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There is one rule concerning Insanity, which every insane in that construction of the universe knew: When someone was confronted with it, then it didn’t seem to be that insane anymore.
Although that required – as the attentive reader already noticed – that the person in question already has to be insane, that he wouldn’t perceive insanity as much as insane as he would otherwise do.
And this was in fact, what the demon Crowley one cold evening in winter – precisely the third advent of the year 2018 – unfortunately, had missed out.
~ * ~
„What does that mean, ‚i don’t want to', Aziraphale?“, Cawed Crowley blankly and brandished his arms bewilderedly through the air, while the addressed sighted and tilted his head lovingly, but firm, to the side.
„It means…“, the angel lifted definingly his index finger against his thumb and waved them like a conductor, accentuating his words. „It means exactly what I just said. That I don’t want to!“
It didn’t require the determined nodding, that came resolutely with Aziraphale’s viewpoint, that Crowley understood. The demon did, in fact, understand quite well. The problem with it was, that he didn’t want to. And so he slouched – stubbornly spreading both of his legs a bit further – some inches deeper in the cushions of the old, stale armchair and raised his eyebrows.
„You don’t want to.“, he repeated.
„Yes.“ Crowley nodded taking in the message.
„...you sure?“
Aziraphale confirmed once more with a slight bob of his head. The demon hissed.
„Oh, come ON!“
„No! No, Crowley. Absolutely not. Not with that…“, desperately seeking of words, Aziraphale made a helpless, truly comprehensive gesture, before he eventually gave up and placed his hands capitulating in his lap. „…with that kind of appearance.“
„What’s wrong with your…appearance-whatsoever?!“ rasped Crowley, already knowing, that this was only some poor excuse of the angel, because he ran out of pretexts.
„Please! Crowley !“, Aziraphale lifted indignantly his gaze upwards – this very particular 'upwards' – and furrowed his brows in worry.
„What would _they_ think about it…?“
Crowley snorted contemptuously.
After Aziraphale managed to stop Armageddon, to contend himself against Gabriel, Uriel, Michael and however the other holy Ladys and Gents up there were called, Crowley assumed, that the angel would nix his fear of God all the way down to the seventh circle of hell.
Not even close.
Quite the contrary though: he seemed more god-fearing then ever.
He let out a dissatisfied groan and tossed his head back in frustration.
„…“
They shut silent. Crowley had swallowed his comment and rolled his eyes. And Aziraphale, who couldn’t see his eyes because of the dark sunglasses, didn’t stop him.
Crowley didn’t get it. Though he understood quite well, that the angel vehemently baulked against their…arrangements (which clearly emerged from their conversations since summer), he could not grasp why.
Neither the holiest heaven, nor the unholiest hell had put in an appearance after their foundered destruction failure, let alone, pestered them. Why, this being the case, did HE plead it as a pretext, to avoid the company of HIM, being his suggestions even so heavenly?
And the worst of the whole thing wasn’t even, that the angel obviously hid something from him.
No, it was the fact that it really bothered Crowley.
Immensely!
~ * ~
Right five minutes ago, Crowley had tried to tempt the angel to get wasted in some cozy bar a few streets away from Logslane.
Nothing unusual for the two, right?
Absolutely.
And yet; far wrong.
Because since their charming, very usual evening at the Ritz, after all there had occured something quite notably unusual:
Aziraphale got charmed as well.
And that was, by Crowley.
It had gotten awkwardly silent around them.
~ * ~
Aziraphale used to really like the time before christmas, (although he absolutely cursed it right and especially in that moment).
Everywhere, there was secureness, tranquillity, Contemplativeness and even the cohesion of the families was kept up, to hail god, the creator of all human life. And the love – Aziraphale’s utterly intrinsic quintessence – had all of london firmly closed up in her arms.
To that someone had to know, that an angel wasn’t just able to sense this love when it was present.
An angel felt it.
Literally.
So, under normal circumstances Aziraphale would have sighted in blissful delightedness and a loving smile would have sneaked up his lips nearly every time he left the bookshop. It was utterly exhilarating at it’s best.
Aziraphale felt drugged.
He wouldn’t mind though, although it was a little bit obvious.
But in the circumstances he had to face right now, it kept getting in the way quite obstrusively.
Actually he had planned to hole himself up from the world – and especially from Crowley – at least until the festiveness had decreased. His odd fondness for the demon alone seemed to him suspicious enough to just hide away. And he absolutely didn’t feel like dealing with him in his „christmas-state“.
But he truly didn’t expect the intrusive persistence of the fallen. And that lead to Crowley sitting once again – and Aziraphale stopped counting at 47 after their evening at the Ritz – in front of him in the old armchair of his bookshop.
Crowley, in the meantime, watched the noticeably changing emotions of Aziraphale‘s face and languidly propped up his right elbow on the armrest of his seating accomodation and waited.
