I do it for the girls and the gays

My name is Liv, I am 25, my pronouns are she/they or whatever you want because I don't really care much, I'm Polish and queer. @aunt-booty is my main tumblr, it's mostly shitpost.

I created this side-blog primarily for writing purposes. Mostly for reader insert fanfiction, but not exclusively. I would be happy to accept requests for stories from various fandoms & ships. I'm trying to get over this terrible writer's block that's been weighing on me for months.

On ao3 you can find my works in English and Polish.

Alec woke up with the morning sun streaming into his bedroom. He was feeling a bit dizzy from Ellie's birthday party the night before. He shouldn't have been drinking this much, considering his health, but the wine Ellie brought was so good. Good enough that he didn't refuse when, a little later, someone offered him a shot of tequila.

He suddenly realized that there was something on his chest, and in fact, he wasn't in his own bedroom. He looked down to see a storm of hair he knew, memories of the previous night flooding his mind.

"Shit," He grumbled.

You sighed as you were woken up by the person in your bed. You were still half asleep and looked up at your bed companion.

"Mornin', sir," you mumbled, laying your head on his chest again.

The hamster in your head sped up a bit on its wheel and your mind caught up to what was happening. Your eyes widened in shock, you quickly sat up, almost falling off the bed, and covered your naked body with the blanket.

"Ha-Hardy?!" You gasped. Your body was covered in hickeys and bites, and Alec felt a little proud that he still had it in him.

"Yeah..." He mumbled, feeling the effects of last night's drinking getting to him.

"I, uh... We... What happened last night?" You asked, feeling a dull headache that had only gotten worse when you had gotten up so quickly.

"I... Uh, I think we had..." Alec murmured, unable to look at you, even though he wanted to look at your body covered in his marks once more.

"I mean, we definitely do. Do you remember... any... you know, details?" You asked, also unable to look at him. You felt embarrassed that you had slept with your superior. At the same time you couldn't deny you had always found Hardy really attractive. Deep inside you, there was a small spark of pride that you had managed to get him into bed. Too bad you were both drunk as hell.

“Yeah…” Alec nodded awkwardly, looking anywhere but at you. “You?"

"I remember most of it," You replied, biting your lip as your head was flooded with memories of how you two held hands as you walked back to your place, laughing like a couple of teenagers. God, it was probably the first time you had heard him laugh and it was quite nice.

Now you both sat in an awkward silence, not entirely sure what to do, what to say. You felt that your night together had changed something irreversibly in your relationship and it made you feel anxiety gripping your stomach, which together with the hangover made you want to curl up into a ball and fall asleep for the next few days. Preferably right next to Alec, you were surprised to discover today that he was incredibly comfortable to cuddle.

“Do you want breakfast?” You asked quietly, breaking the silence suddenly. Hardy looked at you in surprise.

“I don’t think I could eat right now.” He said uncertainly, looking at you sheepishly. “But I’ll take some water if I can.”

"Sure, yeah, sure." You nodded, realizing that Alec was most likely in the same state as you right now. You stood up with a quiet groan and, still wrapped in the blanket, headed to the kitchen.

You returned carrying two glasses of lemon water in your hands, struggling to carry them and keep the blanket on you. Alec, noticing your difficulties, stood up, taking one glass from you. He hadn't bothered to get dressed, so now you could admire him in all his glory. You couldn't stop your eyes from wandering down, but you quickly looked away. You tried not to think that this had been inside you only a few hours ago.

“Sorry,” Alec mumbled, noticing your discomfort and placing his already empty glass on the nightstand, then picking up his boxers from the floor and slipping them on. "I mean, you saw everything last night anyway, eh?" He tried to joke while awkwardly scratching his ear.

"Yeah, but this is different, I guess... We're sober and... I don't know..." You mumbled just as awkwardly, avoiding his gaze. "Anyway, how are you feeling now? Water with lemon usually works better for a hangover." You changed the subject, forcing a soft, friendly smile.

“It’s not great, but it’s not terrible either,” Alec mumbled awkwardly, smiling back. That clumsy little smile he always gave you, which you found somehow cute.

“Good. Cool.” You nodded, clearing your throat, a cumbersome silence falling between you. You both looked around the room, avoiding each other's gaze. You both felt stupid, unspoken words hanging between you.

"I should probably go home." He finally broke the silence. You looked at him, feeling a bit disappointed, though you didn't know what you were actually expecting.

“Yeah, I guess.” You sighed, still sipping your water, not knowing what else to do with yourself. “Do you want me to call you a cab?”

Alec glanced out the window and grimaced at the bright sun and cloudless sky, which irritated him more than usual. He agreed to your suggestion, and after only fifteen awkward minutes, you were left alone in your house. Just you, the unbearable hangover, and the overwhelming feeling of shame and anxiety. Not to mention the rather unpleasant soreness when you walked or sat down.

Your mind wandered between memories of last night, all the stupid things you said while drunk, and potential scenarios for seeing Hardy tomorrow at work. You wondered how you'd be able to look him in the eyes in front of all your coworkers and not think about the way he looked at you from between your thighs, while his lips and fingers... you sighed longingly, covering your face with your hands. You have to stop.

You spent the rest of the day feeling like complete garbage and trying to get yourself back into shape.

***

"How was the rest of your weekend?" Ellie asked as soon as she got to work. There was something strange about her smile, but you couldn't tell what.

You were already standing in the kitchen, making yourself a cup of coffee.

"Good morning to you too." You replied, glancing at her. She leaned on the counter next to you and looked at you with a smile. "It was hard, I shouldn't have drank so much." You shrugged.

"Yeah? Is that all you have to say?" She raised an eyebrow, staring at you intensely. "Because, you know, I saw you leave my party with Hardy. You didn't even say goodbye." A cold shiver ran down your spine as you realized what she was implying. Only now did you realize that even though in that moment you felt like the whole world didn't exist outside of the two of you, it, actually, did exist and saw the two of you together. You hadn't thought about it, and you hadn't discussed the official version. Hell, you hadn't discussed anything at all. You weren't sure if it was okay to admit to your friend that you'd slept with your subordinate.

"I said goodbye to you, you were just too busy with Beth to notice me." You reminded her, crossing your arms over your chest. "And yes, I left your party with Hardy. My place is on the way to his, we were going to take a taxi together." You explained, though Elie seemed unconvinced.

"Really? Because I know from reliable sources that you walked together, no cab," she said, and you mentally scolded yourself.

"God, is this an interrogation? Yes, we decided to walk because the weather was nice, and the walk sobered us up a bit." You said, this time not straying too far from the truth; the weather was nice and the walk really had made you sober up. Enough to remember everything, even the feeling of his fingers inside you or his lips on your neck.

"And just like that, you went back to your homes, huh?" As Miller kept asking, an uncomfortable tension rose in your stomach.

"Of course, what else would we do?" You raised your eyebrows, hoping you were convincing. "You don't think he's that kind of man, do you?" It was true; if you hadn't experienced it yourself, you would never have believed Alec Hardy was capable of it.

Ellie looked at you with narrowed eyes, as if trying to find the truth. "Sure." She sighed and moved towards her desk, pausing for a moment. "By the way, I think a mosquito must have bitten you on the neck. Near your ear." she stated, pointing to the spot on your body where you had a hickey you'd completely forgotten to cover with concealer.

You felt a blush creep onto your cheeks and you quickly covered the mark with your hand.

You tried to focus on your work, you really did. But your gaze kept drifting to Alec's office, and your mind back to the memories of your night together. You wondered what he was thinking. He barely left his office all morning, except for that one time when he went to get himself a cuppa and muttered an awkward hello to you without even looking at you.

He didn't even glance in your direction once. You knew Alec had a tendency to lose himself in work, but at the same time, it didn't seem sincere this time.

"You're staring," You heard Ellie's voice from behind you. "More than normal."

"I'm not staring!" You protested, returning your gaze to your monitor. "What do you mean, more than normal?" You asked after a moment, this time glancing at Ellie with a frown.

"You stare at him a lot. Ever since you started working here," she remarked with her classic cheerful smile, looking as if she knew something you didn't.

“That’s not–” You thought for a moment. “Okay, maybe sometimes. I'm manifesting that he'll send me home early." You half-jokingly grumbled, hoping she won't read more into it. Even if you were staring at him, so what? It means absolutely nothing.

"Sure," she nodded, rolling her eyes in amusement. "You're both acting strange today, but it's nothing, right? It has nothing to do with you walking back from my place together?"

