Aziraphale thinks he's going to go insane. If they don't get out of this cottage soon, he's definitely going to admit himself to a mental institution.

Someone help him, but he can't help thinking about Crowley and Angelique in some rather lewd situations and positions. And how can he not? They're there. Always there. Two tempting devils walking around, circling him like he's some kind of laid out carcass and they a pair of vultures. He doesn't think they're doing it on purpose. Being so deliciously beautiful. He's torn. And he can see that they're torn as well. And as much as they try to focus on the more important things at hand, the longing looks never end, the blushes, the heat that radiates off of each of them, the tension in the air–well it's all suffocating.

Aziraphale finds himself taking many walks to clear his head, but he's slowly losing the plot, and the strolls aren't really helping anymore.

It's been a handful of days. Not even a speck of dust in the grand scheme of time, and he can't hold it together. He knows he won't be able to hold it together for much longer. And what are they waiting for anyway? For him to speak up? Don't they know him by now? What are they after? What do they want? Are they really as torn as he is or do they have an idea, a specific desire in mind? Because it's starting to seem like they know exactly what they want. Maybe they have known right from the start of this mess.

Aziraphale can only do so much! He has continued to escort Angelique to her room each night and wants to see if she will invite him in, invite him into what he once considered their bed. Sometimes they just stand there in the doorway looking at each other, not knowing what to do. He can see Angelique struggling, worrying at her lip, closing her eyes with frustration until she finally bids him good night and graces him with a chaste kiss on the lips.

The angel does not blame her. It's not like it's anywhere near appropriate for him to sleep with her while Crowley sleeps on the couch right below. The demon refuses to take the spare room, always waiting to be chucked out the door at any moment.

It's torture. This whole cottage is just one big torture chamber, and Aziraphale is not sure who's suffering the most. Maybe it's Crowley. He's pretty sure it's Crowley, as much as Aziraphale wants to believe otherwise. As much as Aziraphale imagines it is he who is strapped to the rack, being pulled in two different directions at once.

The angel is really starting to feel the stretch. Everything is uncomfortable. His skin, his bones, hell, even his blood! He's on fire all the time.

Aziraphale wants them both, of that he is sure. And what is he supposed to do with that? He reckons that the simple answer, being as clever as he is, is for them to all end up in bed together! That would certainly solve the dilemma, wouldn't it?

It's a simple math problem, is it not?

Aziraphale wants Crowley. Aziraphale wants Angelique. Crowley wants Angelique. Crowley wants Aziraphale. Angelique wants Aziraphale. Angelique wants Crowley.

The solution is simpler than one plus two equals three!

But who in their bloody right mind is going to be the one to suggest such a solution. Because it's certainly not going to be Aziraphale, the angel of the bunch!

Plus, he doesn't really know the level of desire between the two people he loves. What if Crowley wants Angelique more than he wants Aziraphale? What if Angelique wants Crowley more than she wants Aziraphale? What if Aziraphale is the only one who wants them both? There's no way to tell unless someone speaks up and ends the tension that is boiling like a teapot. Someone is going to have to whistle soon or who knows what might happen?!

Angelique and Crowley have made up. Well, Angelique has forgiven Crowley. They are on good terms, if not cautious. The angel has never seen the demon so soft-spoken and meek. It breaks his heart to see Crowley so out of character, but he's proud of him at the same time for showing such remorse and willingness to right his wrongs.

Everyone is reluctant to proceed with the scheming, let alone act on them because that would mean leaving the cottage and into the unknown. There is so much more to explore if someone just dared to make it happen.

It's while he's contemplating all of this that Angelique practically tiptoes in his direction.

He's outside, sitting on the steps of the cottage. The fresh air is the only thing keeping him steady, the outer world a reminder that his problems of the heart are quite insignificant compared to the vastness that is everything else. It helps a little. But then it all goes out the window again once he enters the little house.

She sits down next to him and hands him a hot mug of cocoa.

"Hey," she greets him softly.

He takes the cup gratefully. "Oh, thank you, my dear." He has refrained from calling her other endearments, not knowing where they stand. It takes great effort to hold back from calling "darling," or,"love," because that is what she is to him, and he can't see her any other way anymore.

"I'm tired of seeing you so sad, Aziraphale," she murmurs guiltily.

The angel stares into his cocoa. He immediately wants to deny that he is sad at all, but knows better. Or maybe he's just tired of pretending. So he nods slowly and gives her a weak smile. "I'm sorry I've been such a spoilsport. I'm sure it's affecting your mood, as well as Crowley's."

