A/N: Hello again, dears! This chapter will continue immediately on from the one before ^_^ Thanks Aini Nufire for beta reading!

Crowley felt like he ought to be sleeping like a baby, but it took a long time for exhaustion to finally pull him into sweet, blissful unconsciousness. After the events of the past few days, he could have stood another century-long nap, in his opinion. Instead, his thoughts were turning over and over again, both reveling in the awe that he'd finally told Aziraphale the truth and the vague emptiness of not knowing quite what to do next.

Aziraphale's breakdown hadn't been entirely unexpected. Crowley had had plenty of those in his time. The one benefit of being a demon instead of an angel was there was at least a greater feeling of privacy. No one was likely to have been checking in on him, so long as he continued to get his reports in, which meant he could have a good fall-apart whenever he needed one. Not like Aziraphale, who he knew full well had been keeping his emotions bottled up for... well, ever.

So, yeah, the minor panic attack was actually not as bad as Crowley had privately been expecting.

And perhaps the most amazing part of all: Aziraphale loved him. Crowley had always wanted to believe he did, always thought he was getting hints of it, never quite sure if he was reading the signs correctly and of course in no position to outright ask. This would, of course, constantly be at war with his own inner psyche asking in scathing tones how he could actually believe something so stupid, that of course someone like Aziraphale would never actually lower himself so egregiously. Aziraphale was polite, that was all.

He'd said the words, though, silencing the debate in Crowley's mind. Only, now that the moment itself was over, the demon found himself off-balance. He didn't know quite what to do now. It wasn't like he'd ever planned on having the conversation in the first place, let alone wonder what it might be like after.

...No, that was a lie. Crowley had thought about it a lot. Thought about what it might have been like, had they both been simply human. No Heaven or Hell, no forbidden fraternizing, no need for a secretive Arrangement. Just... them. Free to be and do as they wanted, which they were now, except now Crowley was lost.

Feelings were weird.

He'd managed to drift off in spite of all of these things, and it said something about Aziraphale's exhaustion that the angel was still snoring quietly on the sofa when Crowley woke in the morning.

For at least those first few moments, everything else faded from Crowley's mind as he watched Aziraphale, his own pinched expression smoothing into a soft smile. Aziraphale's hair was mussed, which would never be permitted normally. An errant curl dangled over one eyebrow and all the worry lines were temporarily gone. The angel was curled into a loose ball, quilt still drawn halfway up his shoulders, and the couch was positioned just so to allow a beam of morning sunlight to cast its glow across Aziraphale's face and hair.

In short, he was quite literally radiant once again. Crowley didn't know if he could possibly love anything in all of creation more than this, right here, right now.

Not wanting to get up and risk making too much noise, potentially waking the angel when he desperately needed real rest, Crowley ignored the cramping in his long limbs. It was a small price to pay to let Aziraphale sleep, for a change.

Thusly, by the time Aziraphale finally stirred, the crick in Crowley's back was enough that the resulting POP when he moved drew a muffled "Good lord!" from the angel.

Crowley grimaced as Aziraphale blinked endearingly sleepy eyes open and looked over at him in half awake alarm.

"Are you alright, Crowley?"

"Ngk. Sorry." Crowley shifted again, this time his bones settling back into his hip sockets with a satisfying CRACK. He smirked. "Must be getting old."

Aziraphale's sleep-dazed face eased into the softest, dopiest smile Crowley had ever seen, bursting with so much affection that every niggling fear he'd been harboring since the previous night was banished far, far away.

"Never you, dear boy," Aziraphale replied fondly, pushing himself up to sitting and stretching his arms as though Crowley wasn't internally flailing at the simple knowledge of being loved. "Heavens, how long was I asleep?"

"All night," Crowley said. "How's it feel?"

"Smashing," Aziraphale decided after a moment. "I can see why you enjoy it so much, Crowley. I've never slept like that before."

"Yeah, well, there's a lot of firsts going on now."

