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Crowley had always enjoyed giving Aziraphale gifts. Favorite foods, good alcohol, chocolates, even flowers. But he’d never given Aziraphale something handmade.
He kicked up his feet on the sofa arm as he laid back, staring at the red socks that Aziraphale had knitted for him recently. They were ridiculously soft and comfortable, so perfect that he wore them basically whenever he was in the flat. He also brought them along to the shop if they were gonna just hang out, and Aziraphale invariably got even more cuddly.
Crowley wanted to give his angel something like this, something meaningful and personal. The trouble was, he had no idea what.
Or, more accurately, he had plenty of ideas. Just no experience with most of them.
Crowley could be impulsive, yeah, but he was also a perfectionist. When he’d been an angel, he could spend absolute ages fiddling with his creations. Tweaking the radiation levels in one spot of a nebula to make it glow more brightly, for instance. He’d gotten in loads of trouble for that.
And perfectionism had stopped him from actually picking a project now. He’d gotten ideas. Had a whole long list of ideas, in fact—some things he knew how to do, others he’d considered learning.
But none of them stood out to him as perfect, and so decision paralysis had landed him here. Supposed to be picking up Aziraphale for a date in twenty minutes, and Crowley still didn’t have a cool gift.
“Nnnnh, shit.” There was no possible way he could actually make something for Aziraphale now. Technically, he could stop time and tackle a project. But he couldn’t keep time standing still for long enough to create anything good.
Which left him pretty low on options, at least as far as personal gifts went. He couldn’t even draw anything decent in that amount of time, and drawing was something he already knew how to do.
“You’ve gotta be able to pull something together. Come on.” He pursed his lips, irritated with himself. He couldn’t let Aziraphale down, not even when the angel wasn’t expecting anything.
The trouble was that Crowley hadn’t created much since those days of designing stars and sculpting nebulae. He’d dabbled from time to time, learned how to do some stuff. In Mesopotamia, he’d learned to make cool clay beads. And hanging out in Florence during the Renaissance had taught him loads about drawing and painting.
But usually, making things just brought up memories of his celestial creations. Memories that hurt, that made him want to grab for a bottle of scotch and drain the whole thing in one go. Which was probably the other reason he’d frozen up in the decision stage.
He did have one thing that might work, though. It wasn’t remotely the same as hand-knitted socks, but it was the closest he had right now. Something more personal than wine, at least.
After the world didn’t end, Crowley had started growing different plants. Before that, when he had to worry about unwelcome guests, he’d stuck strictly to plants that didn’t flower. Or, if they normally flowered, they didn’t dare do so under his roof. Growing flowers wasn’t a demonic thing to do, unless they were poisonous or something. Now, though…
He gnawed on his lip, eyeing the roses on the balcony.
Within a few minutes, he was in the Bentley racing to the shop. Always a quick drive, practically just down the block. He hopped out and tucked one hand behind his back, then knocked on the door.
He didn’t usually knock, and Aziraphale opened the door with a slightly furrowed brow. “Hello, dear boy. Do come in.”
“Ibroughtyousomething,” Crowley said in a rush.
Aziraphale blinked a few times. “Sorry?”
“Nnnh. I, er.” Crowley held out the roses, heart pounding with a rising tide of panic. Maybe being impulsive wasn’t working out in his favor this time. “I brought you something. These. I know they’re not cool hand-knitted socks, but…”
“Oh! Oh, Crowley…” Aziraphale took the bouquet and gazed at it, tears misting his eyes. “Oh, they’re so beautiful. Did you grow these?”
“Yep. I, er. I like flowers. I wanted to—nnnnh—to…” Oh Somebody, he was fumbling this whole blasted explanation, tripping all over himself. Crowley shoved his hands deep in his pockets. “Like with the socks. Wanted to make you something, couldn’t decide what. Sorry.”
“Oh, dear boy.” Expression full of emotion, Aziraphale reached to cup his cheek. The angel’s plump thumb stroked back and forth, and Crowley sank into the touch. “This is simply wonderful. I’m so thrilled that you brought me something you grew.”
“Yeah?” There was no doubting the sincerity in that voice, and Crowley relaxed a little. “I really did wanna, y’know. Make something. Guess I altered these a bit, does that count? I miracled away the thorns so you couldn’t hurt yourself.”
“Oh, Crowley! My dearest, you think of everything.” Careful not to crush the roses, Aziraphale wrapped Crowley in a tight hug. “I love them so much. This makes me so happy.”
The angel gave a little sniffle, and Crowley hugged him back. He slid his fingers through the light curls, rubbed Aziraphale’s back. “M’ glad you’re happy. Didn’t mean to make you cry, mind.”
“Oh, it’s just…” Aziraphale’s arms tightened until Crowley couldn’t breathe. “It’s so sweet of you. And yes, I know demons aren’t sweet and so on, but still. I feel so lucky. I-I don’t know how I ever came to deserve this.”
A soft sob. Crowley’s eyes filled with tears, and he cradled Aziraphale’s head to his shoulder. “This isn’t The Sound of Music, angel. You don’t have to do ‘something good’ for me to love you.”
Aziraphale squeaked in surprise, and a bolt of panic blasted through Crowley’s entire body. Ohshitohshitohshit. He had not meant to say that, not like that. Not now, not this quickly. And…
“Nnnngh, sorry. I, uh. Wow. Did not meant to tell you that by referencing The Sound of Music of all the blasted things,” Crowley said awkwardly as Aziraphale pulled back and gazed at him with big, startled eyes. A tear ran down the plump cheek. “Aziraphale?”
“You…you love me?” Aziraphale whispered, arms still wrapped around him. “Really?”
“‘My feelings are true, I really love you’,” Crowley said softly. The Bentley would approve, at any rate, and Queen was a better reference than a musical Aziraphale hated. “Remember that song? The car played it at us when we were driving home the other day. ‘You’re my best friend’.”
He half-sang the last line, and Aziraphale gave a quiet laugh and smiled. “I-I do recall, and-and-and you’re certainly my best friend as well. Um.” A hard swallow, a shaky exhale. “I love you too, Crowley.”
Crowley’s legs went weak as the emotion swept over him, and he grinned. Tears escaped, which would leave spots on his sunglasses, but he didn’t care. He dragged Aziraphale back into a tight hug, showering kisses to his head and neck.
“Love you so much,” he whispered against Aziraphale’s ear. “M’ really glad you like the roses.”
A tear landed on Crowley’s shoulder, but Aziraphale was giggling with joy. “I do, dear boy. They’re a gift from you, after all.”