#aziracrowomens

[xflashbastardx]

Aziraphale couldn't bring himself to believe the rumors. Not long after his ascendance back into Heaven as Supreme Archangel, there was word that a new demon had replaced Beelzebub as Prince of Hell down Below. This in itself was to be expected; after all, Heaven had filled their new vacancy, so why wouldn't Hell?

But it was who was said to have filled the vacancy that Aziraphale had trouble wrapping his mind around. Dagon had been his first guess, or maybe even Shax. But the Serpent of Eden? After all he'd said about not needing to rejoin Hell; not wanting to?

There was nothing for it. The angel had to go down to see for himself. He was certain it was the only way he would be able to reconcile himself to the idea. Being Head Archangel meant he had the right to go wherever he pleased. In fact, he was expected to meet with the new Prince in order to encourage future relations between Heaven and Hell.

Whatever he had imagined in order to brace himself, however, did not sufficiently prepare Aziraphale for the sight that met him when he got there. Atop the throne that Beelzebub had once occupied lounged a familiar redhead. Familiar despite the addition of shining, scattered snake scales and unusually long, sharp nails.

Those features combined with the slitted snake pupils and enlarged yellow irises hiding any glimpse of white sclera gave Crowley an overall more demonic appearance than Aziraphale had ever thought he could manifest. Looking at him then, it was difficult to even recall he had ever even been an angel at all.

Surely this was some sort of a trick. An illusion, perhaps; something to throw the newest Archangel off his game upon his first visit to Hell in his new position. After all, it was no secret by now that both respective offices knew that Crowley and Aziraphale had been in league with each other for millenia.

Perhaps this was some diabolical prank Hell had cooked up and Heaven hadn't opposed it if only to repay Aziraphale back for the trouble he'd caused them in the past. Just because the Metatron had promoted him didn't mean there weren't still some among the rest of the heavenly host who resented him. Yes, that must have been it.

Aziraphale cleared his tight, dry throat. "Supreme Archangel Aziraphale here on official business to meet with the newly-appointed Prince of Hell," he announced, trying not to choke on his own words. It was with no small amount of difficulty that he forced himself to look Crowley - or what resembled Crowley - in the eyes. "I...don't suppose you have an office where we can discuss our matters privately, Your Highness...?"

((Response to the Prince of Hell prompt

- aziracrow-omens))

@aziracrow-omens

Of course Crowley had not only known that he would, sooner or later, be seeing Aziraphale again. That had, after all, been the entire point of what he'd done.

He just hadn't expected it to go this way.

He thought there would be a planned meeting, that he would have time to prepare. Not that the Supreme Archangel would just march right into hell and request an audience with him without warning. There was, perhaps, a brief widening of yellow eyes, maybe a slight pursing of his lips, but nothing beyond that to betray his surprise.

Wordlessly, Crowley rose and, gesturing for Aziraphale to follow, led the way towards a door in the back of the room. Most demons stepped aside without prompting, clearing a path; those that didn't were met with a hiss and a baring of fangs that cowed them easily. Inside, Crowley was warring with himself---he'd chosen this, yes, and he'd known when he chose it that it would come with a certain amount of...theatrics to really sell the idea to hell that he was serious. But something about Aziraphale seeing him like this, leaning so heavily into this role, made him feel absolutely wretched.

The door was closed behind them, a quick snap of the prince's fingers ensuring it was locked and that their words would not be heard by any nosy demons who might be crowding outside or pressing their ears to it. Only then did Crowley turn to actually face Aziraphale, though his guard had not yet lowered.

"Showing up in hell unannounced, Supreme Archangel Aziraphale? Hardly seems professional. You must have something terribly important you wanted to discuss with me."

[xflashbastardx]

There had been an immediate change in the air when Crowley had explained his mysterious message, like time itself was frozen---but it wasn't, of course it wasn't. Aziraphale would know if Crowley had stopped time. This was something else. This was the tension and the apprehension that came before monumental change, and Aziraphale was certain they both felt it.

But why should there be such apprehension now? Perhaps, at one time, it had made sense to fear taking this step. It would have been so very dangerous for the both of them, but now...what was stopping them? Nothing but their own fear.

And Crowley deserved so much more from him than fear.

At some point, Aziraphale's gaze had fallen to his own hands, folded upon his lap, fidgeting nervously. When he looked back towards Crowley, it made his heart ache. The poor dear was trembling. What courage it must have taken to do what he had done tonight. And Aziraphale knew it was his fault; he was painfully aware of the mixed signals he had sent his companion over the centuries. It hadn't been intentional...a combination of trying to keep a safe boundary between them and wanting so desperately for Crowley to know he was cared for. But whatever his intent had been, the result was plain; Crowley didn't know where he stood in the angel's heart.

It was far past time to fix that. When Crowley looked his way again, Aziraphale reached out to take his face in his hands. The telltale shimmer of unshed tears gathering in his serpentine eyes only compounded both Aziraphale's guilt and his resolve.

"Oh, dearest," Aziraphale breathed. "If there is anyone, demon or otherwise, worthy of that something, it's you."

No, that wasn't enough. The time for dancing around words had long since passed. Crowley had been so very brave tonight already, and Aziraphale wouldn't let the night end with him unsure of anything. Though one hand stayed where it was, caressing the demon's face, the other drifted down to entwine their fingers.

"If it is a sin to love, then it is a sin I shall commit gladly. Because I do, Crowley---I love you. I have for so long, and my deepest regret is that I have not behaved in a way that made that clear. I think....I have been terribly cruel to you, in retrospect. Keeping you at arm's length as I have. I thought it for the best, but I see now...oh, my Crowley, I must have hurt you terribly, haven't I? If...if you will allow me, I swear I will endeavor to ensure you never again doubt that you are so very loved."

A corner of the demon's mouth quirked up in a smirk as if in contrast to his companion's frown when Aziraphale tried to correct Crowley's comment in regard to himself and was carefully selective with his words while doing so. Typical angel. And, as with almost everything that Aziraphale was and did that was typical of him, Crowley adored him for it. "I don't think it's silly of you," he answered honestly. "Many humans that fit the age our corporations appear to be wear glasses. 'Specially book lovers like you. You blend in better by wearing them. Besides, speaking 's someone you're calling observant, I like the way you look in them, too. They suit you."

Bollocks. He'd meant to say, 'I like the look of them, too', but his mind had run away with his mouth. He hoped Aziraphale wouldn't notice his slip of the tongue. Or, if he did, that he wouldn't mind, at least.

"Heh." The angel's address of 'cheeky demon' earned an involuntarily genuine smile from Crowley. He wondered not for the first time why he had sent that text with the acronym in the first place; certainly not with the intention of ending up here in this situation. If he'd actually thought the action through, he would likely have known that this might have been where they'd end up.

