Work Text:
Shadows are a strange phenomenon, Aziraphale reflects. A strange phenomenon, and a beautiful one.
From his vantage point on the park bench, he watches the delicate interplay of darkness and light taking place all around him. Tree shadows dapple the landscape, reaching across the grass and pond. The sun has already dipped below the horizon, and the moon is visible in the east.
Dusk is descending quickly. Before long, all Aziraphale’s surroundings will be shrouded in darkness.
If he were alone, Aziraphale might shiver, and sigh, and take himself home to the bookshop. He might turn on the lights in the back room, curl up with a good book, and brew himself a cup of tea to ward off the encroaching shadows — those felt as well as those seen.
But tonight, Aziraphale is not alone.
He stays on the bench, content in Crowley’s quiet presence at his side. And if Aziraphale does still shiver and sigh slightly, tonight it is for an entirely different reason, one which has nothing to do with loneliness or with fear of the night.
They sit together, beings of light and of shadow, sharing the twilight in peace. A strange phenomenon, and a beautiful one.