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Follows this.

They couldn't just teleport themselves there. Any miracles, demonic or otherwise, would attract too much attention. No, Crowley was actually going to have to sit there, plugging their information into an online search engine, and do it all manually. Fluctuating airline prices were demonic work, and right now a trip to Japan was over six thousand pounds more expensive than if he had bought it three days earlier, which was totally outrageous. Crowley didn't know a lot about money except what it made men do to each other, he'd never had to. But now, making money appear out of nothing could turn the wrong eye on them if he wasn't careful.

Luckily, he had quite a few credit cards that never needed paying or had a limit on them. They would work in a pinch for a moment like this. He didn't know if that sort of perk-of-being-a-demon could ever be taken away from him, but he hoped not.

The flight itself was a long one, and Crowley settled himself in for it by making sure they were flying at least first class. That way they could see everyone coming at them and have a few glasses of wine on the journey.

"I don't think they know about these passports," Crowley says. "They might, but I doubt it. I had them made back during the last World War, just kept them in good condition."

The second World War was something that Crowley took responsibility for, but he hated every moment of it, and what his side did to make it worse made him sick. He was more than prepared to hide away if he needed to when things went wrong back then. And, at the time, he had also created a passport for Aziraphale, in case he wanted to come along. No other reason for that, he told himself.

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The angel glances up at him again, considering him for a second, smile gaining yet another layer of fondness. He's never heard words that rang so true in such a verifiable way that only he can know, and he can only hope Crowley feels the same about his.

He leans up and presses his lips on Crowley's, as softly as that moment in the bar, as gentle as when they said it a second time. "I love you, too."

Crowley could say it forever, and the angel, finally, knows he will always say it back.

Crowley does dream when he sleeps well. Long sleeps, fitful sleeps, they don't produce dreams. But tonight, when his eyes finally slip shut as he's looking at the angel in his arms, he dreams.

He dreams of the stars. Of growing stars from his hands, of stretching them out, pulling them up from the ground and putting them into place. He dreams of building a universe. He dreams of creating stars in the shape of a very particular cherubic face, and blue stars the same shade as an angel's eyes. It's been a long time since he's dreamed of what his life as an angel was like----he can easily chalk that up to being close to Aziraphale, being in his arms.

He blinks his eyes open as sunlight streams into the bedroom.

"Angel?"

Aziraphale doesn’t dream, not then. He doesn’t remember the last time he did, a longer time ago than the last time he’s actually slept (as opposed to being knocked unconscious by brute force or supernatural strain), and it feels like a particularly long blink.

When he wakes, in the demon’s arms, it all feels like a strange and complex dream, and he lingers there for a while. In the silence, in the dimness being slowly overtaken by the sunlight that’s gently pushing through the curtains and into the room. He listens to Crowley breathing, and he thinks.

Eventually, he can’t tell how long after, he gets up carefully and gingerly, taking a moment to look down at the demon and reaching over to gently brush his hair back. He climbs off the bed, finds some of his clothes, and starts getting dressed, calm and meticulous and nowhere in a rush. But he stops soon after he starts, looking at himself in the mirror and at that mark concentrated on the center of his chest.

That’s when he hears Crowley’s voice, softly breaking through his train of thought, and he turns to look over at him. “Oh, good morning.”

Crowley leans back, sleepily watching Aziraphale. How he's imagined a moment like this, something where they're just together, undressed or domestically in each other's presence. No fear of this side or that side finding them. Where he can admire Aziraphale as he dresses.

Of course, the mark on his chest is a stark reminder that the lack of fear is only temporary. The moment they step out of this place, they could be a target again. This holiday is also an escape plan.

It won't be like this forever, he tells himself. They'll have days where he can watch Aziraphale dress and there won't be any fear. Not now, not ever. He'll figure out a way. That's what Crowley does, he solves problems. He can solve this one. He'll do it for Aziraphale, for them.

He stretches. "Sleep well?" he asks.

Aziraphale's gaze over the demon lingers for a few moments, as a fond smile easily takes over his expression. Grim reminders of their current situation are all around them, if they look, but so are those that point out the more positive aspects, the better recent events, the intimate developments between two people, two creatures who have circled each other for millennia, until finally meeting in the middle.

For once, Aziraphale feels more than a mere observer of the Love he feels.

"Quite well." He adjusts the shirt he's wearing laying open, starting to button it up, and covering up marks he rather not think about for a while. "You?"

"Dreamed sweet dreams," Crowley says, which isn't entirely true, but that's all right. Who needs sweet dreams when reality is full of all the things he's dreamed of? Aziraphale loves him. He can openly love Aziraphale. Sure, Heaven and Hell want them dead, but that's something they'll deal with later.

