Alloy

Ineffable? Surely not.

The moment Crowley pulled himself away from Aziraphale's soft lips, his heart shattered into a fractal of pain. His angel was shuddering, his usually calm, serene face was contorted into a mask of guilt and disappointment.

"I forgive you." The words were lead and fell to the floor of the bookshop with a grotesque thud. Crowley pulled his blacked out glasses over to hide his red eyes, he was unaware that snakes were able to cry - Crowley was the exception of course, a deviation from the system - as he stalked towards the door he prayed to whatever he could, to them perhaps, that his angel would ask him to turn around. Nothing came so he spat venom and slammed the door behind them. 6000 years for forgiveness he neither wanted nor could handle at that moment. The wretched scent of almonds, that he realised were from Aziraphale's breath wafted around him. Crowley thought he was going to be sick.

He finally turned and cast his gaze back on the burgundy double doors that welcomed you into the shop which never sold any books. Wrenching the door of his beauty open, he stood and waited. He had to know, surely Aziraphale would come to his senses now that he knew how deeply Crowley felt for him. He hadn't pulled away, hadn't cursed him for daring to defile his purity. No, in some way which was decidedly Aziraphale he pressed closer, splayed his fingers across Crowley's heavy shoulders. Yet the look of destraught which flashesld across the former principalities face was one that would haunt Crowley forever. Unbeknownst to the former demon, said principality was pressing his fingers to his lips, chasing the heat that was left behind. Hellfire had a certain kick to it. While he too had known he felt a certain pull to his companion, he hadn't the time to soulsearch and determine what that pull was. He presumed everyone had that person, that person who always found their way back to you, as did Anathema and Newt who had centuries of history connecting them. Now that he really looked at who he was comparing himself to, he realised how foolish and näive he had been. Him and Crowley were more than destined for one another, why they were simply ineffable. But surely not? They were categorically wrong. Angels and demons were diametrically opposed, but is Gabriel and Beelzebub could see past that divide and be true what was stopping him.

The Metatron, that was what. As Crowley's non existent heart pounded in his chest he ran his fingers over his knuckles, a passerby who had obviously seen him lingering by the bookshop asked him if he was waiting for the happy one, she had presumed he was picking him up for a date. He as though he had swallowed the worlds biggest boulder, choked 'something like that.' Which gained him a sorrowful look, but the woman quickly sped up, she obviously had errands more important than the demon who fell twice. Crowley had imagined being an angel again, if only to view what he had once created, he despised the sterility of Heaven, too accustomed to the foul stench of Hell. But nothing could surpass the joy which he felt, gazing upon his creation, surveying the stars that he brought into existence. Simpler times when they weren't castaways, when they were Raphael and Aziraphale. Crowley often thinks of this possibility, but only when he gazes into the endless pits of sky that are Aziraphale's eyes, he questions whether it was possible to have transfered one galaxy for another. He then remembers himself, when he was stood before Job, tasked with the worst thing even he could have thought of. When he remembers how he had to bargain and trick, the supposed righteous angels to restore Job his children. All to question his loyalty to God. He knew then that he could never return to a side which would not only enforce that, but try to taint the one good thing in his existence to do the same.

Aziraphale left the shop with reluctance, he had said it himself. Nothing lasts forever. Closing the door the final time he locked eyes with the demon who waited by his Bentley, the demon who had just taken his breath away. He was astounded that he had stayed when he had thrown it all to the dogs, but deep down he knew he couldn't have left either. But he had told the Metatron he would, and Aziraphale only went against his word a few times, and this would not be one of them. He would be erased from the Book of Life, and while his existence was something rather dear to him, he pondered what said existence would be without the constant whittering of the grumpy demon that wasn't quite so grumpy in his company. He pondered this as his feet seemed to move without being told, his body appeared to be moving on auto-pilot, he had lost control of the steering wheel. The anchor had been pulled back onto the boat and he was drifting away from his oasis. The Metatron was grinning from where he stood by the lift doors to Heaven, a sickening grin, and yet Aziraphale's feet maintained their rhythm. Crowley began to move closer to the front seat, tears running from where human tear ducts would usually begin. He thought his eyes were broken, having not the need to ever truly cry before, even when he believed Aziraphale to be dead he knew he would see him again. This time he was certain he had lost his angel, if he could even refer to him as that now. All because of fucking Gabriel. He hated the former supreme Archangel before, for his treatment of Aziraphale. But now that his selfish actions had effectively ripped his light away from him, he was a vessel of pure rage.