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    Summary

    "Very nice," Crowley mumbled, barely audible, but Aziraphale heard him clearly.
    "Say it, please," Aziraphale implored, his voice trembling.
    "Say what?" Crowley replied, tone cold.
    "That you forgive me."
    Crowley shifted in his stance, scratching the bridge of his nose. "Right, right – see, I think I'm not quite there yet," he admitted.
    Aziraphale's heart sank. "Well… what else can I do? Tell me!" he pleaded.
    "I guess," Crowley hesitated and began again, "I suppose, you could…’ He looked away, a short and unnerved sigh escaping his lips. “There is something I'd like back," he settled on.

    OR: The post-canon apology and make up (and make out - obviously) scene we are going to spend the next few years manifesting.

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