Chapter Text
Amidst the vast land of the river of blood, stood an angel with his thin, pure white robe heavily stained with red. His wings, limply hanging behind his back to the bodies behind him, their blood silently coating every nook of the angel’s feathers, almost imitating a blanket, covering cold, soulless bodies with its warmth.
He is holding a sword with his left hand; its blade is thick with red, with parts of the metal burned to black ashes under the scarlet layer. His right hand is fisted and trembling, and the golden ring on his pinky is luminous from the light the stars bring. His white, blonde hair is wet with sweat. His breathing was labored, audible. Tears are coming out of his blue eyes, wide with fear, anger, and disbelief. The angel is looking at something on his feet. Or rather, someone at his feet.
A curly red-haired angel is lying on his back, faded gold eyes staring back into the black night sky of stars. His chest carries a huge stab, right at the center, and a broken blue amulet rests on top of the wound.
---
“Sorry— excuse me, sorry—”
Aziraphale, a white-haired angel with sky-blue eyes, was sprinting through wide hallways, muttering apologies to his fellow angels whom he had accidentally bumped into in his haste, arms full of folders and papers.
The angel turned a corner, and unfortunately, he slammed into the chest of another angel. He yelped in surprise from the impact, and he landed on his bottom, as papers went flying out of their folders, making a whole mess on the marble floors of the Heavens Lobby.
“Please, mind where you go, Aziraphale.” The other angel grunted as she found herself on the floor. She stood up, rubbing her backside.
Aziraphale, still on the floor, immediately started apologizing in mild panic, “I apologize, really, please forgive my foolishness. I am in a hurry to deliver these papers to the Fungi Department, for the editors were having difficulties with…” he trailed off, seeing as the fellow angel was already walking away, seemingly never hearing the apologies he provided. “Did she hear me?” He silently questioned himself. His blue eyes moved to the ground he was sitting on, scattered papers littering the floor. He sighed with dread.
There was no time to waste, though, already late as he was. He started picking up papers and grouping them in order into their respective folders. Oh, how his superior will reprimand him, Gabriel. Midway, another angel crouched beside him, helping him pick up the rest of the fallen documents. Taken aback by unanticipated kindness, Aziraphale had to look up from the floor to observe the supporting colleague.
The angel who approached has red hair, cascading down to their shoulders in gentle waves. He has a thin frame, and upon a flitting observation, his fingers are long and careful. But his golden eyes, almost emitting yellow light, were the most striking and curious feature Aziraphale noticed. “Ah, thank you.” He mumbled to the other as he inserted a stack of papers into a folder.
“Why did you let her go?” The red-haired man questioned, not looking up as he arranged the papers in his hands by tapping them on the ground.
“Hm? Oh, the power to admonish them isn’t something I possess.” Aziraphale returned.
“How so? Her class is five lower than yours.”
The red-haired angel stole a glance at Aziraphale, as he didn’t provide any answer to his question. Aziraphale saw the other’s gaze in the corner of his eye, but he didn't look up at the papers on the floor.
Finally, they stood up from the ground, and the papers were again organized in the arms of Aziraphale.
“Oh, thank you very much,” Aziraphale said, looking up from the papers to the other angel— the red-haired one was a few inches taller than Aziraphale— beaming a smile.
The red-haired angel just shrugged and replied, “It is no trouble.” He grinned.
Who are you? Aziraphale pondered. He was about to voice his thinking. However, his question was cut off. “But anyway, I am in a hurry—” the red-haired angel explained, waving a hand as he started walking backward. “So, be careful with that now, yeah?” He winked, clicking his tongue before he turned around to jog away from Aziraphale.
Aziraphale stood in place, stunned, staring at the retreating angel. Lightly tilting his head to the side, he thought, Is he an architect? A forger or an editor? He furrowed his brows and vaguely shook his head at the wandering thought.
He had a job to do, so he headed in the opposite direction.
---
Three angels are playing with a spherical object in the halls of Heaven; two smaller angels are holding the sphere, passing it to each other as they taunt the taller angel, who endeavors to retrieve the item. Aziraphale ignored it, as usual, to what he did to all of his fellow angels; involvement in other unimportant matters is not an act Aziraphale does, so he stood up to leave the Entrance Hall.
Aziraphale was just about to exit Heaven's Lobby when an unknown object hit his head. He hears unimpressed gasps behind him. Aziraphale turned around, not to look at the angels— for he kept his gaze down in compliance— but at the item that had hit behind his head. The object was a mini version of a Planet; specifically, the model for Project Earth.
“It's Aziraphale…” He heard the smallest angel loudly whisper.
“Watch where you're going, Aziraphale.” The other angel bellowed. “Give me the ball.” He said, indifferent, holding out a hand.
Aziraphale frowned, but he reluctantly obeyed. As Aziraphale bent to pick up the ball, he heard the third angel state, “Stop.” Blinking in confusion, he halted his movement, his form staying as still as a statue. Hunched with a hand reaching for the ball, he looked up to see a red-haired angel, the tallest of the three, with his arms crossed to his chest and a look of irritation towards the two smaller angels. Oh, it's him… Aziraphale remembered. Oh, it's him! Aziraphale realized.
“Don't pick that up.” He gently said.
“Huh? That planet is yours.” The small angel said.
“And you hit him with it.” The red-haired angel replied.
“Accidentally. And Aziraphale was in our way!” The other angel protested.
“What are you talking about? He was leaving to give us our way, and you deliberately threw the ball far enough to hit him. I saw your look.” A stern tone from the red-haired angel. “You angels— What did Aziraphale ever do?”
Aziraphale was only watching the scene, still bent to the ground and a hand reaching for the ball, confused, but enamored.
The red-haired angel lowered his arms from his chest and strode towards Aziraphale, and collected the ball himself. He then grabbed Aziraphale’s arm and pulled him up, together with him, as he righted himself. “Is your head alright?” The red-haired angel asked, amber eyes searching Aziraphale for damage, and reaching for the back of his head.
Aziraphale was about to withdraw, refraining the other from touching his head, when the smallest angel whined, “Sir,” dragging the “r” out, and looking up at the tallest angel under her eyelashes. “We were necessary for the meeting in the Planets Department, right?” She approached the red-haired angel with her bottom lip deliberately sticking out and nudged his arm. “Shall we go now?” She pouted.
Aziraphale lightly furrowed and obscurely winced. What in the heavens is this angel doing? But his reaction went unnoticed by the red-haired angel and concealed a snicker behind the back of his hand.
“Very well.” He said, barely stifling a chuckle. He turned to Aziraphale and said, “I apologize for the bother, Aziraphale. We'd best have our leave now.”
They made their way to the Planet Department halls, the red-haired angel being dragged out by the smaller angel.
Aziraphale, frozen in place, blinked. Ah, I did not get the chance to ask who he was.
---
Standing on the clouds with bare feet outside the Facilities of Heaven, Aziraphale appreciates the infinite expanse of the cosmos above. He hummed a fabricated tune as his blue eyes dilated in the darkness. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the silhouette of an approaching angel that stops and settles beside him.
Aziraphale wasn’t looking at the angel, however, as he decidedly maintained his gaze above him. He never cared, nevertheless. Aziraphale pronounced instead, “It is a bit empty, don’t you think?”, breaking off his own muted lilt.
The angel murmured. “The space?”
“Yeah. Hollow.”
Comfortable silence settles between them.
“What do you think it needs to be in its fullest?” The angel asks.
Aziraphale finally takes off his gaze to glance at the angel beside him. Mildly surprised to look up to the red-haired angel with amber-gold orbs staring back at him, Aziraphales grabs a moment to analyze the other’s face for any hints of emotion expressed. He identified nothing but interest. Why would you be interested?
“Colors,” Aziraphale safely answered.
“Hm.” The red-haired lifted one eyebrow. “Is that all?”
Aziraphale blinked, and in return, he plastered a small smile. “Lights would also do. Sometimes, when fellow angels fly above heaven, their natural glow of light ostensibly dispels the darkness. I would like to see these lights permanently above us, and emit different kinds of colors as part of the void.” Aziraphale paused to think. “And the space between them would also have vibrancy. Perhaps, a big gas of bright colors,” He gestured in the space between them, “Appearing as if an explosion of colors just occurred.” He sighed, admiring his imagination in his head as he only pictured it.
The red-haired angel, who was surprisingly listening intently, chuckled at the excitement of the white-haired angel. “Aren’t you a big fan of colors?”
“They bring life to dull things; it is amazing. I am grateful God invented those.”
The red-haired only laughed in reciprocity. “I shall take note of your suggestion,” he sighed. Still grinning, he turned around and strode back into the Heavens Facility, leaving Aziraphale alone again, standing in the clouds.
The moment the red-haired angel was out of sight, Aziraphale meekly exclaimed, a hand coming up to cover his mouth, “Oh! I failed to remember to ask who he was.”