You covered your face with your hands and let out a muffled scream. “What the hell you want me to say?” You breathed, looking at her annoyed. “Yes, I slept with Hardy. Yes, it was great. Now he’s ignoring me, I think.”

“Wait, you actually shagged him?” She asked so loud that most of your coworkers turned to look at you. Ellie was looking shocked, like she was expecting you’ll say something else.

“Louder, I’m not sure the whole Broadchurch heard you.” You sibilated sarcastically, rolling your eyes. “What did you think we did that night?” You muttered quietly, feeling eyes staring at you.

"I thought you were just making out, not that you went all out," she explained in a hushed voice, looking at you with something that looked like a mixture of surprise and smugness. The smile on her face was terrifyingly huge, as if she was delighted with this information. "And you say it was great?"

"Ellie..." You warned her, scowling. You didn't like how she reacted. How pleased she was. "I don't want to talk about it. And neither does he, apparently."

As if on cue, you heard Hardy's voice calling your name. You looked up, and he was standing in front of his office, staring at you. His face was as grim as ever, but his body language held a hint of nervousness. God, did he just hear what Miller said? Is he mad at you for telling her? "We're dead..." You whispered to Ellie, not taking your eyes off him.

“Come with me. Now,” he said to you, nodding towards the exit. You swallowed and stood up, following him like a lamb to the slaughter.

You walked in silence through the police station corridor, not even looking at each other, until Alec finally opened the door to one of the interrogation rooms and motioned for you to enter.

"What did you say to Miller?" He asked, closing the door behind you and crossing his arms.

"Nothing, she figured it out herself." Technically, you weren't lying. "She saw us leaving the party together, and now you're acting weird. It's hard to hide something when you're working with detectives."

He hummed in dissatisfaction. "But what exactly were you talking about?" He kept asking, standing with crossed arms, but still avoiding looking directly at you.

“Not much. She pressured me, so I admitted she was right and that it was great.” You sighed, shrugging, and sat down on the edge of the table. “Sorry. Do you regret it?”

"I—" He hesitated. "You were drunk, and I had sex with you. Of course I regret it. I can't shake the feeling that I took advantage of you." He confessed quietly, and you looked at him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. You couldn't believe what he had just said.

"What the hell, you were drunk as well." You reminded him, putting your hands on your hips. "Now I feel like I took advantage of you because I don't regret what happened at all."

“What?” For the first time since your night together, he actually looked at you.

"What you heard. Sorry, but I liked it and I don't regret a thing. If that means anything, you were great.” You shrugged and headed for the door, but Hardy grabbed your wrist. You looked at him, your eyes met, and once again you felt as if the world had stopped, as if there was nothing beyond the two of you. You stared into his beautiful brown eyes, and realization hit you like a train. You'd always thought he was handsome, but maybe there was more to it than just superficial attraction. Maybe Ellie was right, and you subconsciously stared at him almost every day.

You wanted to say something, but the words caught in your throat, and all you could do was stare at him with your mouth open slightly. To you, it was like a scene from some romantic movie, where nothing existed but the two main characters about to declare their undying love for each other. If someone walked in on you now, they'd see two idiots staring at each other with their mouths slightly agape, like fish out of water.

Alec cleared his throat and let go of your wrist, looking away. "This isn't the time or place for this..." He grumbled, more to himself than to you. You blinked, looking at him confused.

Now it was your turn to stop him, grabbing his wrist. "If I didn't want to, I wouldn't have let you kiss me. And I wouldn't have invited you over. Damn, I almost dragged you over. If anyone took advantage of anyone, it was me." You said, biting your lip. You could feel the blush creeping up your cheeks.

He looked at you for a moment and you were sure he would rip his hand from your grip and walk away without a word, leaving you there.

"If I didn't want to, I wouldn't have kissed you. Or let you drag me into your bedroom." He replied and smiled softly, making your heart flutter. "And for your information, I liked it too."

"Yeah? Would you like to do it again? Only maybe sober and with some dinner beforehand?" You asked, surprising even yourself. What the hell are you doing, why are you asking your supervisor out on a date?

Hardy looked surprised as well, looking at you with a slightly raised eyebrow, and you began to mentally prepare yourself for rejection.

"I'd love to," he replied, clearing his throat and shyly looking away.

“Really?” You asked, unable to contain your smile and hopeful tone.

"Yeah," He nodded and you couldn't help yourself, you moved closer and kissed him gently on the cheek.

He looked at you in surprise and cupped your face in his hands, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. "Don't get used to it, we can't get distracted at work," he grumbled, and you nodded with a wide smile.

A/N: Let me know if I messed something up, English is not my first language. Also, this was only supposed to be a one shot, but I started thinking about a potential second part, let me know what you think.

"This is ridiculous," Alec grumbled as you gently rubbed the paste into his face.

"Shut up," you replied with amusement. You were standing in your bathroom, both of you wearing only robes and soft fabric headbands with cat ears.

"It's no big deal, and you're acting like I'm skinning you." You shook your head with amusement.

"Didn't you say that's how it works?" He asked, still looking disgruntled, though you knew deep down he didn't mind all that much.

"No, baby, it's an enzyme peeling. It removes dead skin, not all of your skin." You chuckled, gently massaging the product into his face with both hands.

"It's the same thing," he grumbled, looking into the mirror. "I look ridiculous, is that thing on my head really necessary?"

"I don't have another headband." You lied, you had plenty of headbands, you just wanted to see Alec with cat ears. He looked adorable, you wanted to pinch his cheeks and coo at him, then kiss his whole face, but you knew he'd probably kill you for that. Maybe not for the kisses, but definitely for the first ones.

"Now rinse it off your face," you ordered him, doing the same to your face. He complied, then wiped his face with a towel and looked at you, awaiting further torture.

"Close your eyes," you ordered and started spraying the toner on his face. Alec winced as the drops of liquid touched his face.

"God, why did I agree to this..?" He muttered quietly.

"Because you love me, you promised us a nice evening of self-care, and you secretly want nice skin," you replied, grinning. "You literally told me, and I quote, 'Okay, honey, if it makes you happy.'" You reminded him, and he just sighed longingly.

"Yeah, but you said it would be nice and relaxing," he said, looking at you uncertainly, as if hoping you'd take pity on him and skip the whole skincare thing for him. All his life, he'd been satisfied with just soap and water, and his face looked fine. Then you came in with your niacinamides and whatnot and said he needed a skincare day.

"But it is! Come on, I'll give you a facial massage." You grabbed his hand and led him to the bed, where you told him to lay his head on your lap.

You then put a few drops of serum on his face and began massaging him with a gua sha. You carefully moved the stone over his face, being careful not to pull out the hair from his beard, and suddenly Alec let out a sigh of pleasure.

You noticed him starting to relax and smiled to yourself. "You like it, don't you?" You asked quietly, and he nodded begrudgingly.

After a few minutes, you finished massaging him and reached for a sheet mask. You opened the package, putting it onto Alec's face, then took the second package and put the mask on yourself. He still had his head in your lap and opened his eyes to look up at you.

"You look ridiculous with that thing on your face," he stated quietly, and you laughed.

"You look adorable." You bit back with a smile, and he softly smiled back.

"You know, maybe you're right, it is quite nice and relaxing," he admitted reluctantly.

"Told you.”

Hob was more than happy to see his stranger at the New Inn, and when he finally admitted they were friends, Hob swore he was the happiest man on earth. Only his strong will kept him from jumping and screaming like a little girl. The man, his friend, finally told him his name - Dream Of The Endless. Hob wasn't sure exactly what that meant or who he was, but one day he would find out. They have eternity ahead of them.

Dream also mentioned about his sister, who apparently convinced him to come here today, and, as it turns out, she is bloody Death herself, and she is mainly responsible for Hob's condition. He had gotten more information out than he had in six hundred years, and he was damn proud of himself

The rest of thier meeting went pretty much like any other. Except Dream was asking questions and discussing topics Hob was talking about. He seemed genuinely interested as immortal talked about the past century, his path to becoming a history professor at the local university, and founding the New Inn in case His Stranger reappeared in another few decades. He could have sworn that his interlocutor's eyes lit up as he told him about the pub that had basically been built for him. Gadling really tried not to blush as he thought about it.

The sun had long since set by the time they went outside, Hob didn't want to say goodbye, but he had go to job the next day and still had a lot of work to do today.

"You know." He plucked up his courage. He hoped he wouldn't screw things up again. "If I've finally convinced you that we're friends, maybe we could see each other more than once a century?".

