aziraphale's hand is placed securely on @tlnyflrefly bicep as they sit on the sofa. the bookshop is mostly silent, save for the schubert record that they have playing in the background. it's not as if it's a conscious thing they do, placing a hand on their friend. it's something they've always longed for though, the casual intimacy that true friends could have with one another. something that, for six thousand years, was simply unattainable to them. always in the shadows. heaven and hell would stop them if they knew, take them both away from earth they cherished or worse - erase them completely.
but armageddon has been avoided, adam young living the life of a typical eleven year old child. their superiors had both seen what they thought the two could now do. their lips twitch at the thought and he presses himself farther back into the sofa, removing his arm only to press the length of his side against the demon. the remainder of their tea grows cold in front of them, but aziraphale finds that they don't wish to get up just yet. was there ever more that he had longed for ? their dearest friends words take them back to the present, no longer wondering about times that have long since passed them by.
they remember crowley in heaven, remember the way which he presented himself. so many ideas and no clue just how much he would pay for them. he remembers the way they looked at the stars, the love he held for what had been created by his own hand ( metaphorically, of course ). his energy had been overwhelming, one could mistake him for the sun. it is a shame he doesn't remember that now. practically magnetic, he was. though, aziraphale ponders, maybe that was just the way they saw him. ❛ that must be my angelic grace, dear. ❜ they explain. ❛ are you scratchy at all ? shall i get the calamine ? ❜
even with that, their mind drifts back to an evening in the 1940s, when crowley hands him a bag full of rare books that could have very well been burned to a crisp, a feeling in their stomach like the fluttering of an angel's wings. had an angel ever felt love like that before ? they smile softly, leaning their head to rest against his shoulder. crowley may feel heaven, but aziraphale felt home.
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