---
Aziraphale wanders into the halls of heaven, humming the same fabricated tune he sang to himself years ago under the consuming darkness of space. Currently, he awaits further instructions as he has already completed all the tasks assigned to him.
In the distance, at the end of the hallway, he hears the voice of Gabriel in conversation with another, hints of his frustration audible. He seems to be arguing with someone in hushed tones, which forced his singing to a halt. Concerned and curious, Aziraphale tiptoed his way close until the words of their discussion were clear.
“... telling you, Raphael, he’s tricking you. Associate with him no longer!” Gabriel said.
Aziraphale stopped in his tracks, their voice clear to comprehend, but unseen from him, or he would be at risk of being discovered if he were to peek around the corner.
“I am not associating with him, nor am I under his hypnosis. Your accusations are baseless, Gabriel. He—” The other said.
“What are you not understanding? He is—”
“No, what are you not understanding? He is our brother and—”
“Yet he abandoned this! Us!” Gabriel snapped in aggravation. He lowered his voice in a more neutral tone as he pursued, “Rumors are spreading about Lucifer and his supposed plans. Bad rumors. I don’t want you involved in his wiles, Raphael. You—”
“Wiles? You speak of our brother as a degenerate?”
“Yes, Raphael!”
“True or not, you approve of those rumors against our brother?”
“And rumors never come out of thin air.”
“You never try to understand. If you just went and heard our reasoning—”
“Do not turn and point your fingers at me. Would you say the same thing if you were in my shoes?”
“I wouldn’t know, Gabriel. As all you think about is yourself! He has a reason for leaving the Facility.”
“Then tell me, what is his reason?”
“Ask Lucifer yourself.”
A beat.
“Why are you defending him, Raphael?”
“... I question the same as he. Because I am as confused as to what Mother truthfully plans for us.”
“... So the rumors are true, then?”
The other angel didn’t respond.
Gabriel audibly sighed. “You don’t know Lucifer.”
“You don’t know me either.”
Departing footsteps were heard, and Aziraphale took this as a cue to leave.
Aziraphale had heard the rumors about Lucifer. To think that this ‘Raphael’ is a part of the angels that are involved, Aziraphale can only scowl with anger.
How could they doubt the plans of God? Aziraphale thought.
Ah, it doesn't matter. He added to himself.
Knowing the origin of their intentions is useless. All I can do is stay away from their influences.
---
Aziraphale was tending in the early stages of the Garden of Eden Prototype in the Terra Department together with his fellow co-working angels. He was tending the flowered tulips while others managed different kinds of plants around the small dome. In the background, angels from other Departments, specifically from the Land Creatures Department and the Fungi Department, come and go from the Plant dome.
Two angels from his left side were idly talking. With nothing better to distract Aziraphale, and both of them being so close to his hearing radius, he secretly listened to their conversation. Aren't I becoming a nosy angel now?
“How is your relationship with your lover?” The angel farthest from Aziraphale teased.
“Project Earth is approaching, and we find no time to spend on each other. It saddens me.” The other angel sighed.
“How unfortunate. I’m sorry. But I ask, why is God rushing us to finalize this Project?” He said.
“I have no idea myself, but be careful.” She warned.
“About what?”
“Asking questions.”
“Oh, here we go again with this argument. Honestly, what is so appalling about being curious?” He ranted.
“Out with it, Rosimael. You know the rumors.” She said sternly.
The angel, Rosimael, huffed in return.
Silence enclosed the Plant dome, excluding the rustle of leaves from their skilled, experienced hands, and the dwindling footsteps that came and went from the Land Creatures and Fungi Departments.
“Where was she working again?” Rosimael broke the tranquility.
“Hm?”
“Nischiel? Your lover?”
“Ah. Cosmos Department.” She supplied.
“Cosmos? Are you certain? I have never heard that one.”
“What–” She cut herself off. “The Cosmos Department is the new Planet Department. The details are what I'm not aware of. But in general, God established a new part of the universe, in favor of an enthusiastic suggestion of an angel.”
Rosimael audibly gasped in awe.
Jasmiel paused. “There was an announcement, you didn't attend?”
“Ah. Perhaps, I was planting some seeds here in the Plant dome as I observed their growth that I didn't hear…”
“I see. To be fair, only a few angels attended the notice.”
“‘That is amazing,’ is my comment.” His smile was distinct in his voice.
“You are insufferable.”
“As you always say.” Rosimael chuckled. “Oh! Aziraphale’s lover is on the Planet… Excuse me, Cosmos Department, isn't it so?”
Aziraphale froze, his hand hovering over a flower bud.
Are they talking about me… in front of me?
But silence followed Rosimael’s question.
Puzzled, Aziraphale slowly looked up from his plant to see the two angels looking over at him, expectantly. Aziraphale blinked, staring back at him in return. His gaze darted from the wall to his left, back to the two, then to the wall again, then back to the group. After what simply felt like woeful hours of embarrassingly studying each other, Aziraphale spoke up. “...I'm sorry?”
“Your lover, Aziraphale. He is in the Cosmos Department, right? Would there be a chance he knows Nischiel?” Rosimael exclaimed with enthusiasm.
Now, multiple important matters need to be discussed in that statement. These statements are clashing with each other inside Aziraphale's head, fighting for the place that needs to be addressed first.
“... Aziraphale?” The female angel removed Aziraphale from his stupor.
But his mind never found a settlement, so he randomly decided with, “W...Who?”
“Nischiel? You're not familiar with Nischiel?” Rosimael asked, disappointment carried in his tone. “Ah, too bad. I was thinking about both of you being friends, checking with each other's lovers if one has time and the other does not.”
The female angel surreptitiously winced with disgust, glaring at Rosimael as she shook her head in disagreement. Aziraphale, of course, saw but never addressed the counter.
Before Aziraphale can even construct a reply to reveal he holds no lover, Michael, an archangel and head of the Fungi Department, starts from the doorway, asking for the male angel. “Rosimael. Your assistance is needed in the Land Creatures Department. Now, please.”
“Oh, I'll be on my way!” Rosimael called out, even if the archangel was merely a few feet away.
“Oh, Jasmiel,” Michael gestured to the female angel. “Come with me. I need your help with the soil for the new species we have.” Lastly, Michael inspected Aziraphale. “And Aziraphale, if you see Gabriel, relay this message to him: Lessen the gifts of flowers to Florael from my Department; her office is overflowing with them and she refuses to throw at least some of them out.” She sighed, shaking her head. When she was met with no reply, Michael glanced at Aziraphale to find his face in an expression of dumbstruckness. Michael giggled. “Has your mind gone somewhere else? Maybe even your lover took your thinking other of your heart?”
Once again, Aziraphale was taken out of his confusion. “What? No!”
“You remember what I said about Gabriel?”
“O… Of course.” Aziraphale stammered.
“Good.” She looked at Jasmiel. “Come, Jasmiel.” She said as she turned her form around, making her way down the hall.
And in a blink, the angels are gone, even the ones from the other Departments are gone, leaving Aziraphale alone in the Plant dome.
Aziraphale blinked.
“I don't have a lover…” Aziraphale whispered to himself in disbelief.
---
“May I ask who you are?”
Aziraphale blurted out.
Under the wing of the red-haired angel, Aziraphale watched in awe as vivid colors of clusters of dust and bright stars came to life. The empty void, once storing absolute nothing, was now filled with matter: planets, debris, rocks, stars, and nebulae.
Aziraphale was hooked; he felt an amalgamation of emotions too many he couldn’t name. Nevertheless, his face unashamedly showed only one emotion: adoration.
Falling stars that leave a trail of light behind them in their wake, softly patter above the sheltering wing.
“Pardon?”
The red-haired angel’s face was obscured by his wing; Aziraphale leaned forward to peer up at the face of the other, and he found that the angel was already looking at him with inquisitiveness.
“Well, it seems you already know me, so… What about you? Who are you?” Aziraphale rephrased.
The red-haired paused, his golden eyes darting across the white-haired’s face. His expression was indistinguishable, scanning Aziraphale’s face and gold-amber eyes lingering on sky-blue eyes.
A second more, and the angel grinned, white teeth gleaming from the explosion of colors around them. “My name is Raphael.” He finally answered. “A Star-maker; Head of the Cosmos Department, and an Archangel.”
Aziraphale’s eyes fully widened at the last revelation, spurring a few silent consonants. A hand came up to cover his mouth in shock. “Raphael?” He echoed. A familiar name, Aziraphale thought, but the other question in his head reigned. “Head of Cosmos Department? You're an Archangel?”
Raphael laughed in response.
“This is the first. How come you never knew me?” Raphael tilted his head.
“I don't know myself. Your name sounds familiar to me, however.” He tilted his head inquisitively. “Am I supposed to know all the names of the Archangels?...” His voice trailed off at the end, bashfully looking down at his wringing hands.
