Every time Crowley’s smile takes on a spark of playfulness, every time there’s a note of curiosity in his voice, Aziraphale’s heart lifts. Each of these moments is a step away from the wild, filthy madman he met on the streets of Seville, back towards an angel who found joy in the first rainfall. For all that he’s meant to be a creature of despair and misery, there’s a secret shine to Aziraphale now—the luster of kindling hope.
The clasp of Crowley’s fingers around his own, however, has always been cause for something dangerously close to giddiness. This moment in particular is no exception.
“I think I can handle a bed and an appropriately soft coverlet,” Aziraphale smiles. “We’ll make a project of it, along with the gardens. Florence can wait a while.”
(Even if all they do in this new bed is hold one another, it means being close to Crowley, helping him with the weight Heaven has tried to shift onto his thin shoulders. That by itself is more than Aziraphale’s ever thought he would have of love. It’s a feast for his eternally hungry soul.)
Hello from cat ownership! Benedict slept on my pillow all night <3
The clasp of Crowley’s fingers around his own, however, has always been cause for something dangerously close to giddiness. This moment in particular is no exception.
“I think I can handle a bed and an appropriately soft coverlet,” Aziraphale smiles. “We’ll make a project of it, along with the gardens. Florence can wait a while.”
(Even if all they do in this new bed is hold one another, it means being close to Crowley, helping him with the weight Heaven has tried to shift onto his thin shoulders. That by itself is more than Aziraphale’s ever thought he would have of love. It’s a feast for his eternally hungry soul.)