"Oh!" he says, and looks genuinely surprised. But then - he doesn't know why. Aziraphale would have lovers - and they were lovers, he couldn't stop loving if he tried. But they lasted for five years, ten years, never long enough for them to become suspicious of why he never aged.
So he loved them even though he knew he would outlive them, and so, always made sure he was able to let them go.
He has never been able to let Crowley go, as much as he'd tried to banish him from his innermost thoughts, from the deepest part of his heart. Right now, he doesn't know if he's ready for this conversation.
But he bites his lip and considers that he is not a coward.
"You don't... have to be jealous, Crowley," he says, finally. He takes Crowley's hand, and gives it a squeeze. "Would you... like me to be jealous of George? Because I must say, it would absolutely be no competition, I think, should I have to best him in any contest."
Aziraphale frowns when Crowley takes his hand away. "Alright," he says. "But what do you want?" he asks, because this is a lot of things he doesn't want and none of the things he does, and Aziraphale thinks it might help to just sit him down and ask directly.
Crowley blinks at the angel, taken aback. He's pretty sure no one has ever asked him what he wants, before. Has he ever really considered it? Not much. Not seriously, anyway.
"I -"
He swallows even though he doesn't need to. His throat feels suddenly tight, for some reason.
"You," he says quietly. "I mean... I want to do things with you. Anything. Go on holiday, or stay right here, doesn't matter. Just want to do it with you."
“Right. Good. Just... making sure,” Crowley says after a moment. He’s relieved, all things considered. That’s the closest he’s come in decades, at least, to thoroughly spilling his guts to the angel. The last time he made any kind of move in that direction, Aziraphale had bolted and he hadn’t seen him for several years after. This is progress, all things considered. Not only is he not running fast in the other direction, but he’s sticking around. They’re planning a holiday together.
“It’ll be fun, won’t it?” he offers, to lighten the tone. Ease the tension.
"Yes," he responds, immediately. "There's so much I want to see with you, now that we get to do it." He does look genuinely very excited about that, fondness in his eyes, smile tugging at his lips.
"These mimosas are quite good. And unlimited!" he remarks, as he finishes his first.
"Or just sober up later." He brushes a thumb over Crowley's hand. "Perhaps we should talk. We do have... things to discuss. Yes, best we finish this quickly," he says resolutely.
He has no idea that "we should talk" sounds scary, he just wants the two of them to find themselves in agreement again.
"Oh, we're definitely flying first class," Crowley says. "I once gave an airline CEO the idea of squeezing another couple of seats in coach to make a bit extra money and they've taken it way too far, as usual."
"Yes," he responds, taking Crowley's arm. "My place. And--" He doesn't know how to tell him this, so he just worries the inside of his lip and leans up to press a quick kiss to Crowley's cheek. It's perfectly acceptable to do in this situation, he thinks, and mostly he just wants to let him know he's received the message and they should talk further.
They've kissed each other on the cheek before, of course. There've been various times and places in human history when that was just how one greeted one's friends, so it's not a new thing.
It just leaves Crowley tingling a little, that's all.
He's not going to press the angel further. Why should he? They're here, together, arm in arm, on their way to the bookshop for more companionship and probably wine. No fear of retribution, either. The only thing pushing would do is put him in danger of pushing the angel away.
So he doesn't say much as they walk, just comments vaguely on the weather or something - incidental conversation that they can have without really thinking about it or getting invested. Just enjoying each other's company.
Aziraphale likes this better, anyway: they can just be themselves, like they always had, but perhaps with a little more by way of kissing and Aziraphale leaning his head on Crowley's shoulder as they walk.
Yes, they get back to the bookshop without incident, but somehow Aziraphale is feeling happier and lighter than usual, practically bubbly. He curls an arm around Crowley's waist as they step over the threshold.
The arm around his waist is a bit new, Crowley has to admit. He glances at Aziraphale for a moment as they stand inside the shop.
"Angel..." He trails off, a question on his face that he can't find the words for. "More wine?" he finally suggests, trying to push all the other things away. They've already had a few. Maybe that's what has Aziraphale being so affectionate.
"Yes, please." Crowley is the only person he'd trust to serve him his own wine in his own shop. But as soon as they get in, he reaches for Crowley's hand, and gives it a squeeze.
"I was," he answers. "And we were." But then he takes Crowley's hand and stands close. "But they can't touch us anymore. I'm sorry if I worried you," he says, voice lowering.
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“Jealous, though, a bit, when you find one you like,” he adds. Well, there it is.
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So he loved them even though he knew he would outlive them, and so, always made sure he was able to let them go.
He has never been able to let Crowley go, as much as he'd tried to banish him from his innermost thoughts, from the deepest part of his heart. Right now, he doesn't know if he's ready for this conversation.
But he bites his lip and considers that he is not a coward.
"You don't... have to be jealous, Crowley," he says, finally. He takes Crowley's hand, and gives it a squeeze. "Would you... like me to be jealous of George? Because I must say, it would absolutely be no competition, I think, should I have to best him in any contest."
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"I don't want you to be jealous. And I don't want you feeling sorry for me, either. I shouldn't have said anything."
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"I -"
He swallows even though he doesn't need to. His throat feels suddenly tight, for some reason.
"You," he says quietly. "I mean... I want to do things with you. Anything. Go on holiday, or stay right here, doesn't matter. Just want to do it with you."
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"Crowley, my dear, I wish you had just said so earlier. I do want to spend my time with you." He smiles, so fondly. "I..."
He should just say it, just tell him. The words he's been sitting on for so long.
"...Want to go on that holiday with you."
He's a coward.
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“It’ll be fun, won’t it?” he offers, to lighten the tone. Ease the tension.
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"These mimosas are quite good. And unlimited!" he remarks, as he finishes his first.
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He's not sure Aziraphale would want to be hanging around in his flat, especially after this morning.
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He has no idea that "we should talk" sounds scary, he just wants the two of them to find themselves in agreement again.
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Alright, he'll finish up his food, quicker than usual, and ask for the bill.
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He offers the angel his arm once they're outside. "Your place?" he suggests.
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Perhaps just not in public.
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It just leaves Crowley tingling a little, that's all.
He's not going to press the angel further. Why should he? They're here, together, arm in arm, on their way to the bookshop for more companionship and probably wine. No fear of retribution, either. The only thing pushing would do is put him in danger of pushing the angel away.
So he doesn't say much as they walk, just comments vaguely on the weather or something - incidental conversation that they can have without really thinking about it or getting invested. Just enjoying each other's company.
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Yes, they get back to the bookshop without incident, but somehow Aziraphale is feeling happier and lighter than usual, practically bubbly. He curls an arm around Crowley's waist as they step over the threshold.
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"Angel..." He trails off, a question on his face that he can't find the words for. "More wine?" he finally suggests, trying to push all the other things away. They've already had a few. Maybe that's what has Aziraphale being so affectionate.
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"Is this alright, dear?" he asks.
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"The answer is probably 'yes' but you might need to explain exactly what this is," he points out. What, exactly, is the angel talking about here?
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There's a lot of things they haven't discussed in the last 6000 years that they ought to have.
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"Yeah, well, I figured even if you wanted to, you'd. Be afraid," he says after a moment. "Or I'd be going too fast."
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“I just mean... I mean, having you - however you like - it doesn’t matter, as long as you’re. Around me. As long as you’re willing.”
Aziraphale is, after all, his only friend. The friend he’s been in love with for at least a couple of millennia. That bit will never change.