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In his fifteen years there, Aziraphale had long since become accustomed to the quiet hum of London’s suicide hotline office. Though it was the middle of the night, the overhead lights in the main room were off, leaving Aziraphale’s computer and small desk lamp to illuminate his face. There was a silence to the room, punctuated by voices – gentle and soothing, some laced with exhaustion or despair. He himself was no stranger to the grief and sadness that came with the job, having heard so many stories over the years. Even still, the weight of each call was personal, and though Aziraphale found this to be his calling, one he was quite good at, there were moments when even he felt the strain of it all.
That night, the London rain had come in sheets ruthlessly. Each drop hit furiously against the window, like God Herself was trying to express some deep despair that She was feeling. Aziraphale took a sip of his tea and gently placed down his mug as another call came in.
“Thank you for reaching out. This is Aziraphale. How can I help you?” Aziraphale spoke with a gentleness, using a tone one would typically reserve for friends, but he found that nearly every person that called was in desperate need of just that.
A friend. Someone to listen. Someone to care.
There was a long pause of silence. Aziraphale wasn’t phased – many callers needed a moment to collect themselves. It was an incredibly hard step, reaching out for help. Many didn’t make it that far.
Another moment passed. He could hear shaky breathing and sniffles through the line.
“Are you familiar with Alpha Centauri?”
The voice was gravelly, and it was becoming quite clear to Aziraphale that this person had been crying for a long period of time, long before they ever picked up the phone.
He took a moment, weighing his options on how to proceed. It was clear that the man on the other end of the line didn’t call simply to discuss the cosmos, but Aziraphale made the decision to feign innocence and hear what the man had to say. “I’m afraid I haven’t. Would you care to tell me about it?”
The voice was quiet for a moment before continuing. “It’s the closest star system to us, only four light-years away. It’s a triple star system too, and awfully beautiful.”
Aziraphale’s curiosity piqued, though he remained cautious, still a bit unsure in how to interpret the man’s diversion. There was something in the man’s voice as he spoke that stood out to Aziraphale – a fondness that could not be overseen.
“Three stars?” Aziraphale mused. “That must be something quite special.”
There was the softest laugh that drifted its way from the other end of the line, but intertwined in it, Aziraphale could hear the heaviness that existed underneath. The voice continued on.
“Yeah, it’s… it’s something. I mean, you get the idea – these stars, they’ve been burning for longer than humans have even existed. Breathing and burning and existing. Floating out in the vastness of space and time. Nothing to control them or tell them what to be…”
Ah, there it was.
Aziraphale sat back a little, his attention fully caught now. There was an intimacy in the way the man spoke, as if Alpha Centauri were something deeply personal, something that held a meaning for him that he wasn’t quite ready to articulate. But the man had revealed it, whether he had meant to or not, and Aziraphale felt the situation shift.
“You make it sound peaceful,” Aziraphale said quietly, a soft smile on his lips, though he could feel the weight in his heart pull with the knowledge that the conversation was being redirected toward something more intense. “In a way, I would love to see them – the stars, I mean.”
There was a shudder in the man’s breath – something that could only be described as raw pain lurking just beneath the surface, but his voice steadied out.
“Yeah, it’s a kind of peace I could live with. No people… just stars, time, and space.”
Aziraphale could feel the shift, the subtle withdrawal by the man on the other end of the line as he carefully shielded his feelings behind their cosmic conversation. It wasn’t the first time someone had used a diversion as a way to shield themselves from the real reason they called. Aziraphale pondered another moment before speaking, holding out hope that he could lead this where it needed to go.
“You’re right,” Aziraphale said gently, trying to layer some sort of softer foundation for their conversation to take place. “It sounds like a place where you could just… breathe. Not worry so much about being fit into one place or another.”
There was a long pause, and for a moment, Aziraphale worried he had said the wrong thing. He could hear the soft crackle of the phone line when suddenly the air felt extremely tense, despite a word not being exchanged between the two. He waited, patient as ever, until the voice on the other end spoke again. This time, though, he could hear the pain and fragility ripping the man in two.
“It’s just… none of it really matters, does it? Alpha Centauri, the stars, people. The world keeps turning, isn’t that what they say?”
A sigh.
A shaky, shallow breath.
Then, a broken sob.
“And if I… if I just disappeared… No one would care. Not really. No one notices until you’re gone. Just like those stars out there. They burn for so long, and then… then they just die, and no one even knows, not until years later.”
The bitterness in the man’s voice hit Aziraphale like a fist to the chest. His hand tightened its grip on the arm of his chair and a pang of helplessness coursed through his veins. This was no diversion anymore. This was something real, something dark, something painful.
Aziraphale swallowed, then spoke with all the gentleness he could muster. “I think… I think it’s easy to feel that way when everything feels like it’s slipping through your fingers.” He kept his voice quiet, the words coming carefully. “But just because you’re not always seen doesn’t mean you do no matter. I hear you, and I am listening.”
