A/N: I am very sad for some reason, so I'm making the most of it. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: Well, I don't own Good Omens. The letter is adapted from Meatloaf lyrics by Jim Steinman, who I don't own.
Aziraphale merely blinked at the writing. He was stunned. But no – one must see. He gave an angelic smile about him, and the angels dismissed any ideas they had about having felt shock. They all gave angelic smiles.
The writing was undoubtedly Crowley's. The letter, scratched out on a thin piece of bark, trembled in his hands.
It was only two o' clock and temperature was beginning to soar. And all around the city I can see the walking wounded and the living dead. It's never been this hot and I've never been so bored and breathing is just no fun anymore.
Then I remembered you, a summer dream, and the answer to every prayer that I ever said. I saw you like a summer dream and you're the answer to every prayer that I ever said. Come on, now let there be no holding back, you were only killing time, it can kill us right back. Come on, now, it's time to burn up the fuse, you've got nothing to do and I've got less to lose.
Wander down the frozen stairway, taking the stairs only one at a time, follow the sound of my heartbeat, then, at the room on the left, you're at the end of the line. Open the door, lay down on the bed, the sun is just a ball of desire. I'll tip you out of the frying pan and into the fire.
Aziraphale felt a tear come to his eye at the bottom of the page. There was a dirty, black, smudged print of the demon's lips.
Aziraphale put the letter away, inside his robe.
He kept it there for years, taking it out in solitary moments to wonder how Crowley had done it, and what he meant.
Little did he know, that down the frozen path to Hell, down the first alley on the left, Crowley sat alone, awaiting his angel, forever.