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The bandstand hasn’t changed.
It’s aged, but otherwise looks no different than when they first selected rendezvous points. No different than the numerous times they strolled along the nearby trail.
No different than when they met beneath its canopy, as the world was ending, and broke each other’s hearts.
Yet here they stand now, a year later — and the bandstand still exists, the world still exists, they still exist.
Together.
Crowley doesn’t realize how fiercely he’s clutching Aziraphale’s hand until the angel makes a soft sound in his throat. Apologetically, Crowley loosens his grip.
Aziraphale’s fingers tighten around Crowley’s, apparently compensating.
They’re silent for a moment — lost in thought, lost in memory, found in each other’s presence.
“You know,” Aziraphale says abruptly, “we could go. I would. If you still want.”
Crowley turns, startled. “Sorry?”
“To Alpha Centauri. I've heard it’s nice this time of year.”
“Alpha Centauri?”
“If you want,” Aziraphale repeats. “I almost said yes, when you asked.” Crowley can feel Aziraphale’s pulse where their palms meet. “I wanted to,” Aziraphale continues. “If… if it had just been us… only, there was Earth, and the humans, so many of them, and I was… I couldn’t, couldn’t leave them to…”
His voice cracks, and something in Crowley’s chest — a healing scar, no longer an open wound, but the memory of pain still too fresh — cracks with it.
He can’t miracle their cracks away, but he can squeeze his angel’s hand. So he does that. “You were brave,” Crowley points out. “Braver than me. And, you were right. You didn’t want me to go, and I didn’t go, and look how things ended up.”
“I did, though.”
“...You what?”
“Wanted you to go.” A shaky breath. “No. I didn’t want it. But… I hoped you would. I couldn’t… wouldn’t… wasn’t going to go, myself. But I thought, at least you’d be safe.” He sighs. “Only, you didn’t go, and then I was glad you hadn’t.”
There’s a quiver of Aziraphale’s lip, a moistness about the eyes, that Crowley suspects is mirrored in his own. To counter the moment’s weight, he opts for lightness. “Didn’t really want to go anyway. ‘Specially alone. No fun without someone to argue with.”
Aziraphale snorts, which is encouraging.
“‘Sides,” Crowley persists, “guess it all turned out fine, huh? World’s still around. Worked out. Yeah?”
Aziraphale’s thumb traces Crowley’s knuckles. “I suppose so.”
“There you go.”
“There we go,” Aziraphale says, and smiles.
After a while, he remarks, “We could go somewhere, though. Take a holiday. To Alpha Centauri, or somewhere else.”
Retirement travel. It’s not a bad idea, Crowley thinks. Though Alpha Centauri is less appealing when the planet isn’t about to become burning goo. “Could start by touring this world,” he suggests. “Since it’s here to see.”
“Good idea.”
“Where should we head first?”
“Hm.” Aziraphale tilts his head — and all at once his eyes are sparkling straight into Crowley’s, and Crowley’s heartbeat quickens even before the answer comes. “Anywhere you want to go.”