Word Count: 10,584

𓆹

Aziraphale smiled as he inhaled the steam rising from his cup of tea. He was finally able to slow down and relax after the hecticness of the world nearly ending. He leaned back in his leather-bound armchair, sighing. Going to hell had probably been the most disturbing thing he'd experienced. Everything was dark, dirty, and gloomy. 

  He felt a pang of sadness for Crowley. That was the environment he had to report to and one he lived in before Earth. 

He must have been miserable , Aziraphale thought to himself. But then again, was Heaven any better? It was clean, pristine, and white, yes, but it didn't have books or flowers or tea or any of the things Aziraphale liked. At least, not that he knew of. 

  His mind drifted back to Crowley. What was he going to do now that they stopped the end of the world? Aziraphale raised his cup of tea to his lips, taking a sip. He immediately coughed, spewing the liquid all over his lap. He sighed and pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, setting his cup and saucer carefully on the side table. 

  It wasn't unusual for him to get an occasional cough. Heck, his bookshop was over one hundred years old. There was bound to be dust. The queerness of it however, was that the tickle in his throat lingered. Weird, Aziraphale thought. Angels can't get sick .

  …Right? 

 𓆸

    "Oh Angellll , where are youuuu?" The door to Aziraphale's flat opened to reveal Crowley, who promptly shrieked upon seeing the angel. "Oh goodness Aziraphale, I'm terribly sorry. You really should warn me next time. That's the most naked I've seen you in two hundred years! Forgive me, Angel." He held a hand in front of his face. 

   Aziraphale--who was wearing a plain white long sleeved cotton shirt and gray flannel pajama pants--rolled his eyes from where he lay on the couch. "What do you want, foul fiend?" He said with a teasing undertone. 

  "Well, I was coming to check on you, and it's a good thing I did because I've told myself for years the day I see you wear one layer of clothing is the day you're sick or dying." Crowley walked to the end of the couch, lifting Aziraphale's legs to sit down. He carefully grabbed the blond's socked feet and set them on his lap, rubbing them gently. "Please don't tell me either of those are happening. We just barely managed to avoid that." 

  Aziraphale flushed at Crowley's touches as he rubbed his feet. He didn't think a demon could be that...soft. 

  "No, I'm not dy--" He began to cough. It had gotten worse overnight. He grabbed the bottle of water sitting on the floor beside the couch. 

  "You're sick !?" Crowley exclaimed, tensing. 

  "Ow, you're crushing my feet," Aziraphale whimpered. 

  "Sorry!" he replied, sitting on his hands. 

  The angel cleared his throat. "It's just a cough," he said.

  "Oh that's what they all say. Next thing you know, you're six feet under!" He waved his hands. "Angels aren't supposed to get sick! That's a demon thing! We're the ones that bring pestilences and plagues!"

  Aziraphale sighed. "I know. But I figured since the world almost ended, basically anything could happen. Give me a few days. I'm sure I'll get better." 

  His body did not like that statement. 

  The angel sat up, realizing that he couldn't breathe. Crowley stood up as his friend ran to the bathroom. 

  Now, angels don't technically have to breathe, similar to vampires. But his air passages being blocked felt different then just refusing to breathe. Sweat started to coat the back of his neck and his body began to feel hot. He had no doubt that he'd suffocate. Why breathing was suddenly a necessity, he had no idea. 

   Aziraphale locked his bathroom door and bent over his sink, retching and coughing and hacking until he felt his throat clear all at once. He spit into the sink, then reeled back at what he saw. It was...a pure white flower petal, as white as his wings. 

  There was a knock on the door. "Angel, are you alright!?" Crowley exclaimed, his voice muffled but no less stressed. 

  Aziraphale knew that locks couldn't stop Crowley, so he quickly threw the petal in the trash before the demon could barge in. "Y-Yes. I was just feeling a bit nauseous there for a moment."

  Crowley was silent for a moment. Then: "Like morning sickness? OH MY GOSH, areyoupregnant !?"

  Aziraphale opened the door with a perplexed look. "What--No! I don't have a uterus!" 

  "I didn't ask if you had a uterus; I asked if you're having a baby." 

  The angel facepalmed. Six thousand years on Earth, and he still doesn't know how that works !? 

  "Crowley, I'm not having a baby! Even if I had a uterus and it's accompanying parts, does it look like I have a sexual partner!?" 

  The demon shrugged. "Well, Mary didn't need one--"

  Aziraphale growled in frustration. "I'm not pregnant, Crowley! I'm sick, and I'm tired, and I think it's best you leave me alone now." 

  "Fine," Crowley huffed. "But don't think I won't be back. I just need to find some things that help humans when they're sick. I'll start on that right now. Just don't die before I get back." 

  Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "I'll be fine, Crowley." But as he said it, a pit of dread settled in his stomach. He ushered him to the door. "Good day."

  "Good day," he mumbled back. 

❀

  The rest of the angel's day was not good. Aziraphale skimmed through every medical guide in his bookshop, including superstitious books and spellbooks. He had coughed up another petal by three o'clock. He tried tearing it, microwaving it, and burning it. It remained completely the same. He eventually pulled out a royal blue dish and set the two petals on it (after taking the other one out of the trash), then put the dish on his kitchen window sill. Despite their deadliness, he wouldn't want to throw away something so pretty. 

   He also experimentally tried holding his breath, like how he normally did when he didn't need to speak. Again, he started sweating and feeling hot. He made himself so lightheaded that he almost passed out. 

  The angel began to wonder if going to hell and back had made him more human for whatever reason. That still didn't explain the petals, though. After recovering from near asphyxiation, he tried to make a small cut on his palm. The sharp knife was about as effective as a plastic knife from a child's kitchen playset. 

  So he still couldn't make himself bleed, but he also couldn't not breathe. That wasn't good. 

  He bought an asthma inhaler to help his cough, but it didn't do any good. He decided to cook himself dinner--even though he didn't really need it. 

   Actually, Aziraphale thought. Could I get hungry or thirsty now? He decided to hold off on dinner for the night just to see what he'd be like in the morning. 

  Adding extra pillows to his bed so his head and chest could be more elevated, Aziraphale laid down for the night. He didn't technically have to sleep either, and he thought about testing his limits on that, but he figured he'd be less likely to cough if he was asleep. 

  He prayed and then settled further under his covers, hoping whatever was wrong with him would go away. 

