#skystray

   It’s nearing the end of the Dawning and the gift they’ve custom ordered has only just arrived. Silent curses light the inside of their mouth and are shot towards the delivery frames, though Echo is well aware it isn’t their fault. A simulated sigh slips up and they carry the box into their shop. 

   Luckily, Atlas hasn’t come back just yet. It was more than normal for him to go off for a few days and do his own Guardian thing, whatever that was. They still don’t really know nor want to know just what nonsense he go into beyond the walls. 

   An hour passes and they’ve got the long box wrapped up neat, satisfied and trying to pull some tape off their finger without much success. Some soft grumbling ensues and stops when the shop door opens. Drawing Echo’s attention over they perk up when they see who it is. 

it's been years. hiei doesn't know exactly how many --- he stopped counting. he spent the first year hanging around human world, desperately hoping kurama would come back. then he fell into a deep depression as he gradually came to terms with the fact that lifespans don't work like that, can't work like that. he spent a couple years holed up at mukuro's as she tried to convince him to keep going despite his loss.

after all, it's not like he didn't expect it. not like he didn't expect kurama's human lifespan to run out. not like he couldn't see it coming with every gray hair, every wrinkle.

but it still hurt.

he wasn't entirely sure he wanted to keep going for a while ; a world without kurama is not one worth spending time in. but he knew kurama wouldn't want that. knew that, if there is some sort of demon afterlife ( it hasn't been proven or disproven, to his knowledge ) kurama wouldn't want him there so soon after. knew he couldn't allow himself to disappoint kurama.

but he continued on. he went through the motions of being a person. continued his patrols. ate, slept, and spent time with mukuro when she forced him. spent time with yusuke when he was around. but even their company was lacking.

a life without kurama is an empty life indeed, but one he’s started getting used to. ( getting used to the emptiness, the listlessness, the utter lack of all emotion. ) but this is new. he's never been confronted with a hallucination of his love before. he reaches out with one hand, touches him. runs a hand through the ends of his long, silver hair. not a hallucination, then.

he's really here.

he's really here, and --- the look in his eyes is kurama, his kurama. there's none of the cold detachment of youko that he was so worried would return with suichi's demise. but no. behind the gold is glimmers of green, of humor, of warmth.

and he can't help himself as a single tear runs down his cheek. as a single black gem hits the ground.

     the  wine  glass  in  his  hand  pauses  in  its  trek  to  his  lips ,  and  crowley  looks  over  to  the  angel .  (  not  his  angel ,  no .  regardless  of  how  much  he  sometimes  wishes .  )  it's  unusual  for  aziraphale  to  be  this . . .  maudlin ,  even  considering  the  wine  they're  drinking .  generally  when  their  nightcap  turns  to  a  night  of ,  well ,  just  drinking ,  their  conversations  range  from  the  absurd  to  the  theological .  (  he  hates  when  they  discuss  the  latter ,  if  he's  honest  ---  it's  not  that  he  hates  god ,  not  really ;  he's  just  bitter .  )  he  sniffs ,  then  finishes  taking  his  sip .  ❝  i  don't  see  why  those  are  the  only  two  options ,  angel .  ❞    though  his  words  are  incredibly  blase ,  he  supposes  he  understands  aziraphale's  concern .  

     before  crowley's  fall ,  he  hadn't  really  liked  many  of  the  other  angels  to  begin  with .  never  really  fit  in .  asked  too  many  questions ,  didn't  have  a  stick  up  his  ass .  aziraphale  doesn't  quite  fit  in ,  either ,  crowley  thinks .  if  he  did ,  he  wouldn't  have  agreed  to  the  arrangement .  wouldn't  have  given  him  the  time  of  day ,  regardless  of  how  many  centuries  they'd  spent  dancing  around  each  other .  (  not  that  angels  dance .  )  (  if  aziraphale  did  fit  in ,  he  wouldn't  have  given  humanity  his  sword ,  crowley  thinks .  he's  been  different  as  long  as  they've  known  each  other .  )  

     he  doesn't  care  for  aziraphale  thinking  his  differences  could  possibly  be  wrong ,  but  he  gets  it .  he  understands .  that  palpable  fear ,  especially  since  he's  taken  to  spending  time . . .  fraternizing  with  the  enemy .  so  crowley  doesn't  have  anything  to  say  that  could  possibly  help .  nothing  other  than  assuring  him  that  his  not  fitting  in  upstairs  means  he  fits  in  just  fine  on  earth .  (  fits  in  just  fine  with  crowley .  )  

     but  he  doesn't  think  that  would  make  his  the  angel  feel  better ,  so  he  simply  refills  the  other's  wine  glass ,  and  raises  his  own  up  as  if  to  cheers  him .

     he  understands ,  he  does .  it's  not  that  aziraphale  can't  keep  up  with  him ,  it's  just  that . . .  well .  the  angel  tends  to  prefer  a  slower  pace .  and  that's  something  crowley  has  learned  to  be  okay  with .  (  after  six  thousand  years ,  he  should  hope  he  is .  )  honestly ,  he's  just  glad  that  aziraphale  agreed  to  come  out  with  him  at  all .  so  he  doesn't  mind  that  it's  time  to  leave  the  bar  ---  he  only  really  wanted  to  come  out  for  the  music  and  dancing  anyway ,  and  with  the  only  partner  he's  actually  got  any  interest  in  ready  to  leave . . .  well ,  there's  hardly  any  reason  to  stay ,  now ,  is  there ?  

     so .  he  takes  the  angel's  hand  in  his  (  he's  used  to  it ,  by  now ;  used  to  the  heat  that  threatens  to  burn  him  whenever  they  touch  )  (  it's  lesser ,  now ,  than  it  was  in  the  beginning  ---  though  always ,  always  it's  been  worth  it  )  and  brings  it  up  to  his  lips ,  gently  pressing  a  kiss  against  the  back  of  aziraphale's  hand  as  he  murmurs ,  ❝  alright ,  then .  come  on ,  angel .  let's  go  home .  ❞    plants  and  books  and  cocoa  await  their  return  to  the  cottage  they  share .  crowley  never  would  have  pegged  himself  as  the  type  to  feel  at  home  somewhere  like  it ,  but  he's  come  to  realize  that  home  isn't  a  building ,  or  a  place  of  residence ,  or  anything  of  the  sort .