For as much as Aziraphale feels unsure about, constantly oscillating between different conclusions about how Crowley might feel—particularly lately, up until today, when he wasn’t even sure that Crowley might want to hold his hand again without the same memories—he knows this much. He knows, undoubtedly, that he’s important to him. That they’re important to each other.
No one else could step into that role for either of them. It just wouldn’t be the same. It couldn’t be. Regardless of what might happen here or with Yggdrasil, nothing could change that. Although, he does wonder whether or not Crowley defines “important” in the same manner as he does. Or rather still does. He’s sure there had been at least one or two occasions where they had lined up perfectly.
“Alright,” he agrees. There’s a small smile offered in return, warm and affectionate. In the next moment, he lifts their joined hands to press a gentle kiss to Crowley’s knuckle. It’s a push forward, an answer to a question once asked of him long, long ago. He just doesn’t have the nerve to look at Crowley to gauge his reaction. He untangles their fingers immediately afterwards, desperately trying to be casual and unbothered about it, before sliding off the bed to head back to the other end of the room where he had placed the bottle of wine.
Except, he’s forgotten the glasses.
Stalling for a moment, he pretends to struggle to reopen it. “So, what happened after Odin pulled you out? Past, I assume, putting your bracelets back on,” he continues on, appearing a bit too interested in the wine bottle.
no subject
For as much as Aziraphale feels unsure about, constantly oscillating between different conclusions about how Crowley might feel—particularly lately, up until today, when he wasn’t even sure that Crowley might want to hold his hand again without the same memories—he knows this much. He knows, undoubtedly, that he’s important to him. That they’re important to each other.
No one else could step into that role for either of them. It just wouldn’t be the same. It couldn’t be. Regardless of what might happen here or with Yggdrasil, nothing could change that. Although, he does wonder whether or not Crowley defines “important” in the same manner as he does. Or rather still does. He’s sure there had been at least one or two occasions where they had lined up perfectly.
“Alright,” he agrees. There’s a small smile offered in return, warm and affectionate. In the next moment, he lifts their joined hands to press a gentle kiss to Crowley’s knuckle. It’s a push forward, an answer to a question once asked of him long, long ago. He just doesn’t have the nerve to look at Crowley to gauge his reaction. He untangles their fingers immediately afterwards, desperately trying to be casual and unbothered about it, before sliding off the bed to head back to the other end of the room where he had placed the bottle of wine.
Except, he’s forgotten the glasses.
Stalling for a moment, he pretends to struggle to reopen it. “So, what happened after Odin pulled you out? Past, I assume, putting your bracelets back on,” he continues on, appearing a bit too interested in the wine bottle.