❀ ❀

It did not go away. In fact, it got worse. Aziraphale coughed up two more petals by morning: one around three and the other around seven. Each petal was bigger than the last. He began to wonder if angels could contract diseases from Hell. Was he slowly turning into a demon? Or dying? He didn't want to ask Crowley for the sake of him worrying. Plus, the angel began to have complicated feelings for the demon after the whole end of the world thing. Did the Almighty find out and decide to punish him? 

   Aziraphale decided to get up for the day after coughing up the petal at seven. He posted a "closed until further notice" sign on his shop. The last thing he needed was to cough up a petal in front of a customer. As he dusted his bookshelves, he did a mental body check. He wasn't hungry, thirsty, or tired. He felt completely fine aside from his cough, which seized his entire body every time a new petal forced its way up his throat. 

   He heard a knock on the door around nine after he had cleaned most of his flat. The angel sighed. Of course it had to be Crowley. The demon barely waited for him to get to the door. 

  "How are we doing this morning, Angel?" he asked, striding inside. 

  "Tickety-boo," he replied flatly. His eyes focused behind the demon. "What have you got there?"

  "I decided to bring my best plants over," Crowley replied proudly, gesturing to the childish red wagon he was pulling. "Since plants produce oxygen, I figured they'd help you with your cough. And I might've performed a few miracles on them myself to help absorb germs. Where do you want them?" 

  Aziraphale tried to contain his sigh. He knew as soon as Crowley had found out he was sick that he'd go overboard trying to take care of him. "You can put them in my windowsill above and around my couch." 

  "Great!" The demon pulled the wagon the rest of the way inside. Aziraphale didn't even question how he had got it up the stairs. Or how he got past his locked bookshop door. He learned not to question those things at this point. 

  Crowley began to unload the wagon, saying each plant's name as he picked it up. "This is Pride, Greed, Lust, Envy, Gluttony, Wrath, and Slothfulness. Or Slothy for short. They each need watered once every three days." 

  Aziraphale rolled his eyes when he knew the demon wasn't looking, a smile betraying him shortly after. Of course Crowley named his plants after the seven deadly sins. 

  He leaned toward the plants. "And if one of you has the smallest of spots, may hellfire rain down upon you. You know I expect the best out of you to help fix my angel." The plants began trembling. 

   Aziraphale looked around, slightly disturbed. "Crowley, you can't hurt or threaten your plants! They're living things! That's unjust and cruel!"

  The demon scoffed. "I expect the best from them and they know that! I can't have them slacking, thinking they can get away with minimal effort!" 

  "Plants can get brown spots from diseases. They might contract some from mine. Please go easy on them, or maybe you won't get them back!" Aziraphale stroked the leaves on one of the plants--Gluttony, he was pretty sure--and murmured to it. Its trembling ceased. He didn't know why he suddenly grew possessive over the plants. Perhaps it was because he had a soft spot for all living things. 

  "Fine," Crowley muttered. He waved a finger at his plants. "But don't think that's an excuse to do poorly!" 

  Aziraphale looked at the wagon, which had a bucket with a lid sitting in the back. "Is that some kind of fertilizer?" he asked. 

  Crowley tore his glare from the plants to follow the angel's gaze. "Oh, no. This is something else I brought." He pulled yellow rubber dishwashing gloves from his coat pockets and put them on. They went up to his elbows. He proceeded to pry the lid from the bucket and carefully reach in, removing a tall, metal thermos. He winced like his hands were burning and quickly handed it to Aziraphale, who examined the container. 

   "Crowley," he scolded. "Is this holy water!?" 

  "No, I got it from the sewage treatment plant--yes it's holy water!" The demon barked.

  "Don't tell me you planned another church heist." The angel groaned and set the bottle on his side table. 

  Crowley scoffed. "No, I have connections. Believe it or not, I happen to be friends with a preacher."

  Aziraphale snorted. "Why did you even bring it over anyway?" 

  "Well, I figured it could help you like a medicine. You could...drink it or something," the demon replied. 

  The blond started laughing, but soon stopped as Crowley marched toward him, waving a now-gloveless finger. Aziraphale felt himself backing up. He let out a puff of breath as he bumped the wall behind him. 

  "Now see here, I went to great lengths to get that!" Crowley exclaimed, whipping off his glasses for dramatic effect. "I could've died! And you're laughing? How dare--" he cut himself off as he suddenly put his hands on the angel's cheeks. Aziraphale was sure his skin felt warm from the faint blush spreading across his face. Not many people touched him. "Well, you don't have a fever," Crowley said, pulling the other man out of his thoughts. "So I guess that's good." He took a step back. 

  Aziraphale felt a fluttering in his stomach. Touch was fairly foreign to him, so he never knew how to react to it. He had also begun to notice Crowley being a lot more touchy since the near-apocalypse. Then again, they had felt more protective of each other than ever before. 

   The angel stepped past the redhead and into his kitchen to put the canister of holy water in his fridge. Perhaps it would help his window box flowers, or the birds. "How do you know how to identify a fever, anyway?" 

  Crowley snorted. "Well, I was only Warlock's nanny for eleven years. I had to learn at some point," he said as he followed Aziraphale, examining his kitchen counter. 

  The angel noticed his gaze lingering on the dish with the petals. He cleared his throat. "Well, luckily I haven't had any further symptoms besides a cough. I haven't been feverish, achy, or tired. I still don't get hungry or thirsty, but I have drunk a lot more to help keep my cough at bay." 

 Crowley furrowed his eyebrows. "Didn't you say you got nauseous, too?"

   Right, Aziraphale thought. He played off coughing up his first petal as nausea. He really hated lying. "Um...it was just that one time, yes." 

  Crowley studied him for a moment before clapping him on the shoulder. "Good. Right then. Do you need help with anything else, angel?" 

  Aziraphale shook his head. The less the demon was around him, the easier it would be to hide his strange condition. "I think I'm okay for now. I'll call you if I need anything." He began to turn away, but Crowley’s hand returned to his shoulder. 

   The demon tilted his head down to look over his glasses. “I’m genuinely worried about you, angel. We made it six thousand years, plus Armageddon. I can’t lose you to a silly little cold.”

  The shorter man snorted. “You won’t. I’ll be fine.”

   Crowley began to walk to the door. “I’ll stop by to check on you in a day or two.” 

  “Okay,” Aziraphale replied. “I’ll be sure to water your plants. Have a good day.” He sighed after his door closed. It was strange having someone fret over him like a mother. His stomach felt funny the same way it did when Crowley had taken his temperature (in the most bizarre manner, if you asked him). Despite it throwing him off guard, he found himself secretly liking the intimacy of being that close to somebody. He supposed touch starvation can do a great deal to someone, especially after six thousand years. 

