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    Summary

    The next time Crowley sees Aziraphale after the day he broke his heart, entered a blinding white lift, and left him behind, it’s in almost the exact same place.

    Three interminable months later.

    That awful day, driving aimless and slow in a silent Bentley, Crowley wasn’t sure if he would ever see Aziraphale again, let alone so soon, considering the way they left things. He tried to tell himself that he didn’t care if he ever clapped eyes on his white blonde curls, steel gray eyes, and ridiculous tartan bow tie ever again, but the tears threatening to spill out from behind his sunglasses betrayed his true feelings.

    (Not to mention the random but persistent spots of bright yellow paint on his car’s otherwise pure black sheen, ruthlessly rubbed out with an index finger the temperature of an open flame.)

    Language:
    English
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