Raphael lowered his sheltering wing to lightly wrap around Aziraphale, as he lifted his chin with his right index finger. “I don’t mind it, Aziraphale. Not with how you aren’t having an unadulterated obsession with my position and popularity like every angel has.” Raphael partly joked.
Aziraphale didn’t respond. His bright blue eyes were fixated on the luminescent golden eyes, and his face was only inches away from the other's. Aziraphale found himself admiring the beauty of the red-haired angel, noticing details of the other’s corporation that he hadn’t perceived before. He saw angular cheeks and a striking nose, faint dimples after thin lips pulling into a grin, and eyes—amber-gold eyes—both menacing and comforting. “You’re gorgeous,” Aziraphale confessed.
Raphael blinked. Once again, he was speechless. “Of course I know that. Where do you think I gained my popularity with the lower classes from?”
“No, it is that I only see your beauty properly just now.” Aziraphale tilted his head to the side, eyes flickering to every nook of Raphael’s face. He’s trying to memorize, because he— “... I think I’m in love with you.” He grinned.
“Is that so. Is it up to your standards?” Raphael smirked, lowering his hand from the white-haired angel’s chin.
“Hmm… You’re not my type.” Aziraphale sighed with faux disappointment as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Raphael intentionally gasped and held a hand to his heart. “Didn’t you just confess your undying love to me? Was that fake? Aren’t you cruel?” He excessively, dramatically bellowed.
“Too low for my standards, you are. Still, I love you.”
A heavy atmosphere settled between them. But that only lasted a mere second, for they both cackled together, holding their stomachs and tears joyfully peeking out of their eyes from laughter. Raphael’s wing, which was still wrapped around Aziraphale, tightened, causing their bodies to drift closer to one another. Aziraphale felt the warmth of another against his body, and his heart involuntarily skipped a beat.
It took a while, but shortly after their amusements died down, Aziraphale acknowledged, “Thank you for accepting my suggestion, creating… this. That conversation was years ago. I’m surprised to know you remembered it.” He gestured to Raphael’s work, once again admiring the creation that surrounds both of them. “How I wonder now how you did all this.”
Aziraphlale saw that Raphael thought this out for a moment, but then an idea popped into his head. He grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist with both of his hands, then adjusted his grip to hold the other’s palm and requested, “Would you be so inclined to see my workshop?”
---
Aziraphale silently gasped, having his jaw touching the floor as he entered a room seemingly full of stars, planets, and debris. Two shelves occupy the entirety of the left and right walls, overcrowded with books and displaying planets. The wall in front of Aziraphale holds a corkboard filled with stamped sketches, blueprints, and notes. There are piles of books and papers on the floor, decorating the room with organized disarray. In the middle, a long and wide glass table was set, filled to the brim with unfinished prototypes, tools Aziraphale couldn’t identify, more sketches, pens, and brushes.
“Oh, forgive the mess. I manage better when I can see everything that is visible in my eyesight.” Embarrassment joined Raphael’s pitch as Aziraphale stepped deeper into the room.
“No, I love it.” Aziraphale commented, running a hand on the table, “I believe every room speaks of its owner. And I think I have the impression of this room as your private universe.” Aziraphale slyly looked over his shoulder to face Raphael. “It almost feels intrusive to enter an intimate quarter.”
“Really? It’s only my office.”
“You made an effort in making it your office.”
Raphael hummed in reply.
“May I ask what you are planning for these sketches and blueprints on the table?”
Visibly beaming, Raphael walked over to Aziraphale and delightedly proceeded to outline his ongoing prototypes. He gestured all around him, waving his hands this way and that, making an effort to illustrate his works as Aziraphale attentively listened.
He’s gorgeous.
---
Raphael leisurely walks down an aisle of wildflowers and jungle trees, delicately caressing the greenery. He's in the Gardening Building of the whole facility. As it is his first time visiting this part of Heaven, no doubt Raphael immediately finds himself lost inside the maze of woods. On one of the silky leaves, he saw a newly established insect called a ‘ladybug’ approaching a neighboring leaf infested with aphids. He crouches down, curious as to how the new creature meticulously preys on its food. Raphael watches in awe, seeing a predator turned into prey.
When he heard a silent song echoing in the woods, Raphael was put off his mulling and turned his head in the direction of the voice. He stood up, looking around, and seeing not a single angel in sight, he started striding towards the sound. He felt hypnotized by the gentle song, as a child is attracted to a lullaby. How beautiful that voice is. Further down the aisle, he saw the edge of a clearing.
Once Raphael left the jungle forest and once he reached the origin of the voice, he discovered an angel crouched in a wilting rose bush, tending the roots with diligent and kind hands.
Aziraphale.
Heavenly light was kissing Aziraphale’s pale, soft skin, bouncing off it, making his whole frame glow. His halo was not out, yet his white, fluffy curls seemed to have their aureole. And his voice.
Aziraphale is singing to hanging roses, and he notices that those flowers regain their life; their buds moving to face Aziraphale like he became their Sun, as the idea of the Sun is still in its prototype stages.
Ethereal beauty. A thought came.
Raphael became aware that he was openly staring at Aziraphale, jaw-dropping out of his socket and eyes wide around golden irises. He, unfortunately, also became aware that Raphael voiced his one thought out loud.
Aziraphale jumped, halted his singing, and turned his focus from the bush to the unexpected voice. “Raphael? What brings you here?” He asked, still kneeling on the ground. Aziraphale stood up, wiping his dirt-stained hands on his robe and leaving no muddy clothes in its wake with a miracle. “I didn't hear you approach.”
Silence.
“...Raphael?”
The red-haired angel also, unfortunately, became aware that Aziraphale was talking to him. And listening, he was not.
Raphael stammered, combining words of explanation, cheeks turning into a light shade of those roses.
Troubled by Raphael's lack of response, Aziraphale closed the space between them and softly brushed his palm to Raphael’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”
Before he can formulate an answer, Aziraphale notices the scarlet dusting Raphael's cheeks. “Huh? Your face is a little red, isn't it?” He brought his left palm to graze the reddened face.
Raphael reached up and held the wrist of a hand tickling his right cheek.”I am well. It is only that you captured the image of beauty when you were tending the wilting roses. You looked ethereal.” Raphael chuckled.
Aziraphale’s facial expression instantly turned from concern to pure, unadulterated disbelief. “Impossible that I possess such external charm. And I am ethereal; I'm an angel!” Amused, Aziraphale tilted his head with a teasing smile on his lips.
Raphael shook his head, amber eyes secured on sky-blue eyes. “No. Certainly, you are captivating. And just now is not an exception. You were beautiful, and you are beautiful.” Raphael adjusted his grip and held both of Aziraphale's hands in his palms, lowering them to settle comfortably between them.
“Your exaggerations flatter me.”
“Believe me, not one word was overstated. It was the truth.” Raphael furrowed his brows, leaning his head down closer to Aziraphale. “Do you not trust me?” He whispered.
Aziraphale blushed. With their proximity and Raphael’s affirmation, Aziraphale stopped breathing unwittingly. “Of course, I trust you.”
Raphael smiled, unwrinkling his brows back to neutral.
“Ah, I don’t know what to say, so, ah, thank you.” Sheepishly, Aziraphale looked down at their conjoined hands. An easy air settled around them, which only lasted for a second, only a second, as Aziraphale jumped out of the silence, looking up at Raphael. “Oh! You didn’t tell me why you are here. You work in the Cosmos Department, on the other side of Heaven, do you not?”
Raphael leaned back to his usual height. “With the Project Earth coming along, I was only curious and came to see some of the Earth's prototypes.”
“I see.”
“You work here, Aziraphale?”
“Mhm.” Aziraphale nodded, his curly white hair bouncing from the movement.
“You're under Gabriel? My brother?” Raphael asked incredulously.
Aziraphale let out a chuckle, lightly covering his mouth with his fingers.
“Huh.” Raphael landed both of his hands on his hips, intentionally and jokingly, bouncing off on his shoulders in an act of bewilderment. “I hope he isn't giving you a hard time on your duties, knowing my annoyingly bastard younger brother. A strict manager, he is.” He said, clicking his tongue as he shook his head, an insult to his brother but with fondness in his voice.
Aziraphale chuckled once again before he remembered a certain conversation he once overheard in a deserted hallway. ‘Brother’?
“—He is our brother—”
“Why are you defending him, Raphael?”
“I question the same as he—”
“—So the rumors are true—”
“—You don't know Lucifer.”
His smile slowly crumbled as he looked up at Raphael, joyfully grinning.
“You don't know me either.”
Oh. It was you.
Missing pieces of puzzles fit into places he never noticed were missing, nor was he searching for them. Aziaphale was content as what he knows.
Stupid, stupid. You're with Lucifer?
