Chapter Text
Aziraphale watched as Crowley made his way out of the bookshop, silently willing him to stay.
As usual he cursed his cowardice; even while inebriated he couldn’t bring himself to ask Crowley to stay with him. It was something that Aziraphale thought about a lot. He was almost certain that Crowley would say yes (if he could only muster up enough courage to ask), yet the little voice in the back of his mind always managed to stop him in his tracks, leaving him to silently watch as Crowley made his way out of the bookshop with a cheery
“Night, Angel,” as he left.
And perhaps, Aziraphale though with a resigned sigh, the voice in his head was right.
If he did ask Crowley to stay the night, and Crowley, by some miracle, did actually agree, then Aziraphale knew there was a very real danger of him admitting the way he felt about Crowley. And Aziraphale also knew that this was something he could not afford to do.
Millennia of being an angel had taught Aziraphale that the best thing to do was simply to keep his true feelings hidden. Crowley was very real proof that something so seemingly inconsequential as daring to ask a few questions could send an Angel tumbling down into the depths of hell, and while Aziraphale had his own doubts about the Ineffable Plan, that was something he truly couldn’t risk happening. Although the cold, calculating nature of Heaven made Aziraphale shudder (the Archangels little “visit” certainly left a firm imprint on his mind), he knew that Hell was indefinitely worse. He was sure that the horror stories Crowley relaid to him barely scratched the surface of the kind of unspeakably wretched place it was, and Aziraphale could not imagine being surrounded by such misery. Despite knowing of the other Angels’ disapproval, he loved the world and everything in it. Being cut off from Her grace and forced to bring pain and suffering to the very creatures he had grown to love so deeply would be torture.
Therefore, Aziraphale learnt to keep shtum. Kept his feelings hidden and played along with Gabriel’s little game, meeting Crowley in secret and trying not to dwell on what the consequences might be.
Of course, all that was over now. The apocalypse came and went, it’s events ensuring that Aziraphale was very definitively in Heaven’s bad books. By some miracle (and Aziraphale definitely saw the irony of the phrasing), he had not been cast out from Heaven, although considering what Heaven had planned for him he wondered which was the better alternative. He was still shocked by this every time he thought about it.
It was understandable that Hell would try and destroy Crowley for his misgivings - Aziraphale had expected as much, and had always been aware that Hell would be merciless if Crowley was caught. This was understandable to him; ultimately Hell was evil and set in their ways. But Heaven, well that was a different story. Heaven were the “Good Guys”, righteous bearers of light thwarting evil. Therefore it came as a shock to him when Crowley told him what they had done to him; what they would have done to Aziraphale had Crowley not taken his place. It was unthinkable, Heaven working with Hell to destroy one of their own Angels. Aziraphale knew they had been angry that he had stopped the apocalypse, but enough to do this?
Deep down, Aziraphale knew that Heaven weren’t as squeaky clean as they seemed, and this only helped to accentuate this idea, but Aziraphale desperately wanted to believe that Heaven were Good.
Throughout the build up to the apocalypse Aziraphale has turned away from Crowley, truly believing that Heaven would want to stop the war and keep the peace and harmony. Crowley, of course, knew the nature of Heaven, but Aziraphale had foolishly refused to listen to him, denouncing their friendship and hurting Crowley deeply, all because he could not bring himself to accept the truth.
Crowley may have forgiven him for the things he said but Aziraphale has never quite forgiven himself. Crowley would face the wrath of literal Hell for him, yet he could not even admit that he and Crowley were friends, let alone denounce Heaven the way Crowley had denounced his side.
And here he was again, denouncing his feelings for Crowley.
Every single time Crowley had chosen him, going out of his way to keep him out of trouble, showing up like his knight in shining armour on multiple occasions, yet Aziraphale still couldn’t bring himself to choose him. Even now, even when Heaven was no longer a threat. He could feel the shame bubbling up inside him.
Even if Crowley did not feel the same, he deserved to know the truth.
Although of course, said the voice in his head, there is no possibility of him feeling the same.
Aziraphale tried to ignore this thought, but always found that it wormed it’s way back into his head. There were times when Aziraphale wondered if Crowley felt the same, but always dismissed it as him seeing what he wanted to. Besides, he wasn’t even sure that Demons could feel love.
He knew the way that the humans viewed Crowley. He had plenty of people, mainly young, pretty girls lusting after him. Not that Crowley ever encouraged or reciprocated any of their advances, but Aziraphale knew that by human standards, Crowley was an object of envy for many. They certainly found Crowley attractive, and Aziraphale couldn’t blame them. It was not something he wanted to admit, even to himself, but he did think Crowley was rather dashing. His lanky form always dressed in the latest fashions, the way his hips swayed as he walked, and oh, those eyes. Those beautiful serpentine eyes. At times they looked nearly golden, and Aziraphale tried his best not to stare at them for fear he might get lost in them. It was such a pity that Crowley always wore those glasses.
He often found himself dwelling on Crowley’s beauty. Of course, this meant that the voice in his head felt the need to remind him of his own looks.
While Aziraphale saw the way humans looked at Crowley, he also knew the way humans looked at him. By human standards he was “getting on in years”, to borrow a human expression, and his figure was not one that most humans would desire, the voice in his head felt the need to chip in. He supposed it was right though.
At best people would described him as plump, and on one occasion that Aziraphale tries not to think about, he had been called a fat bumbling idiot, followed by a very derogatory word for gay people. Crowley had, of course, come to his defence, but the damage had been done.
Aziraphale also knew that his clothing did not help in any way. He wore clothing that was so out of date that it could be described as vintage, and it did not flatter him in the way Crowley’s sharp suit did.
All of his doubts only helped to fuel his assumption that Crowley could not possibly feel the same way about him. Even Gabriel had suggested that he “lose the gut”, for goodness sake.
The fear of rejection was the thing that made Aziraphale so afraid of revealing the truth the most. Not just that Crowley wouldn’t feel the same, but that he wouldn’t want to spend time with Aziraphale anymore. That he would be repulsed by his friend’s attraction. That he would give him a disgusted look and saunter out of his life forever. Aziraphale didn’t think he could handle that.
So Aziraphale kept his mouth shut. And every time Crowley visited, he resisted the urge to ask him to stay, and tried to tell himself that he was content with the way things were. Even if there could never be anything more between him and Crowley, this was enough.