Hey! First thing I've written for Good Omens.

Pretty recently, a friend and I had a massive argument which inspired the first part of this story. Unlike Aziraphale and Crowley, we didn't makeup, there was no happy ending. Good thing I can do what I want in fanfiction!

Please enjoy~

"Angel," Crowley tried, in that pleading voice, the one that spoke of ages and thousands of years of difficulty, but Aziraphale didn't fall for it, not this time. "You're being difficult for no reason."

"No reason?" Aziraphale almost spat. It wasn't often angels got their feathers ruffled, but if his were showing they would have been spread out, fluttering lightly with how upset he was. Crowley scoffed, making noises in the back of his throat like he was trying to figure out what he should say next.

"You're blowing this all out of proportion," Crowley tried, like he could gain some of the ground back that was quickly spilling out from underneath him. Aziraphale crossed his arms over his chest, trying to keep the heat in his chest contained.

"I've done nothing wrong here!" Crowley brought an arm up, dismissing Aziraphale like the angel would disappear into nothing.

His attempts to keep the anger quickly boiling in his chest contained all fell for naught at that moment.

"You've done nothing wrong? You're a demon," Aziraphale started first, mentally thinking it should explain everything but it didn't. "It takes two people to argue, my dear, you've kept this going. You've dismissed everything I've felt, you refuse to take any blame, you won't listen. You won't even give me time to think!"

"You're the one who wanted to have this talk and dig up everything. Leave it in the dirt with the bones of the dead and let's move on." Crowley shrugged, and that anger that was so quick to rise in Aziraphale's chest and refused to leave, flared up hotter.

"That's not how real life works, that's not how any of this works. You've avoided me the last two hundred years because you needed to take a 'break' and deal with what you're dealing, and now that you're suddenly ready to talk, I'm supposed to make myself ready and available again?"

They stood in silence, Aziraphale arms crossed, Crowley, fidgeting with his hands, unsure of what to say. After a moment, the angel sighed, not missing how the demon in front of him perked up at the noise.

"You hurt me, Crowley. Then you come in here and dismiss it, yes I know I brought on the whole argument, I know that I was the one with the problem. But you brought up so many issues, made me feel like everything I said I was overreacting to, didn't even give me a chance to explain it. Then, after two hundred years of being absent, you show up like it's no big deal and I should be ready to talk. I'm not. And you forcing it like this isn't making it any better. Why couldn't you give me the time you gave yourself?"

Silence, it ruled over the bookstore he owned with such gravity that Aziraphale could have heard a page turn. There were no humans in the store, it was too late for that, but even the silence of the night was heavy upon them.

"Angel, I never meant to make you feel that way," Crowley spoke softly. "But you attacked me. I want to get past this. Things were better before."

Aziraphale didn't speak once more. It was an argument. No matter what happened, they were going to walk away with hurt feelings, a change in the friendship, a change in everything. It was a fire that would burn, marring what it touched with black trails of smoke, leaving glowing embers in its wake that would take time to cool until they were safe enough to handle.

"Really, my dear?" Aziraphale murmured, turning slightly to face the demon. His eyes, those snake like eyes that were beautiful in their own way, were slightly wide.

Crowley looked away. Head tilted slightly to the side and jaw set for a moment before it relaxed. Perhaps this was going on too long. Aziraphale sighed, the noise coming out loudly through his nose as he debated, not for the first time, on being the first to apologize.

And yet that was so tiring. First to apologize. First to try to make amends. First to lay down and let everyone do what they want. His brothers did it to him all the time, Gabriel always mocking what human interests he had, trying to get him to be more like an angel, not bound by those sins they said brought down mankind.

For once, for the first time, Aziraphale wanted to be the angel in control, who didn't back down and gave in so everyone would be happy.

"I'm a demon, angel." Crowley, tilted his head back in Aziraphale's direction, and Aziraphale never wanted to spit out more that it wasn't an excuse, Crowley knew what was going to hurt him-

"I'm sorry I've hurt you so much."

And the anger was gone. His wings, the white and fluffy things that fluttered with excitement or drooped down when he was upset, nearly hit a bookcase behind him as he jumped. Anger never stayed long with angels, at least that's what humans believed, despite how they were made in God's image, of the righteous rage that God often felt at her own creations, and somehow angels weren't meant to feel that.

It fled him in a rush that left his wings drooping, the bottom feathers scraping against the ground as his face relaxed. Anger never really suited him anyways.

Crowley always did move too fast for him. This time it came in two easy steps of the demons long legs, crowding around him in the smell of ash and fresh air, two scents that truly shouldn't mingle together but somehow did. Aziraphale held perfectly still, thinking of all the other times when the demon had crowded against him, or been close, and yet it still didn't stop the skip in his heartbeat or the flush in his cheeks.

"People are going to come in and see us like this," Aziraphale warned softly. His hands didn't move. People often came in and out of the bookstore, and his mind left him as he desperately tried to remember if he had flipped the open sign to closed.

