Chapter Text
A/N: Hello, people!
I don't own Good Omens.
I have no beta.
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"Why are we here again, angel?" Crowley as as they were stood in a long queue, waiting for something to do with books since they were in a different bookshop across London. It smelled old and stale, and there was no music so it was boring. Also, so many people squished together just for some limited edition books was annoying him.
Aziraphael, as usual when something made him happy, did a little wiggle. "Because, Crowley, a special edition of work by one of my favourite poets has been released with previously unpublished additions!"
And of course he would be thrilled about that. Crowley had never been much into reading himself. Fiction was best usually and even then few authors managed to pull off the story-telling well enough.
"When was this author around?" And had he heard of them?
"Toward the end of 1942 as far as anyone is aware. Their personal journal was discovered in the wreckage of the Blitz and published posthumously when the owner could not be located and was assumed dead. I fancy poetry and was curious so I purchased a copy and fell in love. No one has ever written such longing so clearly, I'd say. And some of the situations written about reminded me of Shakespeare's own brand of drama, but this felt more personal and real."
Sad. Of course Aziraphael would be drawn to it. He was a bleeding heart who reached out to other bleeding hearts without hesitation.
"And what's your favourite piece by this poet, angel?"
Aziraphael smiled softly, eyes becoming a bit misty as he quoted, "'Angel in disguise. The one I will cherish most. Is always in mind.' So very sweet, my dear."
Crowley's entire being froze, remembering those words clear as day since he'd been the one to write them. And it had in fact been a project of his, simply to get his feelings out after the whole nearly losing his angel - for a small time at least - to the Nazis bombings. Half of what he'd put down hadn't even rhymed! Did that count as poetry?
He looked more closely at the boards dangling from the ceiling, finding the words, 'The Complete Works of Poet A.J.' staring at him in big, golden lettering. Back when he'd been hesitant to put his usual name on everything he signed he would just put 'A.J.'.
He had assumed the journal had been burned up and had simply shrugged it off. He had dozens of others filled with his thoughts of Aziraphael and their six thousand year old relationship. He couldn't believe that his ramblings had been published and he didn't even know!
Aziraphael's little bouncing brought him back to the present where he wondered if he should say something. They were lovers now. Hadn't been in the writings of course, but Crowley had pined more than a forest back then. And if Crowley, under an alias, was one of Aziraphael's favourite poets, then he had to know a lot of Crowley's most intimate thoughts.
He was kind of mortified and kind of touched. His angel knew about his feelings even if not knowing they were directly about him. But he also liked them. Loved them even. Enough to get emotional reciting simple haiku.
What to do?
Hours. He'd been sat beside Aziraphael on the sofa while the angel read each poem aloud, bringing Crowley back to a time in which he could only watch from afar as his angel went about his business.
He truly hadn't held back with his emotions. Or dramatics.
As the time passed, Crowley sank more and more into his angel's lap, enjoying his voice speaking Crowley's old thoughts aloud for the first time in the demon's life.
1.)
I have fallen for an angel, who smiles like the sun.
Who beams upon the masses when the victory is won.This angel keeps my very breath arrested in my chest.
With every day that's gone by, I can only see their best.I used to mope and wander with an envy over all,
But since I met my angel, I cannot regret this Fall.
29.)
Our relationship is secret,
Our families are at war.We try not to mention it,
When meeting at the shore.But that dark truth lingers,
And it cannot be hidden.If they say to kill each other,
Will we do as we are bidden?We try to keep it private,
So we won't be detected.But if we are, I'll make certain,
My angel is protected.
63.)
This little moment came and went,
A smile and a round of laughter.
The time betwixt us is well spent.
And all the time hereafter.
111.)
What do you do when the one you,
Most admire is your enemy?
At least in the minds of all but you.Sometimes my precious angel,
So blinded by ties to family,
Can't even see the blinding truth.The Great are not so Good,
And light can be quite tainted.
I do not lie, these words are true.Sometimes I want to bellow it,
And some days I wish to gloat,
Yet these words I cannot spew.To break an angel's heart is cruel.
I could not be the one to do it.
Tell me, could you?
245.)
I remember that summer in Rome.
We walked along the streets together.
Just a pair of the most unlikely sort.
And though we did nothing but browse,
At the time, I'd never been happier.
666.)
Angel in disguise.
The one I will cherish most.
Is always in mind.
879.)
My dedication knows no bounds,
They were making angel move away,My cunning mind and quick thinking,
Managed to make them stay.And nobody shall ever know,
Just what I did that day.
1000.)
(A/N: To the tune of Taylor Swift's You Are In Love.)
Times change.
Us too.The world,
Is new.I watch,
Their face.I see,
Their Grace.They grin,
I talk.We eat,
We walk.And time,
Will wait.We won't,
Be late.The end,
Will come.But we,
Can run.I hope,
For days,Where it's,
Okay.Dear God,
Don't let,This end,
Just yet.I want,
More time,To watch,
Them shine.
Somewhere during the last poem in the book, Crowley, who had been resting his head on Aziraphael's lap and had no way to see the pages, joined in on quoting the poem. He remembered exactly when he'd written it too. One of those bad days where he stressed over the End Times and what it would mean for he and Aziraphael. He'd had a lot of those days over the course of their history.
Aziraphael beamed down at him. "You know it?"
He snorted. "I should hope so, angel. I'm the one who wrote it about you to begin with."
There was silence for the space of a second. But only a second as the angel processed his words and proceeded to toss the book to the other side of the sofa and yank the demon into his arms. "You? Truly?" He sounded breathless.
"A.J. Anthony J. Crowley. Never meant for anyone to see any of it."
What could best be described as a croon, left Aziraphael's lips. "You, who doesn't even like reading, wrote poetry for me?"
He flushed and looked away, knowing where his angel's mind was going. "I mean, I wrote a lot of things about you. Still have the others even. It's not like it's that important or anything."
If there was any way to get a quick snog though, writing about the love of your life was surely the way to get it.
Who knew his pining and mediocre writing could garner such a reaction?
A/N: Finished!
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