If his eyebrows hadn’t already been located right underneath his hairline, Crowley would have definitely rectified that by now. Even though he doubted, that it would be enough to rip out his angel…this angel of his mind.
„I‘ll make tea.“
„Oh, excuse me, Crowley. What have you just said?“
The demon, who had just lifted himself halfway out of the armchair, bent – both hands, each placed on one armrest to swing his arse out of the cushions – his head to the side. Crowley snarled.
„I said: 'Tea, Angel‘?“
„Oh, love to.“,
Aziraphale agreed blushing. He really tried to withstand the plucking of a fond smile at his cheeks, but it didn’t work out so it just left a weird expression on his face, that kind of looked like he was about to sneeze.
Crowley shook his head in disbelief and finally stood up.
„What’s even with you?!“
He blurted, opening his arms in question, while he was shambling gracefully across the wooden floor. If he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, Aziraphale would have thought that it wasn’t even possible to shamble gracefully, but there he was, the demon, scuffing his pointy, black shoes on the old floorboards in a way he could have also scuffed them through Buckingham palace without anyone considering it as inappropriate. It hadn’t occured to Aziraphale till now, that he really liked his walking.
Crowley had turned around after Aziraphale didn’t answer and lifted an eyebrow. The demon never experienced the feeling a Crêpe must have, when Aziraphale stared at it, but he assumed, that this Gaze in Aziraphale’s eyes, could make him feel like any dessert the angel was about to exterminate. A shiver crawled up his spine. He shoved it away.
„Like what you see, angel?“, he cawed sarcastically.
First, Aziraphale twitched, as he was startled and Crowley were just about to breathe in to cackle, but then the angel's eyes enlighted and he smiled brightly.
„Actually, I do!“, he bursted out and Crowley immediately got struck by a flash of lightning, as if he just missed out a step descending the stairs of his flat.
„You…you…“, He whimpered thinly but his voice kept getting stuck. Crowley cleared his throat. „You...do?“
„Yes, dear. You’re rather…what do they call it these days? Sexy? Am I right? What an awful termination, though, isn’t it?“
„Sex…look, I…I don’t think an angel should…“, Crowley shut and took in a deep breath after he had grown aware of his wretchful stuttering. „…it’s awful indeed.“
Aziraphale, in the meantime, recognized what he had said and tried helplessly to shuffle it away with some uncomfortable shifting in his armchair.
His thoughts were thickend and seeped ever so slackly through the foggy, blissfull curtain of Love squeezing his heart and blinding his brain. There was an awkward silence building up between the two. Aziraphale squirmed.
„It’s christmas.“, he explained poorly and tried to hide his shaking hands in his lap, looked away and swallowed drily. „I mean, it soon will be.“
„Yes, tea!“,
Crowley responded completely ignoring what the angel had said and fled into the back of the bookshop. He didn’t even know, if Aziraphale had a kitchen.
„To the left!“
He turned to said direction and followed Aziraphale’s instructions. There was indeed some sort of a kitchen, but it didn’t seem used.
„And actually, I suppose, you could heat up some spiced wine instead!“
Crowley chuckled and shrugged his head to the side in agreement. „Resonable…“, he mumbled to himself and caught eye of the three bottles standing on the stove. He snapped his fingers and the spiced wine was just hot enough to be comfortable to consume.
When he thought about it, it may had been a better idea to heat it up manually, just so he could stay a little longer to avoid Aziraphale and his truly unholy mouth. Crowley shook his head because of his dirty mind. Actually, he shouldn’t think about anything right now. Would probably be for the better.
When he returned, strolling particularly slow and dissolute to show off his relaxation (which he actually wasn’t even able to think about) Aziraphale inspected the ceiling quite zealously to avoid eye contact. Crowley twitched with his brows. It really was time for them to get drunk.
„Eeah, 'ziraphale, mate!“ He rasped, holding two of the bottles up in the air like it was a trophy he just won in some competition. „Up with that big ol' cup of yours and we’ll get started!“
The angel let out a high, distorted noise, by which Crowley wasn’t sure if it was a cough or just a really nervous laugh. He put the bottles on the low coffee table, never averting his eyes from Aziraphale’s face. The angel‘s cheeks were flushed with a peachy blush and his gaze seemed so far away, lids heavy from whatever caused them to drop that low over his eyeballs. Crowley twitched his sunglasses back on the bridge of his nose and snarled.
„Are you drugged or something?“, He asked incredulously and snapped them two cups on the small table. Aziraphale shrugged.
„Well, I’m afraid, I am.“, he answered and smiled thinly. Crowley lifted an eyebrow and Aziraphale blinked as he didn’t answer. „It’s what the humans call 'love drunk', I suppose.“, he explained and popped one of the bottles open, letting the dark, steaming fluid tinkle into their cups.
