Things he's never had to face. Things he never opened his eyes to, no matter how close they'd been. Heaven doesn't work as a family, most of them aren't even friends, they're all the idea of Pristine, Perfect Beings working within goals and strict rules. Aziraphale had broken away from that, in increasingly more significant manners the more time he spent away from Heaven, but he still always felt part of it, part of him, connected intrinsically as the being he is. And then he made other connections, with Crowley, with humans, with Earth. Different types of connections, different things and people grounding him and ready for him to fall back on, but he never truly thought of the empty, of the Nothing, of isolation. Crowley had talked to him about eternity, when trying to persuade him to help stop the Apocalipse, but even that was filled with something, just the wrong things and the wrong people. And Aziraphale had felt loneliness, too, sometimes when their friendship would be strained, or on that day he made the wrong choice. But there was always something. Even on the day Heaven cut him off, that happened because he'd made his choice. Because Crowley was there, and helped him see what he wanted. He made a choice.
To be aware of the Nothing, to step on the rope and look down to see that the safety net you always assumed was there, even if you've never seen it, had no idea of its shape and size and characteristics, assumed it was there because certainly it had to be, it's only natural, only logical - only to find out it isn't...
He's trying not to think about it. He doesn't want to think about it. He rejects thinking about it. Not that any of that will mean anything at all as soon as things get quiet again.
( He glows and he rests. He exists in that place, they do, and he feels himself wrapped up and secure.)
He gives himself into what Crowley gives him. That's not difficult, not in the slightest, feeling himself wrapped up and held and secure here too, skin against skin, warm breaths and sweet tastes, familiar hands and being known. Soft, sweet murmurs that reverberate in his head. He grips Crowley's hair between his fingers, arching back against him when his mouth is free, head back against the demon's shoulder. Hot breath in panting growing heavier. "Ah--good. It feels so-mmph-"
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To be aware of the Nothing, to step on the rope and look down to see that the safety net you always assumed was there, even if you've never seen it, had no idea of its shape and size and characteristics, assumed it was there because certainly it had to be, it's only natural, only logical - only to find out it isn't...
He's trying not to think about it. He doesn't want to think about it. He rejects thinking about it. Not that any of that will mean anything at all as soon as things get quiet again.
( He glows and he rests. He exists in that place, they do, and he feels himself wrapped up and secure.)
He gives himself into what Crowley gives him. That's not difficult, not in the slightest, feeling himself wrapped up and held and secure here too, skin against skin, warm breaths and sweet tastes, familiar hands and being known. Soft, sweet murmurs that reverberate in his head. He grips Crowley's hair between his fingers, arching back against him when his mouth is free, head back against the demon's shoulder. Hot breath in panting growing heavier. "Ah--good. It feels so-mmph-"