understand you. Being around you feels safe, familiar, and comfortable.” Aziraphale paused, unsure whether it was wise to confess what he was about to say, but before he could stop himself, added, “you’re like home to me, Crowley.”

“…so were you to me,” croaked Crowley, and Aziraphale may as well have been burned by hellfire right then and there. Lord knows he felt like he deserved it.

Aziraphale had never felt so guilty in his life, and he forced his eyes open to dry out the stubborn tears welling up around them, threatening to fall.

“I would be furious at myself too. I don’t expect forgiveness from you.”

“Good, Aziraphale. Because you’re not about to get it.”

The use of his full name, said in that tone, stung almost as much as the intensity of the statement. Still, he forced away the tears, doing everything in his power not to reveal how much he was hurting.

He refused to put Crowley in the position to comfort him. Not now.

So he took a deep breath and put on the most neutral expression he could manage, as he replied, “I understand. I deserve that.” It was true, he knew. He did.

At that, Crowley’s expression seemed to grow even harsher, his glare intensifying.

“Stop being so bloody understanding, will you? I’m trying to hate you.”

“Come again?”

“Well, it just figured that you’d still find a way to be kind and lovable and morally superior even after ripping my heart in half. Just like you. It would be so much easier if you just acted like a prick through this, you know.”

Aziraphale smiled a bit, something that had become a rare occurrence for him these past few months. “Oh, I apologize. How’s this for you?” He cleared his throat and put on the most obnoxious, nonchalant tone of voice he could. “Why won’t you forgive me already? I said I was sorry, did I not? It’s not fair to me to get so mad about a one-time incident. You’re being so emotional.”

Crowley laughed at that, the first time Aziraphale had seen him smile in months.

“Was that better for you?” he asked, still sporting a small grin of his own.

“Kind of,” said Crowley, a sad smile on his face. “It would be a lot easier to hate you that way.”

“You’re trying to hate me then, are you?”

“Well, that’s what I’m supposed to do, aren’t I? I’m supposed to absolutely despise you, and to never want to talk to you again.”

“I see,” said Aziraphale, the last trace of a smile instantly evaporating. He knew where this was going.

…at least, he assumed he knew where it was going. Crowley’s next statement took him by utter surprise.

“The problem is that I don’t hate you,” said Crowley softly. “I doubt I ever could. I’m hurt, obviously. It stings to even think about. But… I can’t imagine an eternity without you. I just can’t. That hurts even more than the thought of what you did in the first place.”

They stayed in their spots on the sofa, two worlds apart, until Aziraphale scooted just the tiniest bit closer to Crowley. Crowley raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t stop him.

“What do you want me to be to you?” asked Aziraphale. “Whatever it is, I’ll respect it. Even if it really does mean never speaking to you again.”

There was a long pause. Aziraphale had been around for millennia, yet he could’ve sworn the silence was the longest thing he’d endured in his life.

“Friends,” said Crowley eventually. “Be my friend.“

Aziraphale nodded, his entire body relaxing at the realization that Crowley would still be willing to talk with him. Friends was something he could do. They’d done it for six thousand years, after all. Hell, even after they had confessed to one another, he still found himself thinking of Crowley as his best friend first and foremost. If that was all Crowley wanted their relationship to be, even if they never got to be anything else again, Aziraphale would take it. Six thousand times over, he would take it.

Chapter 4

It was awkward at first. For their next few encounters, Aziraphale had constantly felt like walking on eggshells, afraid to do anything that might mess up their already fragile dynamic, however small. He went out of his way to do little favors for Crowley, flipping their usual habits of Crowley being the one to do those sorts of favors on their head. Crowley seemed similarly uncomfortable at first, keeping both literal and emotional distance from him.

After a while, though, the two managed to fall mostly back into their old routine. Banter grew more frequent, and conversations grew more comfortable. They seemed, once again, like old friends.

Between the friendship and the lingering (albeit diminishing) tension over the incident, however, there was also another sort of tension. An undeniable desire from both of them to once again be something more. It manifested in small ways: subtle innuendos, less-than-innocent stares, and flimsy excuses for physical proximity.

In short, they truly were back to exactly how they had been when they’d been “just friends” all those years.

One particular night, while driving him home from a new sushi restaurant that had opened up nearby, Aziraphale noticed Crowley being uncharacteristically quiet in the driver’s seat. He was speeding like usual, of course, but he also seemed distracted. When he pulled up in front of the bookshop, he paused, looking at Aziraphale like he was going to say something. Aziraphale waited for him to speak. Crowley didn’t.

“Goodnight,” said Aziraphale after Crowley said nothing.

Crowley looked over at him, finally opening his mouth. “Actually, is it okay if I stay?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, feeling his cheeks heat up at the suggestion. “Of course! Come inside, I’ll pour us some wine.”

