Based on that one tumblr post, y'all know the one.
"What? It's just Crowley." Aziraphale said. Honestly, he hadn't thought that the book club minded his roommate Crowley. But he'd just left, and now they were all looking at him like he'd sprouted another head. "You all are looking at me weird."
"We're not saying it's weird, it's- it's normal, I suppose. Roommate situations can evolve into romantic relationships," Anathema shrugged. She was a classmate of Aziraphale's, and so was her boyfriend Newt. They'd met in a literature class and enjoyed their discussions so much that they decided to form this club outside of school.
"Happened to me in the eighties," Tracy, his and Crowley's next-door neighbor, said and took a sip of her tea.
"What?" Aziraphale sputtered. He marked his copy of The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle with an old receipt and set it aside. "No, there's nothing romantic going on between us!"
"Really?" Newt raised his eyebrows. "Because that sounded..."
"People can be very close platonically," Maggie, to Aziraphale's relief, jumped to his defense.
"But puddin'? Really? That didn't sound platonic at all." Anathema argued back. The books were well and truly forgotten in favor of a debate that wasn't exactly new.
"Right. I can excuse the other terribly domestic activities like the weekly dinners out, or you making his lunch, or him borrowing your clothes, but the pet names..." Tracy shot Aziraphale a look. "Zira, dear, we're not accusing you of a crime. You can tell us if you and Mr. Crowley are in a romantic entanglement. I've harbored my suspicions for a while."
Aziraphale could tell his face was growing red. It probably wasn't helping his case. He wasn't sure why this conversation was even happening, nothing out of the ordinary had taken place. Crowley had been on his way out, tracking down his other boot, cursing quietly under his breath so as not to disturb Aziraphale's book club. He was a rather considerate flat mate, for all his big talk about being a nuisance.
"Going out, dear?"
"Errands to run," his roommate had responded. And yes, maybe that loose white shirt he had on had come from Aziraphale's closet. It contrasted with the rest of his ensemble, all black, tight jeans, and choker necklace, and the rather obnoxious sunglasses that he really didn't need in this gloomy weather. He didn't mind Crowley borrowing his clothes on occasion, he always returned them in good condition. "I'll bring back dinner. Anything particular you want?"
"Whatever sounds good to you," Aziraphale had shrugged. "Have fun."
"Bye, puddin'. And company. Oh, have you gotten to the part where-"
"No spoilers!" several of the members had yelled, and Crowley had left the flat cackling and dodging throw(n) pillows.
"There is no romantic entanglement to speak of," he insisted, "the nickname is an inside joke."
"An inside joke?" Anathema still looked very dubious.
"Yes! For about eight years now- originally the whole name was 'diet pudding cup boy'."
"Are you serious?"
"We were in secondary, and I ate thirty-five cups of diet pudding. Once. I don't consider it my finest moment, but he was rather impressed. Apparently. He introduced himself, nicknamed me, and we've been best friends ever since." He left out the part where he, along with a solid half of the student body, harbored a ridiculous crush on Crowley. He hadn't been anyone special back then, and he wasn't now either. So he forgot about it and enjoyed being friends with the snarky, popular boy who had somehow taken an interest in him. Over something as stupid as pudding cups.
"I- thirty-five?" Newt's face scrunched up like he was trying to imagine how much pudding thirty-five cups was.
"It was a stupid contest. I won."
"Are you sure he was entirely friendly? Because that sounds like it could also be bullying or flirting."
"Well, we can rule out bullying because they've been living together for like five years now. They get on wonderfully. Sounds like he was smitten."
"Oh my god, he was not!" Aziraphale buried his face in his hands. "There's no way he was, is, or ever will be smitten with me! I- have you seen him?! He could have anyone he wanted." Crowley had always been attractive, in all the time Aziraphale had known him. He had always had that confident strut, whether he was in the school lunchroom or in some new quaint restaurant they were trying out, or in the grocery store, or at the bar... When they were out together, bartenders and waitresses (and even a rather forward cashier once) slipped him their numbers on receipts. Aziraphale never asked if Crowley called them. It wasn't his business.
"And maybe he wants diet pudding cup boy," Maggie said.
"I thought you were on my side," Aziraphale huffed.
"But that's the cutest getting-together story ever!"
"We are not together."
"You could be," Tracy said. "I bet if you asked him out, he'd fall all over himself saying yes."
Aziraphale sighed. "You know what I bet?"
"What?"
"That the crew's mutiny will fail, and they'll be in a worse position than before." He held up his book, desperate to change the subject back to Charlotte Doyle.
"Come on, Azi-"
"I'm done talking about it! We're here to read and discuss our book. Maggie, you have a keen eye for symbolism, what did you think of the chapters?"
