Chapter Text
“Look, angel, I– uhm,” Crowley fiddled with the long-stemmed wine glass he held in both hands. “I wanted to ask if, maybe, you’d consider, uhm… maybe, if you’d like to, that is… maybe we could – go out, sometime. You know, like – uhm, like a date?”
Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes.
“Oh,” Aziraphale gasped, his own fingers pressing down against his own wine glass now. “I–I’m sorry, Crowley. I—I think we’re better just being friends.”
A knife jammed straight into his chest would hurt less than this did, he was sure of that. Seeing Crowley’s face fall was the worst thing he’d ever witnessed, and he hated himself for doing this. Crowley didn’t deserve it. But it was the only way Aziraphale knew to get Crowley to see that they wouldn’t work.
No matter how much Aziraphale loved him.
“Right. Friends. Yeah.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Crowley scraped his throat, and Aziraphale watched every bit of comfort drain out of that perfect body. The natural slumping posture Crowley had been in, sprawled out on Aziraphale’s bed, was gone. Replaced by tight muscles and fidgeting fingers and legs. “I think I’ll head back to my own room though, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course not,” Aziraphale breathed and he wanted to reach out, wanted to pull him into his arms. “Are you sure you’re ok, Crowley? I would hate it if—”
“Don’t worry, an— Aziraphale . I’m just gonna sleep it off. Be right at rain tomorrow.”
Aziraphale nodded solemnly, knowing that wouldn’t happen. He had just broken something that couldn’t be fixed with something as easy as a good night’s sleep. He wanted to cry.
“Good night,” Crowley bid him and before Aziraphale could respond, he had slipped out of the door - leaving Aziraphale alone, to slip beneath the duvet covers and cry.
His heart was broken. Utterly shattered.
He was madly, irrevocably, unconditionally in love with his beautiful best friend. Crowley was everything he had ever wanted in a man. Clever, witty, strong, handsome and above all else, incredibly kind.
He had wanted nothing more than to say yes. To be able to date Crowley and finally - finally - show him how much he cared for him. To express his love and ask Crowley to be his. Forever. To hug him tightly, cuddle him beneath these same duvet covers and kiss him whenever the fancy struck, but – he couldn’t.
Because while Crowley was everything Aziraphale could ever want. Aziraphale could never be all that Crowley wanted, or deserved.
Not for the first time he wondered if it wouldn’t all be worth it to just… have sex with Crowley. If he would just suppress his own wishes and needs, and focus on Crowley’s instead - he could be with the love of his life. Fake it. As he had come to believe, many people did that, right?
He would never even have to tell Crowley that he identified as asexual.
Except, he couldn’t. The idea alone irked him so much that he could feel the discomfort settle in his stomach. Churning his guts inside out. He was way too far down the repulsed side of the asexual ladder to even consider the notion. And it wouldn’t be fair to Crowley either.
He deserved to be made love to. And Aziraphale wished he could be the one to do it, but — he really didn’t want to.
So, he tugged the sheets a little higher, pulled his knees into his chest and cried. Around three in the morning, he woke up when their other two roommates - Hastur and Ligur - tumbled into the apartment. Both obviously pissed and loud.
He cried some more. Hoping, against all odds, that Crowley was right, and that come tomorrow morning nothing about their friendship had changed.
Hastur and Ligur were spread out on the couch. Ligur was laying half on top of Hastur, sucking bruises into his neck whilst both of his hands were beneath the other man’s T-shirt. Obviously, neither one of them cared about Aziraphale sitting in the armchair opposite them.
The two men never had any shame when it came to displays of public affection, especially not in front of their roommates. Aziraphale was used to it, although he could definitely do without the background sound of Hastur’s whimpers and Ligur’s giggles.
Really, it was quite disgusting.
The opening and slamming of the front door got the two lovebirds to - at least temporarily - stop and switch their focus onto the man who sauntered solemnly into their flat, immediately dropping down into the only armchair left.
“Oomph,” Hastur laughed. “You look like shit, my man. Let me guess, not a good date?”
Crowley growled, dropping his head back. “Fucking terrible.”
“Tell us all about it.”
“First of all, they ate their spaghetti with a spoon. Who does that? And they never stopped talking about their ex. Some guy named Frank. I now know far more about this Frank than I know about them…He worked at an IT company, he had tattoos that actually meant something to him, not a snake tattoo that he got just for a laugh, oh and he would never drink espressos so late at night… Ugh .”
Aziraphale morphed his facial expression into one of sorrow and compassion for his best friend, whilst inwardly he was cheering. Oh, it was incredibly selfish, he knew - but he couldn’t help it. Jealousy and envy had been cutting away at him all night, and knowing that the date didn’t amount to anything - it was a soft balm to his pain.
