Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. of Good Omens is the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author of this story. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.

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"Dear boy, that can't be true."

"'Fraid so."

Aziraphale called him a liar in every way short of speaking the words. This amused Crowley to no end; even after thousands of years, and the angel knowing exactly what his favorite drinking partner was, an underlying politeness held Aziraphale back from any sort of accusation that could come off as offensive. Instead, Aziraphale eyed him with a dubious expression that sat on him about as well as an overcoat three sizes too large.

Crowley turned his head, doing his best to hide a wry smirk with a glass of merlot. He did a poor job, considering Aziraphale's dubious expression shifted into a far more practiced one of annoyance.

"Heaven help me," Aziraphale said. He paused, considered correcting the statement, but chose to plow on. "Crowley, my dear, you cannot tell me that there is such an emotion as 'hangry.'"

"Mmm," Crowley said, lowering the glass. He sat up from his lounging position on the red sofa as he fished his phone from his pocket. "I can prove it."

"Naturally," Aziraphale said, shooting the device a look of contempt. "You could will that computational phone to conjure up anything, if you were inclined."

"If I were inclined," Crowley agreed. "But I'm equal parts too sloshed and too lazy to put in the effort. I don't need to, besides."

Crowley reached over the short table between them. His companion leaned forward from his armchair as he squinted at the bright screen clutched in the demon's palm.

Aziraphale silently mouthed the words as he read the text. His eyebrows shot up.

"I'll be damned."

Aziraphale sunk back into his seat with a shake of his head.

"I honestly don't know what they get up to sometimes," the angel said, a hint of bemusement to his voice not unlike a mother who caught her child stomping through the neighbor's petunias.

"Funny," Crowley said, tucking the phone away. "Figured this would've been one you've felt before, angel."

The comment was met with an insulted scoff.

"I can tell you," Aziraphale said, fighting to push himself out of a slouch. The chair he sat in had worn itself into a rather fitted shape over the centuries – specifically, a certain angel's form after reaching a particular level of intoxication. Like any item that had been altered to fit a precise figure, it wasn't very forgiving – Aziraphale's fruitless scrambling to sit up straight was soon abandoned, leaving his declaration with far less vigor behind it than he would have liked.

"I have never!" Aziraphale said, accusingly pointing at Crowley from his cushioned indent. "I have never felt 'hangry' in my entire life."

"Nah, you get in a mood," Crowley drawled. His smile widened as the angel sputtered and waved his arms.

"I'm telling you," Aziraphale said, the only thing between him and wine-soaked trousers being divine intervention, "Now you listen here! Simple deduction states that in order to feel 'hangry,' one must also be capable of experiencing the base emotions of anger and hunger. Now we angels, you see, it's not like that. I am telling you … I am saying that angels don't feel hungry – we feel peckish."

"You feel peckish," Crowley corrected.

"That's what I said," Aziraphale agreed, taking a sip of wine. Crowley cleared his throat, deciding to let the matter slide.

"Alright, alright," Crowley said, waving dismissively. "Point is, it's a word, and you have to keep playing the game. So, who was it, angel?"

Aziraphale sighed. The pair of ethereal (or occult, depending on who you ask) beings were residing in a small nook toward the rear of Aziraphale's bookshop; all of which the angel was taking in as his eyes wandered over the worn spines and the thin, white curtains that emitted a soft glow from the waning sunset. It was a rather calming atmosphere, one which the angel took a moment to enjoy between sips of wine and his 'hums' and 'haws' in contemplation. After spending an amount of time mulling over the question that his companion viewed as being a surefire sign that the demon may have the upper hand, Aziraphale finally spoke.

"Cain."

Crowley, who had been busy grinning like an idiot, furrowed his brow.

"Cain?" he said in disbelief. "Bloody Cain, really?!"

"Well, why not?" Aziraphale said, reaching for a stray wine bottle nestled between two leather-bound encyclopedias. "He wouldn't speak to you, let alone look at me. His musings behind the whole fiasco is still rather up in the air, as it were."

"You think Cain killed his brother because he was 'hangry?!'" Crowley exclaimed.

"Well, he most certainly could have been!" Aziraphale said in defense. "Abel was the one with the mutton, as you know. And the fruits of agricultural labor were far less satisfying back then than they are now. Humans have been making modifications to shape the taste of their food for millennia, hmm? I'm sure you recall how horrid potatoes used to be back in those days."

