Chapter Text
Aziraphale eased back into bed as gently as possible, angling so he was sitting propped up against the headboard. His efforts to slip back unnoticed turned out to be in vain as he was greeted with an unintelligible groan of complaint from Crowley who rolled over and fumbled until he had managed to maneuver his head into Aziraphale’s lap.
“It’s still early,” Aziraphale murmured indulgently as he carded his fingers through the red hair that was now so conveniently within reach. “Sleep, dearest. Dream of whatever you like best.”
“That’s just you,” Crowley grumbled as he shifted the rest of his body closer.
With a soft hum of acknowledgement, Aziraphale set the book he had brought back with him on the bed and opened it.
The creaking of the leather cover caught Crowley’s attention, though he kept his eyes closed. “Good book?” His voice was still rough from sleep, causing the words to slur together.
“One of my favorites,” Aziraphale responded quietly, on the off chance that his companion might still desire to nod off again.
“Read to me?”
Love welled up in Aziraphale, strong and warm, a feeling so big it was almost overwhelming in the best possible way. In his past life, before he traveled among the stars, he hadn’t ever imagined this kind of happiness. “I would if it had words.”
Curiosity piqued, Crowley wriggled until he could catch a glimpse of what lay open beside them. Not a novel, but a photo album. “It’s today,” he said, sounding surprised by the realization, “the anniversary.”
“Indeed,” Aziraphale agreed, taking a moment to admire him before he turned his attention back to the open page.
The first picture was the two of them stepping off the rescue shuttle, Crowley half turned back, ready to offer Aziraphale assistance if needed. It had been taken a year ago. The next few pages were all pulled from public appearances because the early days had been hectic and stressful and neither of them had thought to snap photos of themselves together. Despite the fact that the images were all taken by strangers, they still revealed a lot, and Aziraphale liked the reminders they provided. He was always the photographer’s intended focus, but Crowley was inevitably tucked in somewhere in the background if you knew where to look. Most reporters took him for personal security, or an assistant based on the way he hovered nearby and brought fresh tea whenever Aziraphale’s cup ran empty.
The first official shot of them as a couple was one Crowley had snapped outside of the restaurant where they had their first date. He had sidled up and practically purred in Aziraphale’s ear, ‘Picture, angel?’ . The question had caught him off guard, so instead of facing towards the phone that was held out in front of them, Aziraphale was gazing up at Crowley, every bit of the fondness he was feeling evident on his face.
After that came more reminders of the early days of their relationship. Mostly shots of them together, but some they had taken of each other individually. Aziraphale had never been much for taking photographs before. Apparently the presence of a compelling subject made all the difference. Something about Crowley just begged to be captured and saved up to be admired later. They passed images of him barefoot on a beach with his pants rolled up, stretched out on a picnic blanket dozing, and leaning proudly against his vintage car.
“Have I seen this one before?” Crowley asked, brushing his fingertips over a photo of them side by side on a park bench. Aziraphale was looking smugly at the camera while Crowley was laughing with his head back and eyes closed, completely unaware that the moment was being preserved. The pure joy in his expression was breathtaking.
“You helped me put this album together,” Aziraphale told him in lieu of an answer.
He paused his page turning to linger on a group photo. It had been taken outside of the Ritz the evening the news of the impending sale of Eden’s Gate had been announced publicly. Crowley and Aziraphale were leaning into each other while Anathema, Adam, Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale crowded in on either side of them. There had been a bit of general disagreement about how exactly they had managed to secure a last minute table. Anathema had insisted it was fate looking out for them, while Crowley had argued for a mix of a lucky, last minute cancellation and excellent connections.
The images that followed included more variety, since the transfer of Eden’s Gate’s ownership to Portent had cleared the way for them to return to work on the Guardian project. There were pictures of them each in their respective offices. Aziraphale’s was spacious with a whole wall of windows while Crowley had insisted on returning to the cramped confines of his old control room despite multiple attempts to convince him to take an upgrade. In the end, it hardly mattered, since they practically lived in each other’s pockets, it was rare that Crowley spent much time in the cave of a room anyway.