Suddenly, the Raphael Aziraphale saw is not the Raphael that helped him gather the scattered papers on the floor, nor the Raphael that apologized for accidentally hitting him, nor the Raphael that asked him how to decorate the open void, nor the angel that painted the void out of his suggestion, nor the angel passionate about his work, nor the one who complimented his looks only a moment ago.
Oh, I don't know you at all.
Raphael, of course, noticed the sudden change of face of Aziraphale.
I know you no more than Gabriel does.
Raphael frowned, a nervous smile playing on his lips. “Aziraphale?”
I love you, but,
“Hm?” Aziraphale plastered a smile on his face, with force, this time.
“Did I say something wrong?”
You—
“No, not at all.” To steer the wheel in another direction, Aziraphale grabbed Raphael's hands and dragged him out of their position to approach the rose bush Aziraphale had been tending minutes ago. “How about I show you around the Prototype Eden?”
Raphael’s features softened. “I would love that.”
---
The Lobby was located in the middle of all of the Departments surrounding it—seven halls leading to each department, connecting to one wide, circular area. Extremely high ceilings enclose the angels marching around the building. The Lobby contained nothing but a spinning, glowing sphere in the middle. There is nothing to note with the sphere, as it is only a glowing ball floating in the middle. Three horizontal rings are rotating around the sphere, however. The smallest rotating ring, closest to the ball, indicates the day; when it makes its full rotation vertically around the sphere, a day has passed. The middle ring, after a full rotation diagonally, indicates that a month has passed. The largest ring indicates that a year has passed after its full rotation vertically, in the direction opposite to the smallest ring.
God made the machinery to determine how much time has passed. A feature She equipped in the apparatus is that every century, all of the rings will align with each other horizontally.
There is a reception table in front of the sphere, carrying two receptionist angels with never-ending papers stacked in their corners. They are also the angels responsible for recording the number of centuries that passed.
The number listed for how many centuries have passed is as follows: 8,347,129. Aziraphale and Raphael first met in the 4,423,209th century.
You may think it excessive, but remember, they’re immortals living in a cycle-less space. Perception and Value of Time are lost on them.
There are seven departments in the Heavens Facility, implemented by God to store order and organization. The rules of teamwork were stricter as Project Earth was announced. The Seven Departments are as follows: Anatomical and DNA Department, Land Creatures Department, Sea Creatures Department, Terra Department, Mycelium/Fungi Department, Mind and Behavior Department, and Cosmos Department.
As for how their jobs are separated, it is based on their Class Level. There are a total of seventy-seven classes in all of the Heaven Facility. The first seven classes of the Facility contain only one person. Members of the angels from each Class gradually increase, starting from the eighth and ninth Class— which only has two angels under it— to the seventy-sixth and seventy-seventh Class— which includes around 24,157,817 angels. The first Class is the Supreme Archangel, Lucifer. The second Class until the seventh Class contains the rest of the Archangels in order: Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, Uriel, Sandalphon, and Saraquel. The eight to thirty-fifth Classes are Principalities. The thirty-sixth through the seventy-seventh classes are angels.
Their assigned tasks are to create and finalize living and non-living things that will naturally spawn on Earth. Some Departments also overlap with each other. Examples of such are the Anatomical and DNA Department, the Mind and Behavior Department, the Land Creatures Department, and the Sea Creatures Department; they constantly schedule meetings on how each creature interacts with each other, how each organ serves a function inside every single animal, reproduction, and similar topics. Another example of coinciding Departments is the Fungi Department and the Terra Department. They discuss the colonization of different species of Fungi on Plants, the benefits of the plants and fungi, and so on.
You get the drill. An abundance of overlapping tasks exists in Project Earth. There is no need for the writer to state all of it, isn't it?
You also may or may not have questioned, “What about the humans?”
Humans are under the Land Creatures Department and the Mind and Behaviour Department. Only that they are special because they are God’s favorite creatures. It is the reason why She created humans in Her Image. And, the only creatures who will be rational beings.
Now, for your other questions, you only need to trust in the Ineffable Plan of God. Or ask them later.
As mentioned, Aziraphale is under Gabriel’s Department— the Terra Department. At the moment, no assignments are on standby for the Terra Department. With nothing to do, Aziraphale wanders off outside the Heavens Facility, into the soft padding of the clouds below his feet, to admire the work of Raphael. He looks up just outside the Entrance Gate, his heart softening to tender yet constricting inside his ribs.
His blue eyes darted from one star to another until he noticed two close stars to his west. These two stars were alone, far from others, wrapped in different shades of vibrant blue and purple.
Aziraphale squeaked as he felt a gentle but firm hand tapping at his shoulder. He snaps his head in the direction of his touched shoulder, landing his gaze on Gabriel and a small angel holding a bouquet in her hands beside him that he doesn’t know, but is familiar with.
“Oh, Gabriel.” He exhaled. He transferred his look to the unknown angel and humbly waved his hand at her. Pleasantly, the angel waved back in the same manner as him.
“You looked strange, just now. Were you admiring Raphael’s work?” Gabriel grinned, his brows rising.
“I was.” Aziraphale merrily nodded.
Gabriel hummed. “A talented angel, he is.” He looked out into the galaxy. “I am proud to declare that I have him as my brother!” He puffed out his chest as he positioned his hands on both of his hips.
Aziraphale chuckled. “How adorable.”
“Don’t you must feel lucky too?” Gabriel snorted, looking down at Aziraphale as he playfully punched his arm.
Lucky? Aziraphale was about to ask when another angel surprised him from behind, a firm arm wrapped around his shoulder.
“Aziraphale!” Raphael exclaimed.
“Oh, Raphael! You’re here!” Aziraphale delightedly looked over his shoulder and up at Raphael.
“I was trying to find you in the Plant dome…” Raphael looked down on Aziraphale, sticking his lower lip slightly outward. “Never mind, what are you guys talking about?” Raphael asks, pulling his face closer using the arm encircling Aziraphale.
“You, of course. Who else?” Gabriel supplied.
Raphael raised his head from Aziraphale to gaze at Gabriel and the unknown angel. “Nailed it!” He cackled. “Everywhere I go, I always seem to find myself on the topic of others…” Raphael dramatically performed a heavy sigh. “I’m so exhausted.”
“Hey, you’re not the only archangel popular here!” Gabriel playfully scowled. “Many angels yearn to receive the flowers I gift to my Florael here.” Gabriel pointed a thumb at the angel beside him. The small angel, named Florael, Aziraphale, just learned— giggled modestly.
Gabriel and Raphael continued their mirth, insulting each other as they laughed.
If Aziraphale never knew any better, he would say that Gabriel and Raphael’s brotherly bond is respectably pure and undeniably indestructible. Aziraphale knew better, however, as he could see something else underlying the surface. He can see the strained smile mirroring each other. Or the slight furrow of irritation imitating one another. Or the surreptitious bulge of a vein in their temple. Or the slight increase in Raphael’s grip on Aziraphale’s shoulder.
Isn’t it scary? How can only knowing change your perception?
---
“Aziraphale.”
The white-haired angel, currently taking notes on the growth of a type of tree called Redwood, heard a tone he was developing to be intimately familiar with behind him. He smiled as he spun around to see Raphael a few feet away from him. He moved closer to Aziraphale, as the latter settled the closed notebook and his pen on a nearby table.
“Raphael! What are you doing here?”
“Wanted to see you,” Raphael smirked.
Aziraphale beamed in return. “Thank you, I’m only noting the size of this Redwood. They grow too large.” Sighing, he gazed up at the tall tree. “There’s still time before this deadline. Would you like to walk around?”
“Good. I’d love to show you something, then. Join me in my office.” Raphael, gentleman-like, extended his open hand to Aziraphale, his other hand on his back.
Perplexed, Aziraphale giggled. “What is it?”
Raphael shrugged. “Come with me to see.”
“How mysterious.” Aziraphale teased, placing his hand on the other.
Raphael gently stroked the palm of Aziraphale with his thumb before lightly kissing the back of it.
“Don’t you love it?”
“What do you think?”
Raphael rolled his eyes together with his head, whimsically sighing with exasperation. “Aren’t you the one being mysterious here?”
Aziraphale only grinned in response.
Raphael grunted before he held Aziraphale’s hand, leading him out of the Terra Department to his office inside the Cosmos Department. Reaching the hall outside the destination, Raphael reached for his doorknob, opening the door for Aziraphale.
“After you.” Raphael bowed with his upper torso, his other hand hovering around his stomach.
“Overly melodramatic, you are.” Aziraphale stepped into Raphael’s office, shaking his head in insincere annoyance.
“Only for the best of you.” Raphael returned as he straightened his spine back up, following Aziraphale inside.
The room was dark, with no light revealing the items on Raphael’s shelves or the mess of belongings over his long glass table.
Aziraphale hears the door lock behind him. He started to turn around before Raphael came right behind him, jerking Aziraphale out of his stance to go around the table in the center.
