CHAPTER 1

It was just after the birth of the Anti-Christ and Aziraphale knew one thing for absolute certain; he was in love with the demon Crowley. He wasn't sure when, or even how exactly it had happened, but it had. It had been a slow creep of emotions, he was sure, though he sometimes wondered if it hadn't just started at the Beginning, when he had used his wing to cover Crowley from the first rainfall. At the time, it had felt like a gesture of goodwill and kindness; now he thought that it was indeed something more.

He had felt cozy that day, standing there, the rain pattering on his head and wings, protecting his companion from the weather. The feeling of Crowley's warmth on his feathers had been prickly and tingling, especially as it got colder. They had stood like that till the rain subsided, side by side, not saying anything, just enjoying the company. Then Aziraphale had shaken his wings dry, turned to Crowley and thanked him. Something had seemed to shine in the demon's yellow eyes after he had said that, and he would never forget that look; it had sent a shock through his body and lit a fire in his heart, which eventually flamed into love.

Now, with Armageddon approaching, Aziraphale felt that he should do something about these feelings that he had for Crowley. He wasn't sure how to act on them but knew deep down if he didn't do it soon, it would be too late. The burning desire he felt for the demon, to be near to him, to have him close, to just have him, had seemed to reach a critical mass. Aziraphale knew his emotions would burst soon, engulfing him, but he shied from them still; what if Crowley didn't feel the same? How would he bear the utter rejection and despair if that were the case? He didn't think he could.

All the same, he agreed to meet with the demon to discuss the End, hoping that this time, he could work up the courage to say those three words that had been lingering on his tongue for millennia.

As Crowley sat discussing how they were to handle Armageddon with Aziraphale, a part of his brain wandered in a different direction; it was always hard not to, with the angel around. He wasn't sure what it was, but something about Aziraphale always brought forward thoughts he didn't normally have. Visions of him touching and caressing the man would always pop in his head, and he would get aroused. Then as fast as the visions came, they would retreat, leaving him with a burning guilt and shame. How could he think of the pure and innocent angel in such a way? Even if he had such thoughts of Aziraphale, acting on them would only see his friend cast out of Heaven and down to the depths of Hell, something he couldn't abide by.

But it was so hard to resist. The angel was like a drug to him, one that calmed and soothed his aching and fiery soul. Just his presence alone caused Crowley to actually feel, to sense something he had thought long forgotten. It crept into his being, stirring parts of him he didn't even think had existed prior. Touching Aziraphale, or the angel touching him, had always shook him deeply; he couldn't ignore the jolt of electricity that flickered through him at the contact. The sensation lingered long after, tingling and leaving him wanting for more, but afraid to find out what more was.

Sitting there, his thoughts drifting, Crowley pondered when he had first felt the attraction that pulled him towards Aziraphale. It had always seemed to be there, festering in the depths, waiting to blossom and grow, expanding as the years went by. Thinking all the way back, he found that it was most likely at the Beginning, whilst they had stood on the wall in the rain. The angel had covered him from it with his wing, and they had stayed like that till it ceased. Then, Aziraphale had thanked him. A surge of pure exhilaration had filled him in that moment, so overpowering that he unconsciously shivered just from the thought of it alone.

Aziraphale noticed Crowley shudder and stepped close, putting a hand on his shoulder, wanting to comfort him; instead, the demon seemed to spasm and recoil under the touch, causing the angel's heart to plummet. Abruptly, he moved his hand away and asked, "My dear fellow, whatever's wrong?"

"Nothin'," Crowley replied, smiling weakly, but Aziraphale wasn't fooled; they had been around each other far too long for that. Stepping back slightly, the angel took in the demon's posture and appearance: he was hunched in on himself, when he usually sprawled, his hair fell slightly in front of his face, when it was normally tucked back, and his face was scrunched tightly, when it generally wasn't. Something had clearly ruffled the man into a state of major distress, and it worried him.

"Please tell me," Aziraphale practically pleaded, hoping to find out.

"Just…," Crowley paused, took a breath, then continued. "Just this whole end-of-the-world business."

Still not quite believing that was everything, Aziraphale stepped forward again, asking "And what about this whole end-of-the-world business, is bothering you exactly?" Reaching out, he tucked the errant piece of hair back behind the demon's ear.

Crowley squirmed and curled into himself further. Now Aziraphale definitely knew there was a problem; there had never been an issue the few times that this had happened before. He was crushed to think his touch was unwanted, or unwelcomed, especially now in the end times; touching the demon had made him feel full and complete, the fire in his heart glowing brightly. A part of him broke away at the thought, sending him into a mild state of paranoia; he couldn't live without Crowley, couldn't survive without Crowley, couldn't even seem to breathe without Crowley.

A surge of love, so pure and strong, gripped him at that moment, that those three little words slipped past his lips before he could stop them.

"I love you," Aziraphale breathed.