Crowley felt better. Well rested, if not less somewhat bewilderingly high strung. He was aware – as well as grateful and embarrassed (1) – that Aziraphale had used a wide range of strategies to ensure he'd gotten a good amount of sleep throughout the past week.(2)

[1 But still less ashamed than when he'd woken up in the morning after the Star Wars evening, half-lying on Aziraphale and hoping that he hadn't drooled on the angel's shoulder (he was pretty sure he had) or that, at least, Aziraphale hadn't noticed it (Someone, have mercy!).

2 Like inviting him for tea time, making him comfortable on the sofa and reading out loud from what was undoubtedly the most boring book from his collection.]

As for the angel, he was looking forward to the end of the series, hoping Crowley had given up the idea of discovering some hidden message in the last episode.

It did include an answer, though, but for Aziraphale. He couldn't say it had haunted him, but he was glad to find out he'd sent the air base sergeant to his family home. He should make people disappear more often, actually.(3) It was fun. Amazing how a critical situation makes one learn about oneself.

[3 He made a mental list of a handful of stubborn regular customers.]

Newton would have agreed, if Matthew Lewis's delightful air when all the computers shut down was any indication.(4)

[4 When he'd mentioned James Bond, Crowley had looked at him like one would at someone wearing the same fan t-shirt as them in a convention.]

It was frightening to be reminded how close the Apocalypse had been to occurring. If Anathema had been less clever and the Them less brave, if Beelzebub and the Metatron had convinced the exhausted boy…

"Angel, I must say, your speech was outstanding."

"Oh, dear, only because you brilliantly followed suit."

"No, really, casting doubt on the Divine Plan was so smart."

"I borrowed that from you. You're always so good at making me question it."

"I mean, okay, Adam's free will and all that but... He was about to crack. Without us…"

"They were so lucky we were there."

"We saved the world, no less."

They exchanged a self-satisfied look.

The series somehow differed and praised their feat a bit stingily, highlighting Adam's contribution instead.

"We can clearly see who wrote this," Crowley taunted.

But they willingly recognised they owed him. "I know all about you two. Don't you worry" sounded like a reiterated, comforting promise. Unsettling, too, since the boy playing Adam oddly seemed to speak directly to them through the screen.

We are the Champions stopped short as the ground started cracking, letting yellow smoke gush.

"I shouldn't have asked you to come with me. It was your boss. And you had only a tyre iron, for Christ's sake!" said Aziraphale, his voice filled with remorse, as if he'd just realised it. "But… I couldn't have done it without you."

"No way I'd have let you fight alone. And… you made me feel free."

Free and trustworthy. The most precious gift he'd ever been given.

Richard Ayoade was holding out his hand to Riz Ahmed. That didn't look so hard. Manageable, if Crowley avoided waffling back and forth, for once. With a hopeful and inviting look, he moved his hand on the couch, palm up, toward the angel's. Aziraphale took it, a quiet smile replacing his briefly surprised air.

He'd looked so fearsome that day, brandishing his flaming sword and standing resolutely, his wings unfurled. It was only fair that Richard was the coolest one in this scene. Not that Crowley was worrying about it for now. Aziraphale's hand was warm in his. Everything was fine.

And since, this time, nobody pushed them apart, they held hands until Adam's human father arrived instead of his other father, until the world was safe and until the Water Music led in to a sunny Sunday morning.

.

"Not too painful?" asked Crowley, as Newton and Anathema burned the Further Nice and Accurate Prophecies.

"Not in the slightest. I'd bet my collection of snuffboxes that all the pages were blank. Besides, I'm done with books of predictions."

"That's why the substitution of your books didn't sadden you?"

"I miss those that Oscar gave to me. But, you know, I'd have known, deep down, that they weren't the same. Those children's books are actually quite amusing. And they're valuable first editions."(5)

[5 Of course they attracted more children to his shop. But he had no qualms about glaring at them as well.]

"You're irredeemable."

Aziraphale ignored him and frowned at the screen. "Is that part of our conversation in St James's made up? I don't remember we talked about the Ineffable Plan."(6)

[6 If they could have remembered, they would have noticed that their talk had been slightly altered. But only a certain tall stranger could have attested to that.]

Crowley tried to dissipate the mist enveloping his memory, but it was hard to focus with Aziraphale sitting that close, making him confusedly want something. The hell if Crowley knew what it was.