Angelique sighs and places a delicate hand on his knee, which sends a jolt of longing through him. "That's not why I'm saying that. We're all a bit down. I think we should all talk."

Aziraphale's breath gets trapped in his chest. "Talk about what?"

"Our feelings. I know that's something you two have a problem with, to put it gently." She chuckles mirthlessly. "It's my birthday tomorrow and the first thing, the first gift I want from you both, is to have dinner with me and talk. Or, at least hear what I have to say. Do you think you can do that? For me."

Just the thought about sharing their feelings–his feelings, in particular, makes him want to bolt right then and there. He swallows thickly and nods slowly. "Yes, I think I can manage."

"Tonight then? After dinner?"

Aziraphale gives her a brief glance and a smile. "Whatever you wish," he says tenderly.

Angelique smiles back, and it makes his heart flutter. "Thank you," she whispers. She leans in and gives him a kiss on the cheek. She seems to think better of it, and takes his chin between her fingers, tilting his face towards her. She kisses him on the lips. A chaste but lingering kiss that is sweet and hints at desire. Or so he thinks. He can't help but press closer and pour a little of his desperation into it.

There's a soft moan, and he can't tell who made it. Before the kiss can deepen, Angelique pulls away, caresses his face, and smiles wistfully. "Tonight then. I'm going to take a walk, get some stuff for dinner, so no one has to cook."

"I should accompany you," Aziraphale says. Please let me come with you.

"No. I want to go alone. I'll be careful. Plus I've got this now." Seemingly out of nowhere, the Flaming sword appears next to her. She caresses it like it's a living thing, a loyal pet. "I've been practising summoning it. Thank you for giving me permission."

"Of course, dear. Your safety is our main priority."

When she stands up, the sword disappears, placed back into the aethereal pocket Aziraphale created for it.

"Do not hesitate to use it should the need arise," he says gravely.

"I won't." Then he watches her walk away. When Angelique reaches the gate, she looks back at him and smiles. And she doesn't look back again.

Aziraphale sighs. He wants to stay on these steps forever, especially when he thinks about who is left in the cottage right now. The angel is alone with Crowley for the first time in a while, and he's not sure he can face him right now. So, he drinks his cocoa slowly, but finally, his arse goes numb from sitting on the step for so long.

Plus, a large part of him really does want to spend time with Crowley alone. He longs for that familiar and comfortable companionship. Especially now since Angelique has retreated from him.

A pang of yearning vibrates in his gut at the thought. He's gotten so used to physical intimacy that he craves it all the time. Every touch no matter how small, even if it's just a bump on the shoulder or graze of fingertips is sacred to him and cherished. You're so pathetic.

When he goes inside, he finds Crowley is nowhere to be seen. He notices the back door is open, and he quietly makes his way there. When he reaches the door, he stops and listens to Crowley, threatening some vines.

"You're pathetic, you know. Trying to weasel your way inside. You don't belong there. No one wants you there. So stay clear of that window, or I'll chop you off faster than you can climb, mark my words."

Aziraphale wants to laugh, but at the same time, Crowley's words seem more self-deprecating than anything else, so he refrains. Is that what Crowley thinks of himself? Does he truly imagine himself an intruding vine?

"It wouldn't be so horrible you know," Aziraphale utters, making Crowley whirl around, his eyes frightful, sunglasses gone for some reason. Aziraphale hasn't seen his eyes in so long that he actually sighs with relief. Crowley's cheeks are still a little more gaunt than normal, but he looks so much better now that he's gotten some days of rest, some dreamless sleep that Aziraphale has helped to provide.

"What wouldn't be so horrible?" The demon asks suspiciously.

A smirk tugs at the corner of Aziraphale's mouth. "Finding such a beautiful stem of green peeking through the window, trying to make its home inside."

Crowley scoffs and looks away. "You would say that. Softy," he admonishes. But there is a hint of knowledge in his eyes that says he might understand what Aziraphale really means to say. Still, the doubt is obvious.

"Angelique wants to speak with us later. Did she tell you?"

Aziraphale thinks that he notices Crowley turn pale. "Yeah, she mentioned. I didn't want her to go alone. I'm actually thinking of lurking, making sure she's alright."

The angel shrugs. "If she catches you, you know what trouble you'll be in."

"Better to apologize than ask for permission, I say."

"She'll be fine," Aziraphale says, quite sure of his statement.