Then again...what if he'd sent it realizing that subconsciously? Wasn't this something he'd wanted to get off his chest for millenia now, even if the end result ended up hurting worse than Hell? He hadn't wanted to risk ruining whatever relationship they already had, but if they could just manage to get over this one thing, Crowley was confident by now that Aziraphale would at least be willing to go back to the way things normally were between them.

He could be content with that much, he thought. It was better than pining without ever knowing what might have been if only he'd had the courage to speak his mind for once. So, in that case, perhaps it was best he'd sent the seemingly-facetious-but-actually-serious text after all. They could get this over and done with as soon as possible, like - what was that expression humans sometimes used? Like 'ripping off a band-aid'.

The demon felt the angel's beautiful blue gaze on him and knew, as observant as Aziraphale was, that he couldn't have failed to notice the way his golden yellow irises bled into his sclera. The knowledge made him self-conscious enough to briefly long for his sunglasses, but he dared not even chance a glance toward them, continuing instead to stare at the surface of the low table in front of the couch.

As oblivious as he could be at times and downright stubbornly obtuse at others, Crowley knew very well that Aziraphale was no fool. While waiting for the angel's reaction to nearly the entire answer of the acronym, he struggled to maintain the outward appearance of complete composure or even some semblance of it, but his whole body had begun to tremble ever so slightly and his breathing, quiet as he'd tried to make it, had become ragged. He would have poured himself another glass of wine, but he didn't trust himself to be able to do so without spilling or knocking something over with his tremors, so he decided against it. Instead, he clasped his hands together and willed them as best he could to stop shaking.

Crowley had thought he had been prepared for rejection from the start. He was almost certain he had, going so far as to tell himself he expected it. So why, then, did hope and optimism still make things so heart-wrenchingly difficult for him at such a time? He thought he'd crushed them, but evidently they were harder to kill than he'd thought. Before he could think about it, he'd brushed the back of his hand against his eyes. His sight had been getting increasingly blurry over the few seconds of silence that seemed to span years while he waited for Aziraphale to respond and he sought to remedy that condition.

There was a sharp intake of breath as the serpent felt another knee come into contact with his, drawing his attention to them. It was no use; his vision was already starting to swim again. Even just the cadence of the angel's voice caused his chest to tighten and ache before he allowed his words and then their meanings to sink in. Finally, he made himself look back up in order to meet those warm, familiar orbs of kindness so intense it was painful. Then he forced himself to laugh, praying to somebody - anybody - that the moisture that had collected in his gleaming eyes wouldn't be enough to spill over just yet.

"How could you, angel?" he asked, intending to speak normally but finding his volume come out little more than a whisper. "That ssssomething issssn't meant for demonsss like me. It...it mussst be sssome ssssort of sssin to...to sssomething a demon." He chuckled bitterly, shaking his head and hating how he lost himself to his hissing. "If it'sss even possssible."

[xflashbastardx]

Every gentle touch was leaned into, Crowley responding to the affection even as deep in sleep as he was. But it was doing nothing to calm his seemingly restless slumber; if anything, he was growing ever more fidgety in response to the angel's attention. And when Aziraphale knelt beside the sofa and took hold of his hand, Crowley's fingers curled tightly around it.

"Don't," was the next word clear enough to be made out as he twisted on the sofa and instinctively tried to get closer to the familiar presence at his side, followed soon after by a breathy "Stop" and a squeezing of the hand in his. The (apparent) protests in tandem with the way the demon's brow was so tightly knit and the way he seemed to be seeking out Aziraphale even in sleep could certainly give the impression that he was in the throes of a nightmare---

But then his back arched, and he moaned, and suddenly it was apparent that the words uttered had not been two separate objections, but rather one connected thought, a needy plea. Combined with the, frankly, obscene sound the demon had just made, it left little room to doubt exactly what kind of dream Crowley was having.

"I'm right here," the angel murmured soothingly. It had occurred to him that if Crowley was dreaming, it might have been something unpleasant; possibly even a nightmare. He wouldn't have been surprised considering all that Crowley must have been through including and since his Fall from Heaven.

Seating himself partially against the armrest of the sofa, he reached out to gently stroke flaming red locks and smooth out any stray strands that may have happened to fall in their owner's face after his head had turned. The book-lover cherished the way his name was said even in Crowley's sleep because as much as he liked the nickname the demon attributed to him, the rarity of Crowley using his full name (or at least mostly full barring the first vowel) made it exceptionally precious for Aziraphale to hear.

Even so, the bookshop owner worried. It was obvious in the hesitant way he held himself partially perched on the armrest and in each concerned crease corregating his brow. Should he wake him up? But he had been resting so well until then. He must have been sleeping really deeply to have started talking and hadn't he read somewhere that it was bad to forcibly attempt to wake someone so deep in sleep? That might have been about sleepwalkers, but he feared it may have applied similarly to sleeptalkers as well.

He continued to watch over Crowley, his guardian angel, as the demon writhed and his hips rolled upward. Now, that was odd. What might have caused him to try to roll his hips like that? The peculiar motion accompanied by the nearly pleading tone of the sleeper's incoherent mumbling caused Aziraphale's cheeks to pink slightly and his chest to tighten as his heartstrings were tugged on.

Slipping his hand from his partner's hair to take Crowley's hand, he held it lightly and moved to kneel in front of the sofa where he could better regard the demon.

"What is it, Crowley?" he inquired, speaking gently. "Is something wrong?" He didn't expect a proper answer, of course - not unless the sleeper woke - but perhaps if he kept talking, it would have been enough to reassure Crowley he was there beside him even while he slept.

[xflashbastardx]

Crowley's little self-degredation earned him a disapproving frown from the angel.

"Not stupid, my dear, you were simply being---" Considerate? Thoughtful? No, both too close to kind, best not to say either of them.

"Observant," was the word he landed on. "Perhaps it's silly of me, but I confess, I tend to wear the reading glasses because I rather enjoy the look of them."

It felt a very human thing to do, and Aziraphale did so enjoy doing things the human way. A confession he may have found embarrassing were he admitting it to anyone but Crowley, but he knew the demon shared his fondness for humanity and so was far less likely to ridicule him for such a quirk than, say, Michael or Uriel. It was only one of the many ways in which Aziraphale felt...well, safer with the demon than he ever really had among his fellow angels. A thought that may have filled him with guilt prior to their ruse, the failed execution attempts and subsequent exilings from their respective sides. No longer being involved with heaven in any official capacity was taking some getting used to, but Aziraphale couldn't deny that it was worth it for the freedom he now had---specifically, the freedom to spend time with Crowley, openly and unafraid.

