Crowley, still rather poleaxed by his own sudden understanding, looks up. "But." he repeats.
It's not a question. He can hear Aziraphale's answer in that one word. Tension leaves him in a rush, and he makes his way back to the sofa, sits back down. Leans towards Aziraphale until he's resting his forehead on the angel's shoulder. "...m'sorry."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2020-04-01 01:15 am (UTC)It's not a question. He can hear Aziraphale's answer in that one word. Tension leaves him in a rush, and he makes his way back to the sofa, sits back down. Leans towards Aziraphale until he's resting his forehead on the angel's shoulder. "...m'sorry."