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Many had thought that Crowley's interest in Aziraphale was a new concept, but oh no. Crowley was in deep as soon as he saw him.
Standing there, with his cute curls and twinkling eyes, upturned nose and rosy cheeks. Offering him compliments and smiling at him as if he was worth anything, worth his time. Crowley had been waiting his entire existence to create the Galaxy, and yet it somehow felt as if his existence had been pointing towards this moment for an entirely different reason.
The others—the ones who ran Heaven and Hell—said two beings of the same gender loving eachother was a sin. They demanded repentance. Why should he have to ask forgiveness for a love that affected no one but him? He didn't understand.
Out of all questions that led him to fall, it was one of love they were the most afraid of.
But Crowley is already unforgivable now, so he didn't care. The only person's opinion he cared about was his angels.
But Crowley didn't want the angel's forgiveness. He wanted to be loved.
He swirled around the transparent liquid in his glass, not bothering with gloves or locking his door. It wasn't going to matter soon.
His Angel had already rejected him, chosen heaven over him. Discarded him quicker than heaven had done. Gabriel and Beelzebub were proof it was possible, just not for him. He just wasn't good enough, Crowley decided.
He had tried, for weeks, to continue on as normal. But his normal apparently revolved around a certain bookshop owner, and the world wanted to continue dispite his crashing down around him.
When his absence spilled into the quiet hours, the echos of memories crashing and cracking like fragile glass in the corners of his mind, he vowed to pick them up one by one with bleeding fingers and bind them back together again. But no matter how many times he tried to do that with his heart, the blood vessels just continued to burst with the rhythm that was Aziraphale's name. Time moves, but he is trapped in that final moment. Standing next to the Bentley, dispite everything only to see the brief glance back the angel gave before stepping into that elevator.
He took off his sunglasses and stepped onto the balcony of his flat, taking one last look around. The stars, his Bentley, his plants. It didn't seem important to him anymore. Nothing hurt more than the thought of not being with his angel, but either way they weren't going to be together. And atleast this way he wouldn't have to deal with his heartbreak anymore.
He lifted the drink to his lips, the sparkling glint of the water only serving to remind him of Aziraphales eyes. It was a mocking imitation. Aziraphales were better. He swallowed the thought and quickly tipped back the glass.
"Oh Aziraphale, angel.. Always the wrong time... Maybe in a different timeline... Maybe in another universe with a different God, we could have been.. us."
As his vision started to haze and his thoughts started to slow, he vaguely recognised the sound of thudding footsteps before he collapsed.
The darkness had crept steadily in. Slowly, leaving little light behind.
Sometimes the light shone and other times more often than not it dwindled.
The wind around the candle moving faster than it could ignite.
The darkness and him were somewhat friends, a constant in a frequently changing world.
An enemy but an enemy of almost 6000 years, which makes them somewhat friends according to Crowley.
Light forever shining, only too far to see, touch.
Like the slightest drop of rain upon withering taste buds.
Soothing and yet so slight that he thinks out of desperation he might have imagined it, and maybe he did.
Those soft looks from his angel.. maybe even the arms holding him were a figment of his imagination.
The voice he could hear vaguely, whispering sweet nothing's to him nothing but his minds cheap imitation of a heaven he never got to sink his tainted fingers into.
He thought he knew all about the light of heaven and darkness of hell, but the feeling was nothing compared to loving someone in a way that felt like both heaven and damnation.
He looked up hazily at the blur above him.
But oh. The voice was wavering.. crying. Apologising. A faint beacon like glow coming from beneath the hand pressed to his chest, the comforting warmth like the sun on his rapidly cooling skin.
"Please Crowley"...
Oh angel. Nothing lasts forever.
The light was fading, the further he moved towards it the further it seemed away.
It had been fading for a while, now a dim light of happiness in a rapidly expanding shadow.
It never fully goes, as darkness cannot exist without light.
"Let go angel.." he rasps, "I forgive you"
Just because it exists, doesn't mean it's enough.