There was a sudden hitch in the man’s breath, a sob barely contained laced with fury that certainly wasn’t. “You think anyone really listens?” The voice was rising now, trembling with raw emotion, and a sharp edge was creeping into every word. “Everyone’s a bit too busy to care, Aziraphale. Too busy with their own lives, their own problems. It doesn’t matter what I do, what I say. I can disappear, and not a goddamn soul on this earth would blink.”
Aziraphale could feel his heart twist painfully. It wasn’t just a man talking about feeling alone anymore. It was someone, a soul in pain, feeling like there was no way out. Aziraphale’s worry deepened with each passing second – he could hear the escalating panic in the man’s voice.
If Aziraphale had learned anything over his years working at the hotline office, it was that many people that called did so as a means to talk over thoughts of suicide that they might be having while still a reach out from suicidal ideation. But this man was spiraling – Aziraphale could sense it with each passing second. The man was hurting, and so deeply. So deeply that Aziraphale could feel it snaking around his form, constricting him tight tight tighter.
“No, no, I do care,” Aziraphale insisted, keeping his voice soft but trying to remain level to get his point across. “I promise you, I care. I am here, right now. And I know that sometimes… it’s hard to see it. When you’re walking blind through the darkness and it feels as if there’s no way out of it. But I assure you, I can hear how much pain you’re carrying with you right now. And that – that matters. You matter.”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the line, followed by a strained laugh. “You really think so? That I matter?” The man’s voice dropped again, almost to a whisper. “No one even notices when someone’s gone. It’s all just… noise, and then it’s gone. And then none of it matters anymore.”
Aziraphale felt a knot tighten in his stomach. The desperation was palpable now, seeping through the phone line and saturating the air around him. The words were coming faster, sharper, and with it, the tension was quickly building. Aziraphale knew just how quickly it could slide.
“Can you tell me your name?” He whispered. He knew it was a risk, a calculated one, but a risk at that. He also knew even just knowing the man’s name could help him get some footing.
“Why?” The voice spat venom. “So you can call the police on me?”
“No,” Aziraphale countered gently. “One struggling soul to another, I want to know your name, dear.”
There was a moment of silence. Then another. And then another. Aziraphale was growing increasingly worried he had misstepped when one word, quiet as ever, broke through the line.
“Crowley.”
Crowley. Aziraphale smiled to himself, so proud of this stranger, who was having likely the hardest night of his life, being brave enough to show some piece of himself.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to…” Crowley’s voice faltered, but the words spilled out anyway, entirely raw and unfiltered. “I’m sorry for snapping. I just… I don’t know anymore. I don’t know what to do. It just feels like I’m losing my grip. It’s like I’m losing my grip on reality and now I’m just… done.”
Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered closed, and he leaned forward in his seat slightly as if the act of listening closer could somehow reach Crowley more effectively. His hand lifted to his head and pressed into his headset, his heart pounding now. This was dangerous. Aziraphale could hear the way the words were tumbling out, out of control now, and there was nothing but a cold darkness in them. Crowley was spiralling quickly, and Aziraphale feared he was reaching a point where he wouldn’t be able to hold him back.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale whispered urgently. His voice trembled just slightly, but he tried to remain steady, attempting to keep his own panic in check. “Please, I need you to hear me, okay? I see you. I hear you. You are here. Right here with me.”
There was another long silence. Then, breaching the growing tension between them, Crowley’s voice cracked in a desperate sob so deep that it made Aziraphale’s breath catch in his throat.
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” Crowley gasped, his voice breaking in a way that Aziraphale hadn’t heard anyone do before. “It’s all too much. I feel like I’m… fading away. I can’t keep doing this, Aziraphale. I don’t know how much longer I-I can take it. I’m just done.” The sobs wracked out now, something thick hanging in the air.
Aziraphale could hear it now – the edge. The edge of something breaking, something irreparably damaging. His own pulse quickened, his hands beginning to shake. He was running out of time, he could feel it. He needed to say something, something to help anchor Crowley before he went too far into the abyss of his pain, but it had felt like every ounce of training, every piece of experience he’d gained over the years had simply vanished from his mind.
Aziraphale swallowed thickly.
He was careful now, taking a deep breath before speaking because he knew just how fragile this moment was. “Crowley,” he began gently, “I know… I know that feeling, that consuming darkness, that place where it feels like you can’t tell up from down and everything has lost its meaning. It’s so incredibly difficult to find your way out when it feels like everything is closing in on you.”
His chest tightened, and just for a moment, Aziraphale felt like he was sixteen again. It was so faint, a distant memory of a different place, a different world so long ago. The sense of helplessness. The despair. The desperate need to do anything except exist. He could see the tiles of his childhood bathroom covered in a sea of red before he had woken up in the hospital. Aziraphale had long since recovered, and it drove his deep seeded need and desire to do the work he did today. But being here, in this moment with Crowley, Aziraphale knew exactly the pain coursing through the poor man’s heart, and he would be damned if he didn’t do everything in his power to push Crowley to exist for just one more moment.