   That must be what I’m feeling , he rationalized. He had started to wonder if he had been falling for a demon or something. But yet, he would be devastated if anything happened to his fellow fiend. 

  Aziraphale doubled over and began coughing as another petal forced its way up his throat. He spat it into his handkerchief. As he wiped it off, an idea popped into his head.

  He took the flower and put it in a bowl, then walked over to his fridge. Maybe it would react to the holy water. If so, he could perhaps boil it and inhale the steam. Or maybe it'd make it worse. 

  He studied the petal carefully as he poured the water into the bowl. Nothing happened, as far as he could tell. 

  Aziraphale walked over to his study desk and grabbed a magnifying glass, hoping it would help him see any small bubbles, which could indicate a reaction. 

  He sighed as studied the petal. Nothing was happening. He decided to leave it for a little while and in the meantime fill up a spray bottle to mist Crowley's plants. 

  As Aziraphale coughed up three more petals after that, he began to wonder what the end result would be. The petals were getting bigger. What if one got stuck in his throat and blocked his airways? If he couldn't breathe, presumably, he would die. He needed help. 

  A lightbulb went off in his head later that night as he was praying. Maybe the Almighty was helping him out after all. 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

  Aziraphale climbed out of the cab, giving the driver extra money than what the fare called for. The drive into the village was trickier to remember since it had been dark when he was with Crowley. However, as he looked at the horseshoe above the closest cottage's front door, he believed he'd made it. 

  The angel murmured a thank you to the driver, who grunted in response before rolling up the window and driving off, leaving the blond hoping this was the right place. 

  Aziraphale knocked on the door and examined the surrounding garden while waiting for an answer. He smiled as he spotted a light blue bike leaning against the inside of the fence. 

  The front door opened, revealing the dark-haired woman he was looking for. 

  "Hello," the angel greeted. "I'm Aziraphale. You may remember me from the air strip? And--uh--Crowley hitting you with his car?" 

  "Oh of course, you're the angel!" The woman said. "I'm Anathema Device. I'm not sure if you knew my name already or not. What brings you here today?" 

  "Well, I've come down with a strange illness, and not to be rude, but I heard you were a witch, so I thought you might be able to help me. I wasn't sure where else to go. Angels don't normally get sick, you see," he explained. 

 Anathema nodded. "Come in," she replied. 

 Aziraphale followed her into the cottage, looking around. He realized he had a few preconceived ideas as to what it would look like, which weren't accurate at all. There were no cauldrons, no potion shelves, and no spellbooks that he could see. For the most part, the cottage looked normal. 

  "Tea?" Anathema asked, moving toward her kitchen stove. 

  "Yes, thank you," Aziraphale replied. He gestured to a kitchen chair. "May I?"

  The woman nodded. "So how's Crowley doing? Has he been hitting anyone else with his Bentley?" 

  Aziraphale chuckled. "No. He's been too busy fretting over me. He thinks I'm going to die or something." 

  "I can see why he'd be worried," she replied as she filled the kettle with water. "You've been together for what, six thousand years?"

  "More or less," Aziraphale. 

  "You know, I've been wondering what your bosses think of your relationship." Anathema removed some mugs from a cabinet as the water heated up. 

  The angel furrowed his eyebrows. "When you say relationship, what--" He began to cough. His eyes widened. He was going to cough up a petal right now? Well, that's what he was seeing her about anyway. 

  Anathema hurried around the table as he doubled over, rubbing and thumping his back. This petal seemed extra hard to get out. 

  "Goodness, are you okay?" she exclaimed. However, she quickly fell silent as the petal plopped out onto the handkerchief Aziraphale had removed from his pocket.

   He heaved, trying to catch his breath. Despite the petal's absence, his breathing still seemed restricted. "This is what I've been having a problem with." 

  Anathema carefully took the handkerchief and examined the petal. "I didn't think it was real," she murmured.

  "What?" 

  "Hanahaki. I've only read about it in books. It's where a person that is experiencing unrequited or one-sided love starts growing flowers in their lungs. Eventually, they'll choke the person to death if their love isn't returned. There's also a variation where a person will die if they don't admit they love someone, even if the other person loves them back." Anathema's eyes widened. "I thought you were in love with Crowley! Have you not told him yet!? Are you cheating on him!?"

  "I--what!?" 

  "Wait...are you and Crowley even dating!?"

  Aziraphale spluttered. "No! He's a demon! You know that's impossible!" 

  Anathema snorted. "So was stopping the end of days." She looked at the petal. "How many of these have you coughed up?" 

  "I believe that would be the ninth." 

  She frowned. "You don't have much time left. You need to confess to the person you love." 

   “Crowley? We barely confirmed our relations to each other as friendly! Plus I’m an angel. I love everyone! And just because he calls me an angel constantly and his touch makes me feel funny doesn’t mean I’m in love with him! I am an angel, so that nickname makes sense, and I’m a really touch-starved one at that!”

  Anathema glared at him, then smirked, tapping her chin. “You know, I don’t recall saying who you had to confess your love to.”

  Aziraphale’s face burned. He hung his head. “I...I’ve known him since the beginning of this world. Maybe I never realized my feelings for him because they were there from the very start of it all. I suppose I thought it was...normal. Gah! I can’t tell him!” He pulled at his hair. “Heaven and Hell already went after us once. If I tell Crowley how I feel about him, I’ll put the both of us in danger! If I discorporate, I’ll return to Heaven where they can imprison me. At least he’d be safe.”

  “Would he really be safe, though?” Anathema asked. “What if he marched in and tried to get you back?”

  “I don’t know,” the angel groaned. “Heaven is probably punishing me with this. You said you’ve only read about this, right? That wouldn’t stop the other angels from giving me this disease. It all makes sense.” 

   He was interrupted by the tea kettle whistling. Anathema took it off of the burner and poured the water into two cups. She carried a cup and saucer over to him. “The herbs in this should help with your coughing,” she said softly. She sat down across from him, a sad look on her face. “You’ve got to figure out something soon. You probably have only two or three days left. If you do decide to take things up with the Maker or whatever, I’ll miss you. And I’ll do my best to comfort Crowley.”

  “Thank you,” Aziraphale murmured, tears flooding his eyes. 

