#wcndxrlnd

"What, you don't like hearing the truth?" Christine practically yelled back. "Your choices put you in this situation! No one made you do anything, you chose to follow him, lose your family and become...this!" She gestured to him.

👀 when did you realize you were in love with Aziraphale? | @wcndxrlnd

Crowley blanched. That would be the question, wouldn't it? The nagging curiosity that was thrown his way. Not something easy to talk his way around with a little clever wordsmithing. Aziraphale. The softest spots always needed prodding with the sharpest stick. At the earliest convenience, it would seem. And Aziraphale was sure one heaven of a soft spot.

Growling in his throat, he tipped his head back a little to glance away, hands finding his hips. He doesn't want to talk about this, but there's a spell on the question. Something meant to loosen his tongue like alcohol did to a drunk. Without the fuzzy feeling or the wobbly balance.

"1941." It came out almost as a snarl as he looked back at the one asking the question. Briefly. Then he's looking away again. Down, up, to the side. Anywhere but at the other. "Walking into a church. Conssssssecrated ground and the like… Ngk– I didn't want him to get disssscorporated. Couldn't ssstand the thought of it–"

He remembered that night. Saving Aziraphale and his damned books. The books had been the real show of affection. Crowley didn't put the same importance on them that the angel did, but knowing how Aziraphale felt, he had rescued them too. Assured their survival so that they would clutter the shelves of Aziraphale's shop decades later. And though it might never mean the same thing to his Angel, Crowley remembered the blisters on his feet afterward. Injury that no amount of miracles would heal.

Headcanon meme! Send me a symbol and I'll tell you...