You Are So Loved! | Good Omens - Ineffable Husbands Fic

now

With the same stars in the sky from before guiding them safely, they wave goodbye to Anathema and Newt who are rushing to get The Them home to their parents, and they head to the Bentley. Aziraphale has his prize in his arms still, and Crowley suggests shoving the bloody thing in the trunk. "Why did I have to win this enormus thing?" The demon asks himself aloud.

"Hmm," the angel hums happily to him "I actually quite like it. It's like a giant pillow," he says delightedly.

"Well, I'm glad then," Crowley says while opening up the trunk. But right as he went to dump the soft bear into it, he sees it. He sees the gift he never gave to his best friend. The present from three months before, the day he was almost exposed for having a giant heart for his angelic counterpart. He had wanted to give it to him for so long, but after that, he knew he couldn't without showing Aziraphale that so much of that love that threw off his ethereal replacement had come from his demonic friend. He grabs it out of the way so his partner could plop the prize inside without any trouble.

Crowley had planned to just toss the gift in the back seat, but as Aziraphale stood back up, his eye caught it, the blue and green lights from the carnival illuminating it in his companion's hand so boldly. Of course, he doesn't think anything of it for the first few moments, but as his partner stands there, frozen in place, gears obviously turning in his head--not that what they were turning for was obvious to Aziraphale--he steals another glance at the wrapped box, and can't help but wonder why the paper looks so familiar.

The demon sees Aziraphale's microexpression as his eyes flick towards the box for just a moment, and he thinks 'f*ck it.' He stretches his arm out to the angel. "I meant to give this to you awhile ago," he says.

Aziraphale's head turns abruptly at the confession, and his eyes turn wide in surprise. 'A gift?' He thinks. 'For ME?'
He looks at Crowley with so, so much confusion pouring out of his expressive eyes, his fingers carefully reaching for the wrapped box. 'What would he have gotten me? And why?' The questions bounce around in his head.

He hesitates at tearing it open, almost concerned at this behaviour from Crowley. His friend had presented him with something similar once before--a box of chocolates to celebrate the opening of the bookshop--so this was much more random. Eventually, he can't take the booming questions in his head, and rips off the paper looking for some sort of answer, anything really.

Before he knows it, he is holding a book in his hands, the paper from moments before floating gently into the grass at his feet. A book? Yes, very much his style, exactly what he would want out of a present. "Oh," he starts. "Why thank you, Crowley. How thoughtful of you." He searches the cover for a title, but it's too dark. If there weren't so many people around, he would've miracled some light.

Crowley quickly notices the squinting of Aziraphale's eyes at the book's cover, and suggest that he look at it in the car in the overhead light.

They both hop into their respective seats and Crowley has the light on for his angel in moments.

This is when Azirphale sees that the book has no title. It's just a nice brown material. He searches the spine, flips it over once, then twice.

Crowley gives up letting him figure it out himself. "It's inside, it's the pages," he urges his partner.

So Aziraphale opens it. And inside, he finds dozens upon dozens of pressed flowers, some colorful leaves here and there, all pressed flat and applied with some kind of clear, smooth liquid. Each page has a little description of the plant it came from. The species, where it's native, where they thrive, when they bloom. His soft fingers flip through page after page and his eyes graze each pigment and petal with complete awe and adoration. He forgets to speak, as this world of beauty and carefully placed, chicken-scratched encyclopedic paragraphs envelope him up in a blanket of what just feels like effort and time and care. Because he could tell how much Crowley cared about each detail on every page.

What Aziraphale doesn't realize, is that Crowley cannot read his furrowed eyebrows of thought on his wrinkled forehead, and for all his companion knows, Aziraphale hates it. The demon shifts uncomfortably in his seat, looking back and forth between the angel and the wheel in front of him. He begins to feel sheepish about the whole thing, and even somewhat embarrassed when Aziraphale sits in silence, so he starts up the car, and the two begin their ride back to Soho.

Aziraphale doesn't even seem to notice. He just stares and analyzes each page for longer than he realizes, his face not blank, but also not smiley or unsatisfied or anything to communicate anything. Just some furrowed eyebrows confessing what could be interpreted by his partner as fear, concern, sadness, confusion, disatisfaction, and Crowley absolutey cannot figure out how he feels.