Crowley had felt the sensation of his body going into shock before, but nothing compared to the feeling that suddenly overtook him. A stack of dilapidated books was propped in his arms, which he nearly dropped when the snowy white locks of a familiar being caught his attention.

There had been the ringing of a bell. That had been the first sign of suspicion. It was the bell that hung above the shop's door, which Crowley was sure had been locked. In fact, he was sure it had not been unlocked in months. He was about to tell whoever it was to "Get out; we're closed. Didn't you read the sign?" but had been too stunned to speak when the intruder revealed themself.

And by the expression on his face, Aziraphale was just as surprised to see Crowley. A long, uncomfortable silence hung around them. They each stared at each other, unsure of what to say. The last time the pair had been in the bookshop together, they were standing in nearly the same place. Nearly, except that Crowley stood where Aziraphale had been standing that day, and Aziraphale stood where Crowley had been. They were suddenly very aware of this fact, which made the silence all the more deafening.

It was Aziraphale who finally broke the silence. "I wasn't expecting to see you here."

"I could say the same to you," Crowley replied in a less welcoming tone. He dropped the books he'd been holding onto an already cluttered desk.

"Well, uh," Aziraphale sputtered, "it is my bookshop."

"Indeed, it is," Crowley purred. "Do you," he continued, lolling his arms, "want me to leave?"

Aziraphale's eyes were locked onto the cold expression that made a home Crowley's face.

"Perhaps you shouldn't." Aziraphale felt the weight of the last three months barreling down on him. He knew that Crowley had every right to be upset with him. Still, he had hope that he would somehow manage to make things right between them again. "Have you been here since..." Aziraphale began, then trailed off as he lost the rest of his sentence somewhere in shame. "You've just been here this whole time?"

"I er, well," Crowley stumbled over his words. "Not because I wanted to," he clarified, "but you were gone, and Muriel's incompetent, though I know they can't help it."

'You were gone' were the only words that Aziraphale seemed to digest. In his absence, Crowley had stayed. Whether it was because he had hoped the angel would return or because he knew he wouldn't was uncertain. A mystery to perhaps both of them.

"That's very -" Kind of you, Aziraphale thought, but he didn't say it. He wasn't sure Crowley would have wanted to hear it.

"Shut up," Crowley sneered, as if he had somehow heard it anyway. Then there was silence again. They both stood feeling rather helpless. There was so much each of them wanted to say, but neither knew where to begin. So many emotions wrestled their brains, and it was becoming too much for either one to handle. "So," Crowley started, "are you going to say something, or should I?"

Aziraphale wet his lips nervously. There was so much he wanted to say. So much he needed to confess. He could have filled a hundred books and still would not have emptied his brain of every thought that festered in it. The problem was that those thoughts were unable to escape. Aziraphale had locked that door a long time ago and had misplaced the key.

All he could manage to blurt out in that moment was: "It's good to see you."

Crowley was unimpressed by this and bellowed back: "Why are you here?"

Why was Aziraphale there? A great question.

"Oh, uhm," he stammered as he hurried to gather an acceptable answer. "Well, I... thought I'd pop in for a visit."

"A visit?" Crowley repeated. His voice was laced in the somber tone of disappointment. "Will you be here long?"

"Few days, perhaps," Aziraphale answered. "I figured Muriel could use some company, although it looks as if they've had plenty."

"Yeah, well. Someone decided to go off and desert us both," he sassed. "They're in the back, by the way, making coffee."

"Ah. I see." Aziraphale fidgeted anxiously. "The two of you are getting along then?"

"Yeah. Quite nicely, in fact," Crowley boasted. The idea had not struck him till just then, but he wondered if he could use his new companionship with Muriel to elicit some jealousy from Aziraphale. The only downside to this was that he would have to pretend he actually liked Muriel for it to work. "It's been a change of pace to have someone around who actually gives a damn."

Aziraphale resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "You're being childish."

"Oh?" Crowely's face curled into a grimace. "Please, forgive me," he growled maliciously.

The tension in the room thickened. Aziraphale, growing rather impatient, scowled. "It is something I'm rather good at," he fumed, "Unlike yourself."