“Why did you…”
Raphael cut him off. “I don't want any disturbance.”
“Oh.”
“Look,” Raphael, standing close at the back of Aziraphale, squeezed his shoulders, leaned in, and whispered into his ear.
A subtle yellow light gently emerged above the table in front of Aziraphale. It flickered in the darkness, its hue painting the room with soft gold.
“What is this?” Aziraphale barely murmurs that Raphael has to strain his ears to understand the words.
With blue eyes fixated on the gold light, Aziraphale raised his hands, lingering around before deciding humbly to cup the glowing orb.
“I want you to watch.” Raphael breathed, and Aziraphale felt the air caress his ear, sending shivers crawling down his spine. Reaction not disregarded, Raphael gingerly nuzzled his lips to Aziraphale’s ear. “Don't blink, yeah?”
Aziraphale, cheeks scarlet, straining desperately to focus on the small light in his hand, only hummed in affirmation.
Raphael snapped his fingers.
The small glowing yellow orb lifted itself from Aziraphale’s palms. It hovered in the air before suddenly spewing a smaller white orb out of it. The smaller orb, only a dot, danced around the room, spinning with mirth in his left before flying to his right, with Aziraphale’s gaze following the moving light. Finally, it slowed down, perched itself up with a small sound, in the air. Aziraphale tilted his head before another white dot was born out of the yellow light. It did the same dance as the first one, only in different directions and movements, and setting itself up into another position in the air. And one by one, white dots emanate from the blue light, going in all directions, settling themselves in random order.
A moment passed, and the white dots sizzled, a quiet whistling of air breaking the silence inside the dark room.
As a surprise, the white orbs exploded in colors of purple, blue, and red. Aziraphale shrieked before covering his mouth with one hand, hearing Raphael chuckling behind his shoulder.
Vibrant colors coated the entirety of the office, and the white dots looked like stars in the sky outside, an imitation. The yellow orb, floating in front of Aziraphale, started spinning on itself, leaving streaks of yellow in its wake as it expanded in proportion. When the maximum reached at least the scale of Aziraphale’s head, he felt Raphael's wings coat around his sides, almost protectively. His raised hand was lifted off his mouth, and Raphael puppeteered it to extend under the ball of light.
In one second, the ball shrank to its previous size; its form altered into what looked like a gold ring.
Gravity pulled the ring, landing it into Aziraphale’s open left palm, with Raphael's below his outstretched hand.
Silently, Raphael turned Aziraphale around, wings still lining him up.
“There is not a day I have not thought about you after I met you." Raphael took the ring from Aziraphale. “That day was foreign to me, as I was expecting you to chase after me, eager to have a conversation with me, but you didn't.” He trapped both Aziraphale’s hands between his. “I may deny it if you were to ask me centuries ago, but I now know it was love at first sight.” He gazed up at sky-blue eyes to find the other staring up at him with glazed lashes and a pink dusting on his soft cheeks. “I am aware of the reason why you never approached me. You think the proximity of our positions and image is at a great distance, but that never mattered. Your singing of passion and love pulled me in. No doubt or second-thinking would treble the fact that you are just so beautiful, Aziraphale.” Raphael adored him, tugging his lips into a gentle smile. “I observed you from afar; I followed your scent everywhere you went. You were kind to every angel. It didn't matter what they did or what they thought. You value righteousness in your way.” He sighed. “And the more I get to know you, the more I fall for you.”
Raphael carefully inclined his face down towards Aziraphale, leaning his forehead against the other. “You told me your love first, and I loved you far more than any machinery could ever measure.”
Aziraphale closed his eyes, pressing himself forward to Raphael.
“I am yours, Aziraphale. Will you be mine?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale nodded against Raphael. “Of course. I have always been yours, as you are mine.” He declared breathlessly, voice cracking from the overwhelming emotion spilling over his trembling limbs.
Raphael chuckled, nimbly lifting the pinky of Aziraphale’s right hand and placing the golden ring around it.
Aziraphale squeaked with delight, jumping and wiggling in his place as he raised his hands, palms out in the open, as he admired the ring. He turned his hand from left to right, loving the bend of the light in the soft curve of the gold.
“My promise of eternal love,” Raphael said, cupping Aziraphale's cheek with a hand, returning his gaze to the other's.
“Made by my own hands, I promise eternal love, only for you, Aziraphale.” Raphael snaked his hands around the other’s waist and pulled Aziraphale flush to his body. “I promise that wherever you wish to go, I'll always be right behind you.”
“As I will always be right by your side, Raphael.” Aziraphale wrapped his arm around Raphael's neck. “You stole all the things I want to say, Raphael.” He heftily sighed, performing an act of annoyance.
“Say them anyway,” Raphael muttered.
Aziraphale laughed, pausing for a moment before confessing, “I love you, Raphael. You are so gorgeous and talented and kind and smart and clumsy and mean,” There, Raphael snorted. “But all words don't matter. It doesn't describe how utterly amazing you are.” Aziraphale absentmindedly played with the curled locks of red hair. “Unbelievable, how you described me.” He dropped the hair and pulled his hands back to cup the back of Raphael's neck. “You knew me more than I imagined anyone would make an effort to.”
“So,” He wavered, “Will you let me know who you are?”
“Always.” Raphael held Aziraphale tighter. “Don't expect me to say no, yeah?”
Aziraphale beamed in response, throwing himself into Raphael, wrapping his arms snuggly around his shoulders and hugging him tightly.
Raphael buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck in response, inhaling his earthly, fragrant scent, resolutely squeezing his waist. When he felt a firm object pressing against his upper chest, Raphael hesitantly pulled back from the embrace and looked down to see an amulet hanging around his neck. The ornament has a black silky rope as its chain, and the pendant is a circular, gentle blue stone secured with metal to hang around the rope.
“What is…”
“I love you, Raphael.”
Raphael looked up from the pendant to Aziraphale.
“A gift for you.” Aziraphale shyly lowered his head. “Your ring reminded me of your eyes. So I thought, perhaps, I'd give you one that holds the color of my eyes.”
Raphael faltered, openly gawking at Aziraphale, who surreptitiously shifted on his feet as he fidgeted on Raphael's robe.
Gaining control, Raphael lifted his face with one hand, placing his other around Aziraphale, and pressed his closed lip to his.
Aziraphale made a small sound of surprise before he merrily reciprocated the kiss, once again putting his arms around Raphael's neck.
They pulled apart, but not for long, as Raphael eagerly enclosed his hands on both of the other's cheeks and tugged him close.
Raphael then kissed all the parts he could on Aziraphale's face. He moved from one cheek to the other, to each corner of his lips to the tip of his nose, to each temple to his forehead, to each eyelash to his chin. All the while, he would peck his lips multiple times before moving to another part.
Aziraphale giggled cheerfully, squeaking with delight, protesting, “Hold it— that tickles!” He managed, leaning back, pushing Raphael away, but not trying to.
“I love you so much, Aziraphale.” Raphael slipped out with success, tilting forward to chase the white-haired angel’s face. His smile, Aziraphale can feel against his skin.
Aziraphale can only laugh in return.
Oh, I love you, Raphael. I am grateful to know you, too.
---
Both Aziraphale and Raphael developed a silent agreement that the two would meet underneath the bright stars of space once every half-century. “There have always been people around me. I want privacy with you.” Raphael once confessed to Aziraphale under his arms.
In those moments, they would hug, talk, kiss, walk side by side, hand in hand.
The lovers would always have stories to tell each other. To have the feeling of security when the other is by his side, Aziraphale never would've imagined feeling such safety and love, not until this.
Their semicentennial meetings transitioned into every single decade. Decades were shortened towards yearly meetings.
“Aziraphale,” Gabriel approached Aziraphale once, the latter having not long ago parted with his lover within the Lobby. “Look, I don’t know what you've been doing, disappearing from your post. Either you’re attempting to find Raphael, or you have a newly developed hobby, that’s fine.” He inhaled through his teeth before he warned, “Just, please, don’t neglect your tasks. The Almighty is already demanding the finalization of all living and non-living beings present on Earth before humans are made from mud.”
Find Raphael? He thought but did not voice it. “Understood, Archangel Gabriel. Forgive my incompetence.” Aziraphale bowed his head.
Gabriel only tiredly sighed and walked away.
Their yearly meeting is compressed into every single month. Monthly progress towards daily meetings.
Aziraphale couldn't resist the gravity Raphael emits. He can’t help drifting, orbiting, towards the charm, and wouldn’t exert himself to pull away.
---
Aziraphale and Raphael were far away from the Heaven Facility, out in the colorful haze of nebulae. Sitting, cross-legged, opposite each other on the bubbly form of a ball of cloud, Aziraphale leans his body close to the small grand exhibit of Raphael.