He regretted it immediately, chagrined as Aziraphale bashfully looked away. Crowley didn't want to push too hard. After all, even if Aziraphale's feelings were positive ones, he very obviously wasn't used to them being out in the open. No sense in inducing another panic attack or set him to worrying about what any eavesdroppers might think.

But Aziraphale showed no hint of imminent anxiety. Instead, he took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, I suppose there are. And I don't want you to think for one second that last night was just wine and jocularity, my dear. I meant every word I said. I do love you, and I don't care who knows it—" He stuttered a bit on those words and Crowley knew it wasn't entirely true yet, but he appreciated the effort. "—so you musn't go worrying yourself that I was just being nice, or that I said something I wished I didn't, or whatever else you might be overthinking."

"What are you on about? I don't overthink!" Crowley protested, immediately starting to overthink last night's conversation and if he'd given away any of those precise nerves Aziraphale had mentioned.

The look Aziraphale returned with was both knowing and fond and left Crowley to grumble under his breath as he felt his cheeks heat.

"I do know you, after all. Though I must confess, I, er... well, I don't know quite what to do now."

"Ngk, know what you mean," Crowley agreed. "It's a bit hard to find your footing, isn't it?"

Aziraphale nodded; for a second, companionable (if a bit restless) silence fell between them. Crowley found himself looking for the dark glasses he'd set down the night before. Habit, really, more than any concern that Aziraphale could possibly find his eyes unsettling now, having worn them himself (and in splendid form). Finding the glasses on the coffee table, Crowley plopped them on then ran a hand through his hair, only just realizing it was nearly as bedraggled as Aziraphale's.

From the twitching of Aziraphale's cheeks, he had already noticed.

"I'll tell you what let's do," the angel decided abruptly, getting to his feet. "I've a hankering for pastries. Tempt you to some breakfast?"

Crowley smirked. "Alright then, yeah."

Outside, the world looked much the same as it ever had, and still would for some time to come. Though they'd had a good minute to bask in it all after rendezvousing at the park the afternoon before, Crowley drank it all in with the same relish Aziraphale was now drinking in his Danish. The bistro the angel had selected was one of his regulars. The kind that had patio tables outside with striped umbrellas and cushions that were always just shy of being fully dry from an earlier rain. Crowley pulled up just a touch of hellfire, half to steam the moisture out of the cushion, and half just to see if he still could. He wasn't entirely sure that Hell had any power whatsoever to cut him off, but he figured if they could, they would.

So far, at least, it appeared he could still summon his demonic powers at will, and that was something.

"Ah, marvelous," Aziraphale sighed happily. "Dear me, that's much better."

It took Crowley a second to realize the angel was talking about his pastry, and not the fact that Crowley's bum was now dry again. He turned his attention from the world passing them by to zero in on the world that was sitting next to him with a bit of jam on his lip.

Aziraphale was, as always when eating something delightful, entirely enraptured. Crowley thought he could probably light a fire—oh, too soon, that thought hurt like nothing else—Crowley could probably drop a stack of books behind the angel and he wouldn't even notice. Not paying a bit of attention to any potential danger, Crowley noted in exasperation. His own eyes raked suspiciously over the other patrons out of habit, though he'd already determined they were all decidedly human. Satisfied for the moment, Crowley turned his attention back to watching Aziraphale eat.

It was times like this, Crowley reflected, that he was left to wonder how Aziraphale actually had hid his feelings for so long. When Aziraphale loved a thing, he was not exactly subtle. Surely, he thought with dry amusement, that look of ecstasy that deepened with every bit of Danish could hardly be considered decent on an angel? True, there was an ocean of difference between a bit of food and a demonic counterpart, but still. Crowley was sure the other angels would consider it gluttony, or at the very least a bit of hedonism (or a lot of hedonism). Likely it was one of the reasons they seemed to hold Aziraphale in such high disregard even if it wasn't bad enough to get him in real trouble. The point was, Aziraphale couldn't have hid his love of food if he'd wanted to, any more than he could hide his love for rare old books or cheesy magic tricks.

