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Anthony J. Crowley didn’t always have serpent’s eyes.
He didn’t always have oddly yellow scleras, or thinly-slitted pupils.
Crowley wasn’t always a demon.
Before, he danced among the galaxies, balls of light and flashes of fire created by his touch, empty pockets of darkness filled with endless nebulas, painting the skies in its shining colours.
He was a Starmaker.
Oh, he remembered how the stars swirled in his palm. He remembered how he looked upon them with his honey-coloured eyes with such love and reverence. Being his creation, he admired them all, especially Alpha Centauri, one of the brightest stars he’d made.
Then he Fell.
It was happening all too fast to remember, and yet the painful memory remained seared in his mind for thousands and thousands of years. He remembered the drop, the look of betrayal that must’ve been on his eyes. Tears stung his eyelids, suspending in air, as clouds collected in the dark sky, and thunder crashed above. Then a splash. And immediately his wings, his arms, his whole body, felt like he was being burned alive. Crawley wanted to scream. He was drowning, he was drowning, and everything burned. The sulfur stung, no– scalded – his wings, transforming them from a delicate white into a charcoal black, charring them. Crawley could feel every single feather in his wing, as it choked out that now-familiar shade of black, and God, it hurt .
Panic shrouded his senses as he clawed his way up the fiery pool of sulfur, desperately trying to save himself from this mess. ( I didn’t mean to, didn’t mean to– I’m sorry, I’m sorry, sorry–! Please, please… ) In his fury, ugly claws sprouted from his nails and he struggled, gasping for air, the sulfur entering his system again and again, attacking all of him that was once holy. And he gasped one last time, finally breathing in air rather than sulfur. But it was polluted, corrupted with sin and betrayal. Crawley didn’t know whether he was breathing in air or sulfur anymore.
He closed his eyes, hyperventilating, drowning in the scent of madness and despair, choking on the remains of sulfur that had entered his body.
Then, he opened them, looking around in terror. Something was wrong. Dull hulls of dark blue and green painted his vision, and his view was restricted to slits. He touched his cheeks instinctively, and turned back to face his reflection in the boiling pool. What had been honey-golden shades of yellow irises became an odd sulfur-like yellow sclera, and what had been lovely, rounded pupils that beheld the stars and all its creation, became two dagger-like slits that resembled a serpent’s.
Crawley sobbed. He hated his new reflection, he hated how ugly, how twisted Falling had made him. But there was no time for vulnerability, for the rest of Hell looked down on that. Most of them Fell on purpose, smugly admiring their new features when they climbed out of the damned pool. Crawley hadn’t. He just had to deal with it, adapting himself to suit his conditions. Simple evolution, he had thought. A small price to pay for Falling.
The next few millennia were bleak, more of a haze to Crawley, as he worked his way through the ranks of Hell to gain their trust. Until, he was sent to Earth to make trouble. And he saw, through slitted yellow eyes, a beautiful angel who beheld all creatures, including him, with love and reverence.
And this time, Crawley enjoyed falling.
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Angels weren’t supposed to interact with demons. They were hereditary enemies, after all. But on that day, in Eden, a different story played out. From the moment Aziraphale saw that wily serpent slither up Eden’s wall, he was completely enamoured by his presence. “Crawley,” he had introduced himself. Everything about him was striking, from his fiery auburn locks, to his shiny matte black wings, to his little snake tattoo under his sideburns. But the most important was the demon’s eyes, glowing a bright yellow, with beautifully carved slits splitting them in the middle. It reminded Aziraphale of the Sun.
It reminded Aziraphale of sunflowers.
For the next 6000 years, the pair continued to meet again, and again, and again. From Mesopotamia, to Paris, to London, time after time, longer and longer as they grew closer. Crowley, as he preferred to be called, started hiding his eyes, shielding them from humanity. All Aziraphale could think of was what a shame it was to hide those lovely shades of amber from the world.
When the Apocalypse happened, Aziraphale wondered if he would ever see his friend and his ridiculous style and comforting eyes again. He would walk through hell, face demons, and face angels, all to see his friend safe and sound again. He didn’t want to hurt him. Not like the day he discorporated, the day that was supposed to be the End of the World. Oh, the way Crowley hid his feelings behind those pesky glasses, tears freeing themselves from the rim of their dark prison. It hurt Aziraphale to remember.
