Good Omens Fanfic

Part Two

Sorry the titles are boring, I'm not a creative person 🤷‍♀️.

Crowley stared into a bookshelf, his eyes seeming to bore into the very core of its derelict wood, even though his sunglasses. He tightened his grip on the armchair. To the casual observer, all they saw was a man sitting in a chair, with the only strange feature being he was wearing sunglasses, even when he didn't need them, but for Crowley's brain, he was making it all far too obvious. Crowley had, deep down, always known he'd loved Aziraphale, but had just never had the time to get to grips with it properly. He breathed in dramatically, looked over at the angel, and held back tears. He didn't know why he wanted to cry. 

A thought wandered into his mind, sat down, and began to explain itself. What if Aziraphale liked him back? No, of course not.... I mean, he wouldn't, would he? A demon so full of hate could never seem appealing to an angel such as himself... it was ludicrous! But the thought wouldn't go away. 

Crowley couldn't deal with it anymore. He stood up and walked towards Aziraphale. 

"Zira? Yes, uhm, I'm actually going to go now, uhm, I've got to tend to plants... and.... uh, stuff."

"Are you quite sure you're ok, dear! You're white as a feather in my wing and you're shaking!"

"Well, uh, probably a... uh, flu or something... like... that." 

Crowley felt his words tripping over each other, and realised quite clearly he was a stuttering mess. He needed to get out of there, before he just completely broke down.

"Oh, ok dear, if you're sure. Drop by any time!"

"Uh... yeah. Or I might just... uh, sit in my house and never leave for like.... for like... for like... uh, ages. Ha ha."

"Goodbye Crowley!"

Crowley didn't hear the angel's farewell, as he had already fled the shop. He climbed into his Bentley and drove, far surpassing 90mph. He remembered Aziraphale sitting in the opposite seat, complaining about his driving. He almost instantaneously slowed down, and even swerved round the odd pedestrian, something Crowley rarely did.

He got home and slumbered in, throwing himself across his throne. His behaviour was altered greatly; and for the worse. For example, instead of turning on the TV normally, he threw the controller at it, or, when the mailman delivered a letter to him the next day, he slammed the door in his face and burnt the letter. Crowley was going crazy.

Many days went past; Crowley hadn't left his flat once. In fact, it was almost 3 months later before he did anything productive at all. 

His current state clearly wasn't good for his health, and his phone had been blowing up with badly typed messages from Aziraphale (who was still attempting to get to grips with modern  technology, which was evident from the amount of random emojis placed in the middle of words) so he decided there was only one way out. He had to tell Aziraphale.

Best to do it in person.

Or was it.

He'd rather not get rejected in person. 

But Aziraphale doesn't quite understand texting yet.

A call?

No. Too obvious.

A... FaceTime?

Well, that's just downright stupid. 

Crowley's mind was once again at war with himself. Rejecting the idea of living his life like this, he hastily picked up his phone and sent a quick text to Aziraphale.

~Azi, come to mine tomorrow at 3pm. Don't be late, I need to tell you something~

Then, without thinking, he sent it. There. It was done, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Well, he could delete the text. In fact, he probably should. He picked up the phone, only to be met with the worst and most scary 11 words of his life.

~Nice to hear from you again. I shall see you tomorrow~

Shit.