„You‘re…in love?“
„Of course I am. I’m an angel!“
„With whom?“
Aziraphale laughed. „With...? No, dear, not with someone in particular.“
That wasn’t completely true though. And the angel knew it before he even thought about saying it out loud. He withstanded the urge to pray and ask for forgiveness for he had lied.
„So…you’re all…lovey dovey because of…Jesus dying violently on that bloody cross…? That’s ridiculous!“
„No, it’s not about…her son, Crowley. It’s about the people.“, he stated as he took a big sip of his wine. Crowley followed his act. „They love christmas. All of them are just happy and being nice to each other. It just…“, he made a helpless gesture like he was pointing at everything around them. „…it just kind of…transfers, I suppose.“
„...transfers.“, crowley repeated doubting the angel’s words.
„transfers.“, Aziraphale confirmed.
Crowley nodded exaggeratedly and drank some more wine.
~ * ~
They kept quiet for no-one knew what else to say. Aziraphale tried to avoid talking by drinking that wine very eagerly and Crowley – who just had a hard time with some ineffable plan – now had a hard time once again keeping up with this angel’s ineffable thirst.
~ * ~
„I’ve never sheen you like thish before, angel.“,
The demon slured and stretched his limbs after they had grown stiff.
Aziraphale giggled high pitched and took another sip of his wine. „I avoided you quite consistently then, I suppose.“, he babbled proudly and leaned back on the sofa. He felt hot and feverish. Aziraphale ran his fingers through his hair and breathed out, loosening up his bowtie.
He saw Crowley watching him, but it didn’t seep through his awareness until the damage was already done. His heart dropped and squeezed it his chest, but the angel pushed it away, before he looked up once again and glanced at Crowley.
The demon had his sunglasses removed, the bright, yellow colour of his iris now nearly taking in all of the white in his eyes and the small slits of his pupils were dilated and fixed on his appearance. Aziraphale swallowed dryly and lifted his cup to his mouth, closed his lids, while taking another shaky sip of the hot wine and trying to calm down. He felt a sizzling shiver trickling down his spine, making him quiver ever so slightly and letting recklessness bubble in his guts.
Aziraphale didn’t know, where this cheeky friskiness came from. He didn’t even know he was daring enough to think about a certain way to try to tease Crowley, but there he was, flickering his trembling fingertips back to his collar, removing the tartan bowtie and eventually undoing the uppermost button of his dress shirt. He sighted relieved and carefully looked back to Crowley, who squirmed softly in his armchair.
Fiery, yellow eyes gazing back at him, filled with abysmal yearning. Aziraphale held back his breath and twitched his glance back to the ceiling.
What was he even doing!? He was a goddamn angel, he clearly had nothing to do with…with that kind of fire-playing he seemingly attempted to do. Aziraphale withstanded the urge to shake his head to clear his intoxicated mind from the imagination of Crowley, closer to him than he ever was to the sulfuric baths of hell.
His heart throbbed burning in his chest, swallowed his lungs in an desperate need to suck the air back into his body. He felt madness, insanity, crawl up his thighs, pressing down on him with the weight of the whole bookshop concentrated on his clenched ribcage.
„Ya’re alright, angel?“
„I am! Can’t you see that, you goddamn…demon, for heaven’s sake, just…shut up for one minute, until I…“, he breathed in as the air in his lungs weren‘t enough to complete his sentence. „It’s the...“, Aziraphale wanted to say love, but he changed his mind throughout his talking. „alcohol…it‘s a bit…overwhelming…at times, I’m afraid.“
Crowley looked at the angel in confusion, furrowing his nose as if he was reading a very small text. „…overwhelming...?“, his voice all sounding judgemental. „Are you like this all the time?“
„Don‘t be such a…dimwit.“
Aziraphale sat up and placed his cup on the table, before he shuffled in his seat to get back his countenance, letting the joints of his shoulders roll in their sockets.
„Dimwit?!“
Crowley parroted back perplexed, thwacking his hands on his thighs. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, as the demon snarled.
„You’ve got the entire range of swear words to call me an idiot, and you go for 'dimwit'?!“
„What else do you want me to call you? A dickhead?!“
Crowleys heart nearly jumped out of his chest, as Aziraphale in fact insulted him. He spat out some unfinished words and sounds, without knowing what he was actually going to say, that the angel once terminated as 'confused Crowley noises'.
Aziraphale chuckled. „You really should see yourself right now, my dear.“
„…Yeah…uh,…thanks for reminding me.“, he slured out annoyed, scratching his neck.
„Anyways, what’s it with you though? Haven’t quite got it yet.“ He admitted. Aziraphale sighted exhaustingly and slouched back in the cushions.
