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“I made that one.”
“Did you? My goodness, it’s lovely.”
Aziraphale and Crowley gazed up at the stars while they laid on their backs in their garden. They could do this now; Apocalypse 2.0 (which Crowley alternated between calling “Apocalypse 2: Electric Boogaloo” and “Apocalypse 1.5” since it never really got off the ground properly) had failed, and after much discussion and apologies and explanations, they could just be.
And so they were. Aziraphale caught Crowley staring at the night sky enough to recognize the longing, and before long he had started joining Crowley in the garden so often that they had special blankets to grab on cold nights. It was quiet, and peaceful. And, in Aziraphale’s humble opinion, everything they deserved after the past several years.
“Oh yeah. One of my favourites, actually. The Greeks liked it too.”
“They liked quite a few things, my dear. Naked, if at all possible,” Aziraphale said and Crowley snorted. “What is it called?”
“They’ve called it a lot since they noticed it,” Crowley shrugged, eyes staring up into the night sky. “It’s called Virgo now. See how it looks like someone standing?”
Aziraphale squinted, never one for seeing what the humans did in stars.
“Er…no, I can’t say that I do.”
“Ah, come on. Look, it’s got legs sticking out there to the left. And a square for the body, as strong as it is,” Crowley said, raising his arm above them and leaning closer to Aziraphale’s side so he could follow along. “Then there’s the arms right there. It looks like they’re a warrior.”
Aziraphale could sort of see the outline, a figure standing proud and tall, and he hummed, taking Crowley’s hand when he dropped it back down onto their blanket.
“They find patterns in everything, don’t they? Clever things,” he murmured.
“And make up stories about them. Not that any of them agree.”
“Do you have a favourite version?”
“Eh, the Greek one at least thinks it’s a person. ‘Course, it depends on who you asked, but lots of them thought it was Persephone.”
“Now there’s a sad story,” Aziraphale said, pursing his lips. “Poor girl. Stolen away by Hades, wasn’t she?”
“Some people call it romantic.”
“I’ll stick with Jane Austen, thank you,” Aziraphale said primly, and they fell into a content, companionable silence.
The fields around their cottage chirped with various bugs, a sign that spring was indeed in full swing, though there was still a bite of chill in the air. Aziraphale wiggled closer to Crowley, who grabbed their second blanket out of instinct and pulled it up over the pair of them.
“What is it really?” Aziraphale asked quietly. “The constellation. What did you mean for it to be?”
Crowley let loose a jumble of consonants masquerading as words, a surefire sign that he thought whatever he needed to say would be embarrassing, but Aziraphale didn’t press. If Crowley wanted to tell him, he would. There weren’t any secrets between them anymore.
“It’s, ah. It’s…you. Actually.”
Very little surprised Aziraphale anymore, but that certainly did it. He turned his head swiftly to look at Crowley.
“Me?”
“Yeah,” Crowley swallowed. “One of my first ones. It- ngk. It was right after we met.”
A warrior, Crowley had said. Strong.
“That’s how you saw me?” Aziraphale asked breathlessly.
“Still do, angel,” Crowley turned his head to face him, his blush evident even in the dark.
“Oh, you sweet, wonderful demon,” Aziraphale said, and he leaned in to kiss him.
And if he had a bit of tears in his eyes, well, who could blame him? Not every love story is written in the stars.