Crowley's dark glasses were set aside, and it was remarkable how such a small, simple action could fill Aziraphale with so much warmth. No matter how many times he did it, it never failed to please him that his dearest friend felt comfortable enough in his shop (in his presence) to show his entire self.

"Cheeky demon," Aziraphale chided without conviction at the admission that normally such acronyms weren't that long. A small smile had made itself at home upon his lips and he sipped his wine leisurely (though it did not escape his notice the rate at which his companion was downing his own---was everything alright?).

Once the gorgeous yellow of Crowley's eyes began to overtake the whites, Aziraphale's train of thought came to a screeching halt. He was half transfixed---he had always been utterly bewitched by those eyes---and half concerned. It was rare that they so fully snakelike, except in times of great stress. It made him want to reach out and console the demon, but he suspected an unexpected touch may startle more than soothe, and that could just be counterproductive.

Clever...yet so oblivious... what did he mean? Aziraphale's head cocked to one side, confusion washing over his face as he watched Crowley's position shift. He liked to think he was rather perceptive, actually, but apparently he had missed something important, or Crowley wouldn't have called him oblivious.

And then Crowley spoke. Softly, but easy enough to hear in the quiet of the closed bookshop. Filling in all the words of the acronym except that elusive L, but now that the entire sentence was laid out before him, Aziraphale had no doubts that he had been correct in what he'd suspected (or, rather, hoped) that L stood for. For a second, his heart leapt, and then it instantly plummeted again as the rest of the message settled in.

Crowley thought his feelings wouldn't be returned. No wonder he seemed so on-edge; it must have been terribly painful. Honestly, Aziraphale thought his own affections had been almost embarrassingly obvious for some time. Either he was mistaken, or he wasn't the only one who could be oblivious.

Aziraphale shifted a little closer; not much, but enough that his knee brushed gently against Crowley's.

"And..." his own voice had softened as well. "why are you so certain that I don't something you back?"

There was that lovely smile, again. He felt like he could have just melted into the couch cushions like butter on a warm piece of toast. No wonder he was having trouble thinking straight. "Oh - yeah. 'Course. Stupid me. Was just thinking 'bout how you wear glasses sometimes when reading, I s'pose." They looked good on the angel, naturally. Crowley had enjoyed watching him read for hours at a time when he was able to if he thought he could get away with it. But.. "...Come to think of it, why do you wear those, angel?"

And then Aziraphale seated himself beside the demon on the couch.

Ohhh...he had not thought this through. Well, he had, or at least he thought he had on the way to the bookshop, but clearly it hadn't been nearly enough.

While Crowley did usually drape himself across the couch so he had it all to himself, that night he had been too on edge to do so and hadn't paused to remember one of the most important reasons why he did it. Aside from stretching out to unwind his long limbs and relax, if he was taking up the entire couch space, then the angel had to find somewhere else to sit.

The farther away Aziraphale sat from Crowley, the less Crowley's body did the funny things it did when he was in close proximity with his best friend - funny things like his chest tightening, his throat closing up, his mouth going dry, his stomach flip-flopping, his heart skipping beats, his face heating, and a number of other ridiculous misbehaviors. He just seemed to be one big malfunction on occasions such as these when Aziraphale ended up at his side rather than across from him. How was he supposed to talk about the acronym like this?

No, no, this is good, he told himself quickly, removing his shades to place them on a side table next to the couch. If he's next to me, I don't have to be looking straight at him the whole time.

Of course, Crowley usually liked being able to look straight at him, but that was generally when he was at liberty to simply admire the angel - not steeling his nerves to practically pour his bloody heart out to him.

"Yeah...most acronyms aren't meant to be that long," the demon confessed with a wry smile, glancing at Aziraphale in his peripherals. "They're s'posed to bring the words to mind automatically when you see the letters, but that tends to work best with short phrases. The one I sent you was a whole bloody sentence. That was why it was kind of a joke." He waved his free hand expressively as he brought his glass of wine to his lips with his other. "Nothin' to do with not bein' good at text speak." Crowley swallowed a large gulp. "In fact, seemed like you'd gotten a pretty decent idea of something since you were asking me if I was sure I wanted to tell it to you through text messages."

Holding out his glass to stare at the liquid he slowly sloshed around in it, he suddenly realized there was no way he was going to manage to down enough wine in time to get drunk enough for what he had to say. What a shame. Deciding to try anyway, he finished off the rest of his glass and reached for the bottle to pour himself some more. As he poured and set the bottle back down, Crowley's gaze followed Aziraphale's to the angel's lap where his hands were neatly folded. His faltering sentences and stammered words caused the demon's brows to rise in surprise. So he wasn't the only one nervous, then.

He wasn't sure if he considered that a good thing or a bad one. As much as he might have liked to think Aziraphale may have had similar emotional stakes in the situation, he also generally hated to see the angel distraught, especially if it was because of him. Was it because of him this time...? Why would the angel have reason to feel nervous, anyway?

Then comprehension of the book-lover's words set in. The yellow of Crowley's irises blotted out the white of his sclera as he peered carefully at Aziraphale from the corner of his eye. If he had figured out as much as Crowley believed he had, was he anxious because of what it might have meant for the two of them? Did the idea make him uncomfortable? But no, the angel had come much too far in his speculations to not want the demon to confirm his suspicions or else he would have simply dropped the matter once he'd figured out enough of the acronym to become ill at ease.

So then, did that mean Aziraphale actually wanted him to say it?

Well...maybe so. Maybe he did so he could turn Crowley down immediately, stop getting those looks from his friend, and go back to pretending that it wasn't possible for beings other than humans to feel this way. Actually, hadn't Crowley expected that all along? It was why he had included the rest of the acronym, after all - the part that Aziraphale hadn't seemed to have puzzled out yet.

"'I something you'," he repeated softly to himself, staring into his beverage. He knocked back the whole thing in one go. "That's right. Clever angel. Always so clever in so many ways...and yet so oblivious in others." Setting down the empty glass beside the bottle, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on each knee, yellow snake eyes staring unseeingly at a spot on the low table before him.

"'I something you'," he said again, a little louder this time, but a little more tender, too. "...'I something you, but I don't know how to tell you because I know you don't something me back'."

[xflashbastardx]

Aziraphale fixed his dear friend with a warm smile, fondness shining in his eyes.

"Oh, Crowley, don't be silly---you know we needn't worry about human things like straining our eyes."

It was very considerate of Crowley to be concerned for him, though of course he knew better than to say as much. There was a time and a place for pushing the demon's buttons, but this hardly felt like one of them.

Normally, when getting together to chare drinks and conversation, the pair would sit in separate chairs. Sometimes, when Crowley did select the couch, he sprawled in such a way that took up the entire thing. Noticing that, for once, there was space enough for the both of them, Aziraphale hesitated for only a second before making himself comfortable on the other side of the couch.