Crowley, who hadn't cared much to try the whole 'eating' business until a certain someone invited him out to lunch in 41 AD, couldn't relate.

"Oh, no! No, no, no!" Crowley said, brandishing a finger. "That ain't no kind of justification! There's absolutely no way you can argue that the first person in all history to ever feel 'hangry' was the same bloody one to use that emotion to commit murder! Who the hell would kill their own brother over something like that?"

"Humans can behave quite irrationally when their blood sugars are too low," Aziraphale said, as if he were an expert on the matter. There was only one other person in the world who could argue that he wasn't; and said person was most certainly going to step up to the challenge. Well, more along the line of 'stagger,' considering his level of intoxication.

"Nah, Cain, see," Crowley said. "Cain, right? He was just a bastard. Mean son of a bitch. Spoiled rotten, that one. His parents had no idea what they were doin'."

"Can you honestly blame them?" Aziraphale asked. Crowley grew silent. The demon nodded in contemplation, and presented his empty glass when Aziraphale offered the bottle.

"No," Crowley said, watching the liquid churn, "'spose I can't."

The demon's expression turned sour as his companion smirked.

"Doesn't mean I agree with you, though," Crowley added. "I don't think the first human ever to feel hangry was Cain, let alone that it was motivation for him to turn his brother's skull into a fine paste."

"I would do rather well without that mental imagery, thank you," Aziraphale said.

"Oh, get off it," Crowley drawled. "You know as well as I do that it wasn't really a stone, anyway. Was that old sword of yours, wasn't it?"

A pink hue graced the angel's ears. "I can't say I recall, old chap."

"My ass."

"Let's get a wiggle on," Aziraphale said, ignoring the remark. "I do believe it's my turn to pick."

Something mischievous flashed across the angel's face before quickly being hidden behind an innocent façade. The look made Crowley's stomach do a cartwheel and his lips to part in a way that he was normally much better at hiding during moments of sobriety. Now, however, he just regarded the angel with a goofy grin.

Aziraphale sat back in his chair with an air of regality as if he were a king in his castle.

"Romantic love."

The smile fell from Crowley's face.

"Romantic lo–"

Crowley gagged. He coughed, shaking his head. "Sorry. Gotta prepare for that one," he said. Air was inhaled in a swift breath, then blown out in a raspberry.

"Red leather, yellow leather. Red leather, yellow leather. Red leather, yellow leather."

"Good God," Aziraphale said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes as he took a sip of wine.

"Oi!" Crowley said, pausing his exercise. "I gotta … It's not all that easy getting used to, you know? Like how you sayin' certain expla- explat- certain curse words get your pantaloons in a bunch."

"Pantaloons?" Aziraphale said, raising his eyebrows. "My dear, I may be set in some of my ways, but I have long since moved past pantaloons."

Crowley let out a barking laugh. "Next you're gonna tell me that you no longer have those jodhpurs."

Aziraphale bristled. "Whatever else would I wear with my riding jacket?"

"Mutton chops?" Crowley suggested. "Those were also in fashion around the time jodhpurs were, if I recall correctly."

The angel huffed. "I pulled those off rather well, thank you. And if I recall correctly, the same style paired with that black top hat you used to don in the 1800s gave you the appearance of an undertaker."

Crowley was practically beaming. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"It wasn't."

"Doesn't matter," Crowley said, waving dismissively.

Aziraphale shook his head, white-blonde curls bouncing. His companion continued to regard him with a tickled expression. The angel raised his eyebrows in a questioning manner.

"What?" he asked.

"Wah?"

Aziraphale frowned. "What are you looking at?"

"You," Crowley said. "'Spose – Nothin' else around."

"Why?"

"Dunno. You don't have a knack for décor, would be my guess."

"That's not what I meant," Aziraphale said. "Will you get on with it, then?"

"Wah?"

"You know!" Aziraphale said, exasperated.

"What do I know?" Crowley replied.

"Romantic love," Aziraphale said simply.

The faraway look on Crowley's face melted away. Aziraphale would have thought his companion had sobered up if the tell-tale sign of the wine bottles scattered about staying quite empty didn't suggest otherwise.

"You think I know that?" Crowley asked, his voice soft.

"Well, the entire point of the game is to gauge your judgement on the matter, isn't it?" Aziraphale said, explaining the concept like a mother who's unruly child was testing her patience.

