demonicmiracle | (apocalypse how) ic contact

The worst part of the entire situation is that he knows he's being ridiculous, but knowing something is true doesn't necessarily make him capable of stopping himself. It's entirely possible that six thousand years of repression has made it difficult to be sensible about any of this.

"Oh, so it's my fault I've not noticed this supposed wooing?" The height of offence, except he's only about sixty percent offended, on account of the other forty percent of his brain slowly processing the fact that Aziraphale was attempting to woo him. Which he did sort of suspect, but having it confirmed is very different.

Maybe the reason he can't be normal about this is because normal would mean acknowledging his emotions. "You could've — I dunno — asked me on a bloody date? That would've made it damn obvious if it were working or not."

This is also something Crowley could have done. That isn't the point.

The first question nets a dramatic little "supposed!" for its troubles. Supposed wooing! The audacity. It's been very real.

If, apparently, far too subtle.

"Yes, well, I'm sure you can understand how disastrous an 'or not' would have been in the close quarters we're keeping. I was-- working up to an official asking." Aziraphale emphasizes this with a vague, shaping-an-invisible-rainbow sort of gesture meant to encompass the overall idea of his imaginary courting flowchart.

Lack of shared feeling, he's been past the point of overly worrying about for a while. Lack of willingness to proceed given his... sizeable pushing-away track record, has felt like far more nebulous navigation. "In any event, I obviously can't ask you now. It would be even less romantic than kissing you was. Sticky wicket all around."

And it would also completely prove Crowley's point one way or another if he asked, so. That may be most of the actual reasoning. Love? Worth losing a very dumb argument that he's increasingly not sure why he's having it but also refuses to stop having it? Clearly not.

Does Crowley mockingly mouth supposed! right back at him? Absolutely, because not doing that would've been mature and sensible, and Crowley is currently neither of those things.

"'Cause I'd have been a dick about it, clearly!" That point does actually hurt a little bit, that Aziraphale might have thought Crowley would be cruel, or mocking, or any sort of awful about a confession like that. Even if he wasn't head over heels in love, he would have been kind about it.

Ironic, really, considering he's not exactly being kind about it now. In his defense, apparently Aziraphale isn't choosing that route, either, since he's decided to cancel the whole 'romance' thing out of pettiness. "Well then, I guess we'd best go back to being friends, since you obviously can't ask me now."

The way that this is almost fully the nightmare scenario of how this could have gone after all. They had such an optimistic start to a train wreck of a conversation.

Could Aziraphale's tendency to shut down and avoid real emotional vulnerability outside of extenuating circumstances be working against him during this moment? Should he use his words to properly explain the things he means with his other words?

Surely not. It must be emotional vulnerability as a whole that is wrong.

"We hadn't properly gotten past friendship to begin with! I think I preferred you criticizing my approach to you trying to put words in my mouth."

Honestly. The sheer nerve. His points all make sense to him! Very straightforward! What is the issue!

Aziraphale is maybe starting to run out of steam.

"You're taking quite a bit of offense for someone who, by my accounting, has remained tellingly neutral on the core issue at hand."

If he knew whether he considered that a good thing or a bad thing yet, oh boy. He sure would know.

That — does take a considerable amount of wind out of his sails. As riled up and offended as he is, by various parts of this scenario, his intention hadn't been to make Aziraphale worry that it might not be reciprocal.

(It could probably be said that the fact he's properly upset about it might suggest how he feels about the core issue at hand, but Aziraphale has never been the cleverest person, when it comes to emotions.)

"Aziraphale —" A brief pause, as he realizes what he's about to say and has to come to terms with the fact there's no taking it back, once it's out. In for a penny, he supposes. "I've been in love with you since that day on the bloody wall. S'why I told you there's no need to apologize!"

Honestly, he thought that was pretty obvious, but maybe they're both idiots.

"-- oh."

And here he was ready to try to dredge up more nonsensical arguing to save face. That's been effectively batted off of the table in cat-like fashion. It's difficult to be petty when you hear that someone's been in love with you for nearly the full scope of linear time.

Alright, it's never all that difficult to be petty. Aziraphale is merely opting not to be. He indulges in a little bit of visible relief instead. Net positive. Not being spurned and living with being mortifyingly, awkwardly known for however long they have left here.

"I've had my suspicions." The politest way to say that at a certain point even his very powerful concrete blinders have come off. It's a fool who confidently assumes, but it's a greater fool who thinks there's nothing there at all. Least of all these past few months. "Although I wouldn't have guessed at... at that far back. Falling in love with you looks a bit whirlwind by comparison."

If six thousand years got split out over a 24 hour clock, he'd be at about twenty minutes of having that figured out, he thinks. Give or take? Goodness. Since the wall? This whole entire time? If that's not as flattering as it is terrifying, he doesn't know what is.

"Well. It's no wonder the subtle approach hasn't been working."

Aziraphale is running very important calculations. Calculations like, 'I am an ethereal being of love who normally has the capacity to sense love around me, how could I have possibly overlooked it during a lengthy time period where there was honestly very little in the world to be distracted with?' He'll be finished fully processing the ramifications of this in a moment.

Enough of the argumentative energy is lingering that Crowley has to bite his tongue to stop himself snapping something about suspicions, because now he's had his moment of actual emotional vulnerability, he has the sense to know it'd go terribly to start arguing again.