Crowley gave a look of bemusement. "You say that like you ought to be forgiven," he hissed, "which, you ought not be."

"I still don't understand why you're so offended -"

"Don't understand?" Crowley fumed back, "You abandoned everything we built together!" His voice was caked in malice. The embers in his gut began to flame. "As if it meant nothing to you!"

Aziraphale huffed defensively. "It meant everything," he cried. "I thought..." his voice trailed off as he attempted to gather his words. "Well, I thought you would actually want to come with me."

"You should have known better! I mean, c'mon! After everything we've been through, why would you have thought I'd want that?"

"I was being overly optimistic, apparently."

"Obviously."

"Well, excuse my ignorance," Aziraphale pouted angrily, "I was under the impression you didn't exactly enjoy being a demon."

"I'd have enjoyed being an angel again even less!"

"Oh, silly me! I must not have understood you correctly when you told me you'd never really meant to fall!" Aziraphale barked.

Crowley's lips parted, and a sound emitted from his throat, but no words were formed. He starred in disbelief and became further frustrated that Aziraphale had the nerve to leave him speechless. But, as much as it pained the demon to admit it, the angel had a point. A tiny, miniscule, crumb of a point. On a night that he and Aziraphale were deep into their cups of wine, he had made the small confession. He hadn't expected Aziraphale to have even remembered it, neither more take it to heart.

"How silly I was," Aziraphale continued, full of spiteful sarcasm, "to want to change that for you. How irresponsible of me," his voice was increasing in not only volume, but despair, "to offer you a second chance."

Crowley blinked, still dumbfounded as his lips moved, but no noise was made.

"You were a terrible demon," Aziraphale went on, "Awful, really. Didn't even know how to use a firearm."

"Angel -"

"There had been a time, which I remember," Aziraphale rambled, "when you were an extraordinary angel. I wanted to give you a chance to be that again." His voice weakened. It trembled, and it was suddenly full of sadness, but also admiration. "I mean, you love animals and plants and all the things a demon shouldn't. You love the world," Aziraphale wept, "and you love protecting it. Was I really so selfish in offering a reality where that love would be welcome?"

Crowley was still insufferably at a loss for words. His lips hung like useless tools. He starred at Aziraphale in disbelief as he tried digesting those bittersweet, illuminating words.

"Angel, I didn't -"

"Coffee's done!"

A guttural sound of annoyance bound from Crowley's throat. He turned around to find Muriel happily trotting towards him. Muriel's eyes found Aziraphale, and their smile faded.

"Not now," Crowley griped. "We're having a moment."

"Oh," Muriel said bashfully, "Of course."

"We can pick up on it later, I'm sure," Aziraphale interjected. "How lovely it is to see you," he directed at Muriel.

Crowley made a noise that indicated his frustration followed by a look of irritation. He sauntered off towards the back room in his usual mannerism.

Muriel shot Aziraphale a look of concern, then spoke. "Please don't be mad." It sounded more like a question.

Aziraphale forced a smile. "My dear, why ever would I be mad?"

Muriel shrugged awkwardly, still holding two cups of coffee in their hands. "Because I let the demon Crowley into your bookshop that I was meant to look after?"

"Oh, him?" Aziraphale asked innocently. "I'm not concerned with him, as long as he hasn't inconvenienced you in any way."

"Not at all!" beamed Muriel. "Though he is grumpy most of the time. Course, he is a demon. But he knows a lot about Earth stuff, which is really helpful."

"I'm sure it is," Aziraphale said, his eyes glancing at the door to the back room that had been left cracked open. "Will you excuse me a moment?"

"Coffee?" Muriel asked, offering one of the steaming cups to him.

He graciously accepted. "Good idea."

Aziraphale made his way to the room where he found Crowley lounging in an armchair. "I've brought you something," he chirped.

Crowley glanced over at him, frowning. "I think I'd rather have alcohol."

Aziraphale planted himself in the armchair next to Crowley and held out the steaming cup.

"I'm still angry with," Crowley stated calmly as he took the coffee. "I mean, why'd you have to go 'n' screw everything up? We had a good life, you know that."

