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“You know what it’s like…” Gabriel’s voice carries over to him in the emptiness of the bookshop. Aziraphale’s gaze shifts over, eyebrows raising in curiosity, “...when you don’t know anything at all…” And the angel wants to laugh, because how many times had Gabriel implied that he knew everything, knew outcomes and events before anyone else? And now he was nothing more than the corporeal form of the archangel he used to be. “...and yet, you’re totally certain that everything would be better if you were near just one particular person.” It’s not a question.
And Aziraphale has never felt more sympathy for the other angel more in his existence than at that moment. Of course, he knows, knows that all he wants in every moment of his existence Crowley by his side. Vintage wine and firelight between them, midnights stretched into forever in their own creation of Eden. He can feel the way his body sings, how it yearns once more for the demon’s presence, almost as if he was addicted. And if he was being honest with himself at that moment, he might even agree.
“No!” Aziraphale responds all too quickly, his spine straightening as the grin slips from his facade just as quickly as it had appeared. He hadn’t even realized the mere action of dreaming and pining over the other man had caused him to slip up. But he had, as he always had. Crowley had a way of making him do uncharacteristic things, of sending his heart racing in ways that proved he was something more than just a human. Gabriel shoots him a concerned look, head tilting just so and Aziraphale continues, hoping his voice doesn’t betray him, “Certainly not.” He says, and tries not to notice the way Gabriel’s lips twitch down, frowning.