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    Aziraphale set his jaw and met Crowley’s gaze defiantly. “I’m getting rid of them,” he said adamantly. “I can just push them aside,” he insisted. “She can’t keep doing this, Crowley–” he cut himself off from saying more, from speaking into the world his fear that she, like the man in the temple, wouldn’t survive the polluted air much longer.

    It was only then that Aziraphale realized that Crowley’s face had pulled into a wide, uneven grin. “You don’t have to convince me, angel,” he said warmly.

    Together, they clambered down, hands reaching over each other, limbs briefly entwining and parting like the threads of their lives had ever been in the tapestry of history. The pattern ended with them standing side by side, a matched pair.

    Language:
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    28 Feb 2024