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"Could you tell me about it?"
"About what, angel?"
There was that expression on Aziraphale's face, one Crowley had seen a dozen times; a burning curiosity fighting with the delegations of God-given privacy. He placed one hand over Aziraphale's clenched fist, his unshielded eyes encouraging. Aziraphale sighed.
"Your Fall."
His grip on Aziraphale's hand tensed for a fraction of a second before relaxing into that faux casualness that he’d perfected over the years. "Not much to say is there. Asked some questions, hung around the wrong crowd and then-"
"Sauntered vaguely downwards," Aziraphale interrupted, a knowing look on his face. His fist uncurled under Crowley's hand as he turned over his palm to slot his fingers against Crowley's. "Yes, dear, but I was hoping, if you don't mind that is, if you could tell me how it felt."
Crowley managed not to choke on the ill-timed sip of his drink. He forced it down and cleared his throat, letting the silence linger. It- it wasn’t an unexpected question by any means. Heaven’s archangels had been the only angels present during his trial. He expected most of how Falling went to have been twisted and spread until only the very worst of it had been talked about all over Heaven. Not to say all of it hadn’t been absolutely shit but. There had been some perks to it.
Though he knew that’s not what Aziraphale was asking about either. He let his head fall back against the sofa they’d found themselves on in the backroom of the bookshop. The thing was, Crowley didn’t quite remember falling. It wasn’t something he liked thinking about – one could say he avoided thinking about it entirely. Over the years, the memory of his Fall had become a wisp of smoke among his new memories of Earth.
Of Aziraphale.
The silence stretched for too long and he felt Aziraphale flutter beside him, ready to apologise. Crowley moved his leg, knee touching the angel’s, who stuttered and then relaxed incrementally. He spoke again before Crowley could. “I just- I would like to be aware of what it’s like, dear. In case it all goes topsy-turvy.”
Crowley’s heart lurched in his chest as he lifted his head. The glass disappeared from his hand as he brought it down to clutch Aziraphale’s other hand, letting their fingers intertwine – another point of contact. “Angel, you’re not going to-” It was his turn to stutter as he stared at Aziraphale, whose blonde curls were so bright that they made an ever-present halo. “I swear I won’t let that happen.”
The angel blinked once, then twice, and then smiled, a soft one that deepened the lines on his face. He laughed, small and light. “Oh.”
Crowley wasn’t sure where he was getting the confidence for this proximity where there was more space at the end of the sofa than there was between them. Perhaps it was the liquor. Perhaps it was the atmosphere. Perhaps it was none of those, but rather Aziraphale not pulling away.
“Trust me,” he muttered, trying to reign back his desperation. He didn’t let go of Aziraphale’s hands though.
“I do,” Aziraphale said, with so much sincerity that Crowley sagged a bit.
If Crowley’s leg pressed against Aziraphale’s throughout the night as they resumed drinking, that was for nobody but them to know.