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Aziraphale had no idea why he had shown the pictures to the demon. Maybe it had been because there were things that he wanted to tell Crowley, but just couldn't. He regretted it now, though, as he walked back to his bookshop in the dark. He was already missing the demon, and he told himself that that was unhealthy and wrong, but you really can't keep yourself from feeling certain emotions, now can you?

The bell chimed as Aziraphale opened the door to his shop. The smell of old books drifted to his nose and it calmed him somehow. He took a deep breath and walked up the stairs in the back room of the shop. There was a tiny little apartment up there were there was one bed, one bathroom, and a tiny kitchen that didn't work. It was his home, and even though the demon had better accommodations, he loved his bookshop more than anything (well, most things).

Aziraphale collapsed on the bed unceremoniously. He usually didn't partake in the act of slumber, but he felt he needed it tonight. It had been a nerve-wracking day yesterday, and he was feeling emotional tonight. He pulled out his wallet and looked at the pictures of the demon. He remembered each one of them, and especially loved the one at the bottom.

They had been drunk and Crowley didn't seem to mind Aziraphale snapping a quick photo of him. He had smiled in the most glorious way, and it only would have happened when he was roaring drunk. Aziraphale had almost told him then and there what was going on inside of him, but he had been too drunk to keep his brain on track. They had ended up passed out together in the back of his bookshop and neither really remembered what had happened the night before, although Aziraphale did remember the picture he had snapped.

It had taken quite a long time for Aziraphale to realize what was going on, and even longer to actually except it. At first, he had just written it off as loyalty after being together so long, but he realized shortly that his thoughts wandered more than just camaraderie would allow. He knew that if he took action on his feelings he would probably get in a lot of trouble from up there, not to mention from Crowley himself. These were the times that he really hated the two teams that played in the ever-lasting game of Good v Evil.

As an angel you were required to love everyone and everything, but this Principality found that he had his favorites. His bookshop, for one. He also loved little restaurants and old books, and sushi. There was one thing that he never expected to add to his list of Favorites, and just the idea of admitting it aloud made him want to hand over his halo and harp (not that any angels actually had these items).

Aziraphale had grown way too fond of the demon. He had had no idea how to deal with this strange feeling, so he contented himself with taking pictures and carrying them around with him. He looked at them when he was feeling down in the dumps, and right before the end of the world he had looked at them much more than usual. He had been terrified that the Apocalypse would happen and separate him and the demon forever, so he had spent long bits of time trying to permanently memorize every part of that face.

He knew that Crowley would never return the sentiment. He was, after all, a demon, but Aziraphale spent plenty of time pondering what would happen if he did. He remembered telling that nice woman that he was gay, and the expression on her face. It had made it seem all real to him, but when he thought about it he wasn't really gay. Angels and demons didn't really have true sexes, they just chose what corporation they wanted to inhabit, and what it would look like. Until now Aziraphale hadn't even realized that feelings of actual human longing and desire were possible, but now he knew it was all too real. It probably came from being on Earth for so long, but he really didn't mind it.

Oh dear, but now he had ruined it all by showing Crowley the pictures of him in Aziraphale's wallet. He would have to come up with a reason as to why the pictures had been there, and he really couldn't stand losing the demon. Oh, what would he do? Aziraphale solved the problem for the moment by falling into a deep sleep.

XxX

Crowley was being more vicious than usual to the houseplants this morning, taking out his pent up frustration on them. He didn't even know why he was in such a tizzy, but it felt good to threaten plants when he was angy. At least they would be more likely to grow even prettier.

There was something up with the angel, and Crowley desperately wanted to find out what. He didn't really know why he cared so much, but he did, especially if it had something to do with Crowley himself, and he felt that it did.

He was jolted out of his deep thoughts by the phone ringing. He stood up to answer it.

"Hallo?"

"H-hello? Crowley?"

"Crowley speaking."

"Hmm…Well, I was wondering whether or not you wanted to, I don't know; feed the ducks in St. James or something today?" Aziraphale asked from the other end.

"Uh, sure," responded Crowley, not really having anything else to do, and really wanting to get some answers out of the angel. Maybe he could convince Aziraphale to get drunk, and then he could pry some more.

"Great. See you there in about, oh, twenty minutes?"

"Mhmm." He placed the phone back on the receiver.

Crowley padded to the bedroom and looked at himself in the full length mirror. Crowley was all about appearances, and silk pajamas were not the right attire for feeding the ducks in August. He gestured to himself and his clothing was changed into something more somber, consisting of dark colors and deep reds. He was dashing.

Crowley climbed into the Bentley, inhaling deeply, immensely enjoying the smell of the fine leather. He really did love his Bentley, and he was sure to take great care of it.