"Admittedly, not much. It seems a rather complicated one, compared to the other examples you sent me. Though breaking it up into smaller did make the task less daunting, I'm afraid I'm simply not very good with, ah, text speak."

He took a sip of his wine before casting his eyes down towards the hand folded politely in his lap. Oh, dear, he was dreadfully nervous about all this.

"Well, I...I did notice that in the examples you sent me, the, er...the 'i' and 'u' letters often stood for those same words, s-so...well, it would seem that the first group of letters may have been....'I something you'..."

Those blue eyes darted back up to watch carefully for any sort of reaction from Crowley.

"Though I have to confess, I've not been able to decode the L word in that first group..."

The sight of the angel's smile served to simultaneously soothe and stress Crowley somehow, causing the effects to cancel each other out and leaving the demon just feeling emotionally exhausted.

"Thanks, angel; same to you. And - yeah, thank you."

He entered and closed the door behind him as Aziraphale went to fetch the glasses, looking around at almost everything except the bookshop owner himself. Eventually he went over to sit on a couch, wondering if his friend would choose to sit beside him, across from him, or elsewhere.

"Books?" he mused, smiling a little despite his nerves. Of course the angel would have used his phone to read books. "Yeah, it is, isn't it? 'Specially when you need information quickly. I know it's still not the same, but they have audio books, too, if it's too difficult to concentrate on reading or something. Trying to read on the move like while walking or with the bus jostling around can put a strain on your eyes."

Great, now he was the one babbling on about books when he wasn't even all that fond of them. Anything to put off talking about what he had come there to talk about, he supposed. But then Aziraphale stopped, so he had to stop, too. Accepting the offered glass of wine with a grateful nod, he leaned back against the cushions.

"Right..." he began, taking a deep drink of the beverage. "...So...how much did you manage to make out? Of the acronym, I mean."

[xflashbastardx]

Rarely (if ever) did it take long for Crowley to get to bookshop. In spite of Aziraphale's criticisms, he drove like...well, like a bat out of hell. Yet somehow, when the message came in from him, it still seemed so soon. And how strange, for Crowley to send a message rather than simply let himself in...there certainly seemed to be something strange going on with the demon tonight. Hopefully it would all be sorted out soon.

Donning a smile, Aziraphale opened the door and stepped to one side, making a sweeping gesture with one arm to welcome Crowley in.

"Crowley. Always good to see you, dear boy. Oh! And you brought wine, how lovely. I'll fetch us some glasses, then, shall I?"

Without waiting for an answer, the angel turned to do exactly that. Perhaps it was the strange flutter of nerves that had started up in the pit of his stomach, but as he bustled around, fetching the glasses and pouring the wine, he couldn't seem to stop talking.

"You know, when I finally let you talk me into getting a mobile telephone, I never could have imagined what nifty little devices they are. Did you know I can read books on it? Of course, I much prefer the 'real McCoy', as the saying goes, but it is terribly convenient for on-the-go. Many of my books are quite old and rare, as you know, it simply wouldn't do to take them anywhere with me."

Finally he stopped. Stopped talking, stopped fidgeting. And he turned to offer Crowley his glass.

"So, you...wished to discuss something?"

[TXT: A] Thanks, angel. I'll just come over, then. Be there soon.

Taking the Bentley, Crowley found himself at Aziraphale's bookshop sooner than he had prepared for. His mind had been mostly blank from mild panic during the drive, unable to work out how he was going to talk to the angel once he got there. He had brought a couple of wine bottles just in case Aziraphale felt like talking over drinks and hoped it would make their discussion easier, but he seriously doubted it. If only he knew how much his friend had already learned about the acronym.

He parked and got out of the car, going up to the shop entrance and knocking in spite of himself. It was kind of late at night and he didn't feel comfortable just barging in even if the doors might have been open. Tugging on the collar of his shirt a bit, he hefted the bottles of wine under one arm so he could text with his other. [TXT: A] I'm here.

[xflashbastardx]

Oh, my...

The hand not holding his mobile phone came to rest gently on the angel's chest, a nervous flutter in the pit of his stomach. Whether his assumption about the message was correct or not, it did seem to be something serious. If it wasn't, surely Crowley wouldn't have taken him up on his suggestion to discuss the matter face-to-face.

And what if his guess (or perhaps hope was the better word here) as to the meaning of the first three letters was wrong? Once he had gotten the idea in his head, Aziraphale had struggled to think of any other possibility, but what if that was merely to desperate hope of a pining angel? After all, he did know so little about modern technology and the common vernacular used by those more in-the-know than himself, it was entirely possible he had made an enormous mistake.

But, well, he couldn't very well tell Crowley never mind now, could he? Not when he had been the one to press for the meaning of the message and suggested they talk in person.

Chin up, Aziraphale told himself with a deep, steadying breath. If it's not what---what you hope it is, then you mustn't let on. He could do that. Keep himself composed. Keep his feelings under wraps (he'd done that for millennia now, hadn't he?). Wait until he was alone again to tend to his heart. Oh, but he was getting ahead of himself now, making assumptions, preparing for the worst---and all the while, leaving poor Crowley's message unanswered. How rude of him.

Whatever Crowley had to say, Aziraphale wanted him to feel as comfortable as possible saying it. Best, then, to leave the decision of where up to the demon.

[TXT: C] Whichever you prefer, my dear. You know you are always welcome here, but I can come to you if you'd rather

There it was. Crowley knew just by reading the first one-word text made up of his name that the clever angel had discovered at least the first and most nerve-wracking part of the puzzle he'd sent him. After the second text, he stared at his phone for a good five minutes, took a long swig of wine straight from the bottle, and bid his heart to stop threatening to burst from his chest.

Even the way Aziraphale had eloquently worded his question was so careful, so gentle and considerate and patient and understanding, allowing Crowley a thousand ways out if he wanted them. He could have simply said 'yes'. He could have probably even asked the angel again not to worry about the message or given him an entirely wrong translation of the letters or otherwise dismissed it and he was sure that this time, even if he knew better, his best friend would have let it go at that. For his sake.

But the demon knew he owed Aziraphale more than cowardly evasions, facetious lies, and petty dismissals. Everything else aside, even just the fact that the bookshop owner had taken the time and trouble to so diligently try to decode what Crowley had wanted to communicate meant that he cared enough to want to understand him. How could Crowley just spurn that kind of compassion?

He couldn't. He couldn't and he'd known it from the moment he'd realized the angel was earnestly determined to figure out the acronym's meaning. It was why he'd been dreading each step closer the angel got to the truth - because he knew that, no matter how resistant Crowley was to the idea, eventually, whether he meant to or not, Aziraphale was going to end up convincing him to spilling his guts. It almost felt like he'd always had that kind of power over him. This time was no different.