Dream only stared at him for a moment, as if he was thinking. Then he half-smiled, nodded, and set off in a direction known only to him.

Hob watched him go, not knowing what to do next. He sighed heavily, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"Yeah, I have no idea how to construe that." he whispered to himself.

They need to work on communication in subsequent meetings. Whenever that happens.

Every day for the next three weeks, he hoped his friend would reappear. When he sat in the pub, or even gave a lecture, he kept imagining that the brunette would walk through the door at that moment. His heart leapt every time he saw someone with a tangle of dark hair or a black coat. It was naive of him, but despite his old age he couldn't shake it off.

Usually after their meetings, Hob just went on with his life, enjoying every moment, waiting to see him again. Dream was the only certainty in his long, long life, and it would be a lie to say that he didn't think about him between his visits. But never that much. Now he felt a longing that pierced through him. The desire to meet his mysterious companion again penetrated his heart, he could have sworn he even felt in his bones.

He was a fool to think that Dream would want to see him more often. Now he have to bear the consequences of his naive dreams and endure the painful hope swirling within him. It was selfish of him not to realize that Dream, whoever he was, had his jobs and his responsibilities, couldn't be at his beck and call. Once in a hundred years is all he has and they won't screw it up again.

Exactly three weeks and one day after Dream's last visit (not that anyone counted, certainly not Hob) he found himself in the clearing. He think he had been here before, but he couldn't remember when. There was not a soul around, only very green grass and many wild flowers. There were no clouds in the sky, and the sun's rays pleasantly caressed his face. He was sitting on a picnic blanket with his oldest friend lying next to him.

"My apologies I didn't visit you sooner, family matters kept me up." He sighed, raising his glass of wine to his lips.

"It's nothing," replied Hob. "I'm glad to see you again."

Dream smiled as he looked away. He reached for a cherry tomato and popped it into his mouth. Hob couldn't look away.

"I didn't think you were eating at all," Hob said to ease tension he felt.

"I don't have to eat," he replied enigmatically, smiling. "But sometimes I do. Especially in good company."

Hob felt like he might blush. Was it flirting? Was the guy who had run away one hundred and thirty-three years ago because he dared call him friend now flirt with him? What’s just happened.

"I'm glad you think of me as a good company." he reciprocated the smile.

The next few hours, they spent chatting, Robert telling him about the last few weeks and the non-existent gangster film his students kept asking him about, to which Dream stated that the script was in his library. Hob could actually believe it, Dream was more than likely a supernatural being, and these seemed to hoard strange and rare items quite often. He once knew a demon who own an original sketch of the Mona Lisa.

“I'll try to visit you a little sooner this time, Hob Gadling.” he said suddenly.

Hob didn't even have time to ask what he meant when the alarm clock woke him from his sleep. It took him a moment to realize where he was. He sat on the bed, covering his face with his hands. He couldn't believe he had just dreamed up the perfect picnic with his friend. Did he really want to see him earlier than their scheduled time that he literally had to make it up. He felt a little embarrassed about it, but at the same time he wanted to go back there, to be with Dream just a little longer. He fell back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. “I'm fucked.” he whispered.

Fortunately, he had so many lectures that he almost forgot about the dream date with his friend from exhaustion. He managed to get over it; his last days were full of stress, his brain wanted to defend itself, it happens. People constantly have strange dreams. To this day, he remembers how one of his old students often talked about his exceptionally colorful dreams. The one he remembers the most was the one he was in McDonald's on a date with Donald Trump.

Dreams are like that. He found it quite funny that his friend's name was just that. Maybe that was it, Dream was mysterious and hard to understand, just like dreams. Will definitely ask him about the originof this name in the next century.

He didn't have to wait long for another dream with his friend, actually only two nights. This time they were in a restaurant, both the decorations and thier clothes sugessted they're in the interwar period. One of Hob's favorite periods. This time he realized it was a dream early, but he decided to go ahead with it, if that was his subconscious's way of softening his disappointment, then fine. He won't dream about the same for several decades, until the next meeting with the real version of Dream, everything will be normal.

They were eating prawns and Hob wasn't sure how it worked or if it was even possible, but it was the best meal he'd had in a long time. It seemed quite nice, he could lose himself in it for a while. Relief from the stress of the real world. They talked, drank, and Dream gave him one of his smiles again when Hob told him a joke. Were it not for the fact that it was only a projection of his imagination, Hob would have considered it a great success.

In the morning, however, he had a sort of moral hangover. How would his friend react to the news that he dreams of literal dates with him? Maybe Dream was the only person who knew his biggest secret, but he had other friends too, he wasn't that lonely. He felt a little pathetic about it, but he couldn't convince his own subconscious to stop. It's okay, it's only intermittent and it will pass soon. Hopefully.

He's had a rough week; luckily, he did not have dreams about his oldest companion. The semester was about to end, many students were now remembering their overdue work from a few months ago, wanting to improve their grades, and suddenly Robert has twice as many responsibilities. When on Saturday night, after checking several dozen essays, three presentations, and answering a couple e-mails, he finally gets to drink a glass of wine, he doesn't even finish it. He puts his half-empty liquor on the nightstand, hoping he can sip on it while he lies and reads a book, but his body is almost melting into the bed. He involuntarily turns around, covering his shoulders with the duvet, letting his tiredness win.

Dream's body was covered with a black velvet dress that sometimes seemed to sparkle with something that looked like a small galaxy. Hob couldn't take his eyes off him. He was dressed in a dark emerald suit with silver accents, looking like something he had worn in the distant past. He wore a long cloak that fluttered as they danced together to the most beautiful music he had ever heard. Robert led the way, they turned like magic, the only ones in a huge ballroom where anyone he had visited before could hide. The obsidian tiles on the floor seemed to shimmer, reflecting the starry sky stretching across the ceiling. All this might have taken your breath away, but to Hob the most beautiful thing was the man in his arms. He had to admit that his subconscious had worked hard.

“You've had a rough week, Hob. Dream said.

Hob sighed, nodding affirmatively.

"but I am glad that I can now indulge myself in dreamland." he replied smiling.

The dark haired man nodded, giving the man one of his mysterious smiles as they danced around the great hall. It felt like they were both floating in the air, ignoring everything around them. He had no idea how long it lasted, maybe forever. The whole dream consisted of just the two of them on the dance floor, accompanied by occasional conversations. Just before Gadling's inexorable wake-up call, Dream told him that he would visit him again soon.

He opened his eyes and lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. Memories of the wonderful dream he had experienced were still swirling in his mind. It's amazing how wonderful images of the innermost desires the human brain can produce. In almost seven hundred years of his life, he had never delved into any of the sciences that dealt with such matters, and he thought that sometime in the future, in one of his next lifetimes, he would definitely have to be interested in it.

It took him a long time to get out of bed this time, he didn't have to go to work, so he didn't feel like moving. He just wanted to lie there and reminisce about that magical place in his head and the beauty of his dearest friend. Would really like to see him again in real life. He secretly wishes he was here with him right now, his head resting on his chest so he could run his hand over his perfect alabaster skin. Then he would get up, throwing his friend on the pillows, to replace his hand with lips that kissed every inch of his body... He realized in which direction his thoughts were galloping and quickly cut them off, finally getting out of bed. The clock showed that it was almost one pm, and Hob decided it was time to drink his "morning" coffee and eat his first meal. No matter how hard he tried, for the next few days he couldn't stop thinking about this amazing man.

- Everything's all right? asked the smiling, short blonde.

Maya Wagner. his good friend, who teaches English at the same university.

"Yes, yes," replied Hob, confused, suddenly snapped out of his thoughts.

- For sure? You've been walking around with your head in the clouds lately, that's not like you.

"You think so," he replies, waving his hand dismissively. - Im alright.

"Ah, yes, sure," she laughed, "and instead of going into the lecture hall, you decided to go on for some specific reason, or just like that?"

Hob turned around, noticing that he had indeed missed his own hall.

"Oh shit." he whispered, turning back to the woman. "You got me, I've been a little distracted lately."

"Sure, I get it, what's the name of the lucky girl you're thinking of?"

"Dre- What? " he stopped suddenly.

“Oh please, Robbie, I've known you long enough." She smiled wider. "It must be someone special."

"Yes, maybe," he mumbled. "but it's just an old friend who decided to show up after years, it's unlikely that it will come to anything."

Maya pats him on the shoulder.

"You're hard to resist, Robert. If they does, they’re a fool."