"Oh right, that," Crowley said. He took a long swig of wine, his posture relaxing as if he had been released from a mold. After a moment, the demon bunched his brows, looking off into space (presumably, considering the dark lenses over his eyes). The pause wasn't as long as Aziraphale's had been while the angel was contemplating the concept of 'hangry,' which worried said angel that he had picked a topic a little too obvious. This fear was justified as Crowley suddenly sat up straighter with a steadfast expression.

"I'd like to use one of my lifelines and phone a friend, Chris."

"Chris?" Aziraphale said, puzzled. "And you have friends?"

"That was a joke, angel."

"Why in the world would you joke about having friends?" Aziraphale said.

"That wasn't the– forget it," Crowley said, waving dismissively. "And I do have friends."

"Who?"

"Shut it, I'm thinking," Crowley said. He tried crossing his arms, found the position rather uncomfortable with a wine glass digging into his armpit, and put the drink down before trying again.

"You know this isn't really my wheelhouse," Crowley finally said, after a few moments of silent contemplation.

"Well, you threw me a rather unfair emotion, in my opinion," Aziraphale said airily. "And I'm honestly surprised this is giving you so much trouble; the answer is obvious."

Crowley shrugged dramatically, letting out a long sigh. "Ugh, I dunno … Esau, I guess?"

Blue eyes widened in confusion. Crowley lifted his arms with another weak shrug.

"You don't think a single person experienced romantic love until Esau?" the angel said, regarding Crowley as if his friend's mental well-being was in question. "You do realize that humans had been around for centuries by then, don't you?"

"And?"

"And!" Aziraphale said, startled by his companion's lax expression. "How could you not think a single one of them loved each other until that point?!"

"Now I didn't say that," Crowley said, waving a finger. "This is a rather specific level of … fondness, mind. I mean, Esau's wife had a whole bloody tribe followin' her, so that probably meant she was special, yeah?"

"Well, yes, Adah was a little duck," Aziraphale agreed. "Smart as a steel trap. But that's beside the point. I mean, it should be obvious, isn't it?"

Aziraphale watched Crowley with a hopeful expression. The expression fell away as Crowley made no movement to speak.

"Adam and Eve!" Aziraphale exclaimed. This time, his wine was very successful in making a break for it toward the carpet. It didn't cross the finish line, as it were, since the liquid disappeared entirely when Crowley waved his hand in its direction.

"The two of them were ever so fond of one another," Aziraphale continued. A dreamy smile grew on his face as he remembered the pair.

Crowley scoffed. "Like they had a choice."

"They did have a choice!" Aziraphale countered. "Wasn't that literally your entire reason for sneaking into the garden?"

Crowley's hand paused halfway to picking up his glass. "Did you say 'sneak'? I didn't sneak!"

"Oh, you most certainly sneaked– Erm, uh … snuck. Yes, snuck. Snuck right in."

Crowley's lips pulled back in a snarl. "I'm telling you, angel, I walked – err, did I? Slithered? No, no, walked. Maybe – doesn't matter. Anyways, I went right through the north gate and the git guardin' it didn't say a goddamn word!"

"Well, language wasn't really being thrown around much back then, so one can't think too harshly on Vehuel for not weighing in on the matter," Aziraphale said. "But you can't blame me for having doubts that he let you pass without any grief."

"Told 'em I was there for a delivery," Crowley said, proudly. "Probably the only time in history getting in somewhere worked with that excuse besides Troy."

Aziraphale clicked his tongue in disapproval. He mirrored his companion as the two of them helped themselves to more wine.

"Whatever were we discussing?" Aziraphale asked.

"Before you were defaming my name," Crowley said. "I was correctly pointing out that your impression of Adam and Eve's relationship was a bit off the mark."

"Quite right, quite right," Aziraphale muttered, referring to Crowley's reminder of the topic. "Oh, but they loved each other," he implored. "I would know."

"But they had to, didn't they?" Crowley countered. "That's why I said they didn't have much choice. They had free will and all, but when there's literally only one other person for you to shack up with, you gotta work with what you've got."

The old armchair groaned as Aziraphale shifted. A line formed between his brows as he drummed his fingers on the tweed material.

"Well, I mean," he said, haltingly. "They did still love each other …"

"Uh-uh," Crowley said, shaking his finger. "Don't go tryna change the definition on me like you did when we were doing 'ennui.' You said romantic lo- err … affection. I don't recall Adam beltin' sonnets or Eve walking around with her head in the clouds."