  “But also,” she continued. “What is love without taking a risk? Even if Heaven and Hell came for the both of you, the two of you could still make the most with the time you’ve got. And you escaped them once. Who’s to say you can’t do it again?”

  The angel was quiet. He took a sip of his tea, which did in fact help soothe his throat. “That’s true.” He sighed. “I suppose I should call a cab and make my way back. Crowley will lose it if I’m not there.” He and Anathema stood up at the same time. He moved around the table and embraced her. 

  “Thank you,” he murmured, patting her back. 

  “I hope everything works out.” Anathema gave him an optimistic smile before showing him out the door. What she really meant was she hoped the angel would come to his senses.  

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

    Ever since he coughed up the petal at Anathema’s, Aziraphale’s breathing had become more restricted. He tried the asthma inhaler once again, but it was useless. The angel had to miracle himself up his stairs because it caused him to be so short of breath. 

  He also checked on the petal that had been soaking in holy water overnight. It looked the exact same as all the other ones he had coughed up. He misted Crowley’s plants, then decided to lay on his couch and ponder what he’d learned about his disease. 

  He had seventy-two hours to live--at most. With the condition his airways were in, he wouldn’t be surprised if he went to sleep and woke up to see Heaven the next morning. He sighed. Should he go over to the Ritz and just so happen to find an available seat? Would he want to risk choking--perhaps even dying--in the restaurant? 

  Better not do that , Aziraphale thought. I wouldn’t want to leave this world by causing the Ritz to have bad reviews due to an immortal being dying in their establishment. It simply wouldn’t be good for their reputation.  

  Should he have Crowley over one last time? Aziraphale allowed himself to smile. He could finally show the demon the dance he learned in the gentlemen's club all those years ago. If he even had the energy to dance, that is. 

  The angel sighed. Seeing how quickly his health had gone downhill would probably put too much stress on the demon. He didn’t deserve that. But then again, was it really fair to leave the world without saying goodbye to his friend of six-thousand years?

  Azirphale had the sudden idea to write a letter explaining everything. He always found he could express himself better through writing. Perhaps that’s why he loved books and playwrights so much. He could say goodbye to Crowley while also explaining why he had to go. Hopefully the demon would understand it was for the best for both of them. 

The angel barely made it to his desk before there was a knock on the door. He sighed, knowing it couldn’t be anyone else. He barely uttered a “come in” before the demon waltzed through the door with what appeared to be a tupperware container in one hand. 

  “So I did some research, and I discovered that chicken noodle soup is supposed to help with illnesses. Although it might also be a placebo.” 

  “I didn't know you had such an extensive vocabulary,” Aziraphale muttered playfully, completely aware that the demon could hear him. 

  Crowley stuck his snakelike tongue out and scrunched his nose, then placed the tupperware container on the counter. “I made the soup myself. I put my heart and--well, I don’t know if I could say soul, but--whatever, I put a lot into it. 

  Aziraphale took the container and dumped its contents in a pot, then set it to warm over the stove. Crowley rolled his eyes and scoffed, knowing he could have heated the food in an instant. He was so old-fashioned. But then again, that was something he liked about him. 

  The angel sat down across the table, fidgeting with his hands. He still didn’t know how to break the news to him. He knew there wasn’t any good way to take it. Perhaps he could tell him gradually? 

  He noticed Crowley eyeballing the bowl beside the sink, which still had the holy water and the singular flower petal in it. Aziraphale decided to take care of it before any kind of accident could happen. He got up from his seat and walked to the counter, removing the petal from the bowl and putting it with the others on the windowsill. He dumped the water on the plants in his window flower box so it wouldn't be wasted and scrubbed the bowl out, drying it thoroughly. 

  It didn’t take long for Crowley to ask the question he’d been dreading: “How are you feeling?”

  Aziraphale sighed. There was no point in trying to lie. “I’m not getting better. I visited Miss Anathema Device today, thinking she could help me. I think I’m getting worse.”

  The demon’s frown felt like a knife to the heart.  “So what now? You’re not on exactly good terms with Heaven.”

   Aziraphale sighed. “I suppose I’ll just have to wait it out. That’s what you have to do with most illnesses.”

   “Yeah, well most angels don’t get sick.” Crowley stood up and approached where Aziraphale stood at the stove. He took a wooden spoon from the nearby utensil container and stirred it, the soup already beginning to bubble. He turned to face the shorter being. “How are your lungs? Can I have a listen?”

  Aziraphale furrowed his eyebrows. “Uh...sure.” 

 The demon grabbed a kitchen chair and sat down in front of the angel, then leaned forward, pressing an ear to his stomach. Aziraphale found this odd but not uncomfortable. However, he tried to breathe as normal as possible so it wouldn’t worry the demon.

   Crowley closed his eyes as he listened. He remembered how soft and cuddly he felt when they exchanged bodies and secretly loved this excuse to feel his angel's squishiness again. His happiness quickly faded as he listened to his breathing. It seemed irregular and ragged. 

   Aziraphale peeled away from him before he could say anything about it. “I believe the soup is done.” He busied himself with pulling a pair of bowls out of a cabinet and spoons out of a drawer. 

  “The food was all for you, angel,” Crowley protested when offered a bowl. “You’re the one that’s sick.”

  The angel grinned in a way that always made the demon weak in the knees. “They say food always tastes better when you help make it. Try some.” He pushed the bowl back toward the ginger, who reluctantly took it. 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

  Aziraphale was glad Crowley had at least taken some of the soup. A sheet of paper probably would’ve tasted better. Seriously, did the demon not know about spices? He mentally sighed. It’s the thought that counts, right? It’s not like he has to cook very often anyway.

    The angel gazed into his bowl.  If this was his last meal, it was definitely a depressing one. He hoped that Jesus’ last supper had been better than flavorless noodles. At least He would have deserved it. Aziraphale had what was coming for him. His heart betrayed Heaven. He was defective. Angels weren’t supposed to fall in love with demons, no matter how good the demon may be deep down.

 Crowley studied him. “What’s ailing you, angel? You look sicker than before you started eating. Is it the soup? You don’t have to finish it. No need to be polite around me. I had to go out and buy a hot plate, pot, silverware, and a tupperware container just to make that, so I understand if it doesn’t taste the best. I’m a bit rusty in that department.”

   Aziraphale offered a small smile, then started laughing. “It’s so bland,” he wheezed out. 

   Crowley began laughing as well, then stood up and grabbed his bowl. He reached for Aziraphale’s, who gladly handed it over, then walked to the sink with them. 