Hob watched her walk away for a moment, then headed off to his own classroom. He wishes it were as easy as the woman says. Maybe if he knew how to reach the object of his sighs sooner than a century from now.

He considered taking sick leave for the next week, maybe a month. Or maybe he'll just quit his job and spend the next decade sleeping hoping for another dream of a friend. His human body might suffer a little, but probably no more than after his cocaine episode in the early 80s. What people won't do for a bit of fun, right? It was the same as those dreams, he wanted them to end, but at the same time he couldn't wait for the next one. He was torn. Each imagined meeting could be his last, but they never seemed to end.

There were five of them so far, at least that's what he remembered, a picnic, a restaurant, a ball, a walk around the most beautiful castle he had ever seen, and relaxing in an equally beautiful and breathtaking garden. They seem to come on average once or twice a week. Robert loves them and hates them at the same time. He was afraid to think what his friend would do if he found out that he was dreaming about him from time to time. Damn, in the dream of the unusual garden they were sitting in the shade of a tree, their hands almost touching, and they were so close that it was enough to move only an inch to kiss his friend's lips. It sounded like a good reason for Dream to ask his sister to end Hob's life. Gadling felt like he was going insane. Maybe after all these centuries it's god damn time. Maybe he has to accept the fact that he will go mad because of his stupid infatuation with an unusual stranger met in the 14th century, which suddenly, after so many years, decided to gain strength. Subconsciously, he always knew Dream would be death of him.

Every night he went to bed with excitement and dread where his bloody brain would take him this time.

Well, it was the library. A huge library, even bigger than the British Library, hell, maybe even bigger than the Library of Congress. It had many floors. The shelves stretched far and wide, and Hob couldn't quite tell where they ended. It was incomprehensible to him how his ordinary human brain could literally conjure up something so wonderful.

"Are you okay, Hob Gadling?" his dream version of Dream asked. "You seem sad today."

"It's nothing, I just want to see you again," he said before thinking.

Dream looked at him questioningly.

"You see me now, don't you? Is something wrong with your eyesight?"

“Yes, yes, but I mean the real you, not the dream you." he wondered if he was just waking up a character created in his dream from some kind of matrix? Is it safe at all? What if it suddenly puts him in a coma or something?

"I am the real thing, Hob Gadling." Dream said in a serious tone.

"Well, yes, of course, I don't deny your truthfulness," replied Hob, confused. "But, well, you're, you know, Dream, a dream."

"Indeed, I am a dream." his friend replied. "Hob, do you think I'm just a figment of your imagination?"

"No, well, it's not like that, but" He was not allowed to finish, because his interlocutor interrupted him suddenly.

"This dream is over."

Hob suddenly sat up on the bed. Wonderful, now his dreams are self-aware. He rubbed his eyes with his hands, glancing at watch, which showed a few minutes past one, at least he still had some sleep left. He was about to lie down again when he spotted a dark figure in the corner of his room. He quickly reached for the switch of the bedside lamp, which immediately lit up the entire room.

"Robert Gadling." Dream said, stepping closer to the bed.

'Jesus Christ!" Hob shouted at the sight of his friend.

"I'd prefer Dream, if you please"

Did his perpetually uptight friend with a stick up his ass just make a joke? Hob must have kept dreaming. He glanced at the clock again, only a minute off. He tried to pinch himself, but that didn't work either.

"I assure you that you are awake." said the man, seeing Hob's attempts.

"Okay, so what are you doing here?" he asked confused.

"I've come to show you how real I am, Robert," he replied, sitting down at the edge of the bed.

"What?" He was even more confused.

"You denied my authenticity in your dream, so I came to the waking world to make you believe me," replied Dream.

"Are you telling me that all those dreams with you were the real you?" he asked as his friend nodded. "but how?"

" Well, my name is Dream Of The Endless, I am the lord of dreams and nightmares. "

Suddenly everything in Hob's head started to make sense. It wasn't a debilitating longing for a friend he'd hoped to meet sooner than usual. It was their early reunion, that he so craved. He laughed, realizing how stupid he was. Dream cocked his head, looking questioningly at the laughing Hob. He looked a bit like a curious cat which amused the man even more.

"You know, I think you forgot to mention your profession," he managed between laughs. Oh, they were both idiots.

"I thought you'd know," Dream replied. "I could also introduce myself as another of my names - Morpheus, maybe then it would be easier for you to understand."

"Yes, I think that then I would surely understand that you are the lord of dreams."

"Do you still want to continue our dates?" asked the prince of dreams, a note of hope in his voice.

Hob tried to ignore that his insides just did a somersault at the word Dates.

“Of course." he smiled. "provided that we also meet in my area."

"So in the waking world?" he made sure, as Hob nodded his head. "Agree."

"And now," Hob began. "Now that you're here, would you like some tea?"

"Don't you have to get up in the morning?"

"I'll take the day off. Sometimes you can" - he winked at him, getting out of bed and leading his friend to the kitchen. "You still have a lot to explain to me."

So they ended up sitting in the kitchen with cups of tea. Hob kept asking about places from his dreams, and Dream was telling him about his kingdom and his subjects that Hob definitely had to meet soon. He also told him more about himself, his family, the laws of his world, and a girl named Rose. Gadling watched with a big smile as his friend opened up to him. The bottom of their cups was already visible when Morpheus once again hinted at their misunderstanding that had been going on for many weeks.

"I'm really sorry I didn't tell you that our dreaming encounters weren't a figment of your imagination," Dream said, pushing the empty vessel away from him.

"It's nothing, I'm just an idiot," Hob laughed.

“You shouldn't talk about yourself that way, Hob. " The prince of stories replied, turning his head again in the curious cat fashion, which made Robert laugh hard again.

"oh dream, I could kiss you right now," he said before he thought about his words. His eyes widened and he quickly covered his mouth, realizing what he had done. He was about to beg for an apology and to not run dramatically out of his apartment when the dream lord surprised him once again.

"So do it."

"What? "He stared blankly at the man in front of him, analyzing their situation.

“Kiss me, Robert Gadling." Dream moved closer.

He didn't need to be told twice, he moved forward connecting their lips. It was everything he had dreamed of for a long time, and more. The kiss was gentle, just a gentle brush of his lips, which he deepened a bit as he ran his hand through his black hair. They broke apart after a moment, Hob cursing his human need to breathe. He looked at his partner, who was now smiling slightly. If this was still a dream, he never wanted to wake up again. He was about to lean in for another kiss when an idea popped into his head.

"Wait, so all those meetings you..." He didn't even have to formulate a full sentence, Dream knew what he meant. He nodded affirmatively, slipping his slender fingers into the immortal's hair.

Hob was more than happy to see his stranger at the New Inn, and when he finally admitted they were friends, Hob swore he was the happiest man on earth. Only his strong will kept him from jumping and screaming like a little girl. The man, his friend, finally told him his name - Dream Of The Endless. Hob wasn't sure exactly what that meant or who he was, but one day he would find out. They have eternity ahead of them.

Dream also mentioned about his sister, who apparently convinced him to come here today, and, as it turns out, she is bloody Death herself, and she is mainly responsible for Hob's condition. He had gotten more information out than he had in six hundred years, and he was damn proud of himself

The rest of thier meeting went pretty much like any other. Except Dream was asking questions and discussing topics Hob was talking about. He seemed genuinely interested as immortal talked about the past century, his path to becoming a history professor at the local university, and founding the New Inn in case His Stranger reappeared in another few decades. He could have sworn that his interlocutor's eyes lit up as he told him about the pub that had basically been built for him. Gadling really tried not to blush as he thought about it.

The sun had long since set by the time they went outside, Hob didn't want to say goodbye, but he had go to job the next day and still had a lot of work to do today.

"You know." He plucked up his courage. He hoped he wouldn't screw things up again. "If I've finally convinced you that we're friends, maybe we could see each other more than once a century?".

Dream only stared at him for a moment, as if he was thinking. Then he half-smiled, nodded, and set off in a direction known only to him.

Hob watched him go, not knowing what to do next. He sighed heavily, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

"Yeah, I have no idea how to construe that." he whispered to himself.

They need to work on communication in subsequent meetings. Whenever that happens.

Every day for the next three weeks, he hoped his friend would reappear. When he sat in the pub, or even gave a lecture, he kept imagining that the brunette would walk through the door at that moment. His heart leapt every time he saw someone with a tangle of dark hair or a black coat. It was naive of him, but despite his old age he couldn't shake it off.