"But there are many different ways of expressing romance beside that," Aziraphale said. His companion let out of flippant sound.

"And you would know," the demon spat.

Crowley's teeth clicked shut. He had spoken without much thought, and it took a few seconds for his inhibited senses to catch up. Luckily, Aziraphale didn't seem to notice the passive aggressive nature behind the statement.

"Of course," Aziraphale replied, matter-of-factly. "I've read countless novels on the subject."

"Ah," Crowley said. Aziraphale waited for him to continue, but the demon remained silent; dark lenses locked on swirling wine as he slowly rotated his wrist.

As the silence stretched on, a thought struck Aziraphale. He deflated like a punctured balloon.

"I'm sorry, my dear, I didn't realize," he said, voice soft. The swirling of wine stopped, but Crowley didn't turn his head.

"It must be … ah, a bit hard for you to relate," Aziraphale continued. "Well, ah, yes, it would be difficult for anyone not of the human nature to, I suppose. A demon, especially."

A mirthless laugh escaped Crowley's lips. "Oh, I didn't say that," he said softly.

Aziraphale blinked a few times, unsure if he heard correctly. "What in the world do you mean by that?" he asked.

"I mean that I said Esau because I recognized it," Crowley said, the words spilling out despite himself. "Because I knew what it felt like to–"

Crowley stopped. A deep frown settled over his features.

"Crowl–"

Aziraphale's statement was cut short by the sound of jostling glass as Crowley suddenly bolted to his feet. He stared at the small table before him as if it had appeared out of thin air.

"Can't be," Crowley mumbled. He spun about, stalking out of sight as he headed toward the front of the shop.

"Crowley!" Aziraphale exclaimed in alarm. He scrambled out of his seat, swaying as the world began to spin. "Oh, good Lord."

Cheeks puffed out as Aziraphale willed the alcohol to leave his system. His vision stopped spinning, and the angel regained much of his sensibilities along with a rather fuzzy feeling to his tongue.

"You're just havin' a laugh, aren't you?!" Crowley's voice echoed.

"I most certainly am not!" Aziraphale said, briskly scooting around the table.

"Before Esau!" Crowley shouted. When the demon came into view, he was standing over the large, circular rug marking the center of the shop, both wine and sun glasses out of sight. Serpentine eyes danced over the ceiling as he stared upward. A crazed look danced behind them, their yellow hue contrasting sharply with the pallor that had fallen over his face.

"Before Abraham, and Noah, and even bloody Adam," Crowley said. He threw out his arms, Aziraphale ducking to avoid being slapped across the face.

"Before that entire lot, I felt it," Crowley said. "The first one ever to feel that emotion in the entire goddamn universe … A demon. A demon, of all things, was the very first one."

"My dear boy," Aziraphale said, gently placing his hand on Crowley's shoulder. "Might want to sober up, hmm? I'm … ah, not exactly sure what this is."

"It's a joke," Crowley said. His arms fell limply to his side, but his gaze remained fixed upward. "It's a goddamned joke, is what it is."

Aziraphale cleared his throat. He gave Crowley's shoulder a reassuring pat. Rather unexpectedly, his friend's hand reached up to grasp his own.

Aziraphale's eyes tracked over Crowley's face, trying to decipher the puzzle behind the overwrought expression. Slowly, Crowley lowered his head. Yellow eyes were squeezed shut, and the demon swayed as if trying to keep his footing on the deck of a ship at sea.

"Ah," Crowley said, loosening his grip on Aziraphale. "Hate this bit."

Crowley smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as the dry sensation heralded his newfound sobriety.

"Feeling better, I hope?" Aziraphale asked, leaning over in an attempt to catch his gaze.

"No," Crowley said. He raised his eyes to meet Aziraphale's.

"You know what?" the demon said. He poked Aziraphale in the chest, the angel letting out a startled yelp. "I don't move too fast. You move too slow."

"I beg your pardon?" Aziraphale said, genuinely confused.

"I was the first one ever to feel …"

Crowley trailed off. He shook his head, running a hand through auburn hair. "Six thousand years. Six thousand years, and one almost-apocalypse later, and I'm still waiting. Oh, I bet the Almighty is laughing their ass off."

"I would ask you kindly to watch your language when speaking about the Almighty," Aziraphale said sternly. Any and all authority which may have been conveyed was quickly cancelled out by the undignified whoop escaping the angel as Crowley grasped the lapels of his jacket and forced them face-to-face.