He set down the empty bottle.

[TXT: A] No, angel. No, I'm not.

And then:

[TXT: A] Should I go to your place, or do you want to come to mine?

[xflashbastardx]

Well, that sounded like a perfectly reasonable suggestion. Apparently, for one reason or another, Crowley didn't want to tell him what his message had been, wanted to leave it up to him to decode for himself. Maybe it was meant to be a game of sorts? Well, far be it from him to spoil Crowley's fun, if that were the case!

"Alright, then. Let's break it down, as he said," Aziraphale said to himself, settling into the seat at his writing desk with a cup of tea and pulling out a sheet of paper and a pen.

Groups of threes. That should certainly make it easier. He scrolled back up through their messages, to the initial text and copied the letters down, spacing them so they were grouped into threes.

ily bid kht tyb iky dlm b

Breaking the longer acronym into smaller bits made it seem less daunting. Aziraphale took the first group---and nearly spit out his tea.

ily. ILY. Maybe it was because of the list of other examples Crowley had sent him, but this group suddenly seemed so clear. In many of those examples the i was I and the y was You. So I L(something) You.

Aziraphale knew what he wanted that L to stand for---but surely it couldn't be...?

[TXT: C] Crowley

In a fit of nerves, he accidentally sent the text off without anything additional. He hurried to send a follow-up.

[TXT: C] Are you quite certain that whatever message you sent is something you wish to tell me via text conversation?

The demon had, by then, gotten himself a bottle of wine to soothe his fraying nerves and rolled over on the couch to lie on his stomach. He had half expected - or maybe just half-heartedly hoped - that Aziraphale would be so occupied with the list he sent that he might study it for the rest of the night. Maybe long enough to forget about the original message. Or, perhaps, the angel would grow weary of trying to make sense of it and simply set it aside out of boredom.

No such luck.

After reading Aziraphale's new text to him, Crowley groaned, turning to lie face-down on the couch with his forehead pressed against the armrest. What had possibly possessed him to send that stupid acronym in the first place?

A few minutes later found the snake demon typing out words as fast as he could in order to send the text before he could get cold feet about it.

[TXT: A] Try breaking it down, angel. Most acronyms on that list I sent you were made up of three letters. Start with that.

[xflashbastardx]

Aziraphale read down the list of examples, trying to put the letters together and decipher Crowley's original message, but to no avail. Still, he would have to make sure to save this list, it did seem as though it could be rather useful to have on hand.

[TXT: C] My, that's terribly clever! It must make conversing via mobile phone so much easier. Though I'm afraid I still don't quite understand the message you sent me, it was a good deal longer than any of these.

"'Should I wish to enlighten you'...yeah, not about this," Crowley grumbles to himself under his breath after reading the latest text, now anxiously running a hand through his newly-disheveled red locks. Plopping himself down onto his couch, he racks his brains for how best to reply.

[TXT: A] Alright, here are some of the most commonly used ones so you can get a general idea:

brb = be right back btw = by the way omg = blasphemy (oh my God) idk = i don't know ttyl = talk to you later omw = on my way smh = shaking my head lol = laugh out loud rofl = rolling on the floor laughing tbd = to be determined imo = in my opinion hmu = hit me up lmk = let me know ftw = for the win nvm = nevermind fwiw = for what it's worth ngl = not gonna lie rq = real quick iykyk = if you know, you know brt = be right there sm = so much ig = i guess wya = where you at istg = more blasphemy (i swear to God) hbu = how about you atm = at the moment np = no problem fomo = fear of missing out obv = obviously rn = right now Some make more sense or are more intuitive than others, but at least with this list you can get the gist of how they're used.

[xflashbastardx]

"Text speak...?" Aziraphale frowns thoughtfully, pondering. The simple truth of the matter is that he really doesn't text anyone but Crowley, and even then he rarely initiates such communication. As with most things, Aziraphale prefers the more old-fashioned methods, such as calling. He'd likely still be using hand-written correspondence, were it at all time-efficient.

[TXT: C] I cannot say I do, dear boy. But I am always open to learning new things, should you wish to enlighten me!

The angel is beaming as he sends off the text. How fun, getting to learn new things, and from Crowley, at that. Now that's someone always up-to-date on current trends. Surely there's no one better suited to teach him about this text speak.

"Bless it all..." the demon swears, his complexion getting ruddier by the minute as he realizes with embarrassment and dread that Aziraphale is not going to let the unknown acronym go. He should have known better than to think it would be as easy as asking the stubborn angel not to worry about it. He had dug his metaphorical grave, so now he has to decide whether to lie in it or attempt to somehow dig his way back out.

[TXT: A] Do you know any acronyms used in what they call text speak?

Evidently, he can't seem to put the shovel down.

If he has to blame something, he blames the fact that, no matter what they discuss or how much trouble it might get him into, texting with Aziraphale is infinitely preferable to stopping.

[xflashbastardx]

An acronym? How charming! Aziraphale hadn't been aware Crowley enjoyed them, and now he's only more curious as to the meaning of the strange text.

[TXT: C] Oh how fun! I'm afraid I'm having trouble deciphering it, however. Could you, perhaps, give me a hint?

Crowley picks up his phone immediately and reads the text before a small, fond smile finds its way to his lips. He sends a reply.

[TXT: A] Just a silly acronym, angel. Don't worry about it.

[xflashbastardx]

The prince's scaled forehead creases into a deep frown when Aziraphale insists that he deserved the way he'd been treated when he'd arrived. Clearly, Crowley disagreed, but there were bigger things to worry about than whether or not Crowley's temper had been warranted.

Both hands pressed flat against Aziraphale's chest and gave the gentlest of pushes, urging him to back up just enough to give the demon room to stand once more. Relieved as he was to be moving past the outburst and the fighting, it did little to help with the real threat looming over them. Though he felt much better about facing it now that they were once again together. Technically, he supposed, they had never been more 'on opposite sides' than they were now---they'd gone from angels together, to a demon and an angel, to exiles from their sides, to the Prince of Hell and the Supreme Archangel. On paper, that really did sound more like enemies than anything before. But that didn't discourage Crowley. It was all a means to an end, and they both wanted the same end. They'd figure this out. They had to. They always did.

"Well," Crowley sighed, straightening out his clothes and trying to compose himself in the wake of the emotional confrontation they had just had. "I was hoping you would have an idea about that. Hell is eager for war as ever, but Heaven's the one kicking things off this time, aren't they? The whole antichrist thing was a bust, after all. What are they planning up there?"

Crowley's immediate answer, combined with the delicate, almost reverent touch of those long-nailed hands on his face, drew a sharp exhale from the relieved Archangel. The further confession that followed made him simply want to lean in even closer and scoop the demon up into his arms, perhaps to whisk him away back to the bookshop where they could discuss things in further detail.

