Chapter Text
"I ask for but one word of your passion, dearest friend
One word to paint desire
One word that elicits the most daring and bold
Which elicits not a spark but a blaze
I ask for but one word of your sincerity, dearest friend
One word to show your verity
One word that you would speak to me with clearest mind
Which you would not detest a later day
I ask for but one word of your devotion, dearest friend
One word to seal this bond
One word that affixes you to me and me to you
Which affixes our bodies, our hearts, our minds, our souls
It is said one is the loneliest number, but not so if you’d give it me this way
Can I have a word, my dearest friend?
Will you grant this innocent request?"
“Only one?” Aziraphale asks when he sees that Crowley’s poem has come to an end.
The demon smiles. “That’s enough for me.”
“How about three?”
“Three?!” Crowley throws his head back and clutches at his heart. “If you can spare them, gladly I would take them.”
Aziraphale smiles sweetly, sets a steaming plate down in front of him. “Here’s your three: I added blueberries.” He turns back to shut off the stove.
“But… you don’t like blueberries.” Crowley stares down at the stack of pancakes, golden brown, dotted with purple-blue spots and drizzled with syrup. It has become custom for them to have breakfast together, sharing one plate between the two of them. Usually Crowley did the cooking, but Aziraphale had insisted he take over the task of it that morning.
“No, but I know you do.”