"Our lunch at the Ritz was real, though," resumed Aziraphale. "What a delightful time we had, didn't we?" This didn't really require an answer, but Crowley's silence was heavy. Aziraphale questioningly turned to him. Crowley's ashen face was alarming. "Dear?" He didn't react. What was so… The song. He was listening to the song the pianist at the Ritz was singing.

How could he know we two were so in love?

The whole darn world seemed upside down.

The streets of town were paved with stars,

It was such a romantic affair.

And as we kissed and said goodnight,

A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square.

Aziraphale's brain stumbled over the lyrics.

"Are they… implying… we're... in love?" Unconsciously, he slowly lifted a hand up to cover his mouth. After a moment in which he could do nothing but blankly stare at the screen, he rested his hand at the base of his neck and forcibly moved his thoughts out of their rut. He was familiar enough with subtext to know the answer to his question. It was just a way to delay the real one. "Are we?"

Aziraphale's voice wasn't much more than a whisper, but Crowley flinched nonetheless. They nervously looked at each other, dumbfounded and somewhat apprehensive.

"Are you... in love with me?" they asked in unison.

"You answer first!" Crowley hurried on.

From the very moment he'd heard the song, he'd known. It was like someone had finally switched on the unlit neon he'd been restlessly circling, unsuccessfully trying to decipher, for several weeks. The series had made him aware of its presence, but he took for granted that it had been in his mind, inconspicuous, concealed under the lies he'd always excelled at telling himself, for God knew how long. Now the neon was flashing on and off saying "I'M IN LOVE WITH AZIRAPHALE!" in huge letters that couldn't have been more obvious if they'd been underlined twice.

But he couldn't run the risk of confessing it and exposing himself to Aziraphale's response. In a fraction of a second, he'd imagined each of his possible reactions, and how almost all of them would ruin their relationship, either shattering or slowly eroding it.

Everything in the angel's face was conveying something like, "Okay since you want me to answer, I'm going to do it." He stood up and took a few steps away from the couch. Then he stopped, his back turned, messing up his already untidy hair with a hesitant hand.

His unbearable prolonged silence was anything but a good omen.

Eventually he said awkwardly, without turning around, "I'm sorry..."

Oh no. Crowley closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. No, please, no.

"I'm sorry… I wish I could answer straight away but… I have to be absolutely sure first."

Aziraphale knew he loved Crowley. Friendship is a form of love. But was he in love with Crowley? This was such a human feeling. Could angels fall in love?

"Do you understand?" he added guiltily, facing his friend at last.

Crowley nodded almost imperceptibly, his eyes riveted on his lap. God, he looked so miserable. Like he was about to be sentenced to death.

God! Crowley was in love with him!

Aziraphale struggled to get a grip on himself. He couldn't allow that to influence his answer. It shouldn't sway his thought. It wouldn't be fair. If he answered lightly, in one way or the other, Crowley would be hurt, now or later. Because Crowley was in love with him. And the last thing Aziraphale wanted to do was hurt him.

Heck, how was he supposed to think rationally about the difference between friendship and romance with all this bliss expanding in his chest?

Crowley was in love with him.

The angel didn't know if he was on the verge of crying tears of joy, letting out a victory roar, or laughing euphorically. Perhaps all three at once.

This was the answer he was looking for. So simple, so evident.

He gazed at Crowley. At the dark hair, a lock falling across his lowered forehead. At the no less dark eyelashes, now allowing only a glimpse of his downcast, beautiful, golden eyes. At the slender, graceful hands he was wringing nervously.

He knew all this by heart. And yet it seemed so new.

Dizzy, he wondered why he was still foolishly standing there, so dreadfully far away from Crowley, when he wanted nothing more than to hug him and to share with him this wondrous revelation.

He was in love with Crowley.

.

Aziraphale knelt in front of him and took him so suddenly, so tightly in his arms that it knocked out of Crowley the breath he'd been holding.

"Oh, Crowley. Yes. Yes, I love you. I'm in love with you."

Aziraphale's words were interspersed with hysterical laughs and, for a few seconds,

Crowley was stunned, unsure he'd heard him right. But the angel didn't let him go, repeating those marvelous, exhilarating words again and again, in an increasingly steady voice, until Crowley allowed himself to believe them and melt into the embrace.

"Aziraphale?"

"Yes."

"I love you too," said Crowley, grinning ecstatically into the angel's thick curls.

He'd almost forgotten how strong Aziraphale was under his deceptively mild appearance. Ah well, Crowley's ribs could be healed later.