Usually after their meetings, Hob just went on with his life, enjoying every moment, waiting to see him again. Dream was the only certainty in his long, long life, and it would be a lie to say that he didn't think about him between his visits. But never that much. Now he felt a longing that pierced through him. The desire to meet his mysterious companion again penetrated his heart, he could have sworn he even felt in his bones.

He was a fool to think that Dream would want to see him more often. Now he have to bear the consequences of his naive dreams and endure the painful hope swirling within him. It was selfish of him not to realize that Dream, whoever he was, had his jobs and his responsibilities, couldn't be at his beck and call. Once in a hundred years is all he has and they won't screw it up again.

Exactly three weeks and one day after Dream's last visit (not that anyone counted, certainly not Hob) he found himself in the clearing. He think he had been here before, but he couldn't remember when. There was not a soul around, only very green grass and many wild flowers. There were no clouds in the sky, and the sun's rays pleasantly caressed his face. He was sitting on a picnic blanket with his oldest friend lying next to him.

"My apologies I didn't visit you sooner, family matters kept me up." He sighed, raising his glass of wine to his lips.

"It's nothing," replied Hob. "I'm glad to see you again."

Dream smiled as he looked away. He reached for a cherry tomato and popped it into his mouth. Hob couldn't look away.

"I didn't think you were eating at all," Hob said to ease tension he felt.

"I don't have to eat," he replied enigmatically, smiling. "But sometimes I do. Especially in good company."

Hob felt like he might blush. Was it flirting? Was the guy who had run away one hundred and thirty-three years ago because he dared call him friend now flirt with him? What’s just happened.

"I'm glad you think of me as a good company." he reciprocated the smile.

The next few hours, they spent chatting, Robert telling him about the last few weeks and the non-existent gangster film his students kept asking him about, to which Dream stated that the script was in his library. Hob could actually believe it, Dream was more than likely a supernatural being, and these seemed to hoard strange and rare items quite often. He once knew a demon who own an original sketch of the Mona Lisa.

“I'll try to visit you a little sooner this time, Hob Gadling.” he said suddenly.

Hob didn't even have time to ask what he meant when the alarm clock woke him from his sleep. It took him a moment to realize where he was. He sat on the bed, covering his face with his hands. He couldn't believe he had just dreamed up the perfect picnic with his friend. Did he really want to see him earlier than their scheduled time that he literally had to make it up. He felt a little embarrassed about it, but at the same time he wanted to go back there, to be with Dream just a little longer. He fell back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling. “I'm fucked.” he whispered.

Fortunately, he had so many lectures that he almost forgot about the dream date with his friend from exhaustion. He managed to get over it; his last days were full of stress, his brain wanted to defend itself, it happens. People constantly have strange dreams. To this day, he remembers how one of his old students often talked about his exceptionally colorful dreams. The one he remembers the most was the one he was in McDonald's on a date with Donald Trump.

Dreams are like that. He found it quite funny that his friend's name was just that. Maybe that was it, Dream was mysterious and hard to understand, just like dreams. Will definitely ask him about the originof this name in the next century.

He didn't have to wait long for another dream with his friend, actually only two nights. This time they were in a restaurant, both the decorations and thier clothes sugessted they're in the interwar period. One of Hob's favorite periods. This time he realized it was a dream early, but he decided to go ahead with it, if that was his subconscious's way of softening his disappointment, then fine. He won't dream about the same for several decades, until the next meeting with the real version of Dream, everything will be normal.

They were eating prawns and Hob wasn't sure how it worked or if it was even possible, but it was the best meal he'd had in a long time. It seemed quite nice, he could lose himself in it for a while. Relief from the stress of the real world. They talked, drank, and Dream gave him one of his smiles again when Hob told him a joke. Were it not for the fact that it was only a projection of his imagination, Hob would have considered it a great success.

In the morning, however, he had a sort of moral hangover. How would his friend react to the news that he dreams of literal dates with him? Maybe Dream was the only person who knew his biggest secret, but he had other friends too, he wasn't that lonely. He felt a little pathetic about it, but he couldn't convince his own subconscious to stop. It's okay, it's only intermittent and it will pass soon. Hopefully.

He's had a rough week; luckily, he did not have dreams about his oldest companion. The semester was about to end, many students were now remembering their overdue work from a few months ago, wanting to improve their grades, and suddenly Robert has twice as many responsibilities. When on Saturday night, after checking several dozen essays, three presentations, and answering a couple e-mails, he finally gets to drink a glass of wine, he doesn't even finish it. He puts his half-empty liquor on the nightstand, hoping he can sip on it while he lies and reads a book, but his body is almost melting into the bed. He involuntarily turns around, covering his shoulders with the duvet, letting his tiredness win.

Dream's body was covered with a black velvet dress that sometimes seemed to sparkle with something that looked like a small galaxy. Hob couldn't take his eyes off him. He was dressed in a dark emerald suit with silver accents, looking like something he had worn in the distant past. He wore a long cloak that fluttered as they danced together to the most beautiful music he had ever heard. Robert led the way, they turned like magic, the only ones in a huge ballroom where anyone he had visited before could hide. The obsidian tiles on the floor seemed to shimmer, reflecting the starry sky stretching across the ceiling. All this might have taken your breath away, but to Hob the most beautiful thing was the man in his arms. He had to admit that his subconscious had worked hard.

“You've had a rough week, Hob. Dream said.

Hob sighed, nodding affirmatively.

"but I am glad that I can now indulge myself in dreamland." he replied smiling.

The dark haired man nodded, giving the man one of his mysterious smiles as they danced around the great hall. It felt like they were both floating in the air, ignoring everything around them. He had no idea how long it lasted, maybe forever. The whole dream consisted of just the two of them on the dance floor, accompanied by occasional conversations. Just before Gadling's inexorable wake-up call, Dream told him that he would visit him again soon.

He opened his eyes and lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. Memories of the wonderful dream he had experienced were still swirling in his mind. It's amazing how wonderful images of the innermost desires the human brain can produce. In almost seven hundred years of his life, he had never delved into any of the sciences that dealt with such matters, and he thought that sometime in the future, in one of his next lifetimes, he would definitely have to be interested in it.

It took him a long time to get out of bed this time, he didn't have to go to work, so he didn't feel like moving. He just wanted to lie there and reminisce about that magical place in his head and the beauty of his dearest friend. Would really like to see him again in real life. He secretly wishes he was here with him right now, his head resting on his chest so he could run his hand over his perfect alabaster skin. Then he would get up, throwing his friend on the pillows, to replace his hand with lips that kissed every inch of his body... He realized in which direction his thoughts were galloping and quickly cut them off, finally getting out of bed. The clock showed that it was almost one pm, and Hob decided it was time to drink his "morning" coffee and eat his first meal. No matter how hard he tried, for the next few days he couldn't stop thinking about this amazing man.

- Everything's all right? asked the smiling, short blonde.

Maya Wagner. his good friend, who teaches English at the same university.

"Yes, yes," replied Hob, confused, suddenly snapped out of his thoughts.

- For sure? You've been walking around with your head in the clouds lately, that's not like you.

"You think so," he replies, waving his hand dismissively. - Im alright.

"Ah, yes, sure," she laughed, "and instead of going into the lecture hall, you decided to go on for some specific reason, or just like that?"

Hob turned around, noticing that he had indeed missed his own hall.

"Oh shit." he whispered, turning back to the woman. "You got me, I've been a little distracted lately."

"Sure, I get it, what's the name of the lucky girl you're thinking of?"

"Dre- What? " he stopped suddenly.

“Oh please, Robbie, I've known you long enough." She smiled wider. "It must be someone special."

"Yes, maybe," he mumbled. "but it's just an old friend who decided to show up after years, it's unlikely that it will come to anything."

Maya pats him on the shoulder.

"You're hard to resist, Robert. If they does, they’re a fool."

Hob watched her walk away for a moment, then headed off to his own classroom. He wishes it were as easy as the woman says. Maybe if he knew how to reach the object of his sighs sooner than a century from now.

He considered taking sick leave for the next week, maybe a month. Or maybe he'll just quit his job and spend the next decade sleeping hoping for another dream of a friend. His human body might suffer a little, but probably no more than after his cocaine episode in the early 80s. What people won't do for a bit of fun, right? It was the same as those dreams, he wanted them to end, but at the same time he couldn't wait for the next one. He was torn. Each imagined meeting could be his last, but they never seemed to end.

