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“So.”
“So.”
The angel didn’t know what to say. Here he was, in front of him. The demon that he…oh that was going to be hard to say out loud.
The Second Coming didn’t end up happening, most of it thanks to Crowley’s help. Aziraphale would send messages to Muriel, hoping that they would convince Crowley to help him on Earth. But was met with silence. The silence that would pierce through him like rusted nails to chapped palms.
Soon though, after a certain letter in which Aziraphale begs, pleads and confessed things that he never would in the eternity of their…partnership, the things that Aziraphale would ask Crowley to do would get done and Aziraphale was pleased. She might’ve just forgiven him, and he was so happy.
That all came crashing down when Aziraphale was sent back down to Earth and he went to see him. He preferred not to think about it. The yells. Screams. Words unspoken being brought to light. The anger and sadness. The argument that led both of them bitter and heartbroken. It would’ve led anyone to bawl on their knees for God, even a fallen angel.
Now, Aziraphale looked at him. Yellow eyes pierced through him through dark shades. My favorite, he thought. The yellow that brought him comfort for millennia. The yellow he could rely on. Also the yellow that intrigued and challenged him in a way that left him ruined but chasing. Dandelions. Wishes. All that now was shielded through his black glasses that he’s worn for centuries. So many thoughts went through his head as they looked at each other. The aftermath of the Second Not Coming meant Aziraphale was back on Earth. Here.
In the bookshop, the blinds were down so only the warm, electric candlelight brightened the room and illuminated their faces. Crowley looked at him straight on, no discernible expression on his face. She looks at the window. They both know exactly what happened the last time they were in this bookshop. Aziraphale left Crowley. Aziraphale seemingly chose the systemic relationship he had with heaven rather than his life with Crowley.
Aziraphale got a better look at them. She’s changed a bit. He let his hair go naturally a bit down, if rather unkept. He could just miracle it fine but they seemed to not even have to energy for that. They were exhausted. Aziraphale could tell. Crowley’s stance suggested he hasn’t rested in a good bit. Emotionally drained seems to be right.
“Say something.”
Crowley spoke. Her voice wavered, sobs on the back end, threatening to spill any second. He was still turned away from Aziraphale as if he looked back, Aziraphale would be gone.
“Ah, yes de-hm.” Aziraphale hesitated on the pet name. The tension from their last meeting hung in the air, still and penetrating through both of them. The last thing they want to to do is scare him away. That was all they thought about. I can’t lose you again.
Aziraphale looked at her again. He was still turned away but some of the tension in her relaxed. He would be able to notice any small thing from Crowley. He could sense his tones, the way his jaw clenches when he’s frustrated versus when he’s thinking. What he couldn’t see was how much Crowley cared about him. There was another word for it but even that seems too small to describe his feelings. Whatever they have can’t be described in simply words.
But right now words must be said. If not, there might not be someone to say them to.
“I believe you already know now that I’m sorry.”
“You’ve said it once or twice.” Sarcasm dripped from his voice like blood on a thorn crown.
The argument came to mind. They were in Crowley’s flat, where Aziraphale assumed he’d be. Aziraphale on his hands and knees, begging for Crowley to look him in the eye and when she did, she said the words that still haunt him to this day.
”I don’t forgive you. And I never will.”
Aziraphale clenched at that, taking a deep breath.
“I did, then you know that I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
The way Crowley spoke flatly, no emotion in his voice broke Aziraphale. He did this. He caused the one by his side pain. He caused the one person who didn’t judge him, degrade them or anything, he caused them pain. Pain that they can’t erase or look over. The only two options were to either run or go through it. And Aziraphale was damned if they had to run anymore than they had to. Still, they hesitated.
“I did say it a lot. I…” Aziraphale took a breath, a lump forming in his throat. The words were getting caught and he worried that the more he spoke, the more Crowley may realize he truly didn’t want Aziraphale. He cleared his throat.
“I know that after our…argument that you will never forgive me. And I understand that. I understand if you’ll never want to see me again after this for all eternity.”
“Is that what you think I want?”
Crowley was looking down, still away from Aziraphale. His dark glasses were getting more and more foggy, blurring his yellow eyes even more. The sobs threatening to spill were now trickling down his voice, thick and hoarse.
“You really think that I want to never see you again?” Crowley was frustrated. He could tell.
“Well, I don’t know. I would understand if you didn’t want to-“
“You idiot, I just don’t want you to hurt me!”