“I can’t believe you talked me into including that one,” Aziraphale muttered as he quickly tried to move past one photo in particular.
Crowley’s hand shot out, caught the page and flipped it back. The image showed Aziraphale, his cheeks pleasantly flushed, leaning heavily into Crowley’s chest. They both wore cheeky grins and the background was very obviously a janitor’s closet.
“I’ll have you know, snogging in a closet on the company dime is a cherished memory of mine,” Crowley said as he tapped a finger gently against the visual reminder.
“I have no doubt.” Aziraphale tried to sound admonishing, but he knew there was too much warmth in his voice to properly manage it.
Next came Thanksgiving. They had been enthusiastically invited to join Anathema’s family, since Crowley no longer had any close relatives of his own. It had taken a while to sort out their attendance because Crowley had seemed oddly eager to go, yet Aziraphale was aware he had declined a standing invite for all previous years. When they finally stopped talking around the issue and both faced it head on, Crowley had admitted that he had been isolating himself for a long time without really making a conscious decision to do it. With assurances that his change of heart wasn’t just for Aziraphale’s sake, they had arrived to a gathering of well over a hundred people.
Despite the nerves that Crowley had tried to cover with an aloof demeanor when they first arrived, the day had turned out enjoyable for both of them. The conversations had naturally turned to the early days of the Guardian project and Aziraphale’s memories of Agnes. Finding himself surrounded by people who were eager to engage in his life’s work had drawn Crowley out of his shell and he had grown more relaxed as the day progressed. He had gotten on especially well with the younger generations, joining in their games and letting them work braids into his hair. Aziraphale thought he might burst from pure happiness at the sight.
Most of the pictures of the day were candid shots, though there was one of everyone who had attended all gathered together. Crowley and Aziraphale had been at the very edge of the group, easily spotted because of their distinct and opposing color preferences.
After that came pages filled with images from their first December. They stirred up residual cozy holiday feelings in Aziraphale and he paused on one of them both bundled up against the weather in matching tartan scarves with a beautifully lit outdoor tree in the background. He suspected that Crowley’s feelings around Christmas hadn’t changed so much as they had evolved into taking joy in indulging Aziraphale’s obvious delight in the season.
The best picture from their first New Years together was taken by one of their friends, in the midst of a party. While everyone else was counting down to the turn of the year, Aziraphale and Crowley had already been lost in an absolutely scorching kiss. They were clinging to each other with the desperation of teenagers while Anathema was cackling gleefully at them, off to one side, half supported by her boyfriend, Newt.
A little further on, they reached the photos from one of Portent’s charity galas. It had been their first fancy dress party as a couple. With encouragement, Aziraphale had worn a suit tailored in his usual creams with a light blue lining. Crowley had opted for his usual preference for black on black on black, but a swirling pattern had been outlined across his back and shoulders in tiny gems that sparkled and shone as he moved.
“You are very stunning, you know,” Aziraphale said absently as he brushed his hand over a photo of them dancing together.
There was a snort of laughter as Crowley shook his head. “That’s just the shine coming off of you.” He pointed at the next page where the photographer had captured a shot of Aziraphale gazing at Crowley, looking completely besotted. “Look at you, you’re gorgeous.”
Aziraphale knew better than to argue. Crowley would always be more comfortable giving compliments than receiving them.
With a flick of his wrist, Crowley turned the page, likely hunting for a change of subject. “I forgot we included one of Gabriel in this lot.” He lightly smacked the back of his hand against the picture in question. “I’m shocked they even let him on premises for the event, all things considered.”
“When you’re the plus one of the head of security for the sister company, I suspect it’s a non-issue.” By this point, Aziraphale knew most of Crowley’s animosity towards the man was purely performative. He had even overheard him on the night in question obliquely thanking Gabriel for turning over his evidence when he thought no one was around to overhear it.
“I don’t know what Beelzebub sees in him,” Crowley said as he fought off a yawn.
“They seem very happy together,” Aziraphale said as he turned past their first Valentine’s day, an image of them staring at each other across a candlelit table at a fancy restaurant.
