Crowley stills as fingers trail gently over the lines scored on his back. The touch is so soft and careful, like the kiss of a warm breeze, like water poured out from a cup. Gentle, soft, healing, loving...

"So do you." He raises his head, cups Aziraphale's face in his hands. "You always have, too. Since the start. And not just for me." He rests their foreheads together again, feels warm breath caress his face. "You're Fallen, even though there's more love and compassion in you than in the whole of Heaven. And I'm not, despite doubting everything, questioning Her will even back when She was around to tell us directly what it was, and none of it makes sense." He laughs a little, not happily. "They seem the same to me, you know? Heaven and Hell. Just opposite sides of the same coin, not much difference between them. Have for centuries. Shouldn't I Fall just for that?"

He breathes in, inhales the scent of grass, of soap and oiled strings, of Aziraphale, and asks. "Would it be better if I did?"