His sobs were more apparent. His throat sounded raw.
Silence followed, with a sob from Crowley breaking it, along with Aziraphale’s heart. He looked at him, every inch. He saw a small fabric wrapped around her wrist.
“What’s that?” They pointed at her wrist.
“What’s what?” His body tensed again, his posture was defensive, as if shielding himself from Aziraphale’s question.
“That fabric. Is that…”
The fabric in question was a light brown with a small pattern on it. When Aziraphale focused on it, the pattern became clear.
“Tartan.”
Crowley quickly grabbed his wrist, covering the fabric. He stared at it, his grip on his own wrist becoming almost painful to Aziraphale.
“I have thought of you everyday, Aziraphale.” Her voice was quiet now, without any sarcasm and his normal brashness.
“I have wanted you here by my side, like it always has been. I’m still angry, don’t get me wrong. I still haven’t forgiven you.”
It was only at this moment that Crowley looked at Aziraphale. He felt strangely exposed. Crowley always knew him better than anyone. A certain eye shift would give him away. But still, Crowley’s eyes were the only constant he really had. And one he was determined to never lose again.
His throat tightened at Crowley’s words. She made it clear in their last encounter that forgiveness would be off the table for a bit, if ever.
“But,” Her grip tightened on tartan fabric. “I want to. So badly, angel.”
They relaxed at the name. Angel. He didn’t realize just how much he missed that name coming from him.
“And I want you to. I want this anger and all of this stuff with heaven and what I did-I want to forget it all.”
“Not that simple is it though? And even then we can’t forget this. No matter how painful it was, we can’t.”
Crowley seemed to stare into his soul. He was able to see everything with a look. She reached up for her glasses. Slowly, she took them off, hands shaking. Yellow eyes. Yellow piercing eyes looked back at him.
“No, I suppose we can’t.” Aziraphale fidgeted with his clothes, getting accustomed back to his clothes from Earth. He reached to adjust his bow tie, forgetting there was none there.
Crowley’s hand was still on his wrist. He looked at it, then with careful fingers, unwrapped the tartan fabric on his wrist. They stared at it for a bit, the fabric laying across his two hands. His golden pleading eyes made eye contact with Aziraphale again.
Aziraphale made the steps forward, getting close to her but being slow, just in case she leaves. She has every right to after all.
Crowley straightens up, keeping his glossy eyes on him. He raises the fabric to put it around Aziraphale’s neck. He moved it so, making sure it looked exactly how it was before Aziraphale left. His hands brushed the back of his neck, making the other shiver a bit. This was new for both of them, trying to see if things are okay. If they could ever go back to what they had before.
Aziraphale gazed at Crowley, trying to let him know everything that’s going on in his mind. He can figure anything from a look.
“Why are looking at me like that?” Crowley readjusted the tie, tying slowly and carefully to get the tie perfect.
He’s going to make me talk. Should’ve expected that.
He clears his throat, the silence being unbearable.
“You kept a piece of me here.”
“‘Course I did. It’s your tie, I wasn’t going to just leave it.”
“You kept a piece of me with you.”
Crowley’s hands stopped, backing up a bit as he finished the bow tie.
“Ngk, it’s nothing.” Crowley deflected, looking away again, almost reaching for his glasses again that he had put on his shirt collar.
“It is everything to me. Aziraphale attempted a small smile, though not quite reaching his eyes.
Silence surrounded them. Deafening silence. Aziraphale fidgeted with his hands, messing with his gold ring.
He looked at it just a bit closer. Finger tightened around it, then he looked back at Crowley.
How I’ve missed your eyes
Aziraphale exhaled and looked up at Crowley. Her eyes were looking down, brimming with tears, arms clutching around her as if they are her only lifeline.
“My dear.”
Crowley looked back up at that, desperation and relief mixing on his face. He kept flexing his fingers, standing slightly hunched.
“Whatever I can do to let you forgive me I’ll do it. I’ll do anything if it meant I can have you for the rest of my eternity.”
Crowley’s jaw clenched. He’s thinking.
“What’d ya mean by that.” Her voice was short . Quiet. Rough. Aziraphale didn’t recognize this tone.
“Oh well I don’t know. I’d walk over hellfire and back.”
“You’d discorporate. Can’t have that.”
“Um well I’d go to the stars and pluck your favorite one and give it to you. Just say the word.”
