INEFFABLE - Good Omens Ineffable Husbands One Shots

Misplaced Books

"Thank you again for helping me reorganize my books, dear," Aziraphale's focus was trained on the floating volumes before him, the normal pleasant smile on his face instead replaced with a thoughtful frown. He then waved his arms in separate directions, and the books retreated to their sanctioned spaces. The angel turned to see Crowley splayed dramatically in the middle of the novel-ridden floor, his fingers lazily drifting back and forth, making books float toward Aziraphale in alphabetical order.

"Nothing I couldn't handle, angel," Crowley sighed and tousled his hair, enjoying freedom from his sunglasses inside his favourite bookshop. In fact, his favourite building.

Aziraphale wandered from corner to corner, nearly stepping on Crowley from time to time, avoiding the minefield of books. Quite a few times he tripped and was sent sprawling, much to the demon's amusement. 

They had almost finished putting away all the books when Crowley suddenly announced, "Well, what do we do now?"

Aziraphale fell silent for a moment, then turned towards his oldest friend. "How do you mean, dear?"

Crowley sat up. "It's all over, isn't it? The Antichrist, and all that. We've saved the universe and abandoned both our sides. We're on our own."

"I suppose," the angel chirped, although this chirp was not the most convincing of chirps. Indeed, it sounded as if he was forcing his usual bright chirpiness, and hidden behind this layer of chirp, was a layer of fear, regret, and mournful wondering.

Of course Crowley sensed this, because one of the things he loved most in this world were Aziraphale's chirps, but he pressed on. "You suppose, do you? Well, what do you suppose we do?"

"Couldn't say," his voice was much lower now. He stepped towards the bookshelves and began slowly lifting novels into the air. He suddenly changed the subject. "Do you suppose we could listen to those interesting songs you always talk about? You know, those musicians named after a monarch?"

"Queen, angel. And don't try to change the subject." Crowley stood, and drifted over to where Aziraphale was standing. He stood almost directly behind him, closing his eyes, living in that scent he loved so much, his angel's scent, the flowery smell of birds, sunshine, and old paper. Aziraphale's shoulders squared, his eyes also closed. The books had frozen around them, the angel's hands ceasing movement. 

It seemed like another six thousand years before Aziraphale spoke again. 

"We live," he breathed. "And hope we don't get obliterated from the face of the known universe."

Crowley's hands stretched forwards and lightly brushed the fabric of the suit jacket around Aziraphale's plump waist. For a moment, they felt hearts beat as one, so to speak, as neither of them really had hearts. Crowley took a deep breath and held himself within the moment.

Suddenly, all the books fell to the floor and Aziraphale lurched away from Crowley. His eyes were wild and he collapsed over his armchair. Crowley leapt toward him, but Aziraphale held out his hand and Crowley's feet felt as if they were glued to the floor. The state the angel was in, they just might be.

"Angel." the demon's words were soft, without anger or malice, just with a deep longing stuck in the back of his throat. He felt like he had been melted into a colourful puddle of evil-shaped goo. 

His angel was completely silent, knuckles white from clutching the arms of the chair, head tilted down towards his desk. The fabric of his suit was rumpled, and if Crowley knew Aziraphale, he wanted to fix it immediately. Something had to be gravely wrong if he didn't. Aziraphale's voice was small and childlike as he whispered, "Crowley, I don't want to die."

Crowley paused, unsure of what to say. He had never had to deal with broken Aziraphale, only stuck up Aziraphale, annoyed Aziraphale, or pleasant Aziraphale. It was entirely new to him, even though he had sensed this beneath him for the last few years, the ones closer to Adam's eleventh birthday. He spoke lightly, and his voice was filled with as much comfort and love as he could convey to Aziraphale as he said, "You're not going to die. I won't let you."

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, their eyes meeting for the first time since he revealed his shattered state. His beautiful blue eyes were filled with tears, brimming on the edge of his bottom lids, his mouth set into a firm but quivering line. He looked like a crystal bottle, so full of emotions and crippling feelings, love and hate and millions of swirling variants, almost a kaleidoscope of whirling thoughts, about to explode into a million irreplaceable pieces. "They're all I have."

The words spilled past Crowley's lips before he could stop himself. "No, angel, you have me."

Aziraphale collapsed into a sob he had been choking inside him for years now. The demon's feet came unstuck with an incredible amount of willpower, and he dove to his angel's side, arms wrapped around the smaller man's quivering figure, enveloped in the large armchair.

The angel and demon, yin and yang, mortal enemies and best friends. As they melted into each other, Crowley's arms around Aziraphale's sides, Aziraphale's hands digging into Crowley's ginger hair, they truly felt every clash of every side, every pain from the past and every hope from the future. They were pressed together, a mass of a single beating heart, faces so close they couldn't get any closer, hurt and healing all at once. They were far from peace but they were on a very different side from war.

The kiss was the furthest it could be from short and sweet. It was long and passionate, six thousand years' worth of emotion crammed one flowing, fluctuating movement.

When they finally came apart, which of course they had to, the angel looked into the demon's eyes and smiled, a real smile, one he hadn't smiled in a while, and drifted his fingers along the demon's cheek. It was a smile weighed down by fear, but filled with such hope and love it practically turned the demon into an angel all over again. 

As they stared into each other's eyes for what felt like forever, Crowley found himself smiling too.

Here's my trash, ladies and gents, fueled by three hours of solid Queen and Billie Eilish. I welcome my two views that just come from me rereading it. Was it too short? Am I a bad writer? Anyway, thanks for reading.

Word Count: 1026