Until the next date…
Ever since that night, a couple of months back, Crowley had set up some new barriers. They all went unspoken, but Aziraphale knew they were there. Crowley had stopped parading around the flat in nothing but a white towel after taking a shower. He had stopped knocking on Aziraphale’s door the second Hastur and Ligur were out of the door. He had taken up night shifts at the coffee shop to avoid having to watch the new season of The Great British Bake Off with Aziraphale.
And he had started dating.
“So, another fail then?” Ligur asked. “That makes like 15 since March.”
17, actually , Aziraphale thought but didn’t say.
“Ugh. I can’t help it that people set me up with total knobheads. Seriously, I’m starting to get the feeling that Anathema, Maggie and Nina are doing it on purpose.”
“Come on now, why would they do that?” Hastur scraped his throat. “”Maybe you’re just too picky.”
“I’m really not.”
“Right… Describe your dream man to us again.”
For the first time in days, Crowley looked at Aziraphale. Beautiful caramel-coloured eyes burning into his for just a second before nervously flicking away.
“Just… You know, someone kind.”
“We need a bit more information than that, dude,” Ligur sighed. “Come on. If you could have anyone you wanted, who would you pick?”
Please stop, Aziraphale thought, biting down on the inside of his cheek hard enough to make it blister. Please don’t make this worse. He’s hurting. Can’t you see? He’s already hurting so much because of me, and you are making it worse.
Again, Crowley looked over at him, only for a second, before averting his gaze. Aziraphale’s heart burned.
“I–I just want someone I can trust. Someone I can laugh with, someone who’s strong but not afraid to be soft either, loyal but strong-minded and smart.”
“Hmmm. Looks-wise?”
Crowley looked down, a soft smile dancing on his lips and Aziraphale wanted to cry.
“I don’t much care about what they look like, as long as they have kind eyes.”
“Fuck that,” Hastur grunted. “You’ve got to have more of a vision, dude. Come on. What do you want to look at when you’re fucking them? Tattoos? Piercings? Would you rather they have a thick cock or a long one?”
Crowley visibly winced. “Shut up, Hastur!”
“What? That stuff's important,” Hastur laughed and swatted Ligur’s ass. “Isn’t it, doll?”
Ligur nodded and shuffled closer to Hastur - making Azirapale roll his eyes. Unbelievable. Crowley was being so sweet, so utterly romantic, and their two idiot roommates were ruining everything – as usual.
“Anyway,” Crowley groaned, sinking deeper into his chair. “A man as perfect as that would clearly never go for someone like me. So, I’ll have to make do with men like Gabriel and Michael.”
Aziraphale cringed. He knew perfectly well that that last comment was directed at him.
He hated it. All of it. He hated how he had to watch Crowley leave the house every Saturday night, dressed in deep red silk shirts and tight jeans that fit him so perfectly. He hated how Crowley had to date these men who clearly didn’t appreciate him for who he was. And most of all, he hated how he had to pretend that he didn’t want to be the one taking Crowley out.
“Well. You’ve at least fucked them, right?”
“ What ?”
“Come on,” Ligur laughed. “Don’t tell me you went through an entire date enduring all that shit without fucking them at the end of it?”
Aziraphale watched Crowley’s jaw lock tight.
“Oh. Yeah. Sure – Course.”
“Course,” Hastur nodded. “Bet he screamed Frank’s name whilst climaxing, eh?”
“Fuck you,” Crowley groaned. “‘M done talking about it. Drinks, anyone?”
“Nope,” Hastur said. “We’re actually going out.”
“Now?” Aziraphale asked. “It’s close to midnight.”
“Yes, thank you, booknerd,” Hastur said. “I’ll have you know that that’s when the good parties start.”
Aziraphale looked down, holding on tightly to the book he’d been reading. He had always loved the nights that Hastur and Ligur went out, because that meant that it was just him and Crowley in the flat. But that had been back when there was no tension between them. Back when it had been comfortable companionship, laughter and flirting. Oh god, how he missed the carefree flirting. Now, everything was just awkward.
“Fuck you, Hastur,” Crowley growled, coming to his rescue. As always.
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Hastur laughed. “Maybe you should come. It’s swingers night at the Second Coming.”
“Gross,” Crowley said, jumping up out of the chair.
Hastur and Ligur laughed, and Aziraphale watched Crowley saunter over to the kitchen, where he pulled the fridge open with a vengeance.
“White or red wine, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, looking over his shoulder.
For the love of God, please, please, call me angel again.
“Red, please, dear.”
Crowley turned back to the fridge, retrieving a chilled bottle of cheap supermarket wine and pouring it into two high-stemmed glasses. Meanwhile, Hastur and Ligur had gotten up from the couch and made their way to the door.
“Don’t wait up for us,” Ligur winked and Hastur laughed, putting a thick fur coat on Ligur’s shoulders and guiding him out the door. The second the door fell into the lock behind them, Crowley let out an exasperated sigh.
