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Summary
Detective (well, Profiler actually, not that anyone seems to care) Aziraphale Fell should have dropped his one and only Criminal Informant the moment he realized he was already falling in love with the man. Alas, he's never had good ideas regarding his self-preservation: when Anthony Crowley calls, he always comes. He will always come.
If this wasn't already very bad, his feelings are apparently reciprocated and, in the meantime, his unit has to catch the worst serial killer Washington D.C. has probably ever seen.
Crowley has no intention of leaving Aziraphale to deal with this on his own; Aziraphale has no intention of letting Crowley do something stupid just for his sake. Ah, if only love could ever be something easy.“Sometimes I wish I’d met you in a park.”
Crowley’s hands move lower, down, down until he reaches Aziraphale’s palms and intertwines their fingers. There isn’t a single chance this gesture can fall under the umbrella of ‘plausible deniability’. Though nothing about this sort of impromptu confession could.
“A park, uh? Nice.” A squeeze. “I always imagine something like a library. Or a bookshop or, not sure, whatever place is full of books.”