He's not sure how to feel about the dual punches of falling in love with you and whirlwind. The first part of the statement inspires a lot of relief, and that sort of fluttering feeling in his chest that he's come to associate with Azirapahle. But it's strange, to know it's a recent thing, loving him.

Crowley settles for scrubbing a hand over his face, then decides that isn't sufficient, and sits down on the end of the bed to repeat the action, adding a sigh just to be appropriately dramatic about the whole thing. "I thought — I did sort of notice. Lately. Things have been different. But I didn't want to assume, or rush you."

You go to fast for me, Crowley left a mark.

Life proves once again that these conversations tend to become so much easier to live in when they don't involve direct eye contact. That probably isn't a very sustainable way to go about things, of course. Something else to work on.

Aziraphale won't look the gift horse of this brief moment in the mouth, though. Grounding, really, to have a few seconds while Crowley is busy being appropriately dramatic on the bed.

No feasible manner of sidestepping the entire conversation at this point. But there's a relief in that, too.

"You've always been very patient with me. I do appreciate that."

Patient, indulgent, six of one, half a dozen of the other. A million things besides.

Of course Crowley wouldn't have wanted to risk pushing. Misreading. Aziraphale supposes he made that metaphorical bed for the both of them quite some time ago.

It could be just as well. In terms of there being less accidental damage he could do before they got around to this sort of general conversation.

"I love you. Terribly. Uniquely." Language can be so restrictive sometimes. Burden of human corporations, being all folded in. Human restrictions for a very human type of love. (Writing an angelic exultation about it into the fabric of the universe would probably give any named demon a nasty sunburn.)

But it is awfully nice to properly say it, despite that. It's still very much the truth of the matter. "If you're amenable, I'd quite like to pursue you romantically. Preferably starting after I've rid myself of this poor mood."

The little snarl that comes from Crowley is an automatic response to being called patient, almost entirely lacking heat and completely disregarding the actual truth of the matter, namely that he has been fairly patient with Aziraphale. It really isn't worth getting hung up on either way, though, not when there are far more important things to get hung up on.

Like hearing that Aziraphale loves him. Which is slightly different, emotionally speaking, from hearing Aziraphale talk about falling in love with him. The latter is less definitive. Less — certain, and real, and terrifying.

When he laughs, it's not nearly as manic. More of a soft, startled sort of thing that ends with him shaking his head as he tries to gather his thoughts into a coherent line. Not the easiest task after hearing the handful of words he's ached to hear for most of his existence, but he's doing his best.

"Does it count as pursuing someone romantically if they're already — you know — yours?" Just putting that out there and trying not to be horrifically embarrassed about it, even though he's definitely horrifically embarrassed about it. There was likely a better way to phrase things, rather than straight up admitting that.

Ah. Damn.

There goes the foul mood. Aziraphale is almost a little put out about it just on principle. The age old battle of stubbornness versus the only person you've ever been in love with admitting that they're already yours.

Possessiveness is theoretically unangelic. Throughout the span of history, that's never actually managed to keep Aziraphale from being a touch possessive. One of his oldest vices.

"Haven't the foggiest." Human literature does seem so invested in the pursuit of it all. Narrative formula, he supposes. Which is a shame, because he thinks he might like a book once in a while where the back half was a happy couple being in love.

Not thrilling as a concept, no, but sort of nice.

"Asking to keep you outright would have been far too presumptuous, though. Obviously. No point in leaving you thinking I don't consider you worth a pursuit."

He could finetune his approach, after all. Bolder plays. Less plausible deniability. Or realistically, only somewhat more detectable and aided by the fact that Crowley would know he was doing it. Still though.

Crowley snorts again, terribly amused and terribly fond of Aziraphale's choice of response to that little admission. It'd be nice to be able to look at him directly, instead of stealing glances out of the corner of his eye, but he isn't quite there yet.

"As presumptuous as assuming I'd been picking up on your subtle romancing?" They're not ten minutes into admitting their feelings for one another and Crowley is already choosing violence.

It's easier to default to, than to think too hard about Aziraphale telling him that he's worth a pursuit; that's a concept he might need time to come to terms with, if he ever really does come to terms with it.

Aziraphale can't believe he's being personally attacked after his completely flawless approach to an important and emotional conversation. Well, he can, but he has a melodramatic scoff over it nonetheless.

Jail for Crowley for a hundred years.

"By all means, make a stuffed bird laugh."

Lord above... keep looking away, this entire moment in time is humiliating enough already. And he can't even really blame anyone but himself for it, because he's the fool who threw his nigh-indecipherable emotional schematics askew. Singlehandedly. Single-mouthedly. So many factors he wanted under control, and for what? For naught.

An angel just can't have control over his circumstances like he used to. Normal things that anyone with normal ways of coping think.

He still takes a seat on the edge of his own bed in solidarity. Which is to say he does it because he'd like to establish that at the very least, he's not going to get it into his head to powerwalk away from the entire conversation.

"I could always sort of-- escalate up, from subtle romancing. Romancing leaves space to adjust. Declarations of undying love are very all at once, though. You can't pare them down after the fact. I thought the arithmetic spoke for itself."

According to his thought process that he has never shared or truly explained.

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