Crowley eagerly followed, taking his old place in the back room of the shop. As Aziraphale poured the wine, he tried his best to keep his racing thoughts in control. This could easily still be part of their new rhythm of friends. They had drank in this spot plenty of times over the years before officially getting together, after all. Still, he couldn’t help but feel that something was a bit different tonight. Perhaps it was the way Crowley’s gaze lingered on him a touch longer than normal, or the way their legs had kept brushing against one another at dinner. And he had seemed awfully distracted when driving home, hadn’t he?

He handed Crowley the glass, and their fingers brushed against each other when Crowley took it. It probably wasn’t intentional.

What did seem intentional was the way that Crowley’s fingers stayed there, lightly grabbing Aziraphale’s, making no effort to move.

They stood like that, holding hands over the stem of the wineglass, until Crowley leaned a bit closer, close enough to smell each others’ breath. Aziraphale suddenly wished he hadn’t eaten all of that sushi at dinner.

Crowley’s gaze flickered down to Aziraphale’s lips, and Aziraphale felt like he might discorporate right then and there. All he wanted was to close the distance between them, but he held himself back, wanting to respect Crowley’s boundaries in case he was misreading things. Luckily for him, Crowley made the move for him.

“Can I kiss you, angel?”

“Please,” whispered Aziraphale.

At that, Crowley leaned forward, kissing him for the first time in months. Aziraphale had witnessed Armageddon being averted, yet was somehow confident that this was, by far, the happiest moment of his life. It felt comfortable. Familiar. Right. He truly did mean that painful confession that he’d made to Crowley several weeks ago, because it felt like coming home.

Crowley must have felt a similar way, because he pulled the angel closely against him, cupping his cheek as he deepened the kiss.

Aziraphale pulled away, nodding towards the spiral staircase and offering Crowley his hand. Crowley took it, eagerly following him up.

 

---

 

An hour later, they laid in bed together, both thoroughly tired and thoroughly pleased.

Their clothes were long-since discarded, haphazardly thrown on the floor, and the two cuddled under the covers, savoring the familiar closeness.

Aziraphale’s head rested on Crowley’s chest, feeling the soft rise and fall of his breathing. The comforting feeling of Crowley’s bare skin against his own was something he’d missed quite deeply.

“Can I stay here for the night?“ said Crowley softly.

“Of course,” said Aziraphale, horrified at the thought of Crowley leaving to spend the night alone in his Bentley. “You never have to ask that, you know.”

“Yeah, I guess not. This all feels new to me again, I suppose. It’s been a while.”

“It certainly has.”

As Aziraphale cuddled up against him, Crowley lazily ran a hand along his back. The feeling of Crowley’s hand tracing his skin was old and familiar, and one that he’d spent the past several months desperately longing to feel again. Crowley must have too, because Aziraphale felt him tense up from beneath him.

“I really missed this,” said Crowley, voice cracking a bit as he said it.

Aziraphale nuzzled his head against Crowley’s chest, savoring the feeling. “So did I.”

“I don’t want this to be a one-time thing.”

“I don’t either. I’d love to be a partner to you again, Crowley. If you’re comfortable with it, of course.”

Crowley kissed him, then looked at him with a hint of vulnerability in his yellow eyes. “…yeah. Yeah, I am. Just… don’t do something like that again, Angel. I’d never forgive you for it.”

“I’d never forgive myself for it, frankly.”

Crowley smirked. “Wasn’t forgiveness your whole thing?”

“Not when it comes to hurting you. It’s been hard enough trying not to loathe myself for what I did. I still haven’t fully come to terms with it, if I’m being honest.”

“You really do feel bad about that, don’t you?” His tone was less like a question and more like a realization.

“How could I not? I don’t think I’ll ever fully forgive myself for it, but I can promise you that I’ll never break your trust like that again. Seeing the pain I caused you… I would do absolutely everything in my power to avoid causing that sort of pain again. I mean that sincerely. If I ever did, I give you full permission to discorporate me yourself.”

“Wanna know the crazy part, angel?”

“…what is it?”

Crowley kissed him. Aziraphale sighed into it, surprised but appreciative. When Crowley pulled away, he kept his forehead close to Aziraphale’s, looking him in the eyes.

“…I really, truly believe you,” Crowley finished softly.

Aziraphale knew there was no way to prove his loyalty beyond what he’d done, or to fix the past. There was no way to erase what had happened, and Aziraphale imagined that at the very least, Crowley would bring up the incident for the next century. Frankly, he had every right to. He still didn’t feel like he deserved Crowley’s trust after what he had done. Still, lying there under the covers in his arms, he was more than grateful for it.