“You’d be leaving again. I don’t want that.”
What the hell was Crowley getting at? Can’t he just accept that they would anything for her?
“Well, what do you want? Tell me and I’ll do it.”
With this, Crowley stepped slightly closer. Yellow eyes. Beautiful. Gorgeous. They remind Aziraphale of a field of dandelions. Right now, he wishes that Crowley can say what she wants so Aziraphale can go do it. He needs her to forgive him or he doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself if she doesn’t.
Crowley glanced down at their hands. They were mere centimeters apart. A slender finger creeped towards Aziraphale’s hand.
Oh, he just wants to hold my hand again. I did miss that.
He allowed his hand to drift into his palm, a slow and gentle grip held on. Crowley got closer, his breath being felt by Aziraphale’s cheek as Crowley leaned his head on theirs.
“I want you to not hurt me.”
His hand tightened around Aziraphale’s. He closed his eyes, a light wetness sliding down his cheeks.
Oh.
Every example Aziraphale has given involved him leaving Crowley again.
I’ll leave if he asked.
But I don’t think he wants me to.
Aziraphale closed his eyes too.
“I’m staying right here then.”
His hand removed itself from Crowley’s, a small feeling of disconnect overwhelmed him which he remedied by cupping Crowley’s face with both hands.
“I’ll stay right by your side if that’s what you want.”
Because that’s what I want too.
He gripped onto the angel’s hands, a lifeline almost for him.
“Is that what you want, angel?”
A soft thumb wiped the tears of his fallen angel.
“More than the world itself.”
He felt Crowley shudder against him, leaning his head on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry too.”
Didn’t expect that.
Aziraphale raised Crowley’s head up to meet his eyes. Familiar and full of unfulfilled wishes. Wishes Aziraphale is determined to make come true.
“Whatever do you mean? I was the one who left you. I left you behind.”
“I mean, yeah you did. But I didn’t realize why you did it. I was just angry that you left.”
Aziraphale’s hands went from Crowley’s cheeks to his neck, gently pushing back his fiery red hair that, in his absence, gone to his shoulders.
“I know you did it for me. Right?” The uncertainty in her voice broke the angel’s heart.
“Yes. Yes, everything I did is for you. I know it wasn’t the smartest decision but I wanted you safe. I just thought that would be easier if we were angels.”
I wanted us to be safe.
“But my dear, know I would never want to change you. After all, I do love you for a reason.”
Guess it was easier than I thought.
Crowley’s eyes shot up at him. In shock? In anger? In relief? Aziraphale didn’t know. His eyes welled up again at Aziraphale’s confession. His hands went to his white curls, holding on tight as he leaned his forehead against his angel’s.
“And that’s why I…” His voice choked on silent tears.
“You don’t have to say it at all. It’s just a silly human word.” The demon tensed at that. “But it’s a word I think suits us well, don’t you think?”
Don’t leave. I won’t. I promise.
“I love you, angel.” A hint of a smile appeared in his voice. “You’re right, it is a funny word. But I think it’s closest word we got for what we have.”
This time, Crowley leaned up so their noses were touching. Soft, tickling touches pricked their skin. They were aware of the pain and anger they went through. They also know that the other wants to be with them. Like this. How they always were. But better. Stronger even. Even with the pain, it was merely a thorn. Their love, however, was a garden. A garden filled with roses and dandelions. Velvety petals mixed with stems with spikes so small it seems inconsequential. A garden that in a faint distance if you stood still, you can hear birds singing, exactly where is anybody’s guess. A garden so big, so vast, so inexplicably them, it was impossible to put into words. Their garden is ineffable.
Silence surrounded them. Only their breathing and car motors from outside were heard. And ultimately, they were kind of killing the mood.
“Mind if I put on some music dear? It is rather silent. Perhaps some of that bebop you like? Something to make this bookshop feel a bit more alive, you know?”
A soft hand stroked at Crowley’s hair absentmindedly. Crowley snapped his fingers and a soft piano started playing.
A smile grew on Aziraphale’s face as he heard it. He took Crowley’s hand and placed it on his chest as he leaned against him, his face settling on his demon’s shoulder. His left hand took Crowley’s right and a small sway came onto them as the song played on Aziraphale’s player. It seemed the right time to hear it again.
It was only then that under the traffic of Soho, under their touches and emotions of their conversation, under the music of the player, that a certain bird sang in Berkeley Square.