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

when they watched the walls and the ticking clock

And we're back! I just read a stunning workshop piece from one of my classmates and am feeling like the peak potential of language has already been reached... please accept my humble offering.

It's a very short conversation.

Aziraphale attempts to cling to every second of it as it passes by him, but that's like trying to relish in a single piece of sushi—no matter how determinedly you enjoy it, there is no way to avoid the fact that it is not enough to fill you up. Not even close. Aziraphale is a stranger to the feeling of hunger, but he still loves the feeling of a full stomach, more so than he should be (or so the Archangel Gabriel seems to think).

There's a pause on the other end of the line.

Aziraphale doesn't delude himself into thinking Crowley is distracted by something—no, he knows that hearing Aziraphale's voice for the first time in six years is likely doing a number of Crowley just as much as vice versa. Or maybe nearly as much. (Just as much seems unfathomable.) Aziraphale is once again confronted by the unavoidable truth that he does not know how to handle being cared about.

Crowley says, yet again, "Aziraphale," this time as if he's at a loss. Like he called and then immediately forgot the reason for the call. Which is ridiculous, because it is Sunday, the 16th of January, 2039, and Soul-Mates™ has just been released by Heaven and there is literally nothing else near as important that Crowley could possibly be calling about.

So Aziraphale prompts, after a loud, shaky breath that these extremely advanced human cell-phone microphones definitely can pick up, "Uh. Today's the day, isn't it?" He means to inject his signature pep into his voice, but it comes out false and high, like he's trying and failing to sound like a woman.

"Today's the day," Crowley confirms with his usual flat drawl. It's so good to hear, it makes Aziraphale's eyes sting and his vision begin to blur wetly. Even a supernaturally enhanced memory is no match for actually, truly hearing Crowley speak—the gravelly drag of his voice and his particular inflection that feels a little bit like "I love how stupid you are" and a little bit like "can we get on with it?" At least, when he speaks to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale not sure what he's going to do with himself when Crowley hangs up. He wants to freeze time, but he's never tried to before and anyway—

"Just wanted to, uh, check, you know." Crowley's attempted nonchalance is the worst performance Aziraphale has ever heard from anyone, ever. "Do you—uh, just wanted to call and find out."

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale says wetly into the phone. "Oh, I have missed you."

There's a fumbling sound. Crowley says, "Oh... yeah..."

Aziraphale says, "It's you. Of course."

Crowley's voice pitches high, mocking. Not malicious mocking. Just... mocking. As a demon does. "Of course." He makes a sound that sounds faintly disbelieving. "Mine is too. Not my name, I don't have my name, I mean, it's you."

One might expect that since Aziraphale has already irreversibly mucked it all up between them, he wouldn't be terrified of mucking it up. The ship has sailed, as they say. But this is untrue, because thoughts and feelings don't always align themselves perfectly, leading to situations such as the current one, which sees Aziraphale clutching the phone close to his ear, his heartbeat racing in his chest, the terror of saying the wrong thing clogging up his throat even though he's fully aware there is no right thing to say.

Aziraphale makes a little cough to get around that lump in his throat. "Ha! Would be funny to get your own name, wouldn't it." He makes a little laugh sound next, to diversify his little sounds, but his attempts at pretending to laugh have never been very good. Maybe angels are just bad at deception. In any case, it clearly doesn't fool Crowley, because he doesn't get so much as a huff through the phone. He continues awkwardly, "Well, that's dandy. Good to know Heaven's comeback is working out to a tee, no hiccups anywhere."