Aziraphale finally loosened his clasp, but he couldn't bear to end this intoxicating contact. He was drunk with his friend's scent and warmth, and Crowley's body pressed against his was making his stomach flutter and his skin tingle in an utterly pleasant way.

It was a familiar sensation, he realised in amazement. Stronger, but similar to how he'd felt every time he'd touched Crowley since… he couldn't remember when.

"How could I have been so blind?" he murmured.

"Aren't you meant to be some sort of expert in love?" Crowley teased fondly.

"Clearly not for myself. Or, at least, not this kind of love. It's so…"

Crowley slightly disentangled himself from Aziraphale and gave him a knowing look.

"Human?"

"Yes."

They stared into each other's eyes, unable to restrain a broad, radiant smile, until Crowley said in an amused voice, "Are you planning on kneeling there till the next End of the World? You can release me to sit back on the couch, you know. I'm not going anywhere."

Aziraphale sat next to him, even closer than before. But now, Crowley knew exactly what he wanted.

"Angel…" Funny how this sounded different now. Or maybe not so different. Not the right time to ponder on it, anyway. "While we're at this human business… do you think we could…" Crowley felt his cheeks and ears get hot. He was maybe pushing his luck. But, nothing ventured… "What I mean is… would you mind if… if I ki-mpfmmmh"

Sweet Somebody. Aziraphale was kissing him. Crowley pulled himself together and kissed him back. Perhaps he should tilt his head a little. Yes, better. Aziraphale's lips parted and they grazed Crowley's in such a thrilling- Oh. Oh. Okay, okay, what was he supposed to do with his tongue, precisely? Twisting? Clockwise or not? He felt like a perfect idiot. Six thousand years on Earth and he'd never thought about practising. Reassuringly, Aziraphale was no expert either.

Ah, for Earth's sake! Couldn't Crowley's brain just shut up for once, and let him enjoy the moment? Aziraphale was solid against him, steady. He slipped an arm around Crowley, anchoring him firmly. The demon relaxed. There was no shame in letting his angel call the shots.

It was clumsy, and wet, and absolutely wonderful.

Crowley's fingers clung to Aziraphale's jumper. Never let him go. Never stop kissing him. But soon, too soon, the angel pulled away, eyes shining and cheeks exquisitely pink.

Emboldened, Crowley closed the gap and, tightening his grip on his jumper, pulled him into another kiss. Aziraphale seemed more than happy to oblige.

Crowley felt more confident this time. He'd always been a quick learner. And a tongue able to do weird things was definitely a valuable asset. His other hand slid along Aziraphale's jaw to his hair. The demon revelled in the soft moan he elicited. Oh, he could so easily get addicted to this.

But kissing is hard when both parties are beaming that much. Keen as they were on making it last, they had to break the kiss when Aziraphale started laughing softly. A laugh so incredibly overjoyed that Crowley couldn't help but follow suit. Forehead against forehead, they remained oblivious to the ending of the programme, until the first notes of the closing theme made them blink at the television screen, just in time to catch the last images.

Disobeying his father, Adam escaped from the garden, an apple in his hand, eagerly looking for new adventures. He winked, facing the camera. Then a fade to black shifted to the credit roll.

"Full circle," murmured Aziraphale.

"He knew, right? About us," said Crowley in a low, cautious voice. "Do you think it was what he meant by You'll understand, at the end?"

"It would be a little presumptuous to assume he wrote a whole script for this purpose. But we can't exclude it was one of his goals."

"And the Ineffable Plan?"

"What about the Ineffable Plan?" Aziraphale asked unenthusiastically. He was hoping to do a lot of activities with Crowley that were more pleasurable than talking about the Ineffable Plan.

"No answers?"

"Only questions. We have to make up our own answers, I guess."

"Another of Adam's goals? Using an outwardly purely entertaining story to make people think?"

"Well, he does that all the time through his job. That's why his books are good. Anyway, he was right."

"About?"

"It's all for the best. Or at least, it would be if you could stop asking questions for a moment and kiss me instead."

Crowley made a point of wiping that smirk off Aziraphale's lips with a long, passionate kiss worthy of a James Bond movie.

"They should've concluded the series with a kiss," he eventually said, magnanimously granting to the angel a short respite to collect himself. "It's always a good ending for a story."

Aziraphale smiled, tenderly running his thumb over Crowley's cheekbone. "Rather a good beginning."