 “If you knew it would taste this bad, then why did you come over?” the angel asked, still recovering from his laughing fit. 

  “So I’d have an excuse to see you! Plus, I figured I could get some cooking tips. Might as well learn from the best.” 

  Aziraphale was pretty sure he winked behind his glasses. He grinned. This wasn’t a terrible way to spend his last few days on earth. Although…

  “Have I ever shown you how to dance the gavotte?” he asked. He felt his stomach twist in guilt. He was going to dance with someone he was forbidden to love, then die not too long after. He felt selfish. He was now hoping the demon would object to the idea of dancing. 

  “No, but I’d love for you to teach me,” Crowley replied, coming back over to the table. 

  Aziraphale shrunk in his chair. “A-Actually, now that I think about it, I might not have the energy for that. It has a lot of kicking.” 

  The taller man strode to where the blond sat. “Well that’s okay. We can do a different dance instead.” He snapped his fingers, and the record player in the corner crackled to life. Violins and a piano started playing as he offered the angel his hand. 

  He led his partner to the middle of the room as a woman sang about a nightingale singing in Berkeley Square. He took the lead, taking the angel’s soft, delicate hand in his left and looped his right around his waist. The shorter man blushed as he placed his hand on his shoulder. They swayed back and forth, slowly moving around the room. 

  Aziraphale giggled as Crowley spun and dipped him a few times. The angel relished their closeness and the tenderness he felt in the demon’s movements. 

   Crowley still had his glasses on, which gave him the excuse to stare at the wonderful being in front of him as much as he wanted without it being weird. 

  As the song drew to a close, Aziraphale realized Crowley began to lean in toward his face. He gasped, then started coughing. His eyes widened. No. This can’t be happening. Not now!

  He snapped his fingers to silence the record and broke away, trying to make it to his bathroom. However, he only made it to his couch before his body forced him to his hands and knees, coughing and gasping and retching. Crowley’s panicked voice sounded muffled and far away. 

   Is this it? Is this the end? Aziraphale thought as he felt arms wrap around his midsection, fists pushing painfully into his diaphragm. He felt slightly relieved when the demon’s attempt at the heimlich seemed to be working. The sensation of the petal working its way up his throat became familiar--and almost comforting--at the point. He snapped his fingers again as the petal came out, and a confused Crowley appeared across the room by the door. 

  Aziraphale whipped out his handkerchief, hoping he could hide the petal before Crowley could see it or get back over to him. However, when he looked back up, it was too late. This time it was Crowley’s turn to snap his fingers. The cloth disappeared from the blond’s hands. 

  The angel sat up and shrank against the base of the couch and caught his breath and he watched the demon hopelessly. Time seemed to stand still as Crowley examined the contents of the handkerchief. He pulled off his glasses, his eyes behind them the size of the moon. Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to disappear as those beautiful, slitted, yellow eyes met his blue ones. Why couldn’t Heaven just take him now?

  “You…” Crowley began, but then trailed off. He tried again. “You have hanahaki,” he whispered so quietly that he probably couldn’t be heard by mortal ears. 

 Aziraphale couldn’t do anything but hang his head. 

“You knew?”

 The angel barely nodded. 

  “Why...why didn’t you tell me?” he asked slightly louder. 

  “There was no use!” Aziraphale cried.

  “No use!?” Crowley stayed rooted to his spot. “No use !? I could help you! I could tempt the person into loving you back!”

  “No you can’t!” the angel nearly shouted. The demon immediately stilled, his eyes following the tears flowing freely down his friend’s face. “That would be unjust and cruel! It would take away a person’s agency! And besides, humans all die anyway!”

   The demon’s heart was breaking. Even though it killed him to know he was helplessly in love with someone, he’d still do anything in his power to stop the disease’s progression. “How far along are you?” he dared to ask, immediately dreading the answer. 

  “Anathema said I have three days at most,” Aziraphale murmured, looking at his hands. 

  “WHAT !?” the demon shouted, causing the angel to jump slightly. Tears now spilled out of his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me!? I thought we were friends! Did you just expect me to show up tomorrow a-and find your...your…” He couldn’t finish. Instead, he began to weep.

  “It’s for the best,” Aziraphale replied, taking a deep breath. “When I’m gone, you won’t have to worry about being captured again because you’ll no longer be associated with me.”

  “That’s what you’re worried about!?” Crowley exclaimed, his face contorting in anger. “We’ve dealt with them once! We can do it again! Just confess to the stupid human and spend as much time with them as you can!”

  “What’s the point in loving someone if you can’t be with them? What’s the point in telling them?” The angel stared at his love in sorrow. 

   “The point is peace of mind! You’d at least both know! And who knows, if they don’t love you right now, maybe they’d love you back in the future!”

  “It would be better for everyone if I was dead!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “It’s not like we’re needed anymore since Armageddon didn’t happen! You could go about your demonic business without me interfering!”

  Crowley snorted. “You know I would break into Heaven and get you! In fact, I can go there before you die and negotiate!”

  The angel shook his head. “No, you won’t.” He regretted what he was about to do. He looked at his side table, where sure enough, his plant mister sat. He carefully stood up and grabbed it, pointing it at the demon. 

  “What are you…” Crowley’s eyes widened as they landed on the bottle. He began shaking his head. “You wouldn’t. You’re bluffing.” 

  “Am I?” Aziraphale asked calmly. “Maybe I decided your plants need holy water. It might prevent their brown spots.” He held the bottle out in front of him like a gun and slowly advanced on the other being. 

  “Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered as he walked backward toward the door. “I’m your friend. You...you can’t do this. You wouldn’t hurt anyone. You gave away a flaming sword instead of using it!”

  “Do you want to test that theory?” the angel asked, tapping the side of the bottle.

   Crowley’s body met the door. He stepped sideways and fumbled for the knob, beginning to open it. He stared at his love in heartbreak, tears welling up in his eyes. He held his gaze long enough to step out into the hall. Then, before he closed the door, he uttered one small sentence. 

  “I forgive you.” The door closed with a loud click.

  On the other side, an angel collapsed to the floor. 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Crowley nearly hit three cars on his way home, but he didn't care at that point. However, he wanted to be with Aziraphale as much as possible, so maybe he did care a little. 

  He turned on his radio, hoping to decompress. Usually Queen was able to relax him. Freddie Mercury's voice echoed through the cab. 

   Love of my life, you've hurt me

You've broken my heart, and now you leave me

Love of my life, can't you see?