"I suppose we'll need to find somewhere for breakfast then?" he says, not even attempting to move from his spot on the bed. "What are you thinking to start out with? I know they do a sort of weird, fluffy pancake that's all puffed up in Japan, I saw it on the internet once."

Back when Crowley invented those little time-lapse food videos for all the ad revenue they generated (and the low-level evil they generated when they were cut in half with an ad in the middle), he watched a lot of odd recipe videos.

"Ah, hotto keki....hotcakes." Said in somewhat dreamy tone, not just for the nature of what they're talking about, but for the whole idea of sitting down to enjoy a nice, lovely breakfast together in peace. At least, he hopes that's possible.

"That would be lovely." He focuses back on the mirror, finishing buttoning up his shirt and fixing his sleeves. "We should definitely get at least a bit acquainted with what's in the area." For however long they get to stay, of course.

"Could do," Crowley agrees. If they could, they would just go for a walk. See what's around, enjoy taking their time to choose---or, well, letting Aziraphale choose. Crowley couldn't possibly care, as long as Aziraphale got to eat somewhere and enjoy himself. But now, that sort of a leisurely walk would be more than a luxury. It might not even be possible.

He stretches and stands, then gives a wave, dressing himself instantly. He looks over at Aziraphale. He wants to pretend everything is normal, everything is all right, but once they step outside, they're in danger and they both know it.

"We'll need to work out a way to get back here quickly if we need to," he says.

He would like to pretend, too. He would like to have time to delve not just in their impromptu holiday as something to be enjoyed rather than simply an escape rote, but also on the recent...developments between them.

Some time to think, is all. Some time to explore it, to question and to find answers, together. But there’s always going to be something hanging over them, and they’re always going to be on their toes. He tries not to show it too much when he smiles far too faintly when he glances over at Crowley, picking up his waistcoat to put it on.

“What do you suggest?”

"Apart from a fast miracle and a bit of prayer, I can't think of a faster way," Crowley admits. "Could try to run through the phone lines, but this is a network I'm not familiar with like I am the system of London."

He steps over to Aziraphale, lowering his hands to button up his waistcoat. They have all of the time in the world, as two immortal beings do. And no time at all, as two beings on the run do. How unfair life is to them both.

"We have the advantage that they can't see this place. We can."

When Crowley stops closer, the angel stops, letting his own hands lower. He watches Crowley's hands, feeling his heart warm with the nice intimacy of the gesture. It makes his chest flutter.

"We can only hope we're faster than them." A true comment, but his focus is still mostly on Crowley's hands.

"We will be," Crowley says, quietly. His voice is firm, but he doesn't really feel the confidence he's trying to portray to his companion. They have to be faster. They have to be the fastest.

He can't give up what he's found with Aziraphale. This closeness. This love. And he loves Aziraphale with everything he is. He's not about to lose that.

"Besides," he adds. "No matter what cockups we can be, we're both smarter than our bosses ever were. And that's indisputable."

Well, if there's anything they're good at, as it keeps being necessarily proven, it's pretending. Sometimes, anyway.

"That is true." He admits, far more directly than he ever has, but the truth will always lie in what the two of them know that the rest of their kinds don't.

He brings his hands up to gently set on Crowley's as he finishes up with the last button. Just a soft, coy touch.

"...about last night." While his tone is quiet, it's not unpleasant; blue eyes stay on their hands as his gently envelop the demon's.

At first, Crowley is utterly petrified that Aziraphale is about to apologize for it. Say they should forget it ever happened. It's something they might've done before, if they'd drunkenly gotten close, or admitted they cared for each other. Don't mention it, no problem, not a thing. But this, this thing between them that they've finally reached into, finally touched? They can't----they can't brush it away.

But Aziraphale's hands are on his. He's not looking away from him, not pulling away. That means Aziraphale doesn't want to pretend, right? They're not pulling away from each other, right?

"I meant it," he says, pushing the words out in a rush. "Everything that I said, everything we felt. I meant it."

Crowley's already talking before Aziraphale can say his piece, making the angel look up and meet his eyes. There's a tinge of alarm to the demon's words the angel thinks he can hear, although he does quite hope that he's wrong.

But it throws him off for just a moment, like he's forgot whatever he was going to say - not that he had words planned in particular.

His look lingers and words falter. Instead, he finally opts for a more direct, wordless approach. He brings his hands up to Crowley's cheeks, leaning halfway, hesitating for just a moment, then all the way in for a gentle kiss.

That'll do it, right? He hopes. He doesn't really know how to do this.