There were five of them so far, at least that's what he remembered, a picnic, a restaurant, a ball, a walk around the most beautiful castle he had ever seen, and relaxing in an equally beautiful and breathtaking garden. They seem to come on average once or twice a week. Robert loves them and hates them at the same time. He was afraid to think what his friend would do if he found out that he was dreaming about him from time to time. Damn, in the dream of the unusual garden they were sitting in the shade of a tree, their hands almost touching, and they were so close that it was enough to move only an inch to kiss his friend's lips. It sounded like a good reason for Dream to ask his sister to end Hob's life. Gadling felt like he was going insane. Maybe after all these centuries it's god damn time. Maybe he has to accept the fact that he will go mad because of his stupid infatuation with an unusual stranger met in the 14th century, which suddenly, after so many years, decided to gain strength. Subconsciously, he always knew Dream would be death of him.

Every night he went to bed with excitement and dread where his bloody brain would take him this time.

Well, it was the library. A huge library, even bigger than the British Library, hell, maybe even bigger than the Library of Congress. It had many floors. The shelves stretched far and wide, and Hob couldn't quite tell where they ended. It was incomprehensible to him how his ordinary human brain could literally conjure up something so wonderful.

"Are you okay, Hob Gadling?" his dream version of Dream asked. "You seem sad today."

"It's nothing, I just want to see you again," he said before thinking.

Dream looked at him questioningly.

"You see me now, don't you? Is something wrong with your eyesight?"

“Yes, yes, but I mean the real you, not the dream you." he wondered if he was just waking up a character created in his dream from some kind of matrix? Is it safe at all? What if it suddenly puts him in a coma or something?

"I am the real thing, Hob Gadling." Dream said in a serious tone.

"Well, yes, of course, I don't deny your truthfulness," replied Hob, confused. "But, well, you're, you know, Dream, a dream."

"Indeed, I am a dream." his friend replied. "Hob, do you think I'm just a figment of your imagination?"

"No, well, it's not like that, but" He was not allowed to finish, because his interlocutor interrupted him suddenly.

"This dream is over."

Hob suddenly sat up on the bed. Wonderful, now his dreams are self-aware. He rubbed his eyes with his hands, glancing at watch, which showed a few minutes past one, at least he still had some sleep left. He was about to lie down again when he spotted a dark figure in the corner of his room. He quickly reached for the switch of the bedside lamp, which immediately lit up the entire room.

"Robert Gadling." Dream said, stepping closer to the bed.

'Jesus Christ!" Hob shouted at the sight of his friend.

"I'd prefer Dream, if you please"

Did his perpetually uptight friend with a stick up his ass just make a joke? Hob must have kept dreaming. He glanced at the clock again, only a minute off. He tried to pinch himself, but that didn't work either.

"I assure you that you are awake." said the man, seeing Hob's attempts.

"Okay, so what are you doing here?" he asked confused.

"I've come to show you how real I am, Robert," he replied, sitting down at the edge of the bed.

"What?" He was even more confused.

"You denied my authenticity in your dream, so I came to the waking world to make you believe me," replied Dream.

"Are you telling me that all those dreams with you were the real you?" he asked as his friend nodded. "but how?"

" Well, my name is Dream Of The Endless, I am the lord of dreams and nightmares. "

Suddenly everything in Hob's head started to make sense. It wasn't a debilitating longing for a friend he'd hoped to meet sooner than usual. It was their early reunion, that he so craved. He laughed, realizing how stupid he was. Dream cocked his head, looking questioningly at the laughing Hob. He looked a bit like a curious cat which amused the man even more.

"You know, I think you forgot to mention your profession," he managed between laughs. Oh, they were both idiots.

"I thought you'd know," Dream replied. "I could also introduce myself as another of my names - Morpheus, maybe then it would be easier for you to understand."

"Yes, I think that then I would surely understand that you are the lord of dreams."

"Do you still want to continue our dates?" asked the prince of dreams, a note of hope in his voice.

Hob tried to ignore that his insides just did a somersault at the word Dates.

“Of course." he smiled. "provided that we also meet in my area."

"So in the waking world?" he made sure, as Hob nodded his head. "Agree."

"And now," Hob began. "Now that you're here, would you like some tea?"

"Don't you have to get up in the morning?"

"I'll take the day off. Sometimes you can" - he winked at him, getting out of bed and leading his friend to the kitchen. "You still have a lot to explain to me."

So they ended up sitting in the kitchen with cups of tea. Hob kept asking about places from his dreams, and Dream was telling him about his kingdom and his subjects that Hob definitely had to meet soon. He also told him more about himself, his family, the laws of his world, and a girl named Rose. Gadling watched with a big smile as his friend opened up to him. The bottom of their cups was already visible when Morpheus once again hinted at their misunderstanding that had been going on for many weeks.

"I'm really sorry I didn't tell you that our dreaming encounters weren't a figment of your imagination," Dream said, pushing the empty vessel away from him.

"It's nothing, I'm just an idiot," Hob laughed.

“You shouldn't talk about yourself that way, Hob. " The prince of stories replied, turning his head again in the curious cat fashion, which made Robert laugh hard again.

"oh dream, I could kiss you right now," he said before he thought about his words. His eyes widened and he quickly covered his mouth, realizing what he had done. He was about to beg for an apology and to not run dramatically out of his apartment when the dream lord surprised him once again.

"So do it."

"What? "He stared blankly at the man in front of him, analyzing their situation.

“Kiss me, Robert Gadling." Dream moved closer.

He didn't need to be told twice, he moved forward connecting their lips. It was everything he had dreamed of for a long time, and more. The kiss was gentle, just a gentle brush of his lips, which he deepened a bit as he ran his hand through his black hair. They broke apart after a moment, Hob cursing his human need to breathe. He looked at his partner, who was now smiling slightly. If this was still a dream, he never wanted to wake up again. He was about to lean in for another kiss when an idea popped into his head.

"Wait, so all those meetings you..." He didn't even have to formulate a full sentence, Dream knew what he meant. He nodded affirmatively, slipping his slender fingers into the immortal's hair.

Every person in the world has their own version of its end. Some believe the world will go up in flames, and according to others, the earth will cover ice. They will blame global warming, war, mass extinction, or a super-volcano.

There's Rangarok in Norse mitology - the great battle between gods and giants, while Christianity tells about Second Advent and the return of Christ. How many people, so many ends. Some even claim that it's already happened, that now we all live in hell.

Crowley used to make fun of the last ones. They have no idea what awaits them in hell. But now, sitting alone in a dark room, listening only to the raindrops bouncing off the windows, he started to understand some of the poets. Maybe they were right. Maybe everyone had their own little apocalypse. The demon's world decayed and died the moment Aziraphale left his bookstore, leaving everything behind.

Maybe that's why he didn't notice all the discreet signs at first. He didn't think about it, as he lay on Nina's couch mourning his broken heart. He didn't even know why he ended up there, but those two human women brought him solace in some way.

"Listen, Crowley, I get it, you feel broken and all. But lying here and drinking wine for two weeks is too much even for me."

Nina said one day, when she found him in her apartment again, after returning from work. The demon gave only a tired glance at her, then directed his gaze to the TV that had just been turned on.

The reporter was standing in front of the rubble of the shopping centre, which collapsed due to the earthquake.

Nina changed the channel.

The latest news from the war in the east.

She changed the channel again.

A cyclone in Florida, a drop in temperatures in Detroit, and a fire in Los Angeles.

Another channel change.

St. Mary's Church was attacked during Mass.

Change.

This time, instead of another horrifying news, the screen showed a man claiming to be the Lord's prophet, proclaiming the imminent arrival of the kingdom of heaven.

Nina turned off the TV.

"This world is getting so much worse." She muttered, getting up from the back of the couch. "I feel like this guy might be right. We are nearing the end."

Crowley continued to stare at the extinguished TV screen.

"I don't know if I care what happens to this world anymore." He muttered, more to himself than to her.

The woman sighed, patting the demon on the shoulder, and walked away towards her kitchen. She was starting to worry about him. They might not have known each other for a few thousand years, but she thought they could call themselves friends after all. She knew the redhead wasn't okay, but she had no idea how she could help him. It's hard to find a therapist for a literal demon.

"How is Maggie? How's the café?" He asked casually, more out of politeness than actual curiosity.

"It's fine." She replied, smiling at the mention of the blonde woman. ''You know, you could pop in there? Maybe show Muriel a few things? Teach them a bit about being on earth."

"Nah." He frown at the thought of going back to the book shop. "Gotta go. See ya."