"I win the game, angel," Crowley growled.

"Game?" Aziraphale said. "This can't possibly still be about all that. I can't say I had enough of my wits about me to keep a completely accurate tally, but I think you were … um."

Aziraphale watched, wide eyed, as Crowley lowered his head and rested it on his shoulder. The demon remained there in silence, seemingly ignoring Aziraphale's following weak inquiry if he was alright. The only thing that moved were the trembling white knuckles holding onto Aziraphale's jacket as if Crowley's very life depended on it.

The other half of this unusual interaction was at a loss for what to do. If he were dealing with just about anyone else, the angel would be quick to envelop that person in a comforting embrace. But Crowley had never been too keen on physical interaction outside of the times he was uproariously drunk. During those times, he would seem far too keen on it, but would be quick to pry himself away from an arm slung over a shoulder or a hand resting over another once he realized what he was doing. The look of panic and embarrassment etched over his features was something Aziraphale never felt needed mention. For millennia, he had chalked it up as a 'demon thing' that materialized when positive emotions got a little too far toward the 'laughing with you' category than the more commonly accepted 'laughing at you' type.

But Crowley had proven himself again and again to behave in a way that was quite contradictory to other demons. Whatever was happening, Aziraphale deduced that he couldn't use common knowledge normally applied to the eternally damned. But he couldn't use common knowledge normally applied to Crowley, either, since the closest thing Aziraphale had experienced to the demon having a breakdown was the time he heard Crowley's voice sorrowfully telling him that he had lost his best friend. And Aziraphale hadn't been much help back then, either.

"Ah," Aziraphale said, the statement accented with a weak smile. "How about I put the kettle on, hmm? How does that sound, my dear?"

The angel couldn't describe the sound his companion made, but he somehow knew that he should feel insulted.

"You're insufferable," Crowley croaked. A weight lifted from Aziraphale's shoulder.

"I can tell you, angel – with absolute certainty, mind – who the very first person was to feel romantic love."

Crowley regarded him now, searching for something across Aziraphale's features.

"Oh!" Aziraphale said in surprise. "Well, fancy that. You said lo–"

The remainder of Aziraphale's sentence died away as Crowley's lips met his. Aziraphale froze, watching wide-eyed as Crowley slowly pulled away.

"–ove," Aziraphale said, his brain unable to process much else.

"Among all the humans, the angels, the demons, and every other blasted creature out there," Crowley said, offering a sad smile, "it was me. It's the most nonsensical damn thing you've ever heard, innit?"

Aziraphale swallowed, his Adams-apple bobbing from the effort.

"Is that a rhetorical question?"

Crowley sighed. The grip on Aziraphale's cream-colored jacket finally loosened. The demon turned away, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he took a deep breath.

"Let's, ah, forget about all this, yeah?" Crowley said. "Had a few too many, I think; got a bit off track."

Crowley produced his sunglasses, flicking them open with one hand. "I've got people to irritate, plants to water, you know the drill; I'll give you a ring."

The sunglasses were reacquainted with the bridge of his nose as Crowley took quick strides toward the front of the shop.

"People, you know," Aziraphale suddenly piped up. "They, ah, well, they express themselves in many numbers of ways, don't they?"

Crowley's saunter slowed to a stop.

"I did mention before that I've read quite a bit on the subject matter, hmm?" Aziraphale continued. He cleared his throat, tugging at the lapels of his jacket. "It's one of those things I've been trying to understand – different emotions, you know. And which of them are unique to humans and which … ah … which aren't."

A smile tugged at his lips as he recalled indulging himself in a delightful conversation over crepes in France some time ago.

"Perhaps," Aziraphale said, his voice wavering. "Perhaps sometimes a person may have had a habit of putting themselves in certain situations, hoping that a particular person may materialize to 'save the day' … as it were."

Aziraphale fidgeted with his hands as he regarded Crowley's back.

"And there was always … there was always lunch," he continued, an embarrassed chuckle escaping his lips. "After some time, I was given an evident impression that conducting our chinwags over food and drink was able to prolong our interactions to a certain degree."

Crowley's head tilted slightly, but he kept his back to the angel.

