My Angel 《Crowley x Aziraphale: Good Omens》

Armageddon

Crowley had rarely felt so free yet so restricted. He knew that for the first time in...well, in forever, he didn't have to do what Hell wanted him to. But as much as this should've been a comforting thought, it wasn't. He was scared (although not exactly as demons don't feel the same kind of fear as humans do, but he was a form of scared nonetheless) for Aziraphale.

You see, Crowley thought that once they'd stopped Armageddon, he and his angel would be able to hang out more, without fear of their opposing sides finding out. But it was now the second day of the rest of his life and he hadn't heard a peep from Aziraphale. "It's odd...", Crowley mumbled to his plants as he sprayed them absent-mindedly with water. Crowley had never cared about anyone the way that he cared for Aziraphale, and the only living things that knew that were his beloved plants. Aziraphale had been so excited at the prospect of talking to Crowley freely on the evening that they stopped Armageddon – he had even said so during their dinner at the Ritz. But Crowley hadn't heard a thing, and he knew that an angel always keeps their word. "I'll have to go and see him...I have to. Just to make sure he's alright." He said to his plants, putting down the spray bottle and jogging into his bedroom to find his jacket.

One thing that made Crowley different from all the other demons was that he was meticulously clean: all his belongings had their proper place and they had never (not once in almost 6000 years) been moved from their place. Until today that was, when he found his jacket not on its usual peg on the coat stand, but lying on his bed, wrapped around something. Crowley hesitated before peeling away his coat from the object, he knew Hell was looking for him but it wasn't like them to be so damn obvious.
"Oh angel..." he sighed, somewhere between relief and longing. Inside his coat, lovingly tied in black ribbon, lay one of Aziraphale's precious books: Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë, Aziraphale had been trying to get him to read it for nearly 200 years and Crowley had always downright refused;

"That's not my kind of book angel", he would always say with an uninterested sigh. "But you can't say that Crowley!", Aziraphale would cry, "You can't say that because you haven't read it...if you tried it you might just love it", and the two would sit in momentary silence while Aziraphale pouted sadly at Crowley. Crowley always hated it when Aziraphale pouted, it was a special weakness of his as it made the angel look especially cute. "I can – and will - say it because I know that it's true angel. I like horror books , books with a bit of gore...not love books".

Maybe he'd read it now, he did owe it to Aziraphale after all and no one would have to know that he'd read a book on love...as if that was something a demon would do. But for now he had to go and see Aziraphale, just to make sure he was alright - the poor man was probably exhausted, it would've been a lot for any angel to take, let alone someone like Aziraphale who became stressed when any of his books were misplaced.

Crowley left his apartment and got into his Bentley, sticking in a Best of Queen CD. He was sure that Aziraphale would be fine...after all, he was an angel, who would want to hurt him?

☆Lowkey love Jane Eyre almost as much as I love Crowley...just saying☆