No, Crowley hasn't, but he doesn't need to. Aziraphale feels that love as surely as Crowley's warm body crowded against his. It's nearly embarrassing, that he hadn't noticed it before. But maybe it's like anything else that's been around him for so long, like the sounds of London outside his bookshop or the air he doesn't need to breathe but does so anyway.

"Oh..." His gaze drops as he thinks back to that moment in the Bentley when he handed over the holy water. It's a reminder that his love for Crowley is not merely a sweet, effervescent spring. It runs deep, so deep it hurt at times, knowing how close he was to losing Crowley, how he could only do so much to keep him safe. How it never felt like enough.

"Well, I... I loved you. I couldn't very well let you risk your life because of me." His eyes flutter shut, a sigh of regret escaping his lips. "I wish I had been braver. I thought, when push came to shove, I wouldn't choose you." Another sigh, and then he whispers, "So, so glad I was wrong about that, by the way."