Chapter Text
Aziraphale
‘You idiot. We could have been… us.’
The last words Crowley had said before he grabbed Aziraphale’s Collar and pressed their lips together.
Aziraphale liked it. He reached for Crowley’s back, grazing his fingertips on it.
Then… flashes. Familiar memories. They had done this before. What happened over 6000 years ago. Angel and … archangel.
And how he fell. Innocent questions. And the metatron did it. And then… gone.
A name popped into his head. Seven letters. Three syllables. It hadn’t been spoken since before the earth was created.
He trembled with realisation. The knowledge going into his brain was too much.
And then it was over. Aziraphale couldn’t help the face as much as he wanted to. His brain was trying to process it all, and couldn’t care about anything else, like expressions. The only words he could muster was ‘I forgive you.’
Except Crowley didn’t need to be forgiven for anything.
‘Don’t bother.’
The metatron appeared in the shop. Aziraphale was too shocked to resist the metatron leading him across the road, to the lift..
He looked back. There he was. Leant against the Bentley. Glasses on, wearing a cold, blank, face.
It took all his willpower to look away from Crowley and step into the lift with the metatron. The person he now hates, the person who felled the love of Aziraphale’s life and condemned him to hell.
***
Crowley
‘You idiot. We could have been… us.’
A last resort. Crowley was grabbing Aziraphale’s lapels, pulling them together, the crash of lips.
Conveying all the pent up feelings for over 6000 years into one desperate kiss as a last ditch attempt at convincing his Angel to stay
All the memories, flashing through his head. Making the nebula, the wall, the flood.
Job, Alexandria, Mediaeval times, Elizabethan era, Scotland, 1800, st james’ park.
World War 2. These last few years.
Aziraphale started to tremble, and pulled away.
Shit. I messed up big time.
And the face he pulled? He was disgusted.
‘I forgive you.’
The moment played back in his head on loop like a broken record.
‘Don’t bother’
Out of the shop, across the road, outside the cafe, into the Bentley.
Scratch that.
Hope lingered in the demon’s mind.
He stayed outside the Bentley, long enough to see Aziraphale and the metatron.
They waited for the lift on the pavement.
Aziraphale looked back.
Don’t let him see you cry. Keep it together, Crowley!
They stepped into the lift.
Crowley’s heart broke. For the second time in five minutes.
‘Why the long face, six shots? Oh. Was it really that bad?’ Nina's voice said from behind the demon as he turned to face her.
At any other time, Crowley would appreciate the concern, but at that moment, he just wanted to get away from the streets of Soho.
‘Worse.’
He got in the Bentley and drove away, hoping to never return to Wickber street except for the occasional coffee.