In his heart, though, he knew such a thing was as impossible as travelling back in time. They had both committed to bigger things, now, and they had to see them through. The demon's explanation as to why he had taken up the vacant throne in Hell reminded the angel of and supported that truth. At least they were on the same page, now, it seemed, however difficult the book that page belonged to would be to get through. With any luck, there might have been a happy ending waiting for them at the end of it if they played their cards right.

"Yes, yes, quite right, of course," Aziraphale agreed absently, his eyes going distant and his mind already racing through the possible ways they might be able to stop the Second Coming as they had worked together to stop the first attempt at ending the world. The barest, most gentle contact of lips against his own jolted him out of his thoughts and brought the full weight of his attention back on Crowley who was apologizing again. "Crowley, dear, please don't apologize," the angel requested as tenderly as he could manage, moving his hand from the demon's chin to run the back of it against the side of his face and jawline. "I daresay I did, actually. After how I left you to take care of things in Heaven...and how I was so oblivious to your thoughts and feelings after you've been so carefully observant and considerate of mine...I do believe I did deserve that." He cast him a wan smile. "Anyway, what's done is done and in the past. As for right now...what do you think we should do? Any ideas?"

[xflashbastardx]

Aziraphale spoke, and Crowley sat frozen in his disbelief, not breathing, not blinking, simply listening, and when the finger slid beneath his chin to lift his face, he put up no resistance. In the back of his mind, he made a mental note to make Shax pay for daring to even speak to this angel, let alone putting such a thought into his head, but that could wait until later. Right now, there was only one thing that was important, and that was answering Aziraphale's question.

"Yes," the answer was given the moment Aziraphale finished speaking, almost as if the prince were afraid that if he didn't answer right away, the offer would be rescinded. Both of his hands raised up to hold the Supreme Archangel's face, carefully so as not to mar his lovely skin with those claw-like nails.

"It's all I want, angel. You're all I want."

All he had ever wanted, really. Nearly everything Crowley had done in his long life had been, in one way or another, for Aziraphale. Either to help him, or protect him, or to see him.

Speaking of which, he supposed now was the time to explain how he had landed himself upon hell's throne.

"That's...that's why I'm even here in the first place. I knew heaven and hell would be working together to plan...something, another apocalypse attempt I reckon. Couldn't let any other demon be the one you met with. It needs to be us, so we can do what we did the first time and stop it from happening. Only way we can be together is if there's an earth for us to be on."

There was a moment's hesitation, and then Crowley leaned up to brush his lips briefly against Aziraphale's. Feather-light, and only for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was small. Ashamed.

"I'm so sorry for the way I treated you when you arrived. You didn't deserve that, angel."

Confound it. It only took Aziraphale an instant after glimpsing the look in those eyes and interpreting the genuine feelings there to comprehend the reason for them, but it was an instant too late. Crowley was already stepping away, withdrawing from him in almost every possible manner, and the angel took a step forward to try to chase after his retreating friend.

"Crowley, no!" he spoke up, realizing it was on him, now, to get his innermost emotions and thoughts across. They couldn't suffer another misunderstanding due to terrible miscommunication. He wouldn't allow it. "Don't apologize; don't you dare apologize. You've done nothing wrong!"

He closed the distance between himself and the demon in the throne, leaning forward to trap Crowley against its back so he couldn't retreat any farther. Locking eyes with him very seriously, he said in a quiet, low voice, "Crowley, if you mean 'be together' in the way I think you mean, there is no one I would rather be with more than you. I just didn't dare to think that you of all people might...might want to be with me that way. I mean, we're an angel and a demon and Shax had said I didn't seem like your type and I just thought, well..." He sighed in frustration and moved to kiss the Prince of Hell's forehead. "I didn't want to misinterpret anything from you just to suit my own...selfish desires. You're very good at tempting, after all, whether you mean to be or not."

Attempting to raise Crowley's chin with the crook of his forefinger in order to get him to tilt his had up, he asked, "So I'm going to ask you directly this time - you may have wanted us to be together before, but is that still the case now?"

[xflashbastardx]

Twice now, Crowley had attempted to make his feelings known. Once in the bookshop, just before Aziraphale had left. And now here, in hell, the first time they'd seen each other since then. Neither time had he been able let allow the word love leave his lips, and yet both times had been absolutely paralyzing ordeals.

The first time he had kissed Aziraphale, he had almost thought that maybe the angel had kissed him back---he'd felt his hands on his back, had that been Aziraphale trying to hold him, or just not knowing what to do with them in a fit of confusion? And then just now, Aziraphale had been the one to kiss him. For a fleeting moment, Crowley had allowed himself to hope...

And then Aziraphale spoke.

You don't mean...?

And Crowley mistook his words for a shock that bordered on being appalled by the very suggestion. The demon's brows knit together and his eyes finally rose to hold the angel's gaze; and in them, Aziraphale would find utter adoration---and heartbreak.

Crowley allowed himself one last moment of closeness, of feeling Aziraphale's hand on his cheek, his breath against his lips, his body pressed so close to his own, and then he withdrew. His hand fell away from the archangel's, he took a step back, drawing into himself.

"I'm sorry," the words came out low, quiet. It took no time at all for the self-deprecating thoughts to rise up and drown out anything else in the prince's mind.

Of course. Of course he doesn't want you like that, look at yourself. Look at what you are, what you've always been. He probably only kissed you to shut you up, calm you down.

"I shouldn't have---especially after the way I acted, I---of course, I couldn't expect you to---"

Fangs sunk into his bottom lip to stop himself from saying anything else. This had been a mistake, hadn't it? Despite his insistence that he could be happy with things staying the way they had been, the (perceived) rejection was devastating. It would have been better to keep his feelings locked up, as they had been for the last six millennia.

Crowley dropped himself back down onto his throne, head in his hands, looking nothing at all like a prince of any sort. He wanted to tell Aziraphale he could just leave, if he so wished, but there were still important matters they had to discuss, matters bigger than either of them. Crowley would just have to gather up the pieces of his broken heart and put them away to grieve later.

The touch of the snake demon's hand against his own held it in place against the partially-scaled skin of his face. When he inclined his head backward, Aziraphale saw him try to blink away the moisture that had filmed his serpentine eyes and he felt a sharp stab of pain at the thought that Crowley had been suffering almost to the point of shedding tears. And that was only now. How many times had he been this miserable while Aziraphale had been in Heaven? He could hardly bear to imagine it.

