Like all good things, there had to be a closure. If an instant continued forever, there would be no sense in cherishing the moment as it came, quick as lightning in the dark parchment of night. If everything beautiful was held in a state of permanence, the onlooker would tire of the sight.
Angels, much like humans, bored easily, especially if something was too bright all of the time. Maybe, thatâs why this happened: to every light-bearing thing, there had to be a shadow that smashed, slithered between the cracks.
And how GRATEFUL he was that this was Crowley, the demon who would never harm him. If it had been any other, his throat would have been crushed, he would have fought the good fight and wound up part of the pit of sacrifices that Heaven created in their means to war against Hell.
In the end, the ongoing fight was more of a battle of dismissal, which made any sort-of death a colossal waste. Aziraphale saw this, now.Â
Maybe, Hell wasnât as bad as everyone thought. It wasnât like any angel ever ventured down there - given it was occupied in the same place and same temporal universe - but, much like with the everlasting myth that an angel and a demon couldnât touch, that couldâve also been wrong. Angels were known to be wrong - just look at him, look at how heâd behaved for six-thousand years. In so much of that time, heâd aimed falsehood at someone whoâd always helped him at crucial moments.
âLet the moment pass,â he says, clutching Crowleyâs now-wrinkled shirt in-between his hands. âIt must. Time cannot stand still because we will it, but what can happen is, the knowledge that after this moment, weâre going to remain the same. You and I, weâre going to find that boy, weâre going to change this.â
They raised the wrong boy for years. This was their chance to right their wrongs.
âAll that time with the wrong boyâŚwell. He was certain the gardener loved the nanny. Children, mortal children, are so perceptive, arenât they?â
He releases Crowley, he hopes the moment comes back. He wants someone to see them, he wants someone to walk by and see how tenderly he regards the demon in his view. He wants this, and he thinks about creating a miracle, just to showcase how heâs been feeling for hundreds of years. He wants someone to see the love reflected in his eyes, ask him about it, mention it casually to someone.
âI hope someone walks by,â he says, so softly, itâs as if he didnât say anything at all. A brush of feathers to the pavement, a gasp of air to water-logged lungs: thatâs what this was. âI hope someone sees whatâs in my eyes when I look at you, if only to make up for the hundreds of lifetimes Iâve pushed you away.â
His chest flutters with prickles of what can only be the guilt, born of terror that comes when one realizes theyâve been living their shame without realizing it was shame: Itâs a mistake, heâs been making too many, when it comes to the demon.
He looks to Crowleyâs hand, he takes it in his own.
âI want people to see. I donât want us to be a moment, suspended in time, in privacy. You do understand what I mean, donât you, darling?â
Darling. The word falls off his tongue, his mouth overflowing with honey, drops of sweetness and dew and morning sliding from his tongue. He wants to say it again, but heâll wait to see the reaction.. Â
His chest hurts, it feels as if dirty rainwaterâs come into his body somehow and itâs fermented. He feels rotten with the words spoken, with regret towards the creature against the wall, and for this stolen time, severed moment, wobbling yoctosecond, heâs overcome with immense self-hatred.
How could he have treated Crowley so badly? How could he have said, over and over again, that their status was as opposite sides, evermore?
âThat isâŚif I have a right to call you darling. I find myself terribly remorseful suddenly,â he says, head dipping, his mouth pointed to the ground, âthinking of all the words Iâve said against you. Iâm not fond of how I behaved, but that is putting it mildly.â
He lifts his eyes, and though this could be COURAGE, he doesnât feel brave.
âI very much want to kiss you again, Crowley, but I must know if I have a right to. Funny, how all these moments and sins hit you at once.â
An angel who has more sins on his back than wings, outstretched. Hands, outstretched, awaiting reprieve.
The angel is suspended in time, because of a demon. The angel will always be suspended because of the demon.Â
At first, he had simply let Aziraphale go, sliding his hands out from beneath the angelâs coat. The second he'd done so, he YEARNED to reach out again, to touch. It was almost like a type of MOURNING ... that was the only word he could think of that made any sense.
When one is DEPRIVED of tender, affectionate touch & then suddenly GIVEN it, so much of it .... Crowley realized he had a HUNGER for it, heâd been starving & hadnât known. He longed to GRASP onto the hands that were still clutching at his shirt, but he held the urge at bay. Instead, Crowley canted his head to the left, his upper lip CURLING, providing a brief  flash of sharp teeth.
 â We willââjusâ gotta find some NUNS, â
A part of him was WATCHING for any glimpses of other angels, of demons, to ensure he could be PREPARED, to protect them both. The need to move, to circle Aziraphale protectively scraped against his nerves ; it was almost like a particularly difficult ITCH to scratch. Difficult because he felt as if he moved AWAY, it would break the spell, SHATTER the moment like broken glass. He began to sway his shoulders back & forth, slowly, as if this movement would alleviate that itchââit helped, but only a little.
The Gardner LOVED the nanny, Â
That was what left Crowley's mind REELING, his heart racing. He wanted to ask, love ? are you saying that you love me ? But he ALSO knew that all of this .... all of these things were pieces of a conversation they absolutely needed to have. It was a conversation that they couldnât delve into within that moment & he HATED that they had to wait.  Even if it would  be only hours from now ... heâd waited over six thousand years. What was a few more hours ?
Crowley was ONLY able to hear what had been said so quietly because most of his focus was on Aziraphale, on SLOWLY easing his grip on time ( but only just  ) & of ensuring they were SAFE. Things began to move again, albeit SLUGGISHLY, in slow motion.
Oh, he ABSOLUTELY understoodââbut it struck harshly within his chest. The angel wanted to show THE WORLD his feelings for a demon. Â
Crowley wanted that, to be seen with Aziraphale in such a wayââhe wanted people to SEE how desperately he loved this angel, his angel ( admittedly, that slightly POSSESSIVE thought lead him down another path entirely but, now was NOT the time for that ). He wanted them to KNOW that he would do anything for him, ANYTHING in the universe.
He was being called darling & a warmth BLOOMED within his chest, softly burning & threatening to MELT him from the inside out. Tendrils of warmth moved throughout his limbs, to the tips of his fingers ; fingers of the hand the angel was now taking into his own.Â
Crowley managed, with a moment of useless stammering beforehand.
LIFTING their joined hands, he pressed a tender, loving kiss to Aziraphaleâs knucklesââthe IDEA that he was allowed to do this left a desperate ACHE within his chest & he cherished the feeling, this moment.
 â Aziraphaleââwe were both LIED to. BOTH of us said things we didnât mean .... things we regret. Sâfine, weâve got some things to talk about & weâll do that,  âright ? â
I very much want to kiss you,
Crowley paused, eyes fluttering shut behind dark lenses & he leaned  forward, their foreheads touching within the slowly moving moment. He let out a breath, it was ALMOST a laugh, with a touch of joyous energy to it. It was surreal & WONDERFUL to hear Aziraphale say these things, to hear him say them to Crowley & no one else.
 â My answer to the things youâre WANTING to do, sâyes. Sâalways yes, angel. â