Much later in the evening, Aziraphale heard a key turn in the lock and felt his heart start to beat faster. Did that always happen? God, had he developed some kind of Pavlovian reaction to his roommate? That would be ridiculous.
"Hey," Crowley kicked off his boots and set down his bags on the coffee table. "Grabbed dinner from that Chinese place near the post office. Egg rolls, rice, lo mein... 'n stuff. I'll grab plates."
"I'll get drinks. Water?"
"To start, sure. Because I also..." Crowley grinned and pulled a bottle of wine out of another bag.
Aziraphale smiled back. They had developed an easy rhythm by now. Being around each other. Moving around each other's paths in the small kitchen. Taking turns picking what to watch on TV. Crowley was in the mood for Golden Girls, so Golden Girls it was. He watched the show, and Aziraphale found himself watching his best friend's side profile. The crooked nose, his lovely eyes.
"Something wrong?"
"What? No," Aziraphale looked away. "No. Why, dear?"
"Dunno. You're quiet."
"I'm always quiet."
"You haven't opened the fortune cookie. That's like your favorite part. And I just have a feeling something's bothering you."
"It's nothing. It's funny. The, uh- the book club seems to have thought you and I were in some kind of romantic relationship."
Crowley's eyebrows leapt up toward his hairline. "Oh? Why'd they think that?"
"Yes. Well, um, obviously nothing of the sort of really happening. I told them as much. It was the nickname, I suppose. And we spend a lot of time together. As friends."
"We do."
It was hard to parse out Crowley's tone. He didn't sound angry, but he didn't sound like he thought it was very funny either. Aziraphale wished he could tell what his best friend was feeling.
"What if we were? In a relationship, I mean."
What?
"Us?" Aziraphale's mouth had gone dry.
"Yeah." Crowley set his plate down. His knee was bouncing. Was he nervous?
"Would that be... something you would like?" Aziraphale set his plate aside as well. His stomach was in knots.
Crowley muted his show. The silence was abrupt and heavy. He turned to Aziraphale. His sunglasses were tucked in the collar of his- of Aziraphale's shirt, and why hadn't Aziraphale realized how much he liked seeing Crowley wear his things? Maybe that wasn't very normal or platonic of him. "If you want to date, that's cool with me," Crowley said, unable to stop the tremor in his voice from escaping.
"Are you sure?" Aziraphale asked. His other two instincts were to laugh or run. Because this sounded like the kind of joke that got played on him in secondary, and if it was real, that was a little terrifying too.
Two hands bunched up in his cardigan and Crowley leaned forward to press his lips to Aziraphale's. And now he was kissing his best friend. Or, his best friend was kissing him and he was frozen. Crowley started to pull away. No, wait, I'm interested, Aziraphale thought, let me catch up.
He reached up, his fingers sliding into the hair at the nape of Crowley's neck, and dragged him back in. That seemed to get his message across without words. Crowley made a pleased noise, and Aziraphale felt the corners of his mouth curling upwards. He was smiling into their kiss, scooting closer so they were sitting with their thighs pressed together. His teeth plucked at Aziraphale's lip.
This was surreal. It was sixteen-year-old Aziraphale's dream come true. Their lips slotted together again, and again. He let his mouth open slightly, daring to run his tongue lightly across Crowley's bottom lip. Another lovely noise escaped him, and the kiss was deeper now, tongues meeting and Aziraphale pulling Crowley closer, closer, until the tall, thin redhead was sprawled across his lap. They started to run out of breath. Crowley was the first to pull away. "Yeah, I'm sure," he murmured. "You know I had a huge crush on you when we were in school, right?"
"What? Are you serious?" Aziraphale pulled away to look for any hint of mischief in Crowley's expression. He got distracted by his mussed hair and crooked grin.
"I'm serious! I wasn't brave enough to admit it, but I liked you a lot."
"How about now? Do you like me now?"
Crowley rolled his eyes. They had just been making out, "I don't think it ever really went away. And you like me?"
"Of course I do," Aziraphale laughed. "I didn't think I was your type."
"Not my- are you kidding me?! I was totally flirting with you when we first met, but you kept being so friendly and I didn't think you were interested at all. I thought friends was better than nothin', though."
"Your idea of flirting was nicknaming me 'diet pudding cup boy'?"
Crowley's bottom lip stuck out in a frankly adorable pout. "Never said I was good at it. Do you not like it? I can stop."
"It's been eight years. I'd have told you if I didn't like it, you silly man."
Crowley leaned forward to rest his forehead against Aziraphale's. He was still wearing that silly grin. "Have we been a little stupid, puddin'?"
"Hm, maybe a little. It seems to have worked out anyway, so I'm not very worried about it."