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Everybody has a hobby. An activity done regularly in one’s leisure time for pleasure.
Aziraphale liked to just look.
Some even might call it to observe.
He would just sit there on a wooden bench in St. James’ Park, feed the ducks with leftover bread and watch.
It was a simple scene that was set around him. The lovely pond which always contained some sort of movement because of the chattering ducks floating upon it. The glistering sun rays from far above, searching their way through the branchy tree crown. And all these people passing by his bench.
He would just sit there. Seconds, minutes, hours. It’s not like time was a relevant construct to a celestial being. Certainly not to Aziraphale. Oh, how often had the angel wished, the world would just stop spinning, so he could take the time to really enjoy the meaning of one particular moment.
Through the millenials, Aziraphale had developed a couple of outlasting tendencies to find heavenly joy on this planet.
Like food. He had spent an entire century, travelling the world, just to get lost in tiny Italian ristorantes, the French cuisine, African adventures and the American western style.
Or books. Human beings may be bound to a certain reality existing around them. But it’s their ability of imagination that empowers them, to create a new world, a new universe whose boundaries are defined by no one else but themselves. And they manage to share their very self-made reality with everyone else through the written word.
But there was one thing he would never be able to share with humanity.
And that was to just look.
Well, not entirely at least.
Sometimes, humans would slow down from their everyday rush. They would take a rest, smile at Aziraphale and sit down right next to him on the wooden bench in St. James Park.
But they would never see the same way Aziraphale saw.
They would see a lovely pond in front of them, which always contained some sort of movement because of the chattering ducks floating upon it. They would squint their eyes because of the glistering sun rays from far above, watch them search their way through the rustling branchy tree crown. And they would watch all these people passing by the bench. Nameless, forgotten already.
Aziraphale – in his turn – saw all this too, experienced it with the senses of the human body they gave him before sending him down here.
The ability to perceive the paradise of their planet. That was god’s gift to humanity.
Azirapale was fascinated, when he had felt a beating heart in his chest for the first time. When he had felt the very first raindrops on his skin. He had tasted the flavor of water. Every single “first time” left him entirely filled up with awe.
Sometimes, though, Aziraphale couldn’t resist but to look at the more.
He would sit on the bench and is eyes would lit up.
Just a little more blue-ish and a little more grey-ish than before. But it would change everything for him.
He smiled.
The ducks kept chattering and floating.
The pedestrians kept passing by his bench.
Some would even smile back at him.
But he wouldn’t notice.
An angel’s eyes weren’t originally created to see earthly matter.
Tall or tiny, thin or thick, beautiful or ugly. Living creature’s souls all looked the same.
They glister and shine brighter than the sun. And Aziraphale shivered.
Despite everything mad that was going on in this world, they still carried so much good in them.
Sometimes Crowley happened to sit right next to him. And Aziraphle just couldn’t help.
There was something about him. Something he had never seen in the other Fallen. Something else.
Angels once were created of grace. Like humans are made of flesh and blood.
A celestial halo that plants the idea of righteousness deep inside of them.
Aziraphale liked to believe, that it was the original good.
Fallen angels had lost their grace, they had let go of the good and their immortal bodies started to decay Down There.
However, this never applied for Crowley.
From the beginning to the present day, Aziraphale saw both in him. The good and the evil.
He saw his demonic face, he saw his wings - black as the night – and there, right by his chest sparkled the source of all the good. A halo made of grace, so bright and so strong and so pure.
Despite an eternity he had spent in hell, Crowley hadn’t let go of his grace.
Aziraphale had to blink.
A little bit of a demon. A little bit of an angel.
In all this time, Aziraphale had not asked for anything when he sent a prayer to the Lord.
But it was moments like this - when he couldn’t bear the heavy feeling of love that lulled his entire body in pleasant warmth and joy.
It was moments like this when he asked for more time.
More time for him to just sit there and watch.
All the living things, their shining souls. And the grace in Crowley.
Aziraphale actually did tell Crowley about what he had seen in him. Twice.
In the former-satanic-convent and when they dined at the Ritz.
But after all good is a four- letter word, just like nice, right?
Aziraphale didn’t mean to upset him. So he never told him again.
Maybe he was the only one to see the beautiful glowing halo in the demon next to him.
Maybe - after all - Azirpahale had more imagination in him than he cared to admit.
He was perfectly fine with it.