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Swirling galaxies glowed and faded and Crawley just stared at them. Gorgeous, he thought. A hum of a memory poked at his brain. Something old, older than the Earth he stood on. It had a distinct feeling of happiness unlike most of his memories.
He tried to recall the names he’d heard the humans give them. Andromeda, was that one of them? It was a nice name. Humans did a lot of Crawley’s work for him, even if he’d never admit it to head office, but he supposed they also did a lot of Heaven’s work for them. They came up with such wonderful things.
He wondered who came up with the stars.
Crowley had never seen such dark violas. She leaned forward until her nose was almost touching them. They were soft and sweet and as black as Crowley’s demonic soul. Apart from their bright yellow centers, that was. Her eye’s maybe. They were the only bright part of her. And they barely counted as bright. Snakes weren’t bright.
Tints of purple stood out as she peered closer. Pretty.
Maybe she could take some back to her shop-apartment. She’d made a deal with the owner of the shop so he’d let her stay there, she supposed she could leave a flower for him.
No, what in Hell’s name am I thinking? Crowley recoiled at her own mind. Those were far too pure ideas to be having. Someone would think she’d been spending too much time around that Angel. No, the flowers would stay here.
No one would notice if she came back a few times and made sure the flowers were taken care of, though. That would be acceptable. They were black, anyway, the humans probably thought they were bad luck. She was spreading fear.
Aziraphale gently flicked the page of his book and Crowley was thankful for his sunglasses. His staring would have been too obvious without them.
Aziraphale’s hands were just so nice. He wanted to feel them in his own. When humans complimented hands they were often speaking with undertones that Crowley couldn’t quite parse. They looked at eachother with the kind of look that got Eve kicked out of Eden. Crowley didn’t understand that. He encouraged it, of course. Anything the Lord wouldn’t like was his business. They had fun, too. Off the record, of course, but Crowley did think it was nice when humans were happy.
No, Crowley wasn’t sure what humans would think about his Angel’s hands but he didn’t really care. At times like these all that mattered were the two of them.
Crowley’s eyes moved up to Aziraphale’s bowtie. Always so pristine. Crowley’s clothes were well kept too but in a very different style. He imagined helping Aziraphale put on the bowtie in the mornings. He thought back to the bowties he’d seen in Harrods and considered buying. He knew immediately which Aziraphale would like best. He’d left empty handed, however, when someone over the loudspeaker paged the staff about the mysteriously arranged runners in the shape of a frowny face. A complete coincidence, mind you.
Last was Aziraphale’s face. Crowley had seen it so many times he thought he could map it with his eyes closed. He loved the shape of his Angel’s nose and the way his eyes lit up almost noticeably when the book referenced another book that he had read (most of them). He loved the lines of his face and the swoops of his short hair. Beautiful was the only word that came to mind.
The phrase that great minds think alike isn’t really applicable here, but Crowley might have thought it if he’d known that Aziraphale, out of the corner of his eye, was thinking the very same thought about Crowley.