soldier, poet, king (a good omens fanfic)

03 - I don't know what compels me to do the very thing that fells me

A/N: HERES YOUR VERY GOOD REMINDER TO GO READ THIS FIC ON AO3 WHERE THE FORMATTING DOESNT SUCK. CANT STRESS THIS ENOUGH, GO READ IT ON AO3 BC IM TOO LAZY TO FORMAT IT PROPERLY

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1941
(London)

Angels feel love.

Of course they did, they were suppose to be beings of divine love and all that. Aziraphale could even sense the emotion from humans, and it always made him happy whenever an married couple came into his shop holding hands, or he saw two young teenagers walking down the street, barley able to look at eachother without blushing. Not just romantic love, either, angels could sense the love between two best friends or a parent and child, and all types made him joyous.

However, what most people didn't realize was that angels could feel love other than the all-encompassing one they always felt for all beings. Could feel love for specific people. Romantic love, in the way humans do.

Aziraphale was one of those angels. And he, to put it a lightly, was fucked. *

* This was the first time Aziraphale had ever thought any variation of the word 'fuck', but it was currently the only word in the English language strong enough to convey the thousands of thoughts flying through his head.

He glanced over at Crowley in the seat beside him. The demon was still hiding under his wide-brimmed hat and sunglasses, even in the darkness of the night, even with no one else around. He can still hear the whistle of bombs on the distance, and understood why all the humans have deserted the streets. It was a dark time, not just because it was night.

However, the empty streets proved a new challenge — Crowley, who seemed to be inclined to break every speed limit in existence. Honestly, he didn't know what to expect when taking the ride from the demon, who always was moving to fast, changing with the times, who never did things half way. He should have known better, really, to expect that Crowley wouldn't try to break every petty law.

"Please, Crowley, mind the speed limit!" He said when the demon made a particularly harsh turn. "They are there for a reason!"

"There's no one else on the road, angel!" Crowley exclaimed.

"Yes, well ..." He didn't come up with good argument in time, and Crowley pushed the gas pedal down farther. It made his heart both lurch uncomfortably at the danger and melt in fondness at the demons delighted cackle at his apparent fear. Dear Lord, how did he fall in love with him?

Oh, right, because despite being a demon, despite being 'the enemy' and 'on opposite sides', Crowley never once let him get discorporated despite the fact it would get thousands of awards in Hell for it, or the fact how he always agreed to their 'fraternizing' despite the risks it posed, or maybe the blaring obvious declaration of friendship he showed just a little bit ago, where he saved both himself, Aziraphale and the books from a bombing. He didn't need to save the books — Crowley didn't read, he knew, because of the snake eyes — they had no use to him, he did it because Aziraphale cared about them.

It made the heart he didn't need flutter around in his chest.

One more rough turn that sent Aziraphale grabbling for a handhold and they pulled up outside the bookshop, the entire street deserted and the lights in all the other shops turned off. He turned to Crowley, who was still wearing his hat and sunglasses in the dark, maybe to hide the burning in his feet Aziraphale could guess was going on below the steering wheel.

"Why don't you come on it for a drink?" He asked, hopefully without his voice cracking. "I can ice your feet for you, they must be hurting quite a lot."