He asked the other to show him how a star is made. Raphael complied.
“...And as you control the increasing pressure, you eventually heat the insides out and…”
Aziraphale, engrossed inside Raphael’s palms, witnessed in wonder as the gathered molecular cloud spun around itself, shaping into a flat disk. In the center, He saw a forming speck of wavering light.
“A protostar.” Raphael provided.
“Protostar?”
“A baby star, Aziraphale. A forming one.”
“That’s amazing.” Aziraphale praised breathlessly.
Raphael collapsed the forming star in his hands and reclined his upper body, bending his neck, longingly kissing Aziraphale’s forehead. He brought both his hands up to warm the other’s cheek before caressing his mouth with his thumb, amber eyes flicking from blue eyes to soft lips. “I think you are amazing.” Raphael drawled, words dripping with the sweet promise of honey and affection.
“Oh, aren’t you an enchanter?” Aziraphale breathed, instinctively resting his pliant head on the hold of the other.
Raphael tilted his head, steadily narrowing the proximity, centimeters remaining between their lips, and—
“Ah, I’m tearing up!” A cheerful, deep voice was uttered right beside Aziraphale’s ear, a warm breath tingling the sheer skin.
The white-haired angel yelped from the unexpected ambush, withdrawing from the red-haired angel’s hold. Aziraphale was startled so forcefully that he involuntarily moved his fisted palm up to land a punch on the infiltrator.
“Whoop—” The intruding angel successfully dodged, preventing Aziraphale’s blow with a solid squeeze to his wrist, his whitened knuckles barely grazing the other’s prominent nose.
“Careful, Aziraphale.” The intruder melodiously purred, Aziraphale’s breath hitching from the calming tone. “Deliberately opting for violence is inept.”
Scarcely recovering from the alarm, Aziraphale grasped the recognition of the other angel as he tried to extract his hand from the grip. His limb, however, didn’t budge a single inch.
Instead, the angel lowered the raised arm on his own.
The revelation of the angel's identity ran ice through Aziraphale's veins. “...You’re—”
“Lucifer!” Raphael exclaimed.
He—
Raphael planted his one hand on the cloud, supporting his torso as he rose.
Lucifer follows to stand, but he's still grasping the wrist of the white-haired angel, compelling him to leap up together with the other.
Aziraphale staggered with his stance as his arm was bound by an immovable hand.
Lucifer, Aziraphale reluctantly admitted, is flawlessly beautiful. His yellow-blond hair falls in waves on his head, its length reaching down to his collarbone. Bright, emerald eyes full of knowledge, power, and intimidation, mingling with each other, that a second of eye contact would bend your knees to submission. Lucifer is much taller than Aziraphale; the peak of his head hardly reaches Lucifer's chin.
Aziraphale, nothing but in the twenty-ninth class, could only stare up in awe and distress.
Aziraphale fears Lucifer. No doubt Lucifer knows this.
“Raphael! Oh, how many centuries has it been since I saw your face?” Lucifer, still holding Aziraphale, clapped Raphael's shoulder with his other hand.
“Too long. Our siblings, mostly Gabriel, warned that my intentions were too many to count.” Raphael furrowed, irritation clearly expressed towards Gabriel, who wasn't even here.
Aziraphale surreptitiously experimented with the amount of strength Lucifer possesses, understanding how troubled he would be to set himself free from the other's hand. Again, he didn't budge, a drop of ice-cold sweat dripping down Aziraphale's nape.
Smiling, Lucifer flicked a gaze down towards Aziraphale, his grin spreading a tad wider before he responded to Raphael, “Oh, they are most aggravating, indeed.”
Raphael hummed in agreement, wrapping a protective arm and wing around Aziraphale.
Cautiously, Aziraphale took a side glance at Raphael. But he saw his lover raise his other hand and followed its movement until it softly landed right on the stone-hard grip of Lucifer.
“Grateful as I am that you accepted my request to visit me here, would you mind not terrifying my angel?” Raphael growled, his voice a cold, soulless tone filled with danger, edged with poison and a promise of destruction. Raphael was smiling.
Aziraphale had never once heard this voice before. So foreign it was that for a second, he certainly never knew the angel beside him.
And for once, Aziraphale felt fear towards Raphael.
“Ah, I was only teasing, Raphael. No need to be so aggressive.” Lucifer finally released his hand from Aziraphale's wrist, letting it drop to his side.
Raphael chuckled. “A laughing matter to you, but touching my Aziraphale the wrong way is another topic.”
“Blame me not, Raphael. As your standards drop significantly lower than mine, it is but a muscle memory to lend a hand when it comes to helping a brother in need.” Lucifer sang.
“May this be the reason, as you don't possess a lover, yet? Instead of looking out for me, as you worded it, look in the mirror; perhaps you'll find someone to lend a hand there.”
“That is not a way to speak to your older brother.”
“That is not a way to speak to my Aziraphale."
Lucifer puffed out a breath through his mouth. “I'm only pushing your buttons.”
All the while, Raphael and Lucifer are smiling, like the horrors of their tone and the unspoken threat and certainty of death are merely amusement in their language. Uneasiness forced a shiver out of Aziraphale as he watched the two exchange their words, a trick of lightning seen between them.
“You're a bastard, Lucifer.”
“I think your angel finds himself head over heels for it…”
Aziraphale furrowed his brows, displeased by the accusation. Who does Lucifer think he is?
---
A quiet tension acquiesces between Raphael and Aziraphale as they drift down the path of Heaven; quiet, circular, small ripples of light arising from each step.
“Please, will you stay away from Lucifer?” Aziraphale shattered the silence.
Raphael turned his head, a fog of incredulity, looking at Aziraphale. “Whatever for?”
“Raphael, you are a kind and beautiful angel,” Raphael subtly reacted with disgust— Aziraphale noted— at the compliment. He continued, “I would hate to see you getting into trouble. I mean it.”
“I’m in no way in hot water, Aziraphale.” An impassive tone covered his statement.
“Promise me that, then.”
Raphael’s face softens, and the slight lines between his brows disappear.
Stopping his stride with Raphael and standing in the middle of the path, Aziraphale pleaded, “Promise me that you’ll never leave my side. That everything will be all right for us.”
Raphael lovingly tugged his lips into an endearing smile. Striding close to Aziraphale, Raphael wrapped his hands lightly around the other’s hips as he bent his neck, inclining his forehead towards Aziraphale.
“I promise. With all my essence.” Raphael whispered.
Aziraphale closed his eyes, lashes fluttering, as he rested his hands on Raphael’s arms.
Raphael kept his eyes open, quietly memorizing each detail of Aziraphale’s skin; his eyes drifted from his subtly trembling eyelids to his button nose merely centimeters from his own, to his tense line of soft lips.
Oh, God. Raphael lamented, a hidden, resentful sigh forming at the tip of his tongue but never leaving his mouth. Why would you forsake me from knowing?
---
Aziraphale winds in the halls of the Terra Department towards the Plant dome, his footsteps echoing in the deserted corridors of marble. At the other end, Gabriel pops out of the corner, a full scowl tainting his expression, shoulders hunched, and his once neatly organized hair has strands protruding in every direction of his head.
Taken aback, Aziraphale’s steps falter. In a second, however, he snaps out of his confusion just as quickly as he arrives at it. With concern, he strides towards Gabriel, who’s now frantically pulling at his hair. “Gabriel? Is there—”
Gabriel jerks his head towards the familiar voice. “Aziraphale! Where have you been?!” He raged, stomping his steps as he approached the white-haired angel.
Aziraphale surreptitiously jumped, stepping back, a foot instinctively behind the other.
His chance to answer the Archangel’s question is gone to the ether, for Gabriel grunted, “I told you not to skip your work. What have you been doing?” Gabriel waved a hand and rubbed his face with the other. “It does not matter. Where’s your final for the Ranunculaceae species?”
“Now?... It’s due in another four centuries, correct?”
“The Almighty urges us to submit at least half of every Department's final creatures, Aziraphale.” Gabriel ran his hand through his hair. “How is it coming along, then?”
“Most missing are the sketches for the image of the plants. There is also a proposed plan of how each plant under the species will survive— that is, to make them toxic. They’re executing the toxic oil inside it, as much as I know.”
“And which part are you assigned?”
“T… The…” Aziraphale stammered, holding his hand with his other, wringing them above his stomach. “The sketches…”
Gabriel heavily exhaled through his nose, his eyes squinting down at Aziraphale. “I held an emergency meeting in the main Terra before you arrived; we need all of the completed species within fifty years.” Without waiting for an answer, Gabriel started walking past Aziraphale.
Aziraphale snapped his eyes forward to Gabriel. “Fifty?” He followed the archangel with his head, turning around as he urged, “That’s more than three hundred years off our time! Furthermore, only three of us angels are working in this species— Rosimael and Jasmiel.” Mildly surprised he remembered their names, he continued to plead, “There are other unfinished species of plants, too.”
