Inevitable.

Prologue.

And so the day was quiet, the wind whistled lightly between the nicks and crevasses of the trees and for a moment everything in the universe was perfect. But despite the silence and calmness of the world about him, Crowley's mind was quite the opposite. He went to speak but found no words came out, he just sighed looking toward Aziraphale, who was already glancing at him lovingly, a smile coming over his tired face.

The suns rays pierced through the tops of the trees, just enough so Crowleys eyes glimmered like citrine, or as Aziraphale had always said like gold, and that while he was far from rich he might as-well have been when he saw them. But even without the help of the sun, his eyes were always beautiful, and it didn't take an genius to figure it out either, especially when every time Crowley gave him a bouquet of yellow flowers whether that be daffodils, sunflowers or occasionally marigolds he just smiled lightly and gave him a light kiss on the cheek.

He'd been putting it off for weeks, maybe a month by now and he wasn't wrong for doing so.
The pair had been apart for thousands of years on end, and it took what felt like eternity to get him back, and he wasn't letting him go again. So instead he just smiled and handed him yet another set of freshly picked flowers.

The colour Aziraphales faviourite,
Yellow.

'They're beautiful.' He exclaimed, his nose pushed into them, smelling them before looking contently back at Crowley, pollen covering his snow like nose.

'Aren't you just.' Crowley said, smiling once more. what he said technically speaking hadn't made any sense, Aziraphale had been talking about the flowers, but it was after all Crowley, and he was speaking to Aziraphale so it hadn't mattered to him anyway.

Crowley and Aziraphale had been looking at each other for a good minute now, and while it had just turned noon, and not a star was in the sky, looking into Aziraphale's eyes he found his creation once more. Beautiful, a beautiful creation, filled with marvellous things, but even if he were to gather everything within the universe, every beautiful thing, none of it would even come close to equating with his universe. The universe that sat in-front of him, slightly to the left, the universe that he could still see, and while he didn't make him, this universe made him.

Made him whole.

But, his universe was just worlds away, he was close to it now. He could feel his warm and sweet touch, the earnest and delicate words that he spoke, and everything that he loved about him, that being everything about him.

But it didn't take long before Aziraphale's eyes began to glisten ever so slightly, a cloud passing over the warmth which was the sun. His vision grew blurred and disfigured, and as Crowley lent over, he couldn't help but look away.

'Angel?'

Aziraphale didn't answer.

'Angel, what's wrong?'

Aziraphale had missed Crowley, missed him more than any being had ever missed anything. But of course, he left him, left him behind.
Aziraphale would never forgive himself for that, and even if Crowley begged him to stay, he wasn't so sure he would.
Crowley's hand sat upon his now, but he could still feel them slipping away, like no matter what he always would, slip away.

Part of him was begging to pull away, to leave and not come back. But the other, the part that wasn't for Heaven, longed to be with him.

Aziraphale's crying began to harden, stains trailing down his dejected face, to which Crowley immediately reached for him, his hand tucked under the pit of Aziraphale's arm.

Aziraphale pulled away.

Now Aziraphale struggled to speak, this time his mind was dancing, his mouth lay open, he had so much to say, yet nothing that could be said. So instead of speaking, he dug his face into his palms, and cried.

Aziraphale looked up, his crystal like eyes glancing at Crowley hopelessly, before that hopelessness transformed itself into something far different. Almost hate.

'Why do you still want me, Crowley?'

'Angel..'

'I've tried to figure it out see, and of course — well of course I — loved — was foolish and irrational before myself, so why let someone like that come back.'

'Besides things are going rather well Upstairs, they're saying I was doing splendid job at running it all, and I shouldn't allow things like this to get in the way.'

'In the way of what truly matters.'

'This does matter, it's us Angel.'

Aziraphale glanced at him yet again, usually it would be in awe, but something felt strange about this glance.

Something felt strange about Aziraphale.

'What did they do.. in heaven?'

'I mean, other than the praise of all the, splendid things you had been doing.'
'For goodness Sake why should that matter, I asked you a question, Crawley!'

Crowley moved back, his hands let go.

Just like Aziraphale's his eyes stung now, but no tears fell, they just hung loosely from his eyes.
He wanted again so desperately to hold him, to tell him everything was okay, but instead he refrained himself.
'I don't know.. Aziraphale.'

But really what he meant to say was—
What did they do to you.'

'I know.''

Crowley got up, usually this would be the time he would put on his glasses. However, he was already wearing them. He had put them on much earlier, when Aziraphale had began crying that is, in great fear that he would too.
Crowley looked as though he was about to walk away.

'I'm — terribly sorry, Crowley.'

Part of him wanted immensely to fight back, to lecture him relentlessly on how much courage it took for him to trust again. To yell and scream in his face, ask him why exactly 'Crowley' had been used instead of 'Crawley' like all of the other times Aziraphale had been addressing him for the last quarter of an hour.

But the other, the most part of him, wanted to grab him gently by the hand, look into his — funnily enough, angelic eyes, and tell him that as much as it tore him apart, he had nothing to apologise for.

Crowley's vision became blurred once more,
and though he tried desperately to avoid it, tilting his head backwards, a tear fell down his cheek, burning his skin. But soon that tear became a number of them, all stinging and trailing down his face, each one looked almost as though it were sizzling.
Crowley, in what appeared to be agony according to Aziraphale, took off his shades promptly, throwing them on the floor and groaning in pain.
Crowley looked down, rubbing his eyes and as he did so, he caught Aziraphale's eyes meeting them.
As Aziraphale glanced up at him, his heart shattered, that is, more than it already was which at that point felt almost impossible.

Crowley's face was stained, but not in the sense that tears had been running down them, though of course they had. Stained in the sense that Aziraphale could already see the slight blistering of his cheeks, and under eyes. Stained in the sense that, no amount of healing could heal his face, or him. Aziraphale didn't just think that, he knew that, because as he looked into Crowley's troubled eyes, he saw a bit of himself too.

Crowley looked up, down again, at the world about him and then finally, back at his own.
'My dear—'
...
'Don't bother.'