Crowley didn’t say anything in response, but Aziraphale could hear the soft breathing and stifled sobs through the line, so he continued. “But my dear, we don’t have to fix everything at once. Sometimes, the first step is just… to breathe. And that’s what I’m asking you to do right now. Breathe with me, Crowley. Just for now, take one breath, and know that I am here. I am right here with you.”
Crowley was silent for a long time, the phone line crackling with only the sounds of his uneven breaths. Aziraphale could hear the weight of it, the heavy silence filled with a sea of unspoken words. Then, finally, Crowley’s voice broke through, so terribly quiet and full of pain.
“...I don’t know if I can,” Crowley whispered, barely audible. “I don’t know if I can breathe, Aziraphale.”
Aziraphale’s heart cracked just a little more. He could feel the softness of Crowley’s soul coming through, and Aziraphale wished for nothing more than to give the man the hug he so desperately needed. “I know. It’s so hard, isn’t it? But you don’t have to do it alone. I am right here with you, Crowley.”
Another tentative moment of silence passed before Aziraphale heard a shift in Crowley. The breathing was slow, shakier than before, but it was there – a deep breath. The tiniest bit of relief flooded Aziraphale’s heart. They were far from out of the woods, but it was something. He knew better than to think it was over. But something had shifted.
“You’re doing it,” Aziraphale whispered gently, oh so carefully, as he smiled softly to himself. He could feel his heart swelling for this absolute stranger. “You’re breathing. And I know it is so hard, dear boy, but it’s the first step. It tells me you are still here.”
Crowley’s voice, small and tentative, came through the line. Aziraphale could hear how raw his throat must have been from crying. “I don’t feel like it. I don’t feel like I’m here. I don’t feel like I matter.”
Aziraphale’s heart clenched again. The pain in Crowley’s words were suffocating, and Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to be there with the man face to face and experience the moment together. There was no doubt Crowley was alone, wherever he was. “But you do,” he said firmly, bringing forth a conviction through the softness of his words. “You do matter. You have value. You are important.”
The silence that followed on the other end of the line felt heavy again, but it was laced with something, Aziraphale noticed. Something that told him Crowley was still listening, still hanging on to some thread of hope, however fragile it might be.
“I’m still here,” Crowley whimpered. “But for how long?”
Aziraphale felt the fear in the question, the deep uncertainty that hung in each word. The terrible ache that radiated when thinking about the possibility of existing for one more minute.
“As long as it takes,” Aziraphale murmured. “I need you to listen to this, Crowley, if nothing else that I’ve said. This pain, this terrible, consuming pain that you feel right now? It is not forever. I know this moment feels like it will never end, I know you are struggling to see the other side. But hear me: this is not forever.”
Another breath came through the line, shaky and unsteady as before, but still there. Aziraphale couldn’t decipher what it meant, if it was of relief or exhaustion, but he wasn’t going to push. He gave Crowley the space he needed to feel what he needed to, at his own pace. Aziraphale knew more than anyone that Crowley couldn’t be pushed into feeling something he wasn’t ready to – he only wanted Crowley to know he wasn’t alone.
“You really think that?” Crowley finally asked, his voice quieter now. His words were intertwined with a soft vulnerability that made Aziraphale’s heart pull.
“I do,” Aziraphale said with all the truth, all the conviction he could muster. He desperately wanted Crowley to know that his life had worth and that he was so much more than this moment. “I do. It’s just a bit at a time. For now, you’ve done something so incredible. I see how hard you are trying right now, Crowley. You called when you did not have to. You reached out for help, you took deep breaths. And you’re here, in this moment, alive.”
Crowley’s breath wavered for a long moment, before a sound, perhaps the sweetest sound Aziraphale had ever heard in his entire life, waved through the phone. A soft, almost imperceptible, breathy laugh. He could hardly believe it as he heard it. It was tinged with disbelief, but there was a lighter air to it, and it made Aziraphale loosen the tight-knuckled grip he had on his chair.
“I’m not used to this,” Crowley said quietly. “Not used to someone actually being there, you know?” He was quiet before speaking again. “I know it’s your job and all, but… it does mean something.”
Aziraphale let out a breath. “This may be my job, Crowley, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. Quite the contrary, I do this job because I care. I’ve meant every word I’ve said to you, dear boy.” He let Crowley sit with that for a long moment before he continued on. “You do not have to have it all figured out right now. Just one step at a time. We’ll take it slow, hm?”
Crowley didn’t immediately respond this time either, but Aziraphale could feel the tension slowly fading from the air between them. He could hear a steadiness in his breath, the way it softened just so. Aziraphale wouldn’t rush him, wouldn’t push Crowley past what he could handle. He could feel something about this conversation, something about connecting with this man felt different.
“Okay,” Crowley said after a few minutes. His voice was small, but Aziraphale could hear that the tears were nearly dissipated from what they once were. “One step at a time.”
With that, the silence between them stretched on, but this time, a little more comfortable, a little more bearable. It wasn’t fixed. Nothing was fixed. But there was something now – something to hold on to. A thread, gently tied between two strangers over a bustling city and the fragile idea that maybe life could be worth living.