Bring it back, bring it back

Don't take it away from me

Because you don't know

What it means to me

  The demon slammed on his brakes. Luckily, he was currently on a lonely stretch of road running outside of London. He leaned his head against his steering wheel and began to sob. 

    Why is life so cruel ? he thought. What happened to the Almighty's ineffable plan!?

  "I'm losing my best friend," he whimpered to no one. "Again." He took off his glasses to wipe his eyes and gather himself. 

Love of my life, don't leave me

You've taken my love, and now desert me

Love of my life, can't you see?

Bring it back, bring it back

Don't take it away from me

Because you don't know

What it means to me

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

Crowley decided being blotted out of existence by holy water would be worth it if he could see his angel’s face one last time, so he eventually turned his car around and drove back toward London. He had thought he’d only been sitting there on the empty road for a few minutes, but they had stretched into hours by the time he had gathered himself. The streets were dark and empty. The demon pushed his glasses to the top of his head to squint at his watch. 9 o’clock. 

  He decided to park the Bentley a few alleys away from the bookshop and walk from there. He glanced at the second storey as he approached. The windows were dark. After scanning his surroundings, he turned the doorknob and walked through the front door, silently commanding the bell at the top to refrain from ringing. 

 The demon made his way to the back and climbed the stairs to the flat, his feet barely whispering on the wood. He braced himself when he got to the door. What if he was too late? 

 Taking a deep breath, he opened the door of the flat and stepped inside, his stomach twisting with anticipated dread. He surveyed his surroundings. The flat was dark like he’d assumed when he was still outside. The couch and kitchen were empty. That left the bathroom and the bedroom. 

  Crowley slunk along the wall to the bedroom door, which was slightly ajar. He willed his form to melt into the shadows and peeked around the corner to see his angel’s form propped up on pillows, faint snores escaping his lips. The demon sighed in relief and stepped further into the room, tiptoeing to the other side of the bed. Carefully, he lowered himself onto the comforter, his eyes not leaving his precious angel. 

  Aziraphale’s breaths were ragged and shallow, and Crowley wished with all of his heart that he could do something about it. He decided to do what he could and pull the comforter up to the blond’s shoulders. The demon settled on his side, folding his hands under his cheek. He stared at the angel. He was still beautiful even when he was dying. Oh how the demon longed to run his hands through his fluffy, white curls, or to kiss him on the forehead. But that would be out of the question. He couldn’t consent to any of that if he was asleep, and Crowley--despite being a demon--wasn’t the type to take advantage of people. Not the ones he cared about anyway.  It was enough to lay beside him and watch over him as he slept. 

  Crowley sat unmoving for hours. The night was eerily quiet. Even with his advanced  hearing, the only thing filling his ears were Aziraphale’s shuddering breaths. Despite how rough they were, it brought relief to him to know that his angel was still alive. 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

  The demon startled in the middle of the night as Aziraphale began coughing violently, sitting up in bed. Crowley quite literally became a fly on the wall, silently but painfully observing the coughing angel while being no bigger than a pushpin. Since Aziraphale was occupied, the other man snapped his fingers, and a glass of cold water appeared on the bedside table right before he coughed up the petal and looked over for something to drink. 

  Crowley didn’t see the confusion flash across his face as the blond man tried to recall whether or not he had brought a glass of water to bed with him. Instead, the demon was distracted by a gentle rustling, then a tearing of fabric. His eyes widened as he witnessed the angel’s wings unfurl themselves. He loved those wings, but that also wasn’t a very good sign. 

  You see, despite common belief, angels use constant, tiny miracles to hide their wings, not to reveal them. They were designed for their wings to be on display, for why would anyone want to hide something so beautiful? However, over the years, Heaven learned it was better for angels on earth to hide their wings, so as not to scare the humans. It was just better for everyone that way. 

  Demons were different. It took a miracle to summon their wings because Hell was too cramped for them to constantly be present. They’d end up battered and torn if they revealed them down there. Crowley personally believed it was a punishment from his fall to reveal his wings. It took him more effort to do so, but Hell was less strict about who or who not to show his wings to. He used them to give people a good scare every once in a while and ended up in a few legends because of that. 

  A pit of dread settled in Crowley’s stomach as he gazed at the angel’s beautiful wings. Revealing them meant that the last of his strength was trickling away. Tears began to spill down his face as reality hit him. He’d lose his best friend within hours. He had to do something. 

  As he waited for Aziraphale to fall back asleep, the demon began to brainstorm. Even if he couldn’t stop the angel’s death or make it into Heaven alive, he could at least help him be more comfortable. He’d buy his favorite flowers and all of the sushi and macarons the angel could eat. And he’d actually buy them instead of steal them because he knew how Aziraphale hated when Crowley took advantage of the humans like that. 

  Crowley smiled slightly. He’d miss Aziraphale constantly fretting and nitpicking him about trivial things, such as driving the Bentley too fast or sitting with bad posture (the demon just couldn’t sit straight, okay?). He’d miss the way the angel’s face would light up as the waiter placed his food in front of him when they'd go to lunch together. He’d miss the way his fluffy, white hair would catch the sunlight and sparkle like a fresh blanket of snow. He’d miss how he hugged his stomach when laughing deep belly laughs, or the way his eyes sparkled when Crowley groaned upon being victimized by a new magic trick. He always loved his magic tricks, no matter how bad or cheesy they were. 

  Crowley choked on a sob, putting his fist against his mouth. He couldn’t let the angel know he was there. He wanted him to sleep as peacefully as possible, not be awake comforting the demon and his stupid feelings. He waited for another twenty minutes before returning to normal size, then walked around to the angel’s side of the bed. He knelt at eye level and took a moment to admire Aziraphale’s rosy cheeks and pure white wings. 

  He clasped his hands together and leaned against the bed, carefully being sure not to touch the sleeping angel. He closed his eyes and bowed his head. And for the first time in over six thousand years, Crowley began to pray. 

❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀ ❀

   Aziraphale woke up around seven the next morning, almost too weak to leave his bed. Nevertheless, he was determined to get up and make himself some tea. Although it wasn’t a good sign, it felt nice to stretch his wings again, despite doing it just mere days ago. Maybe he should unfurl his wings more often in his flat. 

   It’s not like I have any time left , he thought. Just getting out of bed and walking to the kitchen winded him. If he had been counting right, he coughed up eleven petals. And twelve would seem the type of number to end it all. 

   You would have time if you confessed to him , the devil on his shoulder said. 

