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When Crowley saw the young man checking his watch for a third time, he decided he needed to do something.
Crowley and Aziraphale had been having a pleasant lunch at a café for the past hour or so, and the handsome young man in the army uniform had been stood lingering outside the train station opposite for at least half of that time, nervously looking around, running his hand through his hair and obsessively checking his watch. Crowley had tried to ignore him at first - just another stranger, after all - but watching so much widespread suffering in the past few years of war had softened his heart a little, and this soldier, or ex-soldier, perhaps, seemed so incredibly nervous that Crowley wanted to find whatever it was that was making him nervous and cast it right down to hell. Or perhaps up to heaven, that'd probably be worse.
Opposite him, Aziraphale was finishing off a slice of cake, the rays of sunlight making his face glow. Of course he seemed to glow, Crowley fondly thought, he was an angel. An angel who had not quite managed to keep it all entirely together through the past few years of suffering, and who Crowley now found himself desperately, indignantly protective over.
Crowley glanced back towards the young man. Still waiting. What could he possibly have been waiting for, for so long? Aziraphale seemed to have followed Crowley's gaze, and, when setting his eyes apon the young man, sighed a little, his face creased with sympathy.
"What?" asked Crowley bluntly.
"Oh, Crowley, can't you see?" Aziraphale asked a little patronisingly, and Crowley fought the urge to pretend he did.
"See what?" he asked instead, wincing a little at how uncaring it sounded compared to Aziraphale's gentle tone.
"The love radiating off of that young man. I don't know what he's waiting for, but he surely loves it. He is positively aching, that young man. Oh, I do hope he's alright," Aziraphale said. Crowley saw the opening, and let his curiosity take over his words.
"Well, we could always go over and check, right?" he said casually. Aziraphale lit up at his words.
"Oh, yes, quite right." he said, springing to his feet and starting to make his way across the road with no further hesitation. Crowley allowed himself a few seconds of fond exasperation before following.
Apon their getting closer to the young man, it was entirely clear that he was not entirely happy. He looked incredibly worried and fairly disappointed, even more so when he turned around to realise the person stood behind him was Aziraphale.
"Excuse me. You look dreadfully anxious, my dear, are you alright?" Aziraphale asked politely, and Crowley tried not to smile too much. Aziraphale truly was good, he thought a little bitterly, in a way that he could never be. Entirely pure, through to the soul. He actually wanted to help this young man, not just stop him from being so anxiety inducing for himself, like Crowley did.
"I'm just waiting for a... friend. He should have been here a while ago, and I have not seen him in an awfully long time." the young man said.
"Ah. Well, I'm sure he will come soon, and I hope it turns out alright," Aziraphale said sincerely.
"Yeah, quite," said Crowley.
"I'm just worried - I mean, I am not entirely sure to which extent he cares about me, and I mean - I didn't even know he was alive until a few days ago!" The words seem to come tumbling out of the young man, and when he has said them, he begins to look even more anxious. Crowley remembers what Aziraphale had said. Love, aching longing for someone. And Crowley had a vague understanding of some of the ideas his lot had spread around, about love between men, and started the feel sick to his stomach.
"I'm sure it'll go alright," said Crowley, trying desperately to figure out what the right thing to say was. "Be honest with him. Communication is important, right, angel?"
"Yes, of course, Crowley," said Aziraphale, and the young man seemed to look between them and relax slightly.
"Oh, thank you, and- there he is!" exclaimed the young man. Aziraphale and Crowley exchanged a look.
"We should let you get in with it then, I suppose. Best of luck," said Crowley, ushering Aziraphale away.
As they walked off down the street, the echoes of the conversation happening behind them were still slightly audible, and Crowley indulged himself in listening in.
"I'm jolly well glad you're alive, chap!" said a posh, clipped voice, and then the young man's came.
"Ah - thank you, sir. I must confess, I wasn't entire sure you had made it, yourself. I was beginning to get worried when I didn't hear from you, when the war had ended. I'm glad you survived."
"Thank you, Havers. I have to say I wasn't entirely sure you did want to hear from me. But I am glad I decided to reach out. I'm awfully glad you made it through, too. I do - I do care about you, Havers. I missed you."
"Oh - I mean, oh good. I certainly missed you too, sir. More than I can say."
Crowley turned to look at Aziraphale. He was smiling widely, clearly listening in as well.
"I am glad it turned out well," he said in a hushed voice. Crowley chuckled.
"Yeah, s'pretty good. Good for them, I mean. They made it through, and found each other on the other side."
"Yes, Crowley, they did. And you know? We did, too."