Nina didn't even have time to reply, when she turned to him, she only saw the door closing behind the demon. She shaked her head, worried. She felt a strange, unsettling tension spreading around her. It was as if the air around the world was becoming more morose by the day.

Asked, he wouldn't know the answer, whether he really didn't notice the signs or whether he deliberately ignored them all. He told himself that it was no longer his business, not his war. He was beginning to think that he had never loved just being on earth, that he had loved being here with Aziraphale all along.

He wondered if he could help somehow, protect people, at least those close to him, but it was all tedious and meaningless.

Shax showed up at his doorstep after less than a year of ignoring the increasingly visible omens of the inexorably approaching Parusia.

"Will you let me in?" She asked, tilting her head with confidence painted on her face.

"No." He replied firmly. "What do you want?"

"You've lost, it's over." She crossed her arms, and a kind of satisfaction was now painted on her face. "Personally, I think it's stupid, but I was outvoted. They want you to come back to us. He fought along with us in the great battle."

"Yeah, no." He rolled his eyes behind his glasses.

Her eyebrows furrowed in incomprehension. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, unsure how to convince the demon to join them. Crowley was already about to close the door in front of her face, but she put her foot out, putting it between the door and the frame.

"Don't you understand anything?"

"No, I guess you're the one who doesn't understand." He kicked her foot, trying to push her away from his doorstep.

"You don't think the Up will take you back, do you?" She sneered. "Your beloved angel no longer cares about you. Rumors spread fast, it is said that thanks to Metatron it now runs like clockwork."

Something icy surged through Crowley's veins at the mere mention of his friend (can he still call him that?), his heart began to beat faster, and his hand involuntarily tightened on the doorknob. He clenched his teeth, jerking the door open and slamming it shut, completely ignoring the other demon's foot, which she managed to take at the last moment.

He leaned his back against the door and slid down it to the floor itself. He heard Shax still saying something to him, but her words sounded like she was trying to talk to him while his head was underwater. It was only at that moment, like a speeding train, that the thought struck him that all this was really happening. He had spent the last few months feeling like it was all just a bad dream, but it was true. Aziraphale has abandoned him, he's working with heaven again, the earth is facing imminent disaster, and the angel, his angel, is letting it happen. No. Not only does he allow it, he himself pursues it.

He covered his face with his hands, slowly wiping his face with them, while grabbing his glasses and removing them from his eyes. He stared at them for a moment, and then, in a fit of anger, hurled them in front of him, not caring about the possible damage. He sat there, looking into the distance, and then, completely disregarding whether his former co-worker was still standing outside the door, he began to cry. His quiet cry quickly turned into a helpless sob that lasted until dawn. Sunrise found him lying helplessly on the ground, with his cheeks still wet.

That same day, a little before noon, he got into his Bentley. He was wearing slightly crooked glasses, completely unphased by any demonic miracle that could fix them. Driven by a sudden surge of something he couldn't name himself, he drove straight to Tadfield.

He spent several hours talking to Anathema, trying to find any solution. Then he begged Adam to at least try to do something, trying to bribe him with candy and "anything a kid your age would want" , but it was still no use. Adam lost his powers a few months after the failed apocalypse. Now he was just an ordinary kid, and Dog was the most ordinary dog.

He spent the next week desperately trying to find a solution. He visited priests, sorcerers, exorcists, minor deities forgotten by all, and even the damn Vatican. It was all for nothing, it was all over. Attempts to get holy water as a last resort, now only for himself, also proved a failure.

Crowley felt like a rodent glued to a trap slowly realizing that the only thing awaiting him was a slow death. He felt like he was locked in a room with no windows or doors, with a fire spreading sluggishly. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't save himself or the earth. He couldn't protect Aziraphale. He had failed everyone and everything, losing a game he didn't even know he was playing. He lay in his bed, wondering how he could have been so stupid to even think he could live up to Her plans.

He just gave up. He went to sleep, hoping never to wake up again, and knowing that he would wake up at a moment when everything he once loved would be completely destroyed.

So he slept for three years.

Most of humanity had already been exterminated, the rest still awaited the same fate. London was now a pile of ash, and it took Crowley a long while to get out of the rubble he once called home. It must be said that the old, expensive car without a single scratch looked ridiculous against the backdrop of the ruins of the big city. He didn't look around, there was nothing to look for. He simply got into the car and drove away, knowing in his heart that this was their last ride.

It didn't take him long to realize the truth. Actually, he already felt it when he woke up, but there was still a tiny spark of treacherous hope smoldering in him. However, he finally had to face it - Nina and Maggie were dead. So were Adam and his parents, Anathema, or Mrs. Sandwitch. Each of them was already dead.

When he went Down, Hell was almost empty. Only a few survivors, cowardly hiding from their inevitable fate. Among them, of course, was Shax. She looked different, tired and battered, and one of her eyes was now covered by a black band.

She didn't say anything when she noticed him, and Crowley just looked at her with a "Didn't I tell you?" expression on his face. While he knew this was how it would end, he didn't know it would only take four years. Seven would have been more their style, but everything pointed to the finale being one step away.

He didn't bother to help Shax or the other demons, he just left and returned to earth. Saving anything didn't matter much anymore, the Up would come for them sooner or later anyway, and Crowley had no desire to spend his last moments in Hell. Driven by some strange feeling, maybe nostalgia, maybe intuition, he set off for the Middle East. It was there that this whole misunderstanding called his life began. Well, life in general began there.

At least he hoped it was there, it had been a while and a lot had changed.

When he reached the place where the gates of Eden stood just six thousand years ago, he felt a tightening in his stomach. The whole place was nothing but a burned-out area; it was hard to tell if a city had stood here before, or if it had been a forest, because now the whole land looked like an endless desert of ash and rubble. Particles floated in the air along with the smell of burning and decay making it difficult for any living being to breathe here. He was looking around, unsure of what exactly he was looking for, when he felt a presence behind him. It was familiar, but at the same time so foreign and ominous. He turned around, unsure of what he would see.

He looked different.

His always white curly hair was now straight and slicked down, with a parting slightly to the left, and his beige coat and bow tie had been replaced by a gray suit with a white turtleneck. His once good blue eyes now glowed purple, and his face, which had always seemed kind and friendly, now had a serious expression showing no emotion. In his hand he wielded a sword, it was huge and shiny, but not flaming like the previous one.

"What- what happened?" The demon stammered, dazed. "Aziraphale, what have you done?"

He wanted to approach him, catch his face, shake his shoulders and convince him that it's not over, that he can still let go, that they can still fix this. The angel extended his blade toward him as soon as he took a step.

"I've done what was right." He replied dryly.

"What was right? Can you hear yourself?" He burst out. "Killing these people was right?"

"They were saved."

"No, they were fucking killed! Do you know how many of them will be saved? None, because none of the eight billion people qualify for your salvation program. They will be condemned all eternity. They will- they will- I don't know, actually you slaughtered all hell, I don't know where these souls will go."

Aziraphale did not respond, he continued to look at the demon with a stoic face and a sword blade pointed in his direction. Crowley took off his glasses and threw them into the ashes. No need to cover his eyes anymore anyway.

"Angel, what did they do to you?"

"They fixed me." He replied, coming closer. "They fixed what you corrupted."

These words pierced Crowley's heart. The rest of the will to fight that was still in him evaporated. He fell to his knees, looking at his former friend like a deer into a headlight, wordlessly conveying his surrender.

A downpour began to fall from the sky, mixing with the ash to form a pitch-black mud that began to soak through the redhead's pants. They were both soaked now, but they still stood there motionless, just looking at each other. The rain had made the angel's hair curl again, and Crowley was more than happy that it would be just like that when he looked at the love of his life for the last time.

Minutes passed, maybe hours, neither of them knew. The angel seemed to hesitate, if he was conducting some kind of internal battle with himself, but finally he came closer and thrust his sword directly at Crowley. Pain pierced his entire body, and his eyes involuntarily wanted to close, but he held them back, still staring at the angel's face. He felt himself weakening and very slowly the life escaping from him.

Aziraphale's hair was now falling on his forehead in slightly twisted pods, and rain dripped from the ends, flooding his face, he could cry now and no one would notice. Crowley couldn't resist, he was dying anyway, he embraced his best friend's cheek and gently stroked it with his thumb.

"Look at you, you're gorgeous." He whispered, no longer able to keep his eyes open.

The last thing he saw were Aziraphale's eyes, which again took on the gorgeous blue color they always had.

