Chapter Text
There was a curious sort of hollowness that followed the wonder.
The nebulas still unfurled before them in luminous swathes of violet, sapphire and rose, spilling colour through the newborn universe in great sweeping clouds that had not existed mere moments before, their brilliance reflected in the other angel's deep brown eyes as he gazed upon them with the unabashed satisfaction of one who had created something simply because it deserved to exist. Aziraphale found himself looking not at the stars, but at their maker.
He had only just met him; moments ago, he had been little more than another angel carrying out Heaven's work, bright and cheerful and altogether rather unusual, with an enthusiasm that bordered on infectious. Aziraphale had been invited to help, if only a little, in scattering handfuls of starlight into the darkness. It had been enjoyable. Then he’d made the mistake of mentioning the plan.
You know the current word from Upstairs is that we'll be shutting all this down again in about six thousand years?
The joy had vanished from the other angel's face entirely, bewilderment creeping into the edges of his smile as he looked back towards the heavens he had so painstakingly adorned.
But that's nothing!
Aziraphale wished, rather desperately, that he had not been the one to speak these words, that he'd not been here at all. The fact that the angel had then begun to question the Almighty with such conviction only furthered Aziraphale’s anxieties.
How much trouble can I get into just for asking a few questions?
It had been rhetorical, the cadence still warm and bright and entirely unsuited to the peculiar ache that settled somewhere beneath Aziraphale's ribs. He didn’t understand the feeling. There had been no instruction from the Almighty telling him to be concerned, no heavenly decree warning him that questions ought to be feared. If anything, the other angel's questions seemed perfectly reasonable. Why make something so astonishingly beautiful only for it to disappear? Why not simply let it continue? It was, Aziraphale thought, a sensible question.
And yet something about the way it had been asked left him strangely unsettled, as though the vastness around them had drawn a quiet breath and was waiting to see what would happen next. The silence lingered comfortably beneath the shelter of the other angel's wing. With the stars spread endlessly before them, Aziraphale became suddenly, acutely aware of their proximity.
The other angel turned his head to look at him, his expression open with curiosity. "Is something the matter?"
"No," Aziraphale replied, perhaps a little too quickly. Then, after a moment's hesitation, "I only..."
The words refused to come.
How did one thank someone for showing them beauty they had never thought to imagine? How did one express gratitude for being invited to take the smallest part in something so magnificent that the heavens themselves seemed somehow fuller for it? He wasn't sure.
His hand rose almost of its own accord, smoothing an errant curl away from the other angel's brow with a gentleness that surprised even him. The angel made no move to pull away, merely watching.
The gesture that followed came just as instinctively. Aziraphale leaned forwards and pressed the softest of kisses against the centre of his forehead. It was a blessing, or at least, it was the nearest thing he could think to call it. A silent prayer of gratitude, offered from one servant of Heaven to another.
Thank you for sharing this with me.
Thank you for imagining such beauty.
May the joy that shines within you never fade.
When he drew back, the other angel blinked several times, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and delight.
"Oh." One hand drifted upwards, fingertips brushing the place where Aziraphale's lips had rested. "What was that for?"
Heat blossomed unexpectedly across Aziraphale's cheeks. "I...It seemed..." He glanced back towards the sprawling nebulas. "...appropriate."
For a moment, the other angel simply stared at him. Then the smile returned, brighter than before, soft enough that it transformed his entire countenance.
"I rather like blessings," he admitted.
"I'm pleased." Aziraphale smiled in return.
Beyond them, the nebulas continued to bloom, blissfully unaware that, somewhere in the vast machinery of Heaven, the first seeds of discord had already begun to take root.