„remember that one time when we were visiting the former monastery where the antichrist got mixed up?“
„The one where he got swippidy-swapped like t-shirts should be during a soccer match? Nah, 'ts been a while, angel, pretty hard to recall…“
Aziraphale rolled his eyes. „I said this place feels loved.“
„…uh, yeh, sounds like something you would say.“
„Well, you’re right. But, what I meant was, that I literally felt that love. Not just sensed, felt. Of course, the love of one single person isn’t nowhere near to bowl me over…“
„…bowl you over??“
„…yes, quite so. But now imagine, thousands of people, the whole population of London, filled up from top to toes with endless love and adoration…“
„atrocious…“
Aziraphale nodded. „…absolutely. Well, just for me though. It’s a good thing, apart from that, I suppose.“
Crowley bent his head doubting but didn’t say anything against it. Eventually he lifted his cup once again and let the spiced wine – now definitely cold – run down his throat. Aziraphale snapped it warm again. The demon furrowed his brows
.
Something was odd. He just couldn’t grasp it. The angel was affected by the love of all the people of London, right? Okay, that was kind of consequential, maybe comprehendable. Well, that was unless you were a demon, who couldn’t quite feel…
His eyes widened. „But why is it, you don’t feel better with me around, angel? My devilish aura and this whole demonn…ish…demon…ness…….“
His voice broke down at the process of speaking. It didn’t even need a second to see his mistake. But it was said. Aziraphale shrugged glancing up at Crowley, looking him in the eyes. And froze.
~ * ~
Oh, there he was, the angel, who had just finally took his first little babystep into insanity, realising pretty much everything what was going on between the two of them for years and years and probably for more years again.
The moment the angel looked into the hollowy depth of Crowley’s longing eyes, was the moment he finally saw. It hit him like a truck.
Centuries, millennials of pining, of caring, loving and a friendship that just wasn’t friendish enough to be just that.
And he didn‘t know, couldn’t discern the crux of the matter, because he just wasn’t insane enough to realise what was going on.
And worst of all, he realised, that Crowley, in fact, had known.
He had known all along.
~*~
A shivery breath trembled out of his lips, as he clenched his fingers around the soft cushions he sat on.
The atmosphere suddenly shifted, causing Crowley’s composture to crumble down, collapsing like a house of cards.
The room was completely still.
"...All these years, Crowley…“,
Aziraphale eventually whispered tenderly, his voice breaking down in the dryness of his throat. „…all this years…“
Crowley didn’t answer. His heart dropped down, shattering on the floor, like the cup of spiced wine he let slip out of his hands.
He didn’t need to. There was nothing he could have said, nothing he needed to explain, as it was all exposed in those few words, the angel had breathed out.
His mind was completely blank. The only thing he was capable of doing right in that moment, was to simply stare back and keeping completely still, squirming at the fiery ball of heat in his chest, crashing him down. Aziraphale eventually sighted.
„Why haven’t you told me…?“
Crowley froze in disbelief, a few seconds going by, before he finally found his voice.
„Why I…?!...I…“, he tossed his arms in the air, snarling incredulous noises, as he was searching for words, that could have described the complete bewilderment he felt. „…listen here, I…of course, how should I possibly…I did, angel, I…I DID!!“
Aziraphale squirmed.
„You’re being ridiculous, Crowley.“
„Not much more than you are!...
I…I did…“, a look of bitter disappointment crossed his face as he repeated himself. „I really…did.“
„…when?“
„I saved your books!…I…!“,
Crowley was in a loss of words as he searched for other examples he had made a point. „…I wanted us to run away together!“, he leaned forward and smiled pained at him.
Aziraphale didn’t answer, looking at him, as the corners of the demons mouth trembled in their tension. „…Alpha centauri…?“, he rasped quietly. The angel smiled a bit lost.
„Alpha centauri…“, he reiterated and shrugged. „Well, I should have known.“
Crowley cackled distortedly and reached for his cup, which wasn’t there anymore. He twitched his nose and snapped it back in his hands. The wine had grown lukewarm at its best. He still drank it, humidifying his hoarse throat. That was absolutely ridiculous. Why were they even talking about it? Aziraphale watched him gulping down the cold wine and finally shook his head, chuckled, causing Crowley to nearly snort out the dark fluid as he felt laughter bubbling up his stomach as well.
He swallowed it quickly, before he started giggling, which died in a barking cough as he choked at the wine in his gorge, leading to Aziraphale laugh even louder.
„Shut it, 'ziraphale!“, He croaked bewilderedly and slammed his cup on the table, still cackling and coughing at the same time.
„Shut it, or…“,
Aziraphale lifted his gaze, tears of laughter glistening in his eyes, causing Crowley’s words to get stuck in his vocal cords and his heart to drop down on the floor.
„…or i’ll make you.“