"Crowley..?" he heard a whisper near his ear and felt someone embrace him, clenching their fists on his jacket. "Crowley..."

He passed away in the arms of his best friend, and that was all that mattered. He could not imagine a better end.

The demon no longer heard the angel's sobs and apologies. He didn't hear the angel's tearful scream or see his tears. He didn't know that a moment after his death, the angel would return to Heaven to dispatch Metatron with the exact same sword with which he had killed his beloved, and then be exterminated with it himself.

But for a split second, before his eyes closed for good, in the expression on his Angel's face, he saw that his love was reciprocated.

Aziraphale was somewhat right. Nothing lasts forever. Their story had to end, too; so did this world.

It was only the end.

You came home by a cab over half an hour ago. You were about to strip down and jump into the shower when the sound of the doorbell ringing through your house stopped you.

You frowned, wondering who the hell would come to visit so late on a Saturday. Putting your shirt back on, you grabbed your pepper spray and walked over to the door, opening it hesitantly.

Your boyfriend stood on the other side, looking a little confused, and a bit apologetic.

You sighed, placing your papper spray on the table by the door.

"I hope you came to apologize, and not scold me for leaving your stupid police party without a word." You crossed your arms over your chest, stepping back a bit to let him in. You tried to hide your hurt behind a curtain of anger.

"What exactly do I have to apologize for?" He frowned, crossing the threshold of your apartment, his gaze never leaving yours. "I came to ask what happened. You left without a word. I was worried."

"Really?" You snorted, feeling a pang of regret in your heart. "You didn't care about me before. You seemed to be having a great time with- who is she exactly? A secretary?"

"An intern." He corrected you. "Come on. I only talked to her for fifteen minutes."

"Almost an hour." Now it was your turn to correct him.

"What? No..." He hesitated, his brow furrowing even more. You yourself were surprised that it was possible. "I'm sure it didn't take that long..."

You sighed, having had enough of this small talk; you felt tears gathering in your eyes and looked away from him. You were angry, hurt and a bit humiliated that Alec had left you alone to talk to some girl who could be his daughter.

"You could have at least noticed that I left a little sooner." You mumbled and headed to the kitchen, leaving him in the hallway. You heard the rustle of shoes being taken off, followed by quiet footsteps heading your way. One of the things you loved about Alec was that even on the rare occasions when you argued, he tried not to do things that annoyed you, like walking into the house with his shoes on.

You turned to him and immediately regretted it when you saw his beaten puppy™ expression; the one that always made your heart melt and any hostility towards him evaporate.

"I realized as soon as you left. I couldn't catch up with you." He explained, stepping closer and grabbing your hand. "I couldn't drive or call a cab because my phone is in your purse, so I walked."

"Are you kidding? It's two and a half kilometres." Now you felt bad for being jealous and leaving without a word. You hung your head, biting the inside of your cheek. "I'm sorry." You mumbled quietly, looking at your feet. "I forgot I had your phone in my purse. And I'm sorry for leaving you."

You didn't get a verbal response from Alec, he lifted your intertwined hands and placed a soft kiss on your palm. His other hand grabbed your chin and lifted your head to look at him.

"I'm the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have let Janet drag me away from you. She doesn't stop chattering when she's drunk." He explained, both of his hands now on your hips. "You have to know that I'm not interested in her in any way. You're the only one who matters to me."

Your heart started beating faster. Despite a year and a half of being together, Hardy managed to make you feel the same way you did when you first met. All your life, you could never understand people who lost their minds while in love until you met that grumpy detective. Those calm brown eyes and slightly messy hair had already found a permanent home in your heart.

"I think we had a little communication problem today," you admitted, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing his lips softly. "It'll never happen again. Next time, I'll just hit you."

"Alright, I'd like to see that," he replied, his lips forming a small smile. You loved it when he did that; smiling. Before you started dating, it wasn't something you saw often, but now, with you, there were times when he would smile all the time.

"I think I should make it up to you somehow," you whispered into his ear and lightly nibbled on it. You smiled in satisfaction, feeling a shiver run through the detective's body.

Crowley was powerless. He couldn't do anything but watch as his best friend, the love of his life slowly walks away.

He knew it was wrong, that it would probably result in another apocalypse, which this time, could not be prevented. However, he couldn't do much.

The elevator doors closed behind them, they were gone, there was nothing to wait for, but his legs refused to move. He should have gotten into his car, driven as far away from Soho as possible and never even thought about this place again, but instead he just stood there, unable to do anything, unable to move or even breath.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nina's sympathetic expression as she watched him from behind the café counter, as if she had guessed what had happened. She didn't really know shit, Crowley thought. She doesn't know what it's like to love for hundreds, no, thousands of damn years.

The sudden loud bang jolted him and the people in the street. Everyone looked around in terror as a series of crashes, bangs, and explosions echoed around them. Crowley removed his glasses, noticing that the source of the sound seemed to be coming from above, and that the sky was becoming more cloudy by the moment, as if it were suddenly about to rain. Had they really started the apocalypse already? Or were they hurting Aziraphale now? Maybe this was his way of trying to call for help? People in the street began to run in panic as the ground shook, and flashes of light began to appear in the clouds.

The demon watched the sky with a frown, completely ignoring the commotion going on around him. The air was stifling and Crowley could smell the faint scent of ozone and geosmin, as if a storm was about to break out. He felt an unpleasant knot in his stomach, knowing full well that something was wrong and that he should run after his angel, do something, and stop whatever was happening now.

There was another loud bang, accompanied by a flash of light from above, and suddenly everything went quiet. The dark clouds, as quickly as they had appeared, began to give way to a clear blue sky, and the air became fresh again. Confused passersby looked around again, this time surprised by the sudden cessation of the terrifying anomaly. An old man shouted that this was the heralding of the apocalypse, and Crowley feared he would have to agree with him.

He ran towards the elevator, not caring how Metatron and the rest of those heavenly assholes would react when he appeared there. His shaking hand reached for the button, but before he could press it, he heard the unmistakable ping indicating that someone had just descended to the ground. His heart was beating like crazy, and the doors were opening unbearably slowly as he waited with wide eyes for what he was about to see. Would it be just an empty, yet ruined elevator? What if he saw the body of his friend, or a retinue of an angelic army?

"A- Ang- Aziraphale?" He had barely managed to get it out of his mouth when he saw the angel, standing there as if nothing had happened; brushing the dust off his cloak with a blissful smile on his lips.

"I'm glad you waited for me, my dear," Aziraphale said calmly.

"What are you - What happened - It got dark, and there were these flashes and bang bang," Crowley stuttered, gesticulating wildly with his hands.

"I blw them up." He replied calmly, as if he were talking about the weather, or a book he had recently read.

"You blew them up?!"

The angel nodded, looking incredibly pleased with himself.

"You blew them up?" The redhead repeated, incredulous at the grotesqueness of their current situation. "What? How?!"

"Well, with a bomb, of course. Several, actually. And grenades." He explained. "That was the plan all along, that's why I wanted to take you with me."

Crowley sighed, pacing next to his friend, who had apparently now decided to become an unabomber. He held his head, unable to believe all this, now having his own little nervous breakdown. He crouched down, letting out a groan, trying to cope with the information. "Where did you even get that idea?" He looked at the white-haired angel.

"First of all - Metatron threatened me, and more importantly, he threatened you." He shrugged. "There was no other way to stop him."

"So you just went there and killed everyone?!" He stood up, almost jumping to look at his friend more closely.

"Oh, love, don't be stupid." He cooed. "Not everyone, just a few. Lesser angels will still be needed to rebuild a new, better Heaven."

Crowley's legs almost buckled at the words the angel called him, while he stared at him blankly, as if the angel had begun speaking to him in Enochian.

"Where did you get the bombs? Ones that can kill angels?" he mumbled quietly, processing everything in his head.

"From Gabriel." He replied.

"Where did he get that?!"

Aziraphale shrugged, still wearing that blissful smile.

Crowley only moaned quiet "mhm". He continued to look at the angel, speechless, his mouth agape in silent shock.

"Where did we end?" The angel said suddenly. "Ah, yes, I remember now." He grabbed the demon by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him closer, connecting their lips in a passionate kiss, trying to express the millennia of hidden love in it. Crowley was shocked, but he did not stay in debt, after a moment returning the tenderness, pulling the other even closer, not wanting to let him go ever again. Aziraphale's hand sank into the red locks, and his tongue slipped between Crowley's lips, deepening the kiss.