His back facing Aziraphale, Gabriel supplied, “Find it out yourselves.” He barked. “In a millennium, Project Earth will be in full swing. That is all I know.”
Aziraphale openly gawked at Gabriel retreating. The absurdness of his position in this Facility was a constricting thought in his head, and anger slowly rose to his golden blood. Aziraphale couldn’t let the heat boil up, however.
He has his own established decorum, his pillar out of minute deprecating lines from other angels towards him. Shame replaced anger, and his energy was drained from his chest.
But as much as Aziraphale wished to, he couldn’t question the will of God.
---
Now, with the rush of Project Earth, Aziraphale and Raphael’s daily meetings are diffused into every single month. Monthly diminished towards yearly meetings.
As the whispers about Lucifer spread its infectious fear among every angel, another rumor spread over the Heaven Facility: Missing Angels. Out of absolutely nowhere, angels from classes 8 to 56 dropped their tools in their office and walked out without a word from their positions. This left the remaining angels rattled to their very being, with angels weeping from missing lovers and others storming their way out to face the Almighty for answers.
Gabriel was one of them.
“Where are they, God? Where is my Florael?” Gabriel bellowed.
God knew the answer, and God couldn’t answer. She can only furrow Her brows with distress, nipping at Her thumbnail. “Continue with your work.” She always says.
---
“I’m sorry, Raphael.” Aziraphale once said on one of their dates. “Multiple tasks are on my plate right now. It must be exhausting for you, too, for you have the status of an Archangel… The missing angels kept us busy and understaffed.”
Raphael intoned in acknowledgment, uncharacteristically quiet.
Their yearly meetings extended into every single decade, and decades were changed into semi-century meetings.
“Missing angels are increasing their numbers. Out of nowhere, they leave out into your stars…” Aziraphale said, walking down the road back to the Heaven Facility. “And the rumors about Lucifer are becoming prominent.”
Raphael only kept his mouth closed.
“Are you okay, Raphael?” Aziraphale asked
“Of course,” Raphael replied, an uncannily gentle tone soiling his words. His expression seemed solemn, and pity was directed at Aziraphale, along with another emotion he couldn’t describe. “I’m only concerned for the whereabouts of the missing angels.”
I thought you showed me all of you. Why have I never seen this expression before?
---
In the Calendar, it is listed as the 9,999,998th century; eight centuries have passed after Aziraphale and Gabriel had their conversation.
Aziraphale is observing the reactions of the underwater volcanoes in the main Terra, when a cavernous signal echoes through his head, “Drop your tasks. Gather inside the Lobby.”
It was the familiar voice of Michael.
With calculated steps, Aziraphale wound through the halls of the Terra Department, meeting other co-workers on his way.
“What…” Already, hundreds of angels from all over the Facility crammed inside the spacious Entrance Hall, a cacophony of murmurs, whispers of suspicion, annoyance, and exhaustion filling the atmosphere with tension. “What is going on?” Aziraphale whispered into another angel before Michael’s booming word cut off the mumbles of wary angels.
“Silence.” Michael’s voice thundered, nothing but one word to direct all attention to one speaker.
In the air over the mechanical sphere, enormous wings spread behind their backs, and only five Archangels hover: Michael, Saraqael, Gabriel, Uriel, and Sandalphon.
Where’s Raphael?
“Angels of the Almighty,” Michael rumbled, her voice seemingly coming from all directions. “Proud as the Almighty for all of your hard work regarding Project Earth. One’s blood and sweat are never unheralded, for your contribution is with a great outcome. Fear not, beings of love, as your tasks are done for Project Earth.”
Many voices spoke up, questioning the revelation, as many assignments are still far from done.
Michael raised a palm, and the murmurs mitigated much as quickly.
“The Almighty will take all unfinished prototypes as it is. No longer does it matter.” Michael lowered her hand. “There is not a single path I see that I can lay this as gently as needed. But. In exchange, one more task will be given before Project Earth begins.” She paused. “A war will commence in the 10,000,000th century, and you will be tasked to train for combat in the next two centuries.”
Arduous tranquility bounced off walls.
What?
Michael swallowed, the click of her tongue audible even in the expansive vicinity between her and Aziraphale, who was at the edge of the gathering. “For the Almighty asked you to—” Her words cracked, heavy emotions mourning the weight of responsibility. She continued with determination, “...to battle and kill traitors planning revolution; the missing angels. Led by the Archangel Lucifer and Archangel Raphael.”
Cold dread slithered its way inside Aziraphale’s skin. His heart hammered its way out of its cage in fear.
Battle? Kill? No.
A disorder of confusion and protestation erupted through the crowd. Some have tears drifting down their cheeks, pleading for any other revelation, while others rage in disbelief. Some ran off, others only stood in their place. Aziraphale was one of those who remained staring up at the Archangels.
Led by him? That’s impossible.
The archangels began speaking up, panic evident in their tone as they endeavored to tranquilize the lower angels under control. Their attempts are futile.
He promised. He wouldn’t—
His face was pale. His vision was out of focus. His fingers felt numb. His knees are unstable. His breath came in short gasps.
He promised… He promised!
A shove in his shoulder left him falling backward onto his behind, snapping him out of his denial.
Aziraphale pushed himself off the floor, not a moment wasted, as he sprinted towards Gabriel. Detouring his way from other angels, desperate like the others, for the presence of their lover. A sliver of hope, a different answer.
Anything except that.
“Gabriel!” Aziraphale cried.
Gabriel, still hovering above others, didn’t hear him.
Noises of uproar are the only ones that can be heard. And a single word can’t be understood.
“Angels, we have no other choice! They are planning to kill us themselves!” Michael defended.
“We didn’t know how long they planned this, but we have to counterattack for their attack!” Gabriel insisted.
“The rumors were true! Only that we never knew who else, not to mention how many, were involved other than Archangel Lucifer!” Uriel whined.
“Danger is upon us; we must fight for the Almighty!” Sandaphon shouted.
“Please, war is upon us, control yourselves, as we have no other choice!” Saraqael begged.
Aziraphale scanned the chaos. Uncontrolled behavior. Destructive emotions. And in the middle of it all, he stood.
“Archangel Raphael and Archangel Lucifer abandoned their Departments centuries ago, Lucifer being the earliest, following Raphael!” Aziraphale heard Gabriel state in desperation. “Please don’t misunderstand; we were trying to fill in their shoes, for we couldn’t bring forth chaos and confusion of disappearing archangels!”
Aziraphale felt dizzy, unfamiliar fatigue throbbing in his temples, his body trembling and cold from the surrounding heat of anger. “My God…” He breathed.
Did he already abandon his Department long before he introduced me to Lucifer?
He did not know what to do. No longer was Aziraphale thinking clearly. He already gave himself over to forceful emotions spilling over his sky-blue eyes.
When? When did he leave Heaven? When?!
Aziraphale, out of anger and betrayal, marched himself into the Cosmos Department towards Raphael’s office. He didn't know why he felt anger towards his lover. He didn't know the trigger, and he'll never ask himself.
Why did he never tell me?!
He found himself slamming Raphael’s office door open, blunt nails scratching over the doorframe. Aziraphale looked around the room; it was the same as when he was taken in here, and he grieved.
The room was only devoid of Raphael, but to Aziraphale, it felt so empty.
He no longer saw Raphael’s prototypes as Raphael’s work. He saw them as a sore to the eyes; he saw a mess of unnecessary clutter, a rattle of grating metal, a blinding cloud of infection, a residue of a broken promise.
The image of Raphael is crumbling before his mind. The Raphael he sees betrays God. The Raphael he sees betrays his heart.
Full-on tears were a river on his cheeks, dropping their evidence on the shine of marble under his feet. He found himself aimlessly grabbing a model of a blue planet he discovered on the table and, with effort, threw it to his left, shattering the brittle orb. The contents of the shelf fell off its placement to the ground, rattling the sharp shards of glass.
Heaving breaths, Aziraphale haphazardly grabbed another prototype and flung it across the table, into the corkboard in front of him. The object broke into pieces in contact with the floor, pieces of metal scraping the marble surface.
He pushed his open palms down the table, stacks of paper under the pressure, and dragged his hand to his left, sketches and blueprints gathering themselves on the floor.
Grunting, Aziraphale steadily walked backward to the door as he swept his gaze over the office. It was a mess he made, and what a shame it is that he took his emotions out in Raphael’s office. His hands clutch each other, nails denting his skin ruefully, his gold ring on his pinky scratching his index. It screams of anger to him.
As he made his way backward, his back collided with a sturdy torso. He leaped, spinning himself around as he scrambled back to the office, increasing the proximity between himself and the other.
“Raphael.” He whispered, shaky breath disturbing each syllable.