"It wouldn't be the first time," Crowley muttered. "Listen, angel, I'm a demon, I don't feel, I don't get along well with others, I don't do this! I'm not a good being, you've known that since day one."

"I've never tried to change you, Crowley." Aziraphale didn't want that. "Do you remember back in Venice?"

Crowley's eyes flashed, dropping Aziraphale like he had muttered some curse that Aziraphale didn't care to hear. Aziraphale fixed his coat, the same coat that Crowley had helped him keep in perfect condition for hundreds of years, his hands trying to press out wrinkles that wouldn't come undone without a good ironing session.

Memories came to Aziraphale slowly. He remembered opened curtains letting in a breeze and warm air wafting in, the smell of olive oil that he dipped bread in for a late lunch, and Crowley, his head resting in Aziraphale's lap, orange curls spread out, the demon as content as he could be, all in a moment that they could forget that they were supposed to be on opposite sides of a war they had never wanted to fight.

He had asked questions too.

"My dear," Aziraphale said softly, hand reaching out, placing itself gently on Crowley's arm. "It's been six thousand years. If I didn't care for you, I wouldn't be here."

Crowley turned away, lips pinching like he tasted something sour, but he didn't pull away. It wasn't like Aziraphale was telling the other—-even though he thought it—-that he was nice. This was Aziraphale, saying softly, after six thousand years that maybe, just maybe—-

It wasn't all one sided.

"I thought I went too fast for you," Crowley muttered. It wasn't bitter, no it was soft, and not malicious.

Hell, Aziraphale has heard the way that Crowley has talked to his plants before, he knows what the demon can sound like when he's mad.

"Sometimes, my dear," Aziraphale admits. "You drive your car like a maniac."

The choked noise of laughter would have made even the coldest of hearts melt, even a little bit.

Six thousand years and he didn't think he'd ever get used to the way Crowley smiled. Ir the way the demon helped him out when things went wrong. How even though they were on opposite sides of a war they never chose, Crowley always seemed to be on his side.

"I," Crowley said, his hand on Aziraphale's wrist, "am going to kiss you."

He paused though, lips slightly parted, bent forward slightly, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. It took Aziraphale a moment longer to realize what he was pausing for, and it made Aziraphale's cheeks flush the lightest of pinks.

He doesn't have anything to lose at this point.

Gentle fingers brought Crowley's face down, to the angle that he wanted, the demon following easily, complaint. Aziraphale couldn't say what he was waiting for, but the fact that Crowley was waiting, still, for him, made his chest warm, like he had taken a long sip of hot chocolate on a too cold day.

"You're wrong, my dear," Aziraphale murmured, looking past the hurt look that flashed over his demons face. "I am going to kiss you."

He had to stretch to the tips of his toes, his breath ghosting over Crowley's face for a moment before their lips met, chaste, pressing softly against each other. The demon let out a little hum, hands going around Aziraphale's waist, their embrace just as soft as their kiss.

It was six thousand years in the waiting, as they finally did what so many humans had thought they had been doing for years, and it was so worth the wait.

Crowley didn't press for more, surprisingly enough. He pulled back after a moment, still as close as ever, and Aziraphale realized he was still wearing those sunglasses to cover his eyes. It was almost comical, how much Crowley tried to hide that part of him.

"Your eyes are lovely," Aziraphale said, reaching up to slide Crowley's glasses off his face. The demon did nothing to stop him.

"Well, humans don't appreciate the sight of them." It sounded like a defense, but it was the truth. Humans would hate the sight of them. And Crowley, much like Aziraphale, liked being around them.

Instead of replying, Aziraphale leaned up again, pressing a much welcomed kiss to Crowley's waiting lips. The demon let out a soft noise, his fingers digging into Aziraphale's back, probably wrinkling the coat he had on.

The demon pulled back after a moment, laying his head against Aziraphale's shoulder, breath coming out hot against his neck, moist but not unpleasant. His hand went up to Crowley's hair after a moment, gently running through soft red locks.

It was comforting, and warm, and Aziraphale finally pulled back, fixing his coat and clearing his throat a little. Crowley stayed where he was, hands shoved in his pockets, as awkward as if he had been told to get out.

"There's a little shop in Surrey that makes the most delightful curry." Aziraphale made sure the sign on the front of his shop was flipped to closed as he turned back to the demon. "Would you want to go with me?"

Crowley nodded, a small but delightful smile on his lips as he stalked forward, holding the door open for Aziraphale before the angel could get it himself.

"Try to keep your driving somewhat controlled this time, my dear," Aziraphale warned. He could almost hear Crowley rolling his eyes as he got into the drivers side. "I'm serious."

"Don't be such a worrywart." Crowley pressed on the gas, not nearly as hard as he normally did, but still sending them flying down the street all the same. "We're not going to die anytime soon."

Aziraphale let a chuckle escape him before he stifled the rest of his laughter. It seemed silly that he had waited six thousand years to kiss the demon next to him, to hold and touch him like he was the only thing that mattered.

They had the rest of eternity to make up for lost time though.