𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐍, ineffable husbands

stories of a fable

Year three: During the pitiful months that lead up to the beginning of his new life, Crowley had taken a significant interest in not only the window immersing promises to the outdoors, but he had taken a liking to the armchair beside it as well. There was something otherworldly calming about the scene which was perfectly unfamiliar to him. The way the trees stood perfectly tall and never changed was peculiar and strangely comforting to him.

The object he was currently focused on was a worn and torn book firmly in his hands. He didn't recognize any of the symbols stamped on the cover; it had been centuries since he had even thought about a book. He toyed with the leather in his hands, tilting his head with it in a sort of rhythm. He didn't realize he had forgotten to read eons ago.

He opened the book to the first page and the perplexing symbols stared back at him once again. It seemed to be written in the English language, but he couldn't be sure. As hard as he tried, he couldn't remember each sound the letters would make, especially when put together.

"Reading?" Crowley slammed his book shut, as if he was caught doing something wrong, and snapped his head to the door. Aziraphale should really learn to knock every once in a while.

"Something along those lines," he muttered. Realizing how embarrassing it must be to not even know how to read, he mused to toy with the edges of the book instead of looking him in the eyes. Though he almost missed them by some odd means, he couldn't force himself to meet him.

The angel was beside the armchair again, breaking obvious personal boundaries. "What is it?" Without asking, he took the book in his hands. "A fable book, huh? You should have been alive to hear most of these, I think." He opened to the middle of the book, glancing over a passage.

Desperately hoping he'd fit in, Crowley pretended to read with him. The letters and words blurred together in his mind, spinning like an old memory. It was strange; somehow he could figure out the point of each sentence while it still remained a mystery to him.

At one point, Aziraphale looked up to him with a perplexed expression. "Can you... read this?" It appeared Crowley's disguise didn't hold as he wanted it to.

"I don't think so. I haven't had the need for reading in a long time, I can't understand a word in that book." He wished he was lying. The angel nodded, then looked back at the book, flipping a few pages in.

Then he started to read out loud.

"Wait, what in God's name are you doing?" Crowley interrupted. Here he was, being treated like a child. He could figure out how to read by himself, should he really want to.

"I'm reading it out to you, so you can learn. You can follow along so you can learn the English language again." And with that, he kept reading out whatever passage he was reading from.

Eventually, Crowley caught up to where he was reading from; it seemed to be a story about a princess finding a frog. It was unfamiliar to him, but as he followed along with the story, he could somewhat regain focus on the sounds each letter made.

In between stories, he found himself paying less attention to the story itself and more to Aziraphale's words and how he read the stories. His voice was low but still had its passion mixed in its inflection, and even though the stories seemed quite boring, he easily gave them life and depth. He also observed how his facial expressions ranged while he spoke, inserting emphasis on phrases and syllables.

He didn't feel like he meant to treat him like a child, but simply teaching a lesson to someone curious about this subject. Though it was a small thing, he really appreciated it. He seemed to understand this was something out of his control; he didn't realize just how long it had been since he'd read anything.

And so the two sat, sitting and reading different fables with varying degrees of amusement within them. Though Crowley couldn't completely recall how to read again, he could understand how much Aziraphale truly cared about him now.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♱ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

It had been hours since the duo tuned back into the faked world around them, and it was unclear if they truly minded. But even heaven had to end somewhere, and eventually Aziraphale stopped reading. They ended up getting off track and discussing whatever was under the sun.

It had been a while since Crowley had a nice, long talk with someone without it ending painfully. It was a familiarity he didn't quite recognize, but it felt nice on his tongue. During their meaningless conversations, he could feel himself smiling, but he was confused as to why he was. He had previously figured there was no reason for him to smile ever again, but he may have proved himself wrong.

It was only then he realized just how close the two were at that moment. Aziraphale's head was leaned up against the crook of his arm, while his hand gently rested atop his. Crowley himself was slouched in the seat as relaxed as he could will himself to be, leaning into the angel himself. He didn't quite remember how they ended up in that close of a position, but it was strangely nice. He hadn't been touched quite like this before.

Without thinking, he grasped the other's hand. He felt himself flinch for half a second, but held his hand back with no hesitation. It was nice; Aziraphale's hand was warm and it seemed to fit with his in a perfect rhythm. It was the closest he had been to peace in a long, long time.

Eventually the conversation between them came to a stall; there wasn't much to talk about that didn't spiral into past years and trauma. They had dismissed their attention to the number of times the sun had risen and fallen while they were together, but Crowley couldn't help but notice the scene as the fake sun fell beyond the false window.

As the room darkened, Aziraphale's halo seemed to shine brighter, but it wasn't as obnoxious as before. Or had he just changed how he looked at it? He kept observing the oblivious sight. His head was rested on his upper arm, head tilted away from him. His hair was in a perfect mess, as it usually was, and if he didn't know better he'd reach out and touch it. It looked so soft.

Once the room finally went dark and there was little light beside the halo next to him, he felt as though he could rest in that one spot forever. He closed his eyes, giving a soft sigh as he finally relaxed. Though he knew he didn't need to sleep, it seemed to be the polite thing to do.

The angel next to him never moved.