Crowley smiled, glancing over at the Angel, who was flipping through a book, only occasionally shifting or flipping a page. Crowley didn't really want to crane his neck to see what he was reading, he thought that that would probably be weird.

"Who you reading?" Crowley was trying to sound nonchalant about it, but he was genuinely interested in what the man (rather, Angel) was reading. Christmas was coming up. And, contrary to popular belief, the demon didn't really hate the holiday. Seriously, it was Christmas, even if it was an Angelic holiday, it's really hard to hate it.

"Hm?" He answered, after around four minutes of silence. Crowley smirked, "I asked who you were reading."

"Oh." Aziraphale said. "Poe." Crowley raised an eyebrow. "Really? I wasn't really sure that you'd be into Poe. Didn't think that you'd like horror stories." Aziraphale looked up, and looked surprised. "Crowley. It's Poe. Poe was the creator of the modern mystery novel." Crowley shrugged, tilting his head slightly, agreeing with Aziraphale.

Aziraphale smiled, and started reading from the story, "'You zee," said he, "it iz te bess vor zit still; and now you shall know who I pe. Look at me! zee! I am te Angel ov te Odd."

"And odd enough, too," I ventured to reply; "but I was always under the impression that an angel had wings."

"Te wing!" he cried, highly incensed, "vat I pe do mit te wing ? Mein Gott! do you take me vor a shicken?"

"No - oh no!" I replied, much alarmed, "you are no chicken - certainly not.'"

Crowley burst out laughing, being reminded so much of him and Aziraphale. He was overcome with a strong desire to kiss him. Aziraphale seemed to glow as Crowley laughed… Oh, who was he kidding, Crowley was giggling. Crowley kept thinking about Aziraphale reading the Poe book. Something inside of him was telling him that he should do something. Aziraphale stopped reading for a second, pulling out a slip of paper, confused. He started muttering under his breath the writing that was on the paper.

"No one believed that I- I of all- could love

Even I could not believe

Somehow though, it happened.

All my life

I never knew

Somehow though, it happened.

We were so different

It couldn't ever work

Somehow though, it happened.

Only friends

Never thought more

Somehow though, it happened.

Our families

Were not so close

Somehow though, it happened.

No one knows

Though no one cares

Somehow though, it happens." Aziraphale stopped reading, staring at the slip of paper, and not really knowing what it was, or what it represented. "Crowley? What is this?" Crowley didn't say anything, hoping that maybe if he ignored him, Aziraphale would forget about it. He knew that it was stupid.

"Crowley… did you- did you… write this?"

Crowley was still adamantly ignoring Aziraphale, but his body was giving himself away. A deep blush had risen to his face.

"Crowley. I- did you write this?" Crowley couldn't tell what Aziraphale wanted to hear. At that point, Crowley's face was as dark as the glass of red wine in his hand. He remembered that he'd put the paper in that book because he'd figured that, since Aziraphale didn't seem like a Poe kind of guy, he'd never see the damn thing.

"Please." Aziraphale begged, "Crowley, please."

"What do you want to hear from me, Zira?" Crowley snapped at the Angel, "That I wrote it? That I- What do you want from me?" Crowley looked up at Aziraphale from his chair. Aziraphale smiled slightly, and set down the small scrap of paper. He bent down and kissed Crowley on the top of his hairline. Crowley put his hand on his friend's cheek, pulling him down to kiss him properly.

A/N: A couple things I'd like to say. One, should I post a second chapter to this? I don't know, I started writing it, but I feel like it's kind of shitty. And two, I KNOW that the poem's crap, and I'm SORRY that I can't write poems. Oh, and I'd like to say that I don't own 'The Angel of the Odd' by Edgar Allen Poe.

Whether or not I'm going to post a second chapter, I will be posting a sequel to the story around Christmas. And yes, I will probably be churning out fluffy Christmas stories around then. I'm sorry that I'm a sucker for that. I'm not going to apologize. And shit. I just did. But I don't care. But I'm just going to shut up now. Please like and comment. Thanks!