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“So,” Crowley stood with his hand on the bark of the large apple tree that had sprouted in the bookshop. Their private spot, one given to them by God. Where everything seemed to start and end. An apple tree. Like when they met after the war. Like when they stood beside each other, wings nearly brushing against each other. The first rainfall. They’d never see rainfall again.
But others would. And things would be better. No ending of the world. No heaven. No hell.
No angels. No demons.
No Aziraphale. No Crowley.
“We should head back,” he continued, catching Aziraphale’s grey eyes for a moment. His lips twitched. Damn it, he looked so sad. And so… tired. Aziraphale used to love naps. He’d spend his afternoons upstairs in his bookshop under layers of fleece blankets which had been worn out from years of use. But, Crowley assumed, the highest of the angels didn’t take naps. Not when he must prepare for the second coming. Angels didn’t need sleep, after all. It was another human joy that Aziraphale partook in.
How did he leave that all behind?
Aziraphale seemed to notice him then, his snake-like eyes, and he pressed his lips together in unspoken desire to say no, “Right. The two of them are probably at each other's throats by now anyways. I doubt they can stay in the same room for that long without attempting to fight.” Crowley nodded dimly. Aziraphale noticed. He always seemed to notice Crowley’s emotions when Crowley didn’t want him to but forgot to look when he begged him to. “But,” the angel took a step towards him, hands laying together in front of him, the wrinkles around his lips curling slightly as he smiled, a real smile, "Would it be so bad to stay another moment or two?”
Crowley wanted to cry. He wanted to break down in tears because damn it, this was it. 6000 years. Memories he’d kept deep in his heart, unforgettable, like Polaroid pictures left on the walls of his mind. They’d be gone, burned up with the rest of the book of life, his life, since the dawn of time. Every creation, every temptation, every conversation. Every moment, good and bad.
Did he want them to be gone?
No.
But this wasn’t about him, was it? It was about humanity. About… everything.
He leaned his head against the large tree, Aziraphale mirroring his actions as his eyes closed with a hum. His friend smiled softly, picking an apple from the branch, examining it between his fingers.
“I’ve always liked apples,” Aziraphale muttered to himself, and a soft snort released from Crowley’s nose, a grin that he couldn’t hide coming with it, “All these flavors and colors… not a single one the same.” Aziraphale looked towards Crowley and placed it in his hand, “What do you think, Crowley?”
Crowley glanced at the apple, then looked back at Aziraphale. Slowly, his fingertips relaxed and the apple fell from his palm. His smile was bright and still growing, as he stepped closer and reached to hold the sides of Aziraphale’s face, cupping his cheeks in his hands.
Aziraphale’s lips were warm, gentle, and pure. His hair was soft as ever and he clung to it closely, like he was going to lose it. Because he was never going to feel his hair again. Never going to taste his lips. No more crepes or dim sum or Queen records or long drunk nights in the bookshop where he woke up the next morning with a blanket over himself on the couch, Aziraphale reading in the morning light, looking up at him with a smile so full of love that Crowley’s heart would combust if he stared too long at it.
Crowley began to release his friend, but he felt Aziraphale pull him back in, hands on the back of his neck, thumbs tracing his tattoo next to his ear. His tongue grazed Crowley’s, and for a moment the former demon thought he’d been welcomed back to heaven, the heaven he wished to be in.
This was his heaven. This bookshop, this moment, this man. 6000 years of wanting, of waiting, of thinking of him when he was across the world.
They released each other slowly, eyes meeting, soft smiles across their faces, “Thank you, Angel,” Crowley brought Aziraphale’s knuckles to his lips and kissed them. His heart beat heavy in his chest, eyes stinging for a quick moment before he made them stop. He couldn’t cry now. Because now was beautiful. Practically ineffable. “And…” he held his breath, eyes wandering away from Aziraphale’s for a moment before returning to trace his lips, his nose, his eyelashes, eyes crossing his hairline down to his ears and chin, everywhere he’d grown to appreciate, to know like the back of his hand, “I forgive you.”
What sounded like a sob released from the back of Aziraphale’s throat, and suddenly Crowley wished he had started crying. Aziraphale’s grip on Crowley’s hand tightened, his heart raced in his chest, his whole body ached like it never had before, ignited into a burning flame incapable of going dull.
“Thank you, Crowley,” he leaned up and kissed his cheek, soft and simple, “Thank you.”