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The cloud breaks, and the first drops of spring rain hit the concrete pavement with an audible splat. Anthony Crowley sighs and tugs his jacket up over his head. He's forgotten his umbrella again. He makes a beeline for a convenient awning, weaving through the dispersing London crowd like a shark. He reaches his destination just as the heavens open.
"Phew." He lets his jacket slip back over his narrow shoulders and slides a hand through his greying hair. Accidentally, he jostles the man standing behind him.
“Oh, I’m awfully sorry,” Anthony says.
He turns, expecting to find a typically angry Londoner. Instead, his eyes meet those of a plump blond man. When the man smiles, it seems brighter than the absent sun. Anthony can feel its warmth radiating just beneath his skin.
"That's quite all right," the man says.
“Crowley!” Aziraphale snaps. Without form, he is little more than a presence, a tingling heat that wraps around Crowley's consciousness like a hug. He can imagine the irritated twist of his mouth and the haughty sniff of a turned-up nose.
“She said we had no place in this world,” Aziraphale reminds him.
“I know, Angel,” Crowley replies. He shakes his hands more vigorously, or would if he had hands. Below, the rain falls more heavily. There’s a loud clap of thunder.
“But She didn’t say we couldn’t interfere.”
“What are you doing?”
“She’s made another pair of us, look.”
"She did say she enjoyed our love."
Crowley snorts and buries himself deeper into that warm hug. As much as he misses his human corporation, he likes this better. The closeness of atoms mingling with atoms, his essence and Aziraphale's, blended until they were one. It feels like this is how they were always meant to be.
Aziraphale already knows about the humans, of course. He always seems to know when another pair of them is born. He watches the world with an avid interest. For them, it’s like watching a soap opera through a neighbour's window. Crowley creates his own diversions in the vast emptiness of the space in between universes, but Aziraphale misses the tactile experience of living. Sometimes the grief rolls off him in waves. It's all he can do to comfort him. It's enough to make Crowley second-guess the choice he made that day. There are times he wishes he had taken Aziraphale's hand and begged him to run away with him all over again. But mostly, he is glad that he didn't. Aziraphale would never have been able to live with the guilt, and eternity is a long time to be torn in two.
Besides, it’s worth it for them to be free.
"So what are you actually doing?" If Aziraphale had a head, it would be leaning against his shoulder. His lips might have pressed against his cheek.
"Just giving them a helping hand. You know, get them wet and staring into each other's eyes."
Together they watch as the pair of humans—humans wearing their faces and holding their fragile hearts in their hands—blush and stammer through an awkward conversation.
"Do you remember the first time it rained?" Aziraphale asks.
"Eden," Crowley replies. "Of course I remember. You sheltered us with your wings. How do you think I know this works?"
"Oh."
"Yes. Oh."
Aziraphale is quiet for a time, and just when Crowley fears he has drifted away into the expansive landscape of his recollection, the angel shifts ever closer.
"I know this didn't turn out how we had hoped, but I'm glad I get to spend eternity with you."
"Me too, Angel. Me too."