Before.

"You can stay at my place if you like."

"Oh, I don't think my side would like that." I shouldn't have said that. I shouldn't have said that. I want to take it back, but how?

"You don't have a side anymore. Neither of us do. Like Agnes said, 'we need to choose our faces wisely.'"

The bus finally arrives and Aziraphale eyes Crowley's ginger head, wishing he could just send his thoughts right past those copper locks.

I love you, he thinks, squinting with the effort of trying to send the confession telepathically. It's ridiculous, Aziraphale knows this. He continues to bemoan internally at his lack of courage. He almost doesn't notice when his hand accidentally grasps Crowley's while reaching for the handlebar and taking his seat.

Aziraphale nearly chokes on air when his eyes land on their clasped hands. He flinches away from Crowley's smooth, long fingers and regrets that too.

"Sorry!" Aziraphale squawks in an undignified manner.

Crowley manages a lazy smirk and shrugs. "I don't mind," he replies softly.

The words may have been spoken softly, but that doesn't mean they weren't heavy. Heavy with meaning, with intention, with knowledge. It should have made things easier for Aziraphale. It should have been a breeze. In fact, Aziraphale can almost hear himself say...

"Oh? That's wonderful, dear, because I've been terribly in love with you for millennia, and could happily hold your hand until the next century rolls around or until you've had enough. And if you're amenable to trying new, human ways of expressing love, then, tally-ho and away we go! Yes, I'd absolutely love to stay at your place, in fact, I'm desperate for it and not because I no longer have a place to go, but because, I am in fact, desperate for you in particular. But I'm rambling now, what say you?"

But Aziraphale does not say any of that. He merely nods stiffly then swallows those words down with a large and near-deafening gulp.

After.

Crowley drums his fingers nervously on Aziraphale's mantlepiece. He hasn't taken a single sip of his whiskey, which is odd because one, he's been in the bookshop for about forty minutes and two, he asked for whiskey in the first place. He opens his mouth several times, and at first, nothing comes out, then a strange garbled noise emanates from his vocal cords before he finally just takes a large swig of his drink and says...

"I met someone."

Aziraphale looks up from his near-empty tumbler and raises his eyebrows expectantly. He is waiting for Crowley to continue, but Crowley merely downs the rest of his whiskey without bothering to savour it, which scandalizes Aziraphale, of course. He's about to scold Crowley for his high offence, but the demon is looking into his empty glass as if it holds a portal to some unknown universe and he'd very much like to nosedive through it.

A little warning bell rings in Aziraphale's ears, but he pushes it aside, just like everything else that makes him nervous. "Is there more to that sentence or...?"

Crowley looks at Aziraphale, and his mouth drops open. He's silent for a time and Aziraphale wishes he could see his eyes because something is up and he'd like to help Crowley with whatever seems to be bothering him.

"Erm," Crowley says intelligently, "ngh, uh, yes?"

Aziraphale furrows his brow but places his glass on the end table and folds his hands in his lap, at complete attention. "Oh, my," he says suddenly with wide, fearful eyes, "you mean from..." he points to the floor.

"Wha' does tha- oh! No, no, no. Nothing new from Hell, no."

"What a relief, you had me worried there for a mo-"

"I'm seeing someone," Crowley blurts out like he might retch.

The bells come back, and they ring so loud that even Aziraphale, the master of avoidance, can't ignore them. They stare at one another for a long moment before the words finally unscramble in Aziraphale's mind.

"You mean you," Aziraphale begins slowly and softly, "are with someone," and here he has to clear his throat twice before he can continue, "romantically?"

Crowley licks his parched and chapped lips and nods slowly.

Oh, the bells might as well take up permanent residence in Aziraphale's head, because now he doesn't want to hear this. Not one bit.

"Oh."

Crowley sets his glass down and approaches the angel slowly. "You alright?"

Aziraphale shakes off his stupor, grabs his tumbler, and stands. "Yes, of course, why wouldn't I be?" He walks to the cabinet that contains more booze.

He hears Crowley stammer a bit before he speaks again. "I just thought I should tell you..." he trails off.

"How long?" The whiskey sloshes out of the bottle and into Aziraphale's glass.

"What?"

He fills the tumbler past the acceptable amount for company. "How long have you been seeing this person ?"

Another long silent moment passes.

"Three months."

Aziraphale is suddenly quite determined to get absolutely pissed . He wonders why he asked that question. He also wonders why Crowley is telling him this. Never in all of their history has Crowley ever talked about his romantic trysts. Ever. Until now. Something is different, and Aziraphale's mind is reeling, trying to figure out what this all means but coming up empty.

"Well," Aziraphale rasps after taking another extra-large, burning swallow of his drink, "cheers then." He lifts his glass in Crowley's direction without looking at him and downs the rest of the spirits.

"Aziraphale, I didn't - that is, I don't-"

"That's good, Crowley. Jolly good." With a minor miracle, Aziraphale manages to pour more whiskey with his trembling hands without spilling a single drop.

"Good?" Crowley asks, an incredulous tone in his voice.

"Yes, of course," Aziraphale doesn't hesitate but also doesn't turn to face him. "Nothing wrong with a bit of companionship, especially now that you only have me to pass the time with."

"Pass the -!" Crowley interrupts himself with a sigh and Aziraphale can hear the demon's hands slap against his trousers. "Yes." Now he just sounds exhausted. "Yes. Companionship. Good. Good, good, good. Glad you're cool with it," he mumbles.

Aziraphale watches the demon walk past him toward the door. The bells have been replaced by a giant gong, banging away at his stupid brain. "Off so soon?" He asks politely, but also needing Crowley to get the hell out of his shop as soon as possible.

Crowley whirls around. "Yep!" He pops the p and shrugs. "Date night." He places his hand on the doorknob but doesn't exit. "I want you to meet her," he says to his boots.

Aziraphale thanks the almighty that Crowley is not facing him because he's sure that whatever blood was left in his face has drained down his throat, and threatening to choke him.

Her. A woman. He wants to know more and nothing at all at the same time.

"Whatever for?" Aziraphale manages to say just above a whisper.

Crowley takes a long breath. "Because you're my best friend and I want my best friend to meet my girlfriend. It's not unheard of, you know?" He sounds a bit frustrated and definitely uncomfortable.

Best friend. Girlfriend.

Aziraphale has to swallow a few times to moisten his mouth and speak. "Of course. Would be my," he fights for words, "pleasure."

"Good," says Crowley with a nod. "I'll set something up and give you a ring with the details."

Aziraphale blinks three times. "Splendid."

Little bells chime as Crowley takes his leave.

Aziraphale feels cold.

AN: As you can already tell... there shall be lots of pain.

Thank you Azeran and IntergalacticSuperTwink for the beta and Brit-picking prowess!

Want early access to all my work including this one? Go to my Instagram and comment on any post with "add me!"Find me on discord (mordelle#9350).
Read my other Good Omens fanfic here: Ineffable Timing & Bles the Fallen