“Fucking idiots,” he murmured, and because Aziraphale wasn’t sure whether he was meant to overhear or not, he didn’t respond. Instead he held his breath until Crowley handed him his glass and sat back down in the armchair.
“How was your Saturday night then?”
“Nothing special.”
Crowley hummed, sipping from his glass. “Is it any good?” he asked, tipping his chin to the book in Aziraphale’s lap.
“It’s acceptable,” Aziraphale smiled. “A little too black and white for me, but – it’s fine.”
“Black and white?”
“Yes. You know. Too narrow-minded.”
“In what way?” Crowley asked, taking another sip as he shifted, putting one foot on the chair whilst letting the other dangle over the side.
“Many ways. Sexually, mostly,” Aziraphale said before he could think the better of it. He loved it when Crowley asked to talk about books. Especially since it didn’t happen as much anymore. But it might not be a good idea to talk about that .
“Sexual?” Crowley asked, tilting his head in clear interest, because of course he’d be interested in that.
“Right. Or, the lack of sex rather,” Aziraphale said, looking down at the book instead of at his best friend. “You… ehm, you know what asexuality is, I reckon?”
Crowley snorted and rolled his eyes. “Yes. I know what asexuality is.”
“Right. Well. There are two characters in this book who identify as asexual, and they are practically the same. Both on the repulsive end of the spectrum. Both with the exact same boundaries. And I just… I don’t think that’s very likely to happen.”
“Sounds a bit far fetched, yes.”
“Exactly. I think the spectrum is so broad and diverse, that the chances of falling in love with someone who carries the exact same boundaries as you, is near impossible. I think there’s always compromises to make, and I think this author had the perfect opportunity to show how important clear and honest communication is between the two characters, but instead she just focuses on the murder mystery and… I don’t know. It’s a bit disappointing, I guess.”
“Yeah, I understand,” Crowley nodded, and Aziraphale watched his jaw shift once, twice, three times before he scraped his throat and said, “is the mystery part of the plot at least good?”
“I’ve had a suspicion of who the killer is since chapter three.”
Crowley laughed, throwing his head back and it was beautiful. “Of course you have. And I bet you’re right, too.”
“I’ll let you know when I get there.”
“Please do,” Crowley said, and for a second they sat there, just smiling at each other, like old times. Aziraphale’s heart ached. He wanted . He wanted so much.
“Crowley,” he whispered. I love you. I love you. I love you. “I miss you.”
Crowley’s sharp inhale of breath echoed through the living room, and settled between Aziraphale’s ribs, sparking a too tight feeling in his chest.
“I miss you too,” Crowley said, voice hoarse and bleak. “But it’s difficult for me, Aziraphale. You must understand. I– I can’t be as close to you as before without…” He swallowed thickly. “Without wanting more .”
More. Love. Sex.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. Don’t be,” Crowley smiled but it was all topsy-turvy and wrong. “You just don’t feel the same. I get it. There’s nothing to apologise for. I just… I need time, alright.”
I do feel the same. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything else in my life. The words were on the tip of Aziraphale’s tongue, and yet he couldn’t speak them. It would be unfair to do so.
“Yes, of course.”
Crowley’s smile trembled as he swallowed the last of his wine. “I think I’ll head to bed.”
“Oh,” Aziraphale couldn’t stop the disappointment from dripping into his voice. “Right. Okay.”
He wished Crowley would stay. More than that, he wished he could come with Crowley. He missed the feel of those ridiculous silk sheets on his skin, and he would do almost anything to hold Crowley through the night.
Instead, Aziraphale whispered, “sleep well, my dear.”
“Good night,” Crowley said, his voice soft and filled with so much love that Aziraphale could hardly stand it. He watched Crowley deposit his empty wine glass on the kitchen counter before disappearing down the hall to his bedroom. When the door dropped shut behind him, Aziraphale wrapped his arms around himself.
His sexuality had not only lost him the chance at the most perfect boyfriend, but had also clearly lost him his best friend.
A ping on his phone made him temporarily shut down his self-pity. It was a text from Muriel. The only friend who knew about his sexuality - because Muriel was asexual too and had seen straight through his act.
Aziraphale! I have fantastic news! You know that new coffee shop on Regent Road? It’s hosting a speed date night for asexual people. Friday the 15th. We’re going! X.
Aziraphale sighed. He didn’t want to date anyone who wasn’t Crowley. But he did owe them one, as Muriel had gotten him out of an uncomfortable moment at work, when Mr. Brown from three doors down had started aggressively flirting with him.
Fine, he texted back. But I think it’s important that you know that I do not share your excitement about this.
By the time Muriel returned his text, he had cleared up the glasses and was ready for bed.
Pish Posh. It’ll be great. And wear that light blue bow tie.