  Aziraphale shook his head to banish the thought. He couldn’t do that and put both of them in danger. They’d be deemed as defective for sure and he knew that Heaven and Hell wouldn’t make the mistake of catching the wrong being twice. 

  The angel felt unusually calm about his upcoming death. It was strange: he’d felt an overwhelming amount of love during the night, as if someone was watching over him in his sleep. It was so strong that when he’d woken up, he thought the disease had vanished. Such a foolish thought that had been. 

  Aziraphale decided to water Crowley’s plants as he waited for the kettle to boil. He wondered when the demon would come back for them. He looked at the plant mister, guilt washing over him. Yesterday was probably the last day he’d see Crowley. Why would he want to see him again after being threatened with death the second time that week?

  He sighed as his kettle whistled, walking over to the stove as fast as his body allowed. He took it off of the burner and poured the boiling water in a cup, steeping a bag of chamomile tea. He almost used a miracle to cool it, but then remembered how weak he was. Best to wait it out if he actually wanted to be alive to drink it. 

  The angel grabbed a couple of sugar cubes and carried his tea over to his couch, where he figured he’d read a book. However, his eyes caught the telephone on his side table. What if he tried calling the demon and apologizing? Or leave a message?

   Yes, Aziraphale thought. I’ll leave a message. I don’t think Crowley answers his house number anymore . But wouldn’t he be at home to hear it ring?

  The angel sighed as he plopped down on the couch and dialed the landline number. It was worth a shot.

  “ Hi, this is Anthony Crowley. You know what to do. Do it with style. ” Beep .

  “H-Hi, Crowley. It’s me, Aziraphale. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry about yesterday. I’m an absolutely awful angel for threatening you like that. I would never actually try to harm you. But you knew that, didn’t you? I’m just so sorry. I hope you’ll forgive me when I’m--”

   Beep.

 He called back and left another message. “This will be my twelfth petal. I imagine it will also be my last. I’ve lived a good life here on Earth, and I’m ready to face the consequences in Heaven for my actions.” He swallowed, then took a deep breath. “But what I’m not ready for is being without you, or you being without me. You’ve been a constant in my life for the past 6,000 years. And I know I could change all of this, but I-I’m selfish and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

   Beep . 

  Aziraphale was crying as he redialed a third time. “You thought that I’m in love with a human.” He chuckled, then sniffed. “You couldn’t be more far off, my dear. I suppose we’re both pretty dense. It took Miss Device for me to fully realize, a-and I suppose by the time you listen to this it won’t matter anyway because it will be too late, but--”

   Beep.

  He sighed. He didn’t want to call back, but his fingers and heart betrayed him. “I-I just wanted to tell you that it was you. It’s always been you. Please don’t blame yourself for my death. This is my doing. And maybe this will be my only chance to ever say it, but Crowley, I love you.” 

  He let out a sob and covered his mouth as he slammed the phone down. What had he done!? Now he felt worse. Crowley was going to feel terrible upon listening to his messages! 

  “Say it again.” A soft voice filled the room. 

  “Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped. A wide range of emotions coursed through him. His demon stood in the doorway, for no locks could stop him. 

  “Say it again,” Crowley said more firmly, taking off his glasses. He set down the grocery bags the angel just realized he was holding. 

  Aziraphale came to his senses. “No,” he replied, shaking his head vigorously. “I can’t. It’ll just make things worse...for the both of us.” 

 “Fine,” Crowley replied simply, beginning to walk forward. “I guess I’ll just have to say it myself, then. I--”

  The demon was tackled by a flurry of feathers as Azirphale used the last of his strength to propel himself at Crowley. A hand clamped over his mouth. 

  “Why do you have to make this complicated!?” the angel exclaimed, crying again. “J-Just let me go and be done with it. There’s no use in our higher ups coming after the both of us.” He sniffed. “I just want you to be happy and live in peace.” 

  “ Camf I seh somfthing?” Crowley asked, muffled by Azirphale’s hand. 

  “You better not say… you know what ,” he threatened. The demon nodded, and he slowly removed his hand, placing it on his wrist instead. 

  Crowley looked at him and his beautiful wings before speaking. “Angel...I don’t think you understand. A life without you wouldn't be any life at all.”

  A tear slipped down the angel’s face, and the pinned being raised a hand to wipe it away, brushing his fingertips against soft, warm skin. He let his hand linger there. 

  “If you up and left, I wouldn’t have anybody to dine at the Ritz with, nobody to gossip with, nobody to fuss over my fast driving, nobody to ask me to remove a paintball stain from a jacket because they’re too pure and stubborn to do it themself, nobody to save from the French Revolution because they decided to cross the river dressed as an aristocrat for some stupid crepes. I’d have nobody to stay awake and think about on nights that I can’t sleep, and no place to stop by on those nights.” He chuckled. “I sound selfish, don’t I? Maybe it’s because I am. I want you all to myself, Angel. I want to see the beaming face everyday that makes me feel warm inside despite my snakiness. I want to be doing my own thing in the same room as you, and to hug you and kiss you and wake up next to you every morning. I don’t want us to have to live in fear. And if you die, we may never get the chance to even try any of those things. We’ve escaped our lot before; we can do it again.”

   Aziraphale let out a sob. “Oh Crowley, I’m just so scared . I guess I was looking for the quickest way out.” 

  “Sometimes the quickest way isn’t the best one,” Crowley murmured, caressing the angel’s face.  

   The angel allowed himself to smirk a little. “I suppose slow and steady wins the race, right?”

  Crowley tilted his head side to side. “Well, I think 6,000 years was a bit excessive…” He grinned as Aziraphale playfully rolled his eyes. His expression turned serious again. “So...can I say it?”

  “I’m scared,” he whispered. 

  The demon started to sit up, leaning back on his arms. “Do you want something to help with that?”

  Aziraphale nodded after a moment, and Crowley began to lean in, carefully touching his angel’s face. After confirming the other being was okay with it, he placed the gentlest of kisses on his lips. 

  The angel hesitated for a moment before eagerly reciprocating and pulling himself and Crowley up into a sitting position. After six thousand years, he finally gave into his yearnings. He pulled away after a moment, since breathing was a problem for him, and rested his forehead against his lovers. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” 

  “You and me both, angel,” Crowley replied. They leaned back far enough to lock eyes, the unspoken question still hanging in the air between them. Aziraphale’s lip trembled again, and Crowley cradled his face in his hands. “I will do everything in my power to protect us, angel. And if we do get blotted out of existence, it will be together because I know I couldn’t live in a world without you. Because I…” He stopped and stared at the other being. 

