Aziraphale, in his new position as Supreme Archangel, could make his job a lot easier by delegating most of the tasks to whomever he pleases.
He doesn't.
There is a modest office opposite the Earth Observation Chamber and its archive, a golden-yellow touch of colour in an otherwise sterile white building, and in that office is a desk that has never had to listen to the laws of physics and never will. After a few initial moments of hesitation, he had miracled a suggestion box right next to the door that, for the most part, remained open.
It is in this office, with an overflow of paperwork to his right and a portal link straight to the archives on his left, that he first receives notice of a miracle performed on earth by Muriel, 37th-order Scrivener and current representative in London.
'Frivolous miracles' only exist in the minds of the other Archangels, and so he barely looks at it, ready to put his signature at the bottom and send it to be sorted into its section, when a familiar name makes him pause. His breath hitches despite the fact that he has not taken a single breath since re-entering heaven, and he slowly, slower than he needs to, reads the details of Muriel's miracle.
Leaving out corporate details, the note can be summarised as follows:
'The angel Muriel miracled a 100% cotton blanket in the reinstated Embassy for the demon Crowley.'
Don't, he tells himself, vision blurring, don't go looking for him.
Long, dark evenings, wine-red cheeks, high on each other's company and the warmth radiating off their skin, bodies falling onto the couch, close, closer. They shouldn't, they really, really shouldn't. Aziraphale places his glass on the coffee table, talking before he leans back again, just to be interrupted by a sudden weight on his shoulder.
"Maybe we sh- oh."
Crowley, fast asleep, his wine glass empty but precariously balanced in a limp hand, his face pressed into Aziraphale's neck. He can feel the gentle, regular ghost of his breath caressing his skin, the smooth locks of hair long enough to fall past his collarbone tickling him whenever he exhales.
There are moments in which choices need to be made quickly and without regret, and this was one of them.
They shouldn't.
Aziraphale plucks the glass from his grasp and carefully frees his arm without jolting Crowley, wrapping it around him and holding him in place.
He really shouldn't.
With only a thin shirt between his palm and Crowley's skin, the heat seeps deep into his bones, inviting him to stay, and so he does. Making himself comfortable, he reaches for a book and dims the lights with an absent thought, glancing down at the demon with fluttering eyes and parted lips.
He really, really shouldn't.
The note, which remained unseen by some stroke of luck, contained the following information:
'The Principality Aziraphale miracled a 100% cotton blanket in the earthly Embassy for the demon Crowley.'
Aziraphale gingerly positions the blanket so it covers as much of Crowley as possible, giving into the urge to rest his cheek on top of his head just once. Melted candle wax, smokey campfires, and a smidge of ginger that may or may not be his shampoo; his hair feels exactly as soft as it looks. Crowley stirs, pressing into the touch, and mumbles something he is too scared to admit is angel.
Somewhere on earth, Crowley is fast asleep and kept warm by a blanket Muriel thought to summon.
Aziraphale signs the notification and watches as it disappears into the archives, leaving not the slightest trace. Then, with a tremor in his hands, he stands up and closes the door to his office, waiting until the lock clicks shut and a floating 'do not disturb' appears on the other side before sliding down the wall.
He thinks of a familiar heartbeat next to him, sparkling golden eyes, soft, sleepy breaths, and cries.
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girls be like im so sick of being alive and i have a headache and my back aches and my stomach aches and oh i just want to be loved and kissed tenderly and i don't want anyone to ever touch my skin and i can't do this im giving up ill just be a housewife how hard could it be and no ill study so hard be the best i will swim in money and always be independent and ill never marry but wouldn't it be nice to come home to someone who waits for you to have dinner together and sleep in the same bed and have ice cream and binge watch 90s movies but no im unlovable i push away everyone i love because intimacy is the most terrifying thing in the world and if they really knew me they would leave cause who could ever leave me, darling? but who could stay who could stay who could stay. and it's just their first day of period
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