you'd like to stay in heaven (but the rules are too tough)

you leave them sleeping on the hollow ground

Sorry I'm late on this chapter!! I entirely forgot.

And so here Aziraphale is, Sunday, January 16th, 2039. Looking at the name Crowley on his forearm. And then, the name Crowley on his other forearm.

"How can that possibly be," he moans miserably to the air. "How can he be both?"

Because the thing on his left arm is his Arch-Enemy™, but the thing on his right arm is his Soul-Mate™, and those are very opposing ideas. Complete opposites. Heavenly and Hellish.

Aziraphale has been very bad at avoiding thinking about Crowley for the past few years, which is not a very big surprise. Six years is hardly anything in the grand scheme of things, and they've gone centuries in the past without speaking to each other—not because they were cross with each other, but simply because they were busy—but this is different.

Crowley is upset with him.

And that's a very different experience than Crowley being busy.

Six years of Crowley being upset with him is so much worse than Crowley being busy for a century or two.

Aziraphale pulls down his sleeves. It's winter, and it's cold, and it does him no good to linger. Even if Crowley is a very easy demon to linger on. And, really, of all the days, it seems like maybe he should be able to think about Crowley today.

The thing about Crowley is this: he is Aziraphale's best friend. Okay, admittedly, they are officially not friends anymore. But six years is nothing to six thousand.

But the thing about Crowley is this: he always comes back to Aziraphale—Aziraphale has never had to be the one to chase him before. Not when Crowley suggested running away together and Aziraphale told Crowley straight to his face he didn't even like Crowley (that one hurt, and it hurt very badly. When angels lie, it burns their throat a little bit, like they're trying to force fire out of their mouths). Crowley had chased after him in that ridiculous Bentley and parked crooked and ran onto the sidewalk and apologized to Aziraphale. Apologized. Aziraphale thinks maybe apologizing is to demons what lying is to angels.

But anyway, it doesn't do to linger. So, although Aziraphale's hand hovers over the phone in his pocket for a long time, he eventually decides not to call. It's not a good idea. Crowley wants to be left alone, and besides, he's pretty sure calling Crowley now would just prove Crowley right.

He reads, but though his eyes take in the words, his brain can't seem to catch them. He leaves, and goes home, and counts through all the different articles of clothing he's acquired through the centuries. He speaks encouragingly to his small houseplants, which never grow as nicely as Crowley's, because he doesn't yell at them.

He feels like he's going insane. Would an insane angel be fallen? Would he, then, be able to catch sight of Crowley down below, in passing? If he ever saw Crowley in the halls (such dirty halls, full of leaky pipes and flies and God knows what else, it makes Aziraphale shudder just to think of them) and he'd pull him into a closet or something, and he'd say he's sorry. He'd say he didn't mean it. He'd say I miss you. Or he'd say, nothing is the same without you. He'd say, please tell me how to fix things. I'll do it, I'll do whatever you want.

No, no Crowley thoughts.

Of course, that's when he gets the call.

Aziraphale has a special ringtone for Crowley. If he were mortal, he'd probably faint dead away at the sound of that ringtone after six years, but he is not, so instead his throat makes an unbecoming sound, like a dying raccoon, and fumbles his phone so badly, trying to answer it, that he drops it. Not before answering it, though, apparently.

He figures he has more time before Heaven gets really, truly upset with him for his tardiness. Or, rather, he figures whatever slap on the wrist they're thinking up for him will be worth it a dozen times over to hear Crowley's voice, even distorted through a mobile device.

"Aziraphale?" comes Crowley's voice. Aziraphale misses desperately the times when Crowley used to call him angel, but it is so incredible to hear Crowley's voice that he finds he hardly cares. He was right. This is worth anything, even missing the grand release "party" of Soul-Mates™.

Or, maybe, the thing about Crowley is this: Aziraphale has hurt him. Crowley is not cross with Aziraphale because he won't bring Crowley a suicide pill (as he was last time) and he is not avoiding Aziraphale because they've spent too much time together and Head Offices might be getting suspicious. He is not even breaking it off with Aziraphale because they don't work well together, or because they've decided to re-dedicate themselves to their respective jobs as angels and demons, which, as bad as it would be, is still preferable. No, he is hurt. Aziraphale has hurt him.

"Aziraphale?" comes Crowley's voice again, as Aziraphale picks up the phone.

Bad enough that Crowley, who told him not to call—hasn't called for six years.

Six years.

Usually six years goes by in the blink of an eye. Aziraphale has even sat still, reading, for six years straight, a couple times. Not needing to eat or sleep makes it very easy to get lost in what you're doing and lose track of time.

But this six years might as well be a millenia.

Aziraphale picks up the phone and sits down on the floor. He is physically incapable of continuing to stand. He leans his back against the wall and closes his eyes, like he might be able to hear Crowley's voice more clearly if he stops seeing the closed door of his living room.

"Aziraphale?" Crowley says one more time.

Aziraphale is going to die. No matter angels don't die. He's going to break the rules of the universe and die by way of exploding. He is too full of too many feelings, and it feels like he's going to pop like a shaken can of soda. Crowley's voice saying his name makes him think of dinners at the Ritz and Nazi bombs falling on Nazi operatives and sitting in Crowley's passenger seat wondering where the hell the Anti-Christ actually is. It's unfair, what Crowley can do to him. It should be illegal.

Or, maybe, it should be legal. Since Crowley would definitely do it more if it was illegal.

"Crowley," Aziraphale says. He certainly sounds like he's dying. It's not a flattering way to sound. It's like he's wheezing through liquid-filled lungs. He clears his throat. "Crowley."

Now he just sounds like he's about to cry.

Which he is.

The thing about Crowley is that he's funny, and he's kinder than he likes to let on, and he makes Aziraphale feel like he's so alive, he may as well be a mortal himself. He has a way of making every moment feel exciting and new, even after six thousand years.

The thing about Crowley is that Aziraphale is in love with him.

I'm glad you guys are reading, thanks!! Reminder: go see Bottoms the 2023 movie! Right now!

            —tigerlilycorinne