Aziraphale sighed, shaking his head. "I just get so excited sometimes, you know." There was a moment of silence, and then Aziraphale continued. "The idea of getting to rebuild Heaven. Together. It was thrilling."

"Psh."

"Well, it was."

"It isn't still?"

"I wouldn't say that."

Crowley grimaced and breathed a deep exhale. "You're goin' back, aren't you?"

"I'm afraid I must," Aziraphale answered gloomily.

"You think you must."

"Well, I don't think handing in my resignation would go over so well at the moment."

"Big plans upstairs?"

"Not necessarily," Aziraphale sighed. "It's been a rather uninteresting so far."

Crowley let the faintest shadow of a smirk grace his lips. "I thought you were planning to, oh what was it again?" he mocked. "Make a difference?"

Aziraphale scowled. "I was much more motivated when I thought I might have some help."

"Finding it isn't all you thought it would be cracked up to be?"

"Not exactly," Aziraphale said bashfully. "Of course, there are things meant to be happening, but..."

"But?"

"Well, I don't want to do them."

"And why is that?"

"Why are you suddenly so interested?"

"Can't you just let me enjoy the fact that you're a little bit miserable?"

"I'm not miserable. I'm just...well, I'm not miserable."

"Oh, come off it," Crowley purred, "It's awful up there, and you know it."

Aziraphale glanced wearily at Crowley. He hesitated. "It's Heaven. Nothing awful about it."

"You're insufferable."

"Because I refuse to commit blasphemy?"

"Right," Crowley sneered, "Forgot. Mr. Holier-Than-Thou Supreme Archangel Aziraphale the Great can't speak ill of those who recently tried to cast him into Hell Fire and erase his name from The Book of Life."

"Exactly."

Crowley groaned as if he had a headache. "I can't stand you."

"You don't mean that."

Crowley looked at him in annoyance but didn't argue.

"You could," Aziraphale began cautiously, "still come with me."

Another groan slithered from the demon. "I swear, if you ever ask me that again, I'm going to start burning books."

"Would it really be so awful? We'd be together."

"We were together. We were happy, too. Or at least I was."

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale soothed. "I was happy. I just... Well, I guess I didn't realize how good we really had it until it was gone."

"Did it really take you all of three months to realize that?"

Aziraphale looked at Crowley with piercing eyes that longed for him. "I felt it the moment I stepped into that lift."

Crowley starred back, his expression softening. "Why didn't you just come back?"

The angel sighed depressingly. "I was afraid." His voice was soft, yet solid like stone.

Crowley gave a knowing look. "Of The Metatron."

"Of you."

"Me?!" Crowley scoffed.

"Definitely. I didn't think you would... forgive me."

Crowley tilted his head and considered Aziraphale's response. "Are you saying," he asked inquisitively, "that you knew you made the wrong choice?"

"Not exactly," he answered. "Just that I wasn't sure I'd made the right one."

"And now?"

"It's complicated," Aziraphale muttered. "I acted upon my duty as an angel rather than as your friend. I was trying to do the right thing while also accidentally doing the wrong one."

"Yeah, you have always had a knack for that sort of thing."

Aziraphale rolled his eyes playfully. "Are you still, uhm..." He began cautiously in a pillowy soft tone. "Are you still angry with me?"

Crowley looked at him, considered it, then shrugged. "Haven't decided yet."

"Would perhaps an extreme amount of wine help any?"

Crowley raised an eyebrow and resisted the urge to smile. "It might."

You may be able to expect and update in the next couple of days. I plan to write about 5-10 parts to this. Please leave a comment and a vote. I patiently await your feedback, and I appreciate your support.

If you're actually enjoying this story so far, do me a favor and go follow this artist on Spotify, TikTok, YouTube, whatever. His name is Nick Rich, and he makes phenomenal music. He sounds a bit like Adele with this sort of Sam Smit vibe. I discovered him while writing this and he has been an inspiration during my time of crisis. My current favorite of his is "Bum", but all his songs are really worth listening to. He's still a small artist. He hasn't asked me to do this, I've never even spoke with him. I just really love his music. Please go show him some support.