As Crowley explained he'd wanted to go off together, the angel felt like his heart was being squeezed in his chest. He had been that worried that they'd never see each other again? At the time of the first apocalypse, the angel had already become so engrossed in trying to save the world (which he had been convinced to do in the first place by Crowley, ironically,) that he hadn't been willing to even consider the threat of their being forever separated, much less the demon's suggestion. Now that he thought of it, though, if they only ever met on Earth, Aziraphale could understand how a lack of said Earth could have posed a serious concern regarding their ability to meet up. No wonder Crowley had been so panicked and desperate.

Warmth radiated from the Prince of Hell against the hand that the Supreme Archangel kept pressed to his cheek. The demon seemed to need a moment to collect himself some more once Aziraphale had inquired about what had kept things from being perfect for him before. The way he swallowed before answering signaled his anxiety to the angel, especially in combination with the fact that Crowley seemed to be having trouble maintaining eye-contact however hard he tried. Still, Aziraphale admired his best friend's will and resolve to power through and say what he had to say despite how obviously difficult it was for him. The least he could do was be patient and give the demon time to gather the courage to speak - and speak he did. At first, Aziraphale wasn't sure he understood. What did Crowley mean by 'leaving things as they were'? What things? How had those things been that Crowley would have been fine keeping them that way forever? But what made him most curious was what the demon meant by the idea that they 'could have been together'. Hadn't they been together nearly all the time prior to his having become an Archangel?

But before he had time to even open his mouth to ask a single question, it was Crowley's mouth he felt against his hand, his lips soft and warm on his palm. And this time, it was Aziraphale's face that became heated as he watched, his complexion flushing from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears and the edge of his hairline as realization finally dawned on him.

"...Crowley," he gasped quietly, hardly daring to believe what he thought it all signified. "...You...you really...by 'together', you don't mean...?"

Once again, the angel tried to meet those beautiful, golden yellow snake eyes, hoping to find some sort of confirmation in them for what he thought Crowley was trying to tell him. The idea of them being together in the way the demon was implying had crossed Aziraphale's mind in the past, of course, and a lot more frequently since the demon had first kissed him.

But he knew just because he had thought about it, daydreamed on it, and even ended up yearning for it didn't mean Crowley had felt the same way. Thus, he had done his best to mentally box up that yearning and bury it in a corner at the farthest recesses of his mind where he wouldn't have been tempted to open it again. That was, at least, until now - when maybe, just maybe, it might have been possible that his romantic feelings for Crowley were actually mutual.

[xflashbastardx]

Aziraphale's hand was on Crowley's cheek, and the tender gesture nearly broke him. How could anyone---yes, even an angel, even this angel---be so unfalteringly kind? After the way Crowley had lashed out at him the moment they were behind closed doors, how did Aziraphale still have it in him to show such gentle care? He didn't deserve it---

And that was the real crux of the matter, wasn't it? Aziraphale had never really made Crowley feel beneath him (barring, maybe, their fight in the bookshop before he'd left). It was Crowley who had never felt good enough. In his mind, no one could ever be good enough for Aziraphale, but certainly not him. A demon. A wretched, thrown-away thing whose purpose was to bring misery and torment...how could he ever dare to think he could deserve even a glance from heaven's very best?

And yet....here they stood. Pressed together, Aziraphale's palm on his face and the feeling of his lips on Crowley's still so fresh in his mind it left a phantom sensation. Crowley brought his own hand up to cover the one on his face, holding it there, as he tipped his head back and blinked back the tears that had been welling up.

"I only ever wanted us to go off together when it looked like everything was going to end," he murmured once he was certain his eyes were dry. "I knew if---if the world ended, we'd have to go back to our sides. We'd never see each other again."

Could Aziraphale feel the way the heat rose in his face when he posed that question? Probably. He hadn't even realized he'd said almost perfect until the angel was asking him to explain. Out of habit, he considered trying to talk his way around it, or make up some other reason, but suddenly Nina and Maggie's words were in his head.

You never say what you're really thinking.

Saying what he was really thinking was...terrifying. He'd spent the vast majority of the last six thousand years trying not to think it, much less say it. But at this point, they seemed to be at a fork in the road, and he could do nothing but lay it all out and let the angel choose which path to take. Besides, Aziraphale deserved honesty from him, especially after the way he'd behaved.

Crowley swallowed hard. He tried to make himself hold Aziraphale's gaze, but his nerves kept forcing him to look back down again, resulting in only fleeting glances up into the sky-blue eyes he adored.

"It was almost perfect because, well, I...you know, we didn't have to sneak around anymore but we weren't---I-I mean, don't get me wrong, I could have been happy with leaving things as they were forever, it would have been enough...but what would've made it perfect is if---if we could have been...together..."

Crowley turned his face to press his lips to Aziraphale's palm, hoping that might help ensure there was no confusion about the meaning of together. Because try as he might, he still couldn't bring himself to say the words.

Aziraphale had not been quite sure how Crowley would respond to his actions. He had half expected him to shove the angel away after having just displayed such rage toward him. After all that expressed distress and anguish, what right did he have to add to those difficult feelings with the stress of a selfish kiss being imposed upon him without warning? Fortunately for him, however, the demon seemed too shocked to react badly. There was an audible gasp that he didn't know how to interpret but he had come too far by then to stop because of it. Nevertheless, the sound of it made his heart palpitate like a fluttering bird in his chest, hoping against hope that his behavior wouldn't be too unwelcome. It hadn't been like he'd asked, after all, but then Crowley hadn't bothered to ask when he'd kissed Aziraphale, either. The Prince of Hell didn't push him or shout. Instead, the Archangel was amazed to feel him actually begin to relax into his touch. The hands that had viciously clutched his coat loosened their hold to slip down and find his waist instead as their owner's body seemed to melt against his own. This maybe should have been a relief, but somehow, it only made his corporation's heart beat faster. It wasn't until Crowley pulled away that it stilled, but then it wouldn't function at all, like the fear of having upset or hurt the demon more than he already had had frozen it in place. It was lucky he was an angel and didn't actually need it to work. The nickname that was exhaled from Crowley's mouth started his heart up again, warming him from his core to his outermost extremities and causing his toes and fingertips to tingle in pleasure. He knew he'd missed being called that, but he hadn't realized just how much until the word and the tenderness with which it was spoken soothed him like balm for his soul. When refreshingly cool scales pressed to the heat of his forehead, he relished the sensation, but soon found his concern taking over when he noticed his favorite pair of yellow eyes were looking down instead of meeting his own.

Crowley began to explain why he couldn't find happiness in Heaven again, but his voice and tone were just as consolingly familiar as Aziraphale remembered them prior to their disagreement. He instinctively placed a tender palm against his beloved friend's cheek, offering him a melancholy smile warm with affection, when the demon said that he had been happy already - the happiest he'd ever been, evidently. "I was happy, my dear," Aziraphale revealed. "I just didn't think you were, the way you would suggest we should 'go off together' somewhere like you wanted to leave the bookshop, humanity, and Earth all behind.