The small of his back hit the edge of the long table, stifling panic overtaking his control of breath as he looked up, now in fright, into the golden amber eyes of Raphael.
Raphael had his head high in a composed way. Lanky limbs pushed the office door closed behind, amber eyes never leaving blue eyes. His gaze is impassive. Indignant.
It terrified Aziraphale.
“Why are you ruining my office, Aziraphale?” Raphael spoke, unwavering, a distant tone burning cold in the bleeding wounds of Aziraphale’s bruising heart. Raphael’s voice never betrayed a single emotion, and Aziraphale couldn’t read the covered book.
This is the angel that holds my love?
“Why are you here?” Aziraphale bit back. Furious tears continued their run down his face.
“Wanted to see you.” Raphael stepped forward.
Aziraphale scowled, his beliefs and truths of Raphael in disarray. “You wanted to see me?” He huffed. Aziraphale stomped forward, putting both of his hands over Raphael’s chest, pushing him and slamming him backwards to the door. “You wanted to see me after leaving?!”
Raphael gently grabbed Aziraphale’s forearms, stepping forward into the other’s space. Aziraphale yanked his arms free and shoved him back again. “I didn’t leave you, Aziraphale.”
“And that made a difference from abandoning the Facility?!”
Raphael’s mask of indifference slipped off halfway. “Yes!” Raphael grabbed the other’s arm, and Aziraphale hissed at the sting of the harsh grasp. “I remained to meet you out in the space—”
“You think that makes it justifiable? That leaving your siblings out in the Facility to cover for the mess you left is sensible?” Aziraphale tugged at his arm.
“And I never left you because I love you, Aziraphale!” Raphael sneered, increasing his pressure on Aziraphale’s arm.
“Romantic now, are you? That is how you show your love?” A broken chuckle left Aziraphale. “It seems that you're much lower than you present yourself to be.”
Raphael’s heart is cracking audibly through his expression. “And here I thought you loved me too unconditionally. Are you just like the others, then? Liking my image instead of myself?”
“No, I love you, Raphael! How could you say that?”
“I came here for you, Aziraphale. I’m giving my best to love you, to keep my promise!”
Wide-eyed, Aziraphale incredulously looked up at Raphael. “Promise?” In a flash, the white-haired angel slapped Raphael’s cheek with his free palm. Raphael’s grip loosened from the assault, and Aziraphale took this second to liberate his arm from the other’s hand. “You talk about keeping promises? You broke it, Raphael! All of it!” Aziraphale shoved Raphael back again.
Raphael regained the lack of space between them, slightly bending down, aggressively bringing his face closer to Aziraphale. “I didn't leave by your side, Aziraphale.” He growled, volume increasing with each pressure of words. “I stayed. Every day we dated, admiring the stars I made for you,” he emphasized by pointing a finger at Aziraphale's chest. “I left Heaven long ago, but I'm still here by your side, aren't I?”
“Would you still say the same when we are on opposite sides of the battlefield?!” Aziraphale sobbed, releasing his control to self-preservation.
“That's why I'm here! I'm here to get you!”
Taken aback, Aziraphale remained quiet.
Raphael swallowed before he continued, “Join our side, Aziraphale.”
“What? No!” Aziraphale landed a step backwards.
“Aren't you tired of the Almighty keeping secrets? Leading? I don't have freedom here, Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale shook his head. “What are you talking about?” He murmured, crumbling walls of his built home, consisting only of him and Raphael, evident in his voice.”You wish me to run from Heaven?”
“I can't protect you if you're by their side. Come with me. Please.”
“No!” Appalled, Aziraphale turned away from the other, vehemently shaking his head in refusal.
“I'm trying to keep my promise here, Aziraphale!” Raphael reached out for Aziraphale’s shoulder.
Aziraphale recoiled from the hand. “How could you expect me to turn away from God and follow you?”
“You love me, right?” Raphael pleaded.
“Of course—”
“Then come with me!”
Aziraphale stammered. “N… That's…”
Raphael took hold of Aziraphale's hands between his own. “I don't want to fight you. I love you so much,” He sighed. “Together, yeah? You and me.”
Aziraphale pulled his hands away, backing himself around Raphael towards the door. “You're being unfair.” He snivelled wistfully, wiping his salty tears with the back of his right hand.
Raphael pounced on the other, wrapping his arms around the angel. “Please, Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale pried himself out of the embrace, stumbling back as he aimlessly endeavoured to locate the doorknob with only his hand. “That's unfair— you want me to choose.”
“Aziraphale—”
Before Raphael can proceed, Aziraphale's hand finally captures the cold metal of the doorknob. He dallied no longer, instantaneously twisting his wrist and fleeing out of the vicinity as rapidly as he could.
How could he? How could he?!
Tears of grief kept streaming down his face. As his feet carried him away, he vigorously rubbed his pink face with his hands.
That's unfair!
Why would he make me choose?
He wants me to change my outline for him?
What about me?
Did he look that cold?
Are we going to fight?
What did heaven ever do to him?
Why did he risk us?
It's like I never knew who Raphael was.
Why did he do this?
Since when was he planning to do this?
Why? Why him? Why me?
Just what is he gaining from breaking my heart?
He looked like a new angel.
I'm scared.
I'm scared of Raphael—
He found himself in his Plant dome, absent of angels. Eerie silence rang through the walls.
He didn't know what to make of it. He only felt numb, not devoid of emotions, but overflowing with weighted ones. Red-rimmed eyes drooping with exhaustion, and shallow breaths taken from every hiccup.
He dragged himself to one corner and sat on the floor, his back resting on the wall.
Aziraphale hugged his knees and hid his face under his arms.
He didn't know it, and nobody did; he is the first angel to carry it out. Aziraphale fell asleep.
---
“Aziraphale.” A mature, feminine voice called.
Half out of his sentience, Aziraphale ignored the voice, letting his consciousness sink into its previous state of hypnagogia.
“Aziraphale.” The feminine voice called again.
Aziraphale softly grunted in response, hugging his knees tighter to his chest as he slumped his head deeper into his arms.
“Aziraphale.” The voice took on its level of authority, her firm voice a switch to Aziraphale’s self-awareness.
Reluctantly, Aziraphale lifted his head, his bleary, wet eyes looking over his arms to land upon a woman crouched before him.
The female angel crouching in front of him had bright, yellow-blond hair adorning her head, framing her face in an elegant wave of sun-like rays. The white robe she adorns hangs loosely from her squatting form, her wide sleeves reaching to her wrists, and the hem of the dress grazing her ankles. Emerald green eyes looked curiously and worriedly at the concealing, anxious posture of Aziraphale. The angel didn’t have her wings out, however.
She looked more ‘human’ with her expressed empathy.
“Apologies for the disturbance, but the Archangels are assigning positions for the remaining angels for the war.” Her voice is gentle. Soothing, a contrast to the meaning of her statement. And that caught Aziraphale off guard. “You should go.”
“Oh,” was the only reply Aziraphale could muster. He couldn’t think, couldn’t determine the weight, and whether or not the announcement of the angel sank in was of little importance.
Reluctantly, Aziraphale released his arms to his sides, his dry palms brushing past his thighs in motion.
Awkward silence settled between the two. With the angel’s observing and undefiable gaze on Aziraphale, the white-haired angel darted his eyes from the blonde to the marble floor, to the sterile walls, to his still drawn knees, then back to the blonde.
“Um—” Aziraphale started. “How… How long was I in here?”
“...Almost a year.”
“Oh.”
“Come.” The angel held out a pale hand towards Aziraphale. “As much as I despise ruffling your state of rest, you need to move. Time is still moving, and war is approaching.” Her voice trailed off into a whisper, mourning the loss of peace, a tone of drowning acceptance.
Still, the angel smiles.
Aziraphale lowered his eyes to her feet. Somehow, he couldn’t bear the sympathetic look on her face. “Is there no other road to prevent this from happening?” He breathed, audible enough for the angel to comprehend.
Be that as it may, the angel does not reply.
Aziraphale looked up in search of another answer that he might hope to see, only to find pity boldly written from the other. A tear peeked out of Aziraphale’s eye that followed another, but he didn’t dare let them escape. Instead, he laid both of his palms down on the ground to push himself up off the floor.
With the angel’s offered hand not taken, she lowered it back down to her knees, joining Aziraphale, and stood up.
“Gabriel is in the Lobby giving orders. He will tell you yours.”
Aziraphale bobbed his head in response and made his way out of the wall to the doorway, the soft padding of his bare foot clicking on the marble floor. He stopped his path; however, his form hovered just past the doorframe. “Ah, thank you for waking me…” His words dwindled as Aziraphale turned around to find the dome empty. The blonde angel is gone, not a single dust of wind, a signature of a miracle? Who—
It didn't matter. War will happen in two centuries.
Wearing a mask of withdrawal and frigid, Aziraphale determinedly turned back to the hall to join the Lobby.