  Aziraphale took a deep breath and slowly nodded. 

  “I love you ,” Crowley said, barely above a whisper, pressing their foreheads together again. “And I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.”

  The angel smiled, but it rapidly faded as he broke away in a fit of coughing. The demon’s eyes widened as he watched his partner kneel on the floor, struggling for breath. 

  “No, no, no! Aziraphale, no! I love you! It can’t take you now! Those are the rules!” Crowley cried, wrapping his arms around the other being. He looked heavenward, begging the Almighty to take the wretched disease away. He squeezed the angel’s midsection, hoping that would help the petal come up. He buried his face against the other's back and spit out a feather. For once in his entire existence, he hated Aziraphale’s wings. They almost seemed to block him from helping. 

  The being gave one last heave and finally coughed the petal out onto the floor. Then, he collapsed beside it. 

  “Aziraphale?” Crowley whispered. “Please don’t leave me, my love.” He stroked his downy hair and wings, letting the tears flow freely down his face. The plant mister full of holy water sitting across the room on the side table caught his eye, but then he recalled all of the times Aziraphale had dragged him to Romeo and Juliet and cried and lamented about the lovers’ tragedy after every performance. He wasn’t about to recreate that. He almost chuckled. The angel would kill him over that. 

   The demon leaned down and pressed an ear against his lover’s back. His heart raced as he detected faint breathing. It worked! Aziraphale was finally safe! He–

  Crowley jumped as the angel gasped and coughed, his body shuddering. It subsided after a moment, and the angel slowly turned over, catching his breath. His eyes met Crowley’s and they both smiled. “Hi,” he stuttered out. 

  Aziraphale barely had time to brace himself before he was tackled by the other being, who wrapped his arms around his neck and peppered him with kisses. “You are a–” kiss. “-stupid-” kiss. “-beautiful-” kiss “-stubborn-” kiss. “angel.” kiss. “And you’re all mine. I won’t let anybody take you from me.” 

  The angel blushed. Oh, how Crowley loved his blush. “I’m sorry that I didn't confess my feelings to you sooner, and that it was a matter of life and death to do so. I’m also sorry for threatening you with holy water. You know it wasn’t holy water, right? I’m also sorry for–”

 Crowley silenced him with another kiss. Aziraphale’s wings flexed and wrapped around them in a cocoon. “All is forgiven. What matters is that you’re here now.” 

  Aziraphale smirked. “Why, I didn’t think demons were capable of forgiveness.”

  “If I weren’t, we wouldn’t have been friends for six thousand years. But maybe it’s just me.” 

  “It probably is, darling,” Aziraphale replied, kissing his nose. He unfurled his wings, and one of the tips bumped plastic. He turned his head. “What’s in the shopping bags?” 

  Crowley looked over. He’d completely forgotten about his morning shopping spree. He blushed as he climbed off of his angel to retrieve the bags. “I was with you all night, y’know. I was scared. Although, I was willing to accept the fact that you’d made your choice, so I left early this morning to buy you some of your favorite things to help you be more comfortable.” He rubbed the back of his neck, training his eyes on the floor. It was weird explaining his intentions. To distract himself from the awkwardness, he began to empty the bag of its contents.

    He first pulled out a takeout tray of sushi and soy sauce, followed by a box of macarons, a bottle of rosé, a slice of angel food cake and devil’s food cake from a local bakery, and numerous breads, pastries, cheeses, crackers, and farm-fresh jams (Crowley may or may not have turned all of the clocks in London forward one hour just for a day in order for the Farmer’s Market to open earlier). 

  “Oh, Crowley, this all looks so wonderful!” Aziraphale exclaimed. He grabbed the demon’s hand and met his gaze. “And what makes it even better is eating in celebration with someone I love instead of this being our last supper.” He began to stand up, groaning in the process. His body was still sore from the disease, although his airways were feeling less constricted by the minute. He pulled his partner to his feet. “Let’s have breakfast, shall we?” 

  Crowley nodded, although he probably wouldn’t eat. Everything he bought was intended for Aziraphale (although he could possibly be tempted to eat the angel food cake. It was his favorite). He began to pick up the food and move it to the table while his angel proceeded to pull out a pair of plates, silverware, and wine glasses from the cupboards. 

   The two sat down across from each other at Aziraphale’s small table, their plates and glasses barely fitting among all the food. The angel uncorked the Rosé and poured it for the both of them as Crowley pulled his glasses out of his shirt pocket. 

  “Oh please, don’t!” Aziraphale blurted, making Crowley pause with his glasses halfway to his face. “You have beautiful eyes!” He blushed. “I don’t get to see them often enough.” He turned redder and began to fidget with his napkin. “Actually, when we swapped bodies, I spent probably at least ten minutes just staring at them in the mirror.”

   Crowley was taken aback. He never thought his eyes were anything special. He hid them even in Hell since none of the other demons had snake eyes. In fact, he even thought they were a bit unnerving if he stared at himself long enough. "R-Really?"

  Aziraphale nodded, looking at his lap. "It kills me to see how self-conscious you are about them; they're one of my favorite things about you."

  "Thank you, angel," Crowley replied, uncomfortable from the praise. "I also spent about ten minutes looking in the mirror when we swapped. I…I love how squishy and round you are." The two of them blushed at the same time. He loved seeing Aziraphale’s body up close and being able to touch his squishy, cuddly belly. "Don't worry, I didn't take your scratchy old vest off or anything. That'd be disrespectful. Plus your vest probably would've disintegrated upon touch." 

  Aziraphale rolled his eyes and smiled. "I'm so grateful for your consideration." 

  Crowley gasped dramatically. "Is that sarcasm that I'm hearing!? From my angel!?"

  The blond grinned. "It's more likely than you think."  

  The demon laughed, realizing he was still holding his spectacles. "Tell you what, angel. I'll leave my glasses off if you let me preen your wings." 

  Aziraphale looked at his wings and flexed them, considering. "I guess they could use a good preen. There wasn't much time after Armageddon. And don't worry, I'll save you the angel food cake. I know it's your favorite." He winked. Crowley spluttered. He hadn't told anyone that! 

  Crowley grabbed the kitchen chair and carried it around the table to sit behind Aziraphale. And there they sat for a long time, the demon running his fingers through downy feathers while whispering sweet I love yous into his angel’s ears, as if he’d disappear at any moment. And after a hectic week, they could officially say it was the very first day of the rest of their lives. 

☼