Crowley just stares upwards. She manages to close her mouth, but it's possible she's forgotten to breathe for a few minutes. If it weren't for Aziraphale's arm around her, his own steamed breath teasing at the side of her face as she speaks, she'd wonder if she were dreaming. If she could collect her thoughts enough to wonder anything. Which she can't.

With a movement so slow galaxies could be built and burn themselves out before it's completed, Crowley reaches up and pulls off her sunglasses, still not blinking as she looks up. The words are still there.

She gasps with sudden harshness, almost staggering as she breathes in. Aziraphale's arm supports her, she doesn't fall--not again--but she's still unsteady as she turns to look at him, her eyes wide and yellow and overly bright.

Just as slowly as before, she lifts a hand, this time to touch his cheek. The touch is tentative and oddly uncertain, as though she's making certain he's real. She tries to speak, can't, and then suddenly both her hands are on his face, sunglasses dropped forgotten to the pavement, as she kisses him. Tears of fire run down her skin, and the kiss tastes faintly of sulphur.