Crowley raises his head enough to take a kiss: acceptance and apology. "We both fucked up that day," he says, his mouth still only a breath away from Aziraphale's. They've never apologized for that particular argument, not explicitly. They reached a pax about it in 1941 and another in 1967, but neither has ever come out and said sorry for harsh words that had aimed to hurt and succeeded beyond either's most angry intentions. It helps, that Aziraphale's apologized. It soothes something that's never quite rested.
Crowley's eyes are still closed, but he can feel the angel's breath on his face, warm and sweet-smelling. "There couldn't be. I know, angel. That much I knew even then. Just didn't know you did, at the time." He raises a hand to Aziraphale's face, presses it to his cheek, rubs his fingerips slightly against the skin above his ear. "I am glad you weren't alone then, even if it wasn't me, wasn't this. I mean it. 'm sorry I got so, so worked up."
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2020-04-02 04:17 pm (UTC)Crowley's eyes are still closed, but he can feel the angel's breath on his face, warm and sweet-smelling. "There couldn't be. I know, angel. That much I knew even then. Just didn't know you did, at the time." He raises a hand to Aziraphale's face, presses it to his cheek, rubs his fingerips slightly against the skin above his ear. "I am glad you weren't alone then, even if it wasn't me, wasn't this. I mean it. 'm sorry I got so, so worked up."