Several more pages were turned before they reached proper springtime and the pictures of breaking ground on their home. In the first one, Aziraphale stood with his hands resting lightly on a shovel that had been stuck into the ground before him. He had opted to keep his normal waistcoat, jacket, and bowtie; his only concession to their surroundings was a pair of drab wellies which had been necessitated by a large amount of rain the night before. Crowley stood beside him in dark overalls over a black vest with the handle of a ridiculously large sledgehammer slung across his shoulders and a manic grin on his face, despite the lack of anything in the vicinity that required demolition.
The building of the house had taken a lot of their attention, so it featured heavily in the rest of the photos. Aziraphale had glanced slyly at Crowley when they reached the ones where he had attempted to camp on site during the summer. He had declared it would be an adventure and swore he was going to last a full week. The picture of him scowling from the flap of his tent, damp and disheveled after an unexpected rain on the second morning was a thing to be cherished.
There was a sort of incoherent grumble of objection about the image as Crowley shifted until he could get his arms around Aziraphale’s waist. He tightened his grip briefly, turning the embrace into a hug, before relaxing back against Aziraphale’s side. “You know I love you, right?”
Even after all this time, moments like these still made something joyful flutter in Aziraphale’s chest. “I should hope so, considering how often you tell me.” He couldn’t help but tease just a little, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth as he kept his attention on the pictures of them tromping across the land surrounding their partially built home to plot out a garden for Crowley.
“I’m being serious.” Crowley’s voice was muffled from where he had buried his face in Aziraphale’s side, practically hiding from the conversation even as he continued to pursue it.
“Oh, my love.” Aziraphale pushed the photo album to the side. They were nearly to the end of the pictures, though there were still a fair number of blank pages waiting to be filled. “I will never grow tired of hearing you say those words. And I have never doubted your sincerity.” He stroked his fingers through Crowley’s hair, allowing the silence to build between them for several minutes before he finally spoke again. “Do you remember the very first thing you ever said to me?”
There was a thoughtful noise as Crowley rolled onto his back and looked to the ceiling, obviously searching for the memory. “Dare I hope it was charming?” He slanted his gaze to the side and grinned roguishly.
“Fuck.” Aziraphale said it proudly in a smug declaration.
“Fuck?” Crowley visibly balked. At least part of his confusion was likely due to it being only the second time he had ever heard Aziraphale swear. As the shock wore off, he realized it was intended as the answer he had been seeking. “Are you sure?”
“Quite sure,” Aziraphale assured him.
“Hmm…” Crowley scratched idly at his chin before he shimmied into a slightly more upright position. “I think I’ve blocked that particular memory.” He said with feigned innocence.
“I have copies of the recordings if you’d like to be reminded,” Aziraphale offered, playing along.
With a snap of his fingers, Crowley’s face turned animated with recollection. “The bloody consoles! I got electrocuted trying to initialize the call.” He turned his beautiful golden eyes on Aziraphale as he grinned. “Can’t blame me for that.”
The way the corners of Aziraphale’s mouth twitched was warning enough. Crowley knew him far too well and narrowed his eyes skeptically even before Aziraphale managed to begin speaking to contradict him. “I think Pepper would disagree with your assessment of where the fault lies.”
“Wow!” Crowley was all exaggerated indignity. “Never expected Moonchild would turn out to be a dirty snitch.”
“It was the most beautiful curse ever spoken.” Aziraphale’s tone had turned solemn. “When I was lost and alone, your glorious profanity broke through the silence and brought me hope.” Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him, trying to pour the overwhelming tide of love he felt out into the man who had never stopped fighting for him; who had brought him home against all odds. For several minutes, they were lost to the world, too caught up in each other for anything else to matter.
“Glorious… profanity… sure,” Crowley breathed when they finally separated. He looked half dazed with his eyes still closed.
“I love you, Anthony J. Crowley, more than I thought possible, in ways I never imagined. You are my heart's desire and I wish never to be parted from you.”
“Oh, angel.” Crowley blinked his eyes open and leaned in again, his lips tantalizingly close. “I’ve already promised, remember? I’m yours for as long as you want me.”
“Well,” Aziraphale whispered in the moment before their lips touched again, “forever then.”