Yet he'd somehow managed to keep his feelings about Crowley as under wraps as he was able. Probably because Crowley would be just as easy for an archangel to squish under his foot as that Danish would be.

And Crowley knew Aziraphale was telling the truth, that denying him and pushing him away over so long had been to save Crowley's own life, and Crowley had never felt more protected than right then, watching the angel not bother at all to hide how much he loved that pastry.

"Absolutely scrumptious," Aziraphale hummed, eyes closing against the decadence as he popped the remainder of the pastry into his mouth with a scandalous sigh. "Now then, it's much easier to 'find your footing' as you would say once you've had a spot of breakfast. Do you suppose we ought to—"

He trailed off as he opened his eyes, regarding Crowley. It took the demon a second to realize it was because he was staring at Aziraphale with rather intense focus, leaning in a bit with his chin propped up on his hand. Part of him wanted to be embarrassed, but the other part quirked one corner of his mouth in a somewhat defiant smirk.

"It's nice," he said.

"Erm... I'm sorry, what is, dear boy?"

"Watching you enjoy things. Missed a bit, though."

Without planning, without thinking much at all, else he might not have done it, Crowley reached out and thumbed away the speck of jam still on Aziraphale's lip. It made his whole hand tingle, and then his heart did the same. Aziraphale didn't move, seemingly transfixed. It was perhaps the most bald-faced physical contact they'd made, outside of the night before. Crowley wasn't sure if it was the same for Aziraphale, but for the last several thousand years he'd been too afraid to actually touch the angel, lest anyone else in Heaven be able to smell it on him later. More often than not he would physically put his hands behind his back or pulled in close when they interacted so that he wouldn't slip up, always cautious, always wary.

Touches were careful, never more than absolutely necessary, never when it couldn't be excused away by a fight between mortal enemies, and never, ever for the pure and simple joy of being able to. Crowley felt something in his chest close up. A lump grew in his throat and he knew he ought to pull his hand away, but...

Another hand reached up to catch his own, Aziraphale gently guiding his arm to rest on the table instead, but not letting go; the soft, somewhat sad smile seemed to agree with precisely what Crowley was feeling. After all, Heaven wasn't known for doling out warm hugs, and Aziraphale was a creature who craved warmth and contact and love but had been given none of it.

"'M sorry," Crowley found himself saying, looking away and withdrawing his hand with sudden uncertainty. "I know, I go too fast."

Aziraphale huffed softly. "My dear boy, I believe we're past that point. I don't mind one bit. Actually, it... it feels rather lovely."

"But you'd tell me, right?" Crowley turned narrowed eyes back to Aziraphale again. On this point, he needed a very solid answer. "You wouldn't just go along with anything you didn't really want? You'd tell me if I did go too fast?"

"I have done before, haven't I?" Aziraphale pointed out. His mouth twisted and he turned his hand over so that it was palm up on the table—an invitation, should Crowley want to go back to holding it. "Truthfully, Crowley, I'm not sure what I want, at the moment. I scarcely let myself entertain the notion anything would ever be possible at all. I'm afraid I may be piecing it together as I go. I'm a bit anxious what it might make you think, but I can assure you, any reservations I have are nothing to do with you and everything to do with not being allowed to want things. Please, please be patient with me?"

The vulnerability made Crowley anxious to protect him, as it always did. His lip twisted into a side smile as the demon took the offered hand once more, giving it a careful squeeze.

"You know I will. We'll figure it out. We've got all the time in the world, now."

Aziraphale smiled. "I suppose we have. At any rate, I enjoy this very much."

He gazed with somewhat wistful sadness down at their joined hands, and Crowley was struck with a renewed desire to give the rest of the angels a hearty kick. Not being able to do that, the demon settled for mentally filing "physical touch" away as something Aziraphale also not only liked but genuinely seemed to need more of. Holding hands was good. Maybe later he'd suss out how amenable Aziraphale was to hugs.

But there was time. Crowley felt himself relaxing a bit more.

There was nothing but time.