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There has always been something familiar about Anthony, from the moment he walked into the bookshop all those long years ago. They had fallen into rhythm together so easily, so naturally, like they had known each other for decades even as they were so carefully navigating their first few tentative dates. Asa had never before thought much of the idea of soulmates, outside of fiction, never had a great deal of time for the idea of fate, certainly not as it applied to himself.
Nevertheless, there was always something.
Asa doesn’t find out until much, much later that it was precisely this familiarity that had Anthony come into the shop in the first place. He had passed by it many times, and on every occasion there had been that something, some call, some echo, that had drawn him in. He had stepped through the door and it had been right, it had been like coming home even though he had never crossed the threshold before in his life, and he had seen Asa and known him more thoroughly than he had ever known anyone, before either of them had even spoken.
When Anthony first calls Asa, angel, they both feel it sharply. It is another piece falling into place, and neither of them could say where the name had come from but from then on it sticks, as comfortable and well worn in the very first utterance as everything else has always felt in their relationship.
It happens again and again and again; something that should be new is most assuredly not, be it a place or a name or a feeling, and every time it defies explanation and every time it comes with such peace and rightness that it almost, but not quite, hurts.
They don't talk about it often. They don't need to. It is what it is, and it is not until they are very, very old men that the mystery is finally solved, and of course. Of course.
It is late, and full dark outside. The world is so still, so peaceful. They are together. They have, as Anthony said long ago, got everything they need and everything they want; the universe outside and each other at home. What else is there?
They lay beside one another in bed and Anthony turns to Asa and he sees him, and he knows. There is no confusion, no harsh lurch as the knowledge arrives. He just knows.
‘Aziraphale,’ he says softly, with the full weight of their history behind it, and so much love he could burst. He has no fear of Asa not understanding, of course. They have always understood one another.
Asa does not flinch, or look puzzled. He smiles. So this is why. Of course.
‘Crowley,’ he breathes, knowing nothing else is needed. Their hands find each other and hold on.
‘Here's to the next time, eh?’ Crowley murmurs with a smile.
‘Oh yes,’ says Aziraphale. ‘I'm looking forward to it, my dear.’
They fall asleep holding hands that night, and the next time will be along soon enough.
Neither of them have any regrets.