The Apocalypse was the eye of the storm, and Heaven and Hell was hail and thunder and lightning, and suddenly… it was all over. And Aziraphale found himself sitting in a newly restored bookshop with his friend, his partner, his lover, staring at the demon’s eyes through a shield of darkness. And he didn’t know what to do.
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“Angel?” Crowley asked. “Is everything alright? You’ve been awfully quiet for the past few… what time is it now..?”
“5 o’ clock. And no need to worry, my dear. I was just... thinking,” Aziraphale looked up from his wine glass to give Crowley a small, apprehensive smile. Crowley hated that. The Apocalypse was over, Heaven and Hell had declared them persona non grata, and they were safe. So why could he feel anxiety radiating from Aziraphale’s angelic glow?
Crowley shifted uncomfortably in his seat. They had been drinking for an hour now, but it takes a lot of alcohol to get an angel or a demon drunk. And Crowley had an inkling that he was not going to be drunk enough for the conversation that might follow soon. He took a big glup of wine from his own glass, careful not to destroy the angel’s beautiful crockery with his own demonic presence.
“Oh. ‘S alright, then. What were you thinking of?” Crowley questioned, hoping his glasses would hide his worry and anxiety that was bubbling to the surface.
Now, it was Aziraphale’s turn to shift in his seat, steadying himself. “Oh, w- w- well, I- I was just thinking.. about your eyes, Crowley.” He looked at Crowley, a sort of sad expression forming on his face.
“Ngk,” Crowley said coherently, as he pushed his dark glasses further up his nose bridge. He looked down, and closed his odd yellow eyes, wincing like a kicked puppy. Maybe his eyes were too deformed and ugly for the angel to even tolerate. He should go, save Aziraphale from his hideous, demonic form, pack up and leave London, maybe go to Alpha Centauri like he originally intended-
“Oh, Crowley. I- I’m so sorry. Oh, dear, I should’ve never said that. No, my darling, your eyes are beautiful .” Aziraphale knelt down in front of Crowley, pressing gentle kisses to his palms. “I should’ve said that earlier, but I was afraid of going too fast. I’m sorry, my dear. Will you forgive me?” He looked up at Crowley with that beautiful halo of curls, his silver-blue eyes shining with tears that threatened to fall. Crowley thought that Aziraphale had never looked more angelic.
“I- ngh-” Crowley stuttered. Aziraphale continued to look up at him, tenderly stroking his fingers, his claws, that threatened to make an appearance. Through dark glasses, the demon could see the angel’s eyes looking at him searchingly.
“I mean it, Crowley. Your eyes are the most gorgeous I have ever seen.” Gentle calloused hands reached out to stroke the demon’s cheeks.
“R-Really?” Crowley had meant that to sound joking and sarcastic. Instead, it came out as more of a whimper. “Thought it looked ssstrange and off-putting.” He let out a small string of pained and broken chuckles. “Got pretty spooky eyes, me.”
Aziraphale pouted. “Come now, dear.”
“I’m used to it by now, Angel. ‘S fine. ‘S not your fault.” The redhead looked away, not daring to meet his angel’s gaze.
Yet, the angel still brought Crowley’s hand to his cheek, leaning into it. “Well then, darling, can you do me a favour? Can you… take out your glasses for me? I would love to see your eyes.”
“Nmgh- Uh-” Crowley started. “I-” His eyes shifted to take a glance at his caring Angel. Aziraphale looked up at him with the most adoring and caring expression, and Crowley knew all at once that he was safe; he was loved; he was understood. And, of course, when his Angel looked at him that way, how could he say no? Crowley shifted once more in his seat. “I- Sure, Angel.”
Aziraphale leaned over his demon and the couch he was sitting in and pecked him on the cheek, while nimble fingers gently slid Crowley’s rounded glasses off his face. Crowley looked away once more, not being used to basking in dizzying displays of light.