Crowley kicks at some rocks. "Do you have any idea what she wants to talk about?" He ventures quietly.

"Our feelings, she said." Aziraphale is pretty sure his own face looks a little green right now. And Crowley is definitely growing paler.

"Ha!" Crowley chuckles nervously. "Because we're so good at that!"

Aziraphale can't quite manage a laugh. "Yes, I believe that's the point." There's a long awkward silence before Aziraphale continues. "Look, Crowley, whatever happens tonight," Aziraphale clears his throat, but the lump won't go away, so he struggles to spit it out. "It won't change anything."

"Won't it?" The demon's eyes are shifty, and Aziraphale can tell he's thinking about summoning his glasses.

"Between you and me, I mean, for me, it won't change anything for me. You're still my... best friend, and honestly, I don't think that could ever change." He's astounded he's gotten this far without turning on his heel and slamming the door.

Crowley looks like he's about to cry, so he lets out a dry chuckle and looks away. "We're supposed to save this kind of sappy crap for tonight you know."

"Yes well," Aziraphale says with a sigh, "I thought I'd get some practice in. I know I desperately need it." The angel thinks he hears the serpent mutter a rude affirmation.

Aziraphale decides to leave him in peace. He goes inside and pretends to read a book while he waits for Angelique. But a few minutes later, Crowley walks in and sits nearby.

"Mind reading aloud?" He asks softly. The glasses are back on his face but Aziraphale can read the anxiety regardless.

"Of course, my dear," he says, ignoring his own blush. And so he begins to read a boring description of the town and its history. But it's better than nothing. Better than silence. Better than whatever the hell he's going to think of next.

Angelique arrives with local takeout and wine.

They gather around the dinner table, and they engage in meaningless prattle.

Nervousness is apparent in each of them. Everyone is definitely drinking but not too much, just enough to fortify their nerves and face what is to come.

Angelique clears her throat and the room grows completely silent. "Thank you for giving me my birthday gift early." She smiles. "I'm going to go first," she says, looking at the table but squaring her shoulders, "because if I wait for either of you speak up, I'll die of old age, and apparently I'm supposed to have a long life so," she laughs and trails off before blurting out, "I'm in love with both of you."

Aziraphale swears his heart has stopped dead in his chest at the same time Crowley makes one of his ridiculous incoherent noises.

"I'm not going to speak for either of you," she continues, giving them each a pointed stare. "But I've made my decision." There is a creek of a chair from Crowley sinking into his seat, preparing for the worst. "Both of you have told me how you feel about me. I don't want to be immortal..."

Aziraphale's heart sinks.

"... if it means breaking one of your hearts. I want to be with both of you." She forces herself to look at them and stresses her next words. "At the same time, I mean. A real, committed relationship with both of you."

Aziraphale can't help but let out a wheeze as he grips the table for stability. He can hear Crowley swallow from across the table.

"So it's up to you," Angelique continues quietly, "if you two are okay with that, then I have one more birthday wish." She turns scarlet and tries for a flirtatious smile even though it's clear she is wracked with nerves. "At midnight, I will be awake in my bed. Both of you are welcome to join me… together... or separate." She coughs, lifts her glass of wine, and takes a large gulp. "There. I've said what I have to say. You two don't have to choose right now. Got about four more hours to figure it out. Until then, I'm going to go upstairs and shower and well… you know. Wait."

Angelique gets up and makes her way to Crowley. She kisses him on the lips, long and hard. A small whimper escapes him, and the sound of it makes Aziraphale's toes curl.

Then Angelique goes to Aziraphale. He's already sweating with anticipation, heart thundering in his chest.

She leans into his ear first. "It's not a request," she whispers. "You are to come to my room at midnight. If he joins us, you have every right to leave if you want. But you have to show up."

Oh, she knows him so well.

Angelique kisses him with as much fervour and desire as she did with Crowley and he responds in kind with a small moan.

She leaves then, the wicked woman, leaving them both to have to deal with the bomb she just dropped on them so considerately. And what does this mean now? Even if Aziraphale goes up there, even if he decides to stay when Crowley–if Crowley–comes to join them. What does that mean for him and Crowley?

"I need some air," Crowley croaks out. He stands up, looking like he might fall back into his seat, but he makes it out the back door.

"Oh, bugger," Aziraphale finally exhales. He feels dizzy. Dizzy with nerves. Dizzy with possibilities. Dizzy with desire. It's too much for him. It's so hot. Air. Air! "I need some air," he mimics the demon and stumbles out the front door.