So excited to post this for my first ever gift exchange! Happy Valentine’s everyone, and especially @warcats-cat (I hope you like your gift!) and @goloveday (thank you for putting event this together! xx) 💜💜
Posted on AO3 here (bc idk what the formatting on this site is doing rn!)
Crowley glared at the bin and wondered if it would be overly dramatic to set it on fire.
Look, the shiny, tacky – stupid idea – box of chocolates deserved it, alright.
A woman in a smart green coat walked past, disrupting his sight of the bin from where he leant against cold metal railings. He transferred his glare to her for good measure and grimaced when she glared right back. Londoners.
Sighing, he untangled himself from the iron bars and set off walking, allowing himself to be aimless for now as he tried to figure some way out of this unmitigated disaster– this travesty – bloody hell, what was the point of surviving the apocalypse if this was the kind of thing he had to deal with? He stole past shops, and told himself he wasn’t noticing the glittery, mass-produced hearts that were smeared across all their window-displays.
I’m so glad I got to participate in the @goloveday exchange! I don’t do fic exchanges often, but this one was a lot of fun! Special thanks to @miniaturefern for beta'ing this for me. @saer-m, I really hope you enjoy your gift! It was wonderful to write this for you!! <3
Also cross posted on Ao3!
TW: a little bit of insecurity, crying, references to past trauma. It’s that good good hurt/comfort tho. <3
Crowley had everything planned perfectly. Really. He’d tagged along on one of angel’s trips for some special book that Crowley didn’t fully care about; he just liked to hear Aziraphale’s voice. He liked the way the angel’s face literally lit up, he started almost glowing out his eyeballs, when he got excited. Crowley liked it when Aziraphale was happy. Crowley would damn his soul all over again to see that glowing smile forever. So he’d come with Aziraphale on a little trip, listening to his angel babble about botched phrasing and hilariously disastrous typos and watching from the corner of his eye as the fluffy head bounced and soft hands jittered.
And of course, as soon as Crowley found out they were going on a trip of any kind, he started planning. This was their first trip, after all.
Well, their first as a couple at least.
And it was a little weird, being officially a thing and having the freedom to hold hands or press into each other’s sides at night; knowing that, for once, they didn’t have to worry about “them” watching. If “they” were watching, it didn’t really matter. And Crowley wanted to celebrate the idea.
So he had driven his angel out to Satan-Knows-Where in the middle of autumn. He had watched his angel barter and chat with people milling about in shop fronts and street market stalls. He had listened to his angel prattle on and almost drifted away on the sound of his voice.
God just wasn’t interested in his happiness, apparently.
See, the opposite of that exciting feeling of holding hands was being able to feel Aziraphale’s hand tense when they got dirty looks from passersby. The opposite of the warmth coming from Aziraphale’s soft side was the coldness he felt when the angel tensed, just slightly, and pulled the nearest breadth away. "They" may not have been watching, but the humans certainly were. And the humans around them lately were making Aziraphale upset. And Crowley didn’t really know why.
So Crowley had taken to planning things. A picnic in the park near their hotel, late evening, and maybe some stargazing (since Aziraphale seemed to love Crowley’s stories as much as the demon enjoyed his angel’s.) Quiet and away from prying, judgmental eyes. Crowley only hoped it made Aziraphale feel safer.
It didn’t.
Crowley could feel it right off. Aziraphale was tense; he chose to carry the basket instead of holding Crowley’s hand. He kept himself carefully apart, not even bumping Crowley’s shoulder affectionately as he had the morning before. Crowley was chilly in the warm night air, feeling alone despite the angel at his side.
The picnic went carefully; Aziraphale sat opposite the demon, and resolutely fixed his eyes just above Crowley’s glasses. He poured wine and nibbled bread and cheese and very purposefully made small talk, as if Crowley wouldn’t notice something amiss after six thousand years of knowing the bastard.
After almost a hundred years of loving him.
After almost a full year of getting to say it out loud.
“Angel, what the Heaven is wrong with you?” Crowley finally blurted, interrupting Aziraphale’s droll observations on cicadas or some such insect with all the grace of a newborn elephant. Aziraphale’s face sunk as the angel huddled into himself, and Crowley began tripping over his own tongue in an effort to course-correct. “No. That’s not- I said that wrong. Uh. Yeah. I don’t mean it like, ‘what’s wrong with you’, but like, ‘you’ve been weird lately and I don’t know if I did something’ but if I did do something you know you can tell me because I want to fix it, right?” Crowley stammered out, as if trying to catch Aziraphale’s heart as it sank.
Aziraphale stayed quiet for a long time after that, staying in his little hunched position, looking like the picture of sadness to the demon in front of him. This was not going to plan. He’d brought the angel’s favorites and yet Aziraphale had barely eaten or drank anything. He’d tried to have a nice outdoor meeting because Aziraphale loved picnics, but the angel had shuttered at every passerby for the last fifteen minutes. He’d talked about nothing more in-depth than the weather, and had ignored all of Crowley’s digs and efforts to start debates in favor of remaining passive and demure. Finally, Crowley couldn’t stand the quiet; whispering softly into the darkness before him. “Angel?