It was afternoon, after all, and the Sun shone just so in the bookshop, reflecting off all of Aziraphale’s collected trinkets over the years. However, Crowley thought, the most stunning, the most brilliant, the most dizzying display of all was Aziraphale. His Angel looked even more radiant than the last time Crowley saw him without his glasses. Mesopotamia. A long time ago, Crowley recalled. He forced himself to be still, not looking away. (Maybe, he thought, maybe I can get used to this.)
“There you are.”
The angel smiled, a golden halo seeming to form above his head from the reflection of the Sun. Crowley felt his Angel’s hand caress his cheek, right below his eyes, and leaned in. His Angel was petting him like he wasn’t some kind of demon, a being to be feared, instead, he was petting him like he was the most lovely creature on the entire planet. Aziraphale made sure his demon knew he was loved, regardless of who he was. And Crowley felt like he could take on the world, as long as Aziraphale was by his side.
“Oh, my dear. You look absolutely handsome. I- You- Your eyes.” Crowley looked at him expectantly.
“They look like sunflowers.” Aziraphale nodded like he was sure of it, and looked at his husband adoringly. “I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel like you were worthy of love earlier.”
Crowley smiled, tears glistening on the brink of his lower eyelids. “‘S okay, ‘ngel.” Then, with a tender kiss, “Thank you.”
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Later that night, Crowley would find himself lying awake in his husband's- no, their bed, and he would slither to the bathroom quietly to have a quick look in the mirror.
"Sunflowers," Crowley murmured, watching his reflection touch his cheek in the mirror, still feeling the kisses and love from Aziraphale seared there for all eternity. "Well, I'll be damned." The demon chuckled to himself, getting back into bed to snuggle with his warm, soft, angel.
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A few days later…
The Bentley pulled up in front of the bookshop with a loud honk, engine revving and ready to go.
“Angel! Are you ready for our date?” Crowley called out from the driver’s seat.
Aziraphale popped his head out the bookshop door.
“Just a moment, darling, I need to prepare something.”
The bell on the bookshop door rang once more as Aziraphale headed inside. Crowley cut the engine and got out of the vehicle, slamming the door. He leaned onto the Bentley, adoring his lover’s little quirks. (Sure, Angel. Crowley grinned to himself. Anything you like.)
“Ah! There we are.” Aziraphale rustled about in the bookshop and finally scurried out the front door. Crowley noticed that he seemed to be hiding something behind his back.
“Listen, I-I-I know it isn’t much, but I, erm, got you a gift! To celebrate this occasion.” Rustling noises could be heard as Aziraphale fidgeted with the gift behind his back.
“Really?” Crowley drawled. “What big occasion are we celebrating?” He smirked, watching a flustered Aziraphale scoff and give a small huff.
“Oh, really, now. Stop teasing, you wily old serpent.” The angel batted his husband’s arm playfully. “Here you are.”
As he said that, he handed Crowley a neatly wrapped bouquet. Crowley smiled, truly smiled, as he silently took in the gift that Aziraphale had prepared for him.
It was a bouquet of sunflowers.
“I- ngk. I- Thank you, Angel.” Pulling his ethereal husband into an embrace, Crowley took the bouquet gingerly and gave him a tender kiss.
“Don’t mention it, my dear.” Aziraphale smiled, holding him as close as possible.
When they got into the car, Crowley was still admiring Aziraphale’s bouquet as he put it in the Bentley’s cupholder gently. “Out of curiosity, Angel, do you know what sunflowers mean in the language of flowers?” He asked.
“Oh, no. Why?” Aziraphale looked at him with admiration.
“It means loyalty and adoration. Or, unwavering faith and unconditional love, to some.”
Aziraphale chuckled. “Well, isn’t that fitting.”
Crowley smirked at his Angel, amused. ( Fitting indeed.)
“So, where to, Angel?”
“What about the Ritz? I believe a table for two has miraculously come free.”
“Oh, you cheeky bastard.”
And the Bentley’s engine roared as it drove away from the bookshop, disappearing into the sunset.
( Hey, hey, hey, lover,
You don't have to be a star
Hey, hey, hey, lover,
I love you just the way you are
For love is just the same
Without fortune or fame
Just give me
True love and understanding
True love and understanding… )