"The original reason I left for Heaven even after you turned me down was so that I could try to make it a better place for you - a place you might want to come back to. But if you really don't think you could ever be happy there again, then I suppose that was in vain." He sighed, his shoulders falling. "Then the Metatron had to mention the Second Coming. And - well, I couldn't just let them do as they pleased with that, now, could I?"

Blue irises lifted to search Crowley's face. "Crowley...you said that things were almost perfect before. Was there something in particular that kept it from being perfect to you?"

[xflashbastardx]

Bit by bit, as Aziraphale spoke, the tension was easing its way out of the demon's body. Slowly, so slowly he didn't even notice it was happening, but it was happening nonetheless.

Any other angel would have shoved him away, appalled that he would dare lay a hand on them---but Aziraphale had never been like any other angel, that was why Crowley felt the way he did. Crowley almost wished Aziraphale had met his outburst with one of his own; that would have been easier. Or, rather, it would have made it easier to keep hiding behind his hurt like a shield. Instead, it was melting away with every gentle word, leaving his raw nerves and fragile heart exposed.

It was terrifying. Terrifying and baffling.

After the way Crowley had greeted him, spoken to him, manhandled him...here Aziraphale was, still showing him kindness and grace, speaking in that gentle way of his and trying to comfort him. Did he deserve that? After the way he'd let his wrath overtake him, was he worthy of the angel's compassion?

That was the question he was still wrestling with when Aziraphale wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him into a kiss. There was a soft gasp when Crowley realized what was about to happen, the moment before their lips touched, but not an ounce of resistance. Hands previously balled into Aziraphale's clothing flattened against his chest and slid down to his waist, and Crowley didn't fight it when the urge to lean his weight against the angel welled up inside of him.

The pain he had been carrying since last they'd seen each other, now coupled with the guilt taking root for the way he'd treated him upon their reunion, threatened to overwhelm Crowley, and he had to break away from the kiss when he felt his lips beginning to tremble against Aziraphale's.

"Angel..." the old term of endearment was breathed more than spoken, softly, almost unsure he would be allowed to address him that way again just yet. This time it was Crowley who pressed his forehead to Aziraphale's. The angel's skin was warm against the cold patch of scales along his hairline, and Crowley kept his gaze downcast, not certain he could bring himself to make eye contact just yet.

"I could never be happy in heaven again. Not after everything that's happened. Everything they did to me. And to you." For the first time since their reunion, the demon sounded like himself again. This wasn't the Prince of Hell speaking, it was just...Anthony J. Crowley.

"And besides, I---I was happy. Happiest I've ever been, I think. You, me. Your bookshop. On earth, with all the humans...that's where I was happy. And I thought you were, too. It was almost perfect."

Though Aziraphale might not have been aware that Crowley had felt disrespected or hurt by his having said 'you're the bad guys', he had known very well that he had caused the demon pain in other ways. The minute when Crowley had agreed with him that nothing lasted forever and put his shades back on was the minute Aziraphale regretted having said those words. It had been too late to take them back by then, though, and the fact that his friend had been ready to leave after that had been an arrow to the angel's own heart. That had been bad enough, especially after Aziraphale had been reduced to pleading, insisting that he needed Crowley. But then the demon had taken it upon himself to initiate that kiss.

He'd had no prior warning. He hadn't even been looking in Crowley's direction when his best friend of so many millenia had forcefully grabbed him and pressed his lips to Aziraphale's. The act had been so sudden, so shocking, that the angel had hardly known how to react when it was over. There were so many things he'd wanted to say. But what came out had been, 'I forgive you'. It had been yet another agonizing regret he had harbored since that day.

It wasn't that he hadn't liked the kiss; far from it. But the way Crowley had seemed to use it as a last resort to win him over, like a dirty trick equivalent to pulling the rug out from under his feet, felt like a betrayal. It was as though Crowley had tried to weaponize his feelings for the demon, threatening him with an ultimatum forcing him to choose between Crowley or Heaven when the only reason Aziraphale had even considered returning to Heaven had been for Crowley.

He had been in such agony afterward, knowing he'd hurt his friend and his friend had hurt him, that he had simply tried to push memories of the whole event to the back of his mind - until now.

The Prince of Hell was almost instantly in his face, fangs flashing, tightly gripping the cloth of his coat with those long, sharp nails as he shoved the Archangel against the nearest wall in mimicry of a situation they'd played out before. This time, however, was different. Aside from the fact that each of them had acquired new titles, this time, Crowley's hands were shaking.

Aziraphale swallowed - not because he feared Crowley or anything the demon might do to him, but because a hard knot of sorrow had formed in his throat at the thought of the intense mass of negative emotions that were so obviously overwhelming the prince. He was the cause of those emotions. It was his fault Crowley's hands were shaking. But despite knowing he was the source of Crowley's pain, he was still at a loss as to how to end the agony for both of them.

At least he was fairly certain of one thing now, though. He was almost positive that no one else was listening in or watching their meeting go on. Not when the Prince of Hell was acting as raw as this.

"Crowley..." he breathed, half-heartedly starting to raise a hand to touch the demon's shoulder or even his face, but eventually deciding against it. "...do you really think I consider you beneath me? You, who has gone of your way to do so much good, even at risk to yourself?"

His eyes began to glisten in spite of himself, moistening even more as they noticed the liquid gleam of the snake eyes he stared into. Aziraphale's voice, however, remained steady and soft, gentle as a mother's to her infant child.

"...Crowley, I told you," he reminded him with the delicacy of a feather. "I didn't want to go at first. I was about to turn the Metatron down. It wasn't until he brought you up that I began to realize how I could use the opportunity to help you."

A bittersweet smile ghosted his lips as he stared deeply into those slitted pupils. "I know you've never asked for my help, but...well, like you said, after everything you've done for me over the years, how could I not jump at the chance to finally be able to return the favor?" The ghost of a smile soon faded as Aziraphale's own pupils slowly drifted down Crowley's face.

"I just wanted you to be happy again - as happy as I remember you being when you were an angel." His hesitant hand eventually came up to try resting on the demon's taut arm. "If being the Prince of Hell somehow makes you happier instead, maybe I'd be able to understand. But right now, Crowley, you just seem more miserable than ever. I know that I'm at least partly to blame for that, if not completely, but it hurts me to see you like this, too."

He leaned forward slightly to rest his forehead against his friend's, his eyelids gradually falling shut. "I want to make it up to you. Please let me make it up to you. Even if you want nothing more from me nor anything to do with me after this, there's at least one thing I owe you from before - one thing you gave me that I want to give back."

Pressing in ever closer, Aziraphale brought both arms up to encircle either side of Crowley's neck as he pushed forward to meet the demon's lips with his own.