The angel swallowed and took a light, steadying breath, before leaning in and softly pressing his forehead to Crowley’s.
“My dearest, I think I should like to go inside…” he said, barely murmuring himself. Crowley could feel the bridge of his angel’s nose pressing the bridge of his glasses. He could feel the warmth from the angel’s skin on his forehead. And he could feel the barest tremble of the body underneath.
“Okay, angel; anything you want.” He replied quietly. “Do you want to walk there, or..?” When Aziraphale’s answer wasn’t forthcoming, Crowley chose to snap his fingers, bringing them right into their room and onto the plush bed, barely a pop to denote the change. And yet, Aziraphale didn’t move for several minutes.
Crowley knew, of course, that Aziraphale didn’t do well being rushed, but he was also acutely aware of warm tears dropping down between the pair. So the demon chose instead to tilt his head, just slightly, and gently nuzzle the angel’s face, hoping to bring comfort. Aziraphale’s cheek twitched, and he let out a soft, shaken sigh.
“I’m old.” he said quietly.
Once again, Crowley’s handling of the situation was eloquent and sensitive;
“Well duh, we’ve both been around for six millennia! They could be studying us in the Royal Museum, angel!”
Aziraphale let out a wet “Ha!” and started to cry harder, at which point Crowley realized he hadn’t quite soothed the situation like he’d thought, and wrapped his arms around the angel tightly.
“Oh, you know I don’t know what to say you prissy bastard. I haven’t got near the high-and-mighty education you do.” That brought a more earnest chuckle out of Aziraphale, and the angel reached to wipe the tears from his cheeks, wiggling from Crowley’s grasp for a moment. “You’ve gotta tell me what you mean, when you say something like that,” the demon continued.
“I suppose I mean old-fashioned,” Aziraphale began, “And really even then I can’t explain.” He sat quietly for a moment, trying to recompose himself. Crowley moved to pull Aziraphale into his chest, wanting to hold the angel. Once again, however, Aziraphale tried to pull away.
“I’m afraid.” Aziraphale said softly. “I’m afraid because I feel the archangels' eyes on me even when I know they aren’t, and that lot have plenty of other things to do. And I’m afraid because I love you very much, but I worry I’m not right.”
Crowley’s heart leapt at hearing the little ‘I love you’ in the angel’s confession, since the pair had only said it out loud a few times since their retirement; but it sank right down again at hearing the rest of what Aziraphale had to say. He tried to give the confession the appropriate amount of time for consideration, before finally asking, “I don’t know what you mean?”
The angel’s eyes became wet again, and he let out a heavy sigh; “Oh, Crowley.” He had a sad but fond smile, and pulled Crowley back onto the bed, finally cuddling up into the demon’s side.
“You’re you, my dear. You’re clever and tall and fantastically dapper, and you’re constantly swaying about as if you haven’t got a care in the world for what the people around us think, and I’m most certain you really don’t . And I suppose it’s not really my worry what the humans think of us. But…” He quieted once more, and all but buried his face in Crowley’s side. “I can’t just let go. They were my family, Crowley, and they said such awful things to me, and I want to just forget but I can’t and I’m afraid I never will and I don’t want to just be your constant reminder of my own problems that I can’t solve. I don’t want to do that to you.”
“So you’ve been thinking about the self-obsessed pigeon again,” Crowley teased. Aziraphale turned delightfully red at that, and smacked Crowley’s chest, smiling despite himself.
“Oh! Rude! You didn’t tell me he didn’t like the nickname!” Crowley teased back. He snuggled closer and planted a kiss right on Aziraphale’s cheekbone. “I didn’t know we were being nice to the pigeon now! After he's treated my dove so terribly!” Crowley attempted another nuzzle and won a beautiful little wet laugh from the angel.
“Look, angel. Angel, I..." He looked up at the ceiling, then back down. "Angel," he said, "my love is not fragile. Do you really think I care if you still wake me up in the middle of the night because you’re feeling insecure a thousand years from now? Granted, I might be a little grumpy about it. 'Gotta get my beauty sleep in after all. But..." he paused, suddenly a little self-conscious, "I'll... I'll still love you. No matter how many times I have to remind you.”
Aziraphale’s tears were soaking Crowley’s shirt, but the demon couldn’t bring himself to care. He could sense the change; they weren’t borne strictly of sadness any longer. Crowley held his angel for a long time after that, letting the night wrap around them. They could picnic and stargaze tomorrow. Drive back to London later in the week. Tomorrow Aziraphale would brew tea and Crowley would tease him about the new book. Right now, Crowley was exactly where he wanted to be, planning be blessed.
The demon pulled a hand up, for just a moment, and snapped his fingers. The pair became cocooned in soft, heavy blankets. They held onto each other, two stars so close they might as well have been one.