"I'm afraid I got a bit too carried away with cuisine in general, after that," Aziraphale said, momentarily resting a hand on his stomach. "But I can hardly blame you, old chap. All on me, as it were. But ah … yes … aside from that, perhaps there was a level of …"

Aziraphale trailed off. He cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows. "A level of fear, and uncertainty, considering the circumstances surrounding particular … ah, particular sentiments. And what they … and what they mean."

Crowley turned to regard Aziraphale. The familiar, lax expression had returned, which the angel couldn't decide whether it put him at ease or made him all the more frazzled. Aziraphale always had a gift for picking up on emotions from places and humans, but supernatural beings were an entirely different animal. Crowley, especially, since the angel had missed something burning beneath the surface that came rushing out in waves of yearning and torment and adoration the moment their lips touched.

"You're right, you know," Aziraphale said, softly. "It may not have been you moving too fast for me, after all. I may have been the one going too slow. I didn't … I hadn't quite figured it out just yet, back in the 60s, you know. I was still … not sure. And I was, I am, an angel. That, ah, complicated things, didn't it?"

Crowley shrugged weakly. "'Spose," he said. "But it wouldn't've happened, if you had been anyone else."

Aziraphale brightened. "If I hadn't been enough of a bastard to be worth knowing, yes?"

"Just the right amount, I reckon," Crowley said, mirroring Aziraphale's expression.

"Well, if you would be so inclined to imagine," Aziraphale said, slowly moving forward. "If you could believe it, my dear, there was an undeniable motivation behind saving the world that had more precedence than what previously may have been let on. Enough precedence, that when a certain offer to run away to alpha centauri was presented, there was genuine hesitation when it came to rebutting the proposition."

Crowley's smile grew bittersweet. "You made the right choice, angel," he said. "You're just the right amount of bastard – there isn't enough of it in you for you to turn your back on the humans. And I wouldn't want you to change that for anything, even me."

"I'm pleased to hear it," Aziraphale said as he stopped at his side. "I've been myself for a very long time now, and as you know, it takes quite a spell to make any adjustments."

A gentle tug at his sleeve prompted Crowley to pull his hand out of his pocket, and he soon found it enveloped in a warm, soft grip as fingers intertwined. Aziraphale had done this once before on the bus ride after they faced down Satan; before they had hashed out a plan to outwit their respective offices. Crowley had assumed back then that the gesture had been prompted by fear, more than anything, and have given in to his own desires for physical contact under this excuse. He hadn't been able to trust himself to keep certain things buried if he allowed any more than that.

"And for the life of me," Aziraphale said, raising his brows. "I have no earthly idea why you ever would have developed such feelings for an angel who seems to make the wrong decision at every turn. I dare say, I've been rather doubtful of my own usefulness since Armageddon was prevented more by the humans doing their own thing than through any meddling on my part."

Crowley regarded Aziraphale with a tender expression.

"I find your incompetence rather endearing," he said. A playful smile grew on his face as Aziraphale frowned.

"That's what did it in for me, after all. When you told me you gave that sword away – I thought, 'yeah, this one ain't so bad. Not so good, either.' And I knew that I was gonna stick with you from there on out."

"Crowley," Aziraphale said, furrowing his brow. "My dear, we had only spoken a few words to each other at the time."

"The heart wants what it wants," Crowley said, shrugging. "Not my place to dispute it; couldn't really bring myself to file a complaint with the manufacturer, anyway– too much paperwork."

Aziraphale chuckled. "Well, I apologize for the wait. Things got uh … bottlenecked in production, as it were."

"That's putting it lightly," Crowley said. "I pined, angel. Me. Pining. It was pitiful– you should feel ashamed."

"It wasn't a walk in the park for me either, you know," Aziraphale countered. "An ethereal being falling in love is unprecedented– the only extended reference material on the subject matter had to do with the Greek gods, and there was absolutely no way I was following their example." The angel shuddered at the thought.

"That's too bad," Crowley said. "I got a thing for swans."

Aziraphale sighed. "You're insufferable."

"You like it."

"No objections."

Crowley smiled, bringing his face to Aziraphale's. He pulled away a moment later.

"You're supposed to close your eyes when snogging, you know," Crowley said.

"Oh," Aziraphale said. "My apologies, old chap. Give it another go, if you like."

"Nah," Crowley said, straightening. "We've got the time to get it right."

"The rest of eternity, if we're so inclined," Aziraphale said, beaming. Crowley leaned forward, wrapping the angel in an embrace.

"Sounds good to me."

It was only fitting, after all, that the first being in existence to feel romantic love should also be the last.