Crowley looks down at Aziraphale somewhat desperately. Willing him to agree that they shouldn't change it, that they feel this way, that they shouldn't apologize or just go back to being at arm's length forever. Please, he wants to say. Please don't take this away from us. It's all in Aziraphale's hands.

It is astounding, in moments like this, how much power Aziraphale wields over Crowley. How much power he has always had over him.

And then Aziraphale is touching his face, leaning in for a gentle kiss. Sometimes, actions are far better than words. Crowley makes a small noise in his throat and kisses the angel back, wrapping his arms around him to pull him close.

Aziraphale wonders, in that moment, if he can tell Crowley all the things he doesn't know how to say, much like they did the previous night. Let him know what he feels, without having to search for words that sound adequate. It wasn't something he reached into entirely consciously, so he doesn't know how to do so now, but hopefully some part of them is still in that place and getting a better understanding.

Or, if nothing else, he hopes his actions are a bit clearer than he can be.

Pulled in, he's pressed close against the demon and lets the kiss linger, for how long, he doesn't know. But, eventually, he does have to pull back, hands still cupping Crowley's face, eyes lingering closed for a couple of seconds before they flutter open.

A lull. Then a polite clear of his throat.

"I, uhm. I did, too."

Crowley's never felt love like what he feels for Aziraphale. Even the love of God, which is supposed to be unconditional, has all sorts of conditions that Crowley never knew and boundaries he wasn't told about when he crossed them. Aziraphale loves him without boundaries and conditions, though, and he thinks he should be terrified of that, but he isn't. He just feels welcomed to it, embraced by it.

A slow smile spreads across Crowley's face as he looks at Aziraphale, hands still cupping his face.

"They won't take it away from us," he says. "Even if they catch us---which they won't---they can't take that away. Hell can't make me not love you, angel."

If they ever wanted to talk about unconditional love, for as much as Aziraphale has it for the demon, the truly terrifying and overwhelming level of it that has poured from Crowley for so much longer, with much less fear and hesitant, cannot go unnoticed. Aziraphale had had his limitations, they both had, but Crowley had always been a step ahead, and willing to take a step back the moment the angel had let him know he wasn't ready.

Well, here they are now. Free, but wanted. But, most importantly, finally, together in ways they hadn't been until now.

The smile that blooms on the angel's face is bright and sweet. Crowley's words resonate in ways that threaten to stick for a very, very long time, to bring him comfort even in the darkest moments that may come ahead.

"Crowley..." He utters in a sweet, loving tone.

They can't stay here forever.

The miracle of finding this airbnb, the place being a perfect hideout, all of it, it won't last forever. They'll have to go out, they'll have to find other places to hide, they'll need to get back to living their lives again. They can't stay here forever.

But Crowley, looking at that smile on Aziraphale's face, could easily stay here for a long, long time, just looking at him. Drinking in his presence, feeling him there, close. They could just stay in this bedroom, go back to bed, and pretend that their problems didn't exist at all. Maybe deal with them in August or something.

"We'll find anything you want," he says. "Take the tour of Japan."

He'd like to, really. He'd like to stay in the quiet, to explore this new thing they have, to have the time to stop and figure themselves out, to breathe, to not feel like danger is around every corner. But, being here, knowing that it would be because of what can await them outside, would it really be their choice? Would it really be for the right reasons? And what about all the wonderful things out there that they could see together?

They love the world. And they love each other. They deserve the freedom to enjoy both, together.

He admires the demon for a little bit longer, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. "We'll find our way around."

"Get lost in the crowd," Crowley says, leaning just a little into the angel's touch. "Two humans just enjoying a holiday together."

And they could have that, he thinks. They could just be two beings, enjoying their time together in a country they haven't been to in a while. Seeing the sights. Taking in the food and the culture. They could have that.

If it wasn't for the anger of their sides. Because they didn't like how Aziraphale and Crowley did the right thing. They didn't like how much the two of them loved each other.

Well, for all Crowley cared, they could go fuck themselves. He was going to enjoy every moment he had with Aziraphale.

While fretting is unfortunately an intrinsic part of Aziraphale's nature, he does still fully intend to at least dedicate a portion of his time to simple enjoy Crowley's company. After so long of having it be conditional, of not letting himself dive deeper into concepts he didn't think were allowed, he refuses to have that stripped away from him again. Not after everything they went through. Are going through. And after what they've found together.

He's gazing softly into those yellow eyes and he could really just call them home.

Another kiss, a quick one, and another fond stroke of his thumbs over Crowley's cheeks. "Why don't we start with breakfast and...see where the day takes us?"

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please forgive my long delay I love this PSL I have just had one heck of a month

lmfao the videos bit

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https://youtu.be/AGTUSYMTbIc

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