Aziraphale was already at the pond when Crowley got there. He was feeding them small chunks of a bagel in his hands. The angel was looking intensely at the water, as if he was going to memorize the bubbles and ripples, and there was a frown etched into his features. Crowley was surprised by how this deep frown of sadness and concentration made the angel look strangely tragic, and you could really see the angelic glow on his features. Crowley paused before he got out of the car, and he was absolutely sure he felt his heart skip. He intently hoped that he wasn't going to die and need a new corporation… This one seemed to be malfunctioning.

Aziraphale looked up when he heard Crowley close his car door, and a small smile cut through the sorrow on his face. Crowley remembered that he needed bread, and a small loaf of pumpernickel appeared in his hands. He took his place beside the angel and began feeding the ducks like they always did. It was a ritual, and it calmed them somehow, even in the darkest of hours, to have this thing that constantly stayed the same.

"Did you get home okay last night?" Crowley asked. He knew that the question was pointless as the angel was standing here unscathed, but it was a social convention that humans liked to use, so Crowley thought he'd recycle it.

"Yes, fine," murmured Aziraphale, throwing a piece of bagel at a duck a little harder than necessary. The duck quacked loudly and paddled away, slightly disgruntled.

Crowley watched the angel out of the corner of his eye. Aziraphale's face was still slightly pinched, and his movements were stiff and nervous. There was definitely something wrong, and Crowley got more and more worried as the time progressed.

"Okay, angel, we are going to go into the back of your bookshop and get roaring drunk," hissed Crowley, grabbing the protesting angel by an arm and hauling him to the Bentley. They drove in silence to the small shop, Crowley zigzagging in and out of traffic with alarming accuracy. Aziraphale clutched his armrests tightly.

XxX

"It's not green, you just think it's green!" insisted the demon, who's intoxication levels were slowly rising.

"Then waddas that make us?"

Crowley paused, the bottle halfway to his lips. "I dunno…" he said vaguely.

"The point is, we are imro-imorat- we live a really, really long time, and we should take advannage o' that."

Crowley frowned. "And we haven't been doin' that?"

Aziraphale tried to focus in on the demon in front of him. "Nonononono," he said, wagging his finger, and then staring at the finger he had raised. He started giggling.

"What're you doing?" asked Crowley, watching the angel in awe.

Aziraphale paused, looking at Crowley intently. He put his finger down. "You know, demon, you're in my wallet," he said, completely forgetting his previous topic.

"I'm aware of that," Crowley said, his brow furrowing. "Why'm I in your wallet?"

Aziraphale smiled knowingly. "I can't tell you that, silly, silly, Crow-u-lie," he slurred, wagging his finger again. He squinted at Crowley who ran a hand through his hair self-consciously.

The angel smiled dreamily. "You're a pretty demon," Aziraphale muttered, his smile turning sad. "But this is a dream, and I can only say stuff like this in dreams."

Crowley froze. Alarm wormed its way through his intoxication. "Pretty? What do you mean?"

"Pretty, pretty, pretty little demon!"

Crowley really didn't have anything to say to that, and the alcohol in his system had a numbing effect.

Aziraphale looked around the room and then leaned in closer to Crowley, beckoning him closer to whisper in his ear. "I can't tell you this in real life, but since this is probly a dream I will. I have you in my wallet because I like to look at your picture when I'm feeling melac-, menco-, sad."

Again, silence from the demon.

"And this isn't the first of my dreams you've showed up in."

"You-you dream 'bout me?"

"Mhmm…It's because I luuurrve you." Aziraphale giggled and then pointed at Crowley. "You, mister demon."

"We're both drunk. All this stuff you're saying isn't true," mumbled Crowley shaking his head back and forth. He was very surprised when Aziraphale caught his chin in his manicured hand to stop him shaking it.

"Don't say that," the angel said sharply, still holding Crowley's chin. He gazed into Crowley's eyes with a determined look, and before the demon had time to react the angel leaned across the table, pressing his lips tightly to Crowley's. The demon froze in pure shock. His heart also missed a beat and his face flushed, which confused the hell out of him.

Aziraphale broke the kiss, sitting back in his chair as though nothing had happened. Without alerting Aziraphale, Crowley removed the alcohol from his bloodstream. He did not want to pass out without remembering this, because something very, for lack of a better word, odd had just happened. He stared at the angel who had fallen asleep with his head on his arms on the table.

"So that's why you have pictures of me in your wallet. Geez, what happens now?" Crowley murmured to the sleeping angel. "Dammit, angel, you might have just ruined everything."

He looked out the grungy little window in the back of the room to find that, not only had it gotten very dark, but it was also pouring down rain. He glanced at the couch in the back of the room and decided that he would crash there for the night. Of course there was a nice sheet set and pillow in the first cupboard that Crowley opened, and he was soon fast asleep on the couch, wondering what had just happened and why it had happened to him.

Mwa-ha-ha! Same rules go for the next chapter...I have it, I'm just waiting for a few reviews...