Aziraphale was a sybarite, yet none of his indulgences were able to distract from the pit in his stomach. He had been worried about the distance when Crowley went back to the city, and now that distance was multiplying. After the phone call, he had spent several days luxuriating in long baths and good food, trying to find a semblance of the peace he'd had all summer. He would have even settled for the gentleness and comfort he had before he'd met Crowley. Instead, he found himself shaking and fretting at all hours of the day. He hadn't been able to sketch or paint for the lack of dexterity his anxiety was providing.

Crowley had texted him a few times but Aziraphale had responded asking for just a bit of space. The request was laughable; the space between them kept getting bigger. Fairly soon, it would be so vast there wouldn't be a way back over it. The thought sent waves of panic through Aziraphale. Crowley had opened up something inside of him that he'd not known was there. Now the space felt empty. He felt empty.

Aziraphale could hear the words, the ones he cut Crowley off from saying. He knew Crowley cared for him, but the last thing he wanted was to hear them in desperation. Crowley couldn't love him; he wasn't loveable. Not like that, full of romance and lust. Surely, he couldn't inspire the same feelings that he felt for Crowley. The emotion was so big that it pushed at his insides. To even consider that much raw adoration aimed at him was too much. Still, the idea made his mind drift to possibilities.

Oslo wasn't London; he didn't have the same kinds of memories there as he'd had in London. He didn't want to be in a big city long term, but could he spend a year with Crowley there? Then when Crowley moved back to London, they could have their original plan. Would weekends be enough after a year living together? They'd hardly felt like enough now. And they were all but off the table. If Aziraphale stayed, would they see each other once a month? Could that be enough to grow a fledgling romance?

And what if Crowley liked it there, and he wanted to stay? Would committing to a year put him in an impossible choice when it was over? Would he have to stay somewhere he hated to be with someone he … It was far too soon for that, wasn't it? And yet if he was considering changing his whole life for this man, what else could it be? Crowley had almost said those words. Could he? It seemed impossible, a fantasy so unlikely he could have painted the cover for it. He brushed away his thoughts; he was being silly. He was settled; he didn't want to interrupt what he'd begun in Tadfield.

Aziraphale sat down across from Mr. Brown at their table at Nina's later that day. His friend didn't mince the expression on his face or the words that followed.

"You look awful."

"Thank you for that," Aziraphale replied, lifting one haughty eyebrow. He knew his attempt at his usual self had fallen flat when Alistair's eyes softened, and he leaned in.

"What's going on?"

"I trust what I tell you won't end up as gossip fodder for the masses." Aziraphale wasn't really worried about that. The gossip Alistair spouted seemed to be for Aziraphale's own benefit. He'd never heard anything he'd said in confidence echo outside their talks. He was a good friend. And Alistair knew he knew it.

"Don't tell me you are having doubts about Crowley? It's only been a week. Just wait until you see him again this weekend. The first couple weeks are always the hardest."

"And how would you know about that?"

"We are not talking about me right now." Aziraphale usually had a difficult time taking Alistair's serious looks soberly. The moustache added an edge of frivolity to every expression, but something in his eye this time made Aziraphale sit up straighter. "What is going on?"

"Crowley is moving."

"I thought he'd already moved."

"To Oslo."

Aziraphale could see the wheels turning in Alistair's head, searching for another Oslo. He had done the same thing in his head, albeit quicker.

"Norway?" he said finally.

"Yes, his firm wants him there."

Aziraphale sipped his tea, giving his friend the time to think. In truth, he was hoping that Alistair would solve the problem. Figure out a way forward that he hadn't thought of.

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know!" The words came out with more force than he'd meant. The panic rose so quickly these days.

"I'm going to give you some hard truths. Besides you and me, this town has zero other prospects. And while I'm an 'anything once' kind of … not important. You had a man wash up practically on your lap. And he is hot, if not a little skinny. But you could bounce a quarter off that …"

"Yes, yes, I get it. He's very comely." He blushed. Aziraphale was perfectly aware just how tight and round and perfect Crowley's arse was. He'd spent enough time sketching it and even more time with his hands all over it.

"Anyway, you should not let him go. You are clearly crazy for him."

"He has to go. He needs the job."

"I would miss you like crazy. You're my best friend. But you do know you don't need to stay, right? You are at an untethered part of your life. You don't have to work; you can do what you like."

"What if I don't like it?" Aziraphale's fingers fiddled with the handle on his tea cup.

"Then you change it. It sounds like you don't like it now. What does trying hurt?"

Aziraphale didn't answer; he knew exactly what it would hurt. He felt a bit raw on the inside, so he found himself turning the conversation back on his friend.

"When exactly did you do a long distance relationship?"

Aziraphale thought he would encounter reluctance but his friend's eyes lit up. Now that he'd given his support to Aziraphale, he was ready to dish. Alistair pulled out his mobile and with a couple of presses handed it over to him. A handsome man stared back at him from a bed, his naked chest on display and the look in his eyes was desire.

"His name is Tomás, and he is from Spain. We met in London, and his prick is perfect."

Aziraphale laughed and did a quick glance around to see if anyone was listening, and then leaned in, setting the phone down between them. "Tell me everything."

~~0~~

Aziraphale put on a record to fill in the empty spaces of the room. Too much quiet gave him too much time to think. He knew he was his own worst enemy, but he was also very convincing. It took him so much effort to be sure of good things and so very little to be sure of the bad. Isolating himself from Crowley had been a bad idea, but he couldn't always control his flight response. And he'd learned, not just from romantic relationships, that there were only so many times someone would chase after you when you flee. He knew it wasn't fair to always keep running, but he didn't know how to change. But how desperately he wanted to.

Idol hands brought on idle thoughts, so Aziraphale pulled out his sketchbook. His anxiety was still too high to produce quality work, but he could try and funnel some of it into his pencil. He began at first with just shapes. Each shape reminded him of Crowley. Circles turned into Crowley's eyes, wide with delight when Aziraphale said something unexpected. Rectangles became the table they sat at and drank together for hours. Triangles, his legs bent, feet on the bed while Aziraphale ...

"Good lord," Aziraphale said, shaking his head at himself.

The song on the record ended, and the gentle static of a player that had run out of tunes caressed the room. He set down his pencil. He had to figure out what he was going to do. He needed to get on with his hurt or face his fear. Fear that might just lead to more hurt later. How does one make choices like these?

The soft music started from his phone, and the song "Lady in Red" began to play. Aziraphale frowned and shook his head. "Bloody Alistair." He'd changed the song on his phone again. When he picked it up he'd swiped without thinking.

"Really, Brown? A love ballad?" There was silence. "Hello? Alistair?"

"It's me." Crowley's voice was quiet, like he was the one who wasn't expecting the call.

"Crowley."

"I'm sorry. I know you said next week. But I fly out tomorrow and I … wait, why was Alistair sending you love songs?"

Aziraphale laughed, surprising himself with the ease of it. "No, dear. He changed the ringtone for you to 'Lady in Red'. He usually just changes the songs for his own number. I thought it was him calling."

"'Lady in Red'? Not sure if I'm insulted or flattered."

"I'm entirely certain it's meant to take the piss out of me, not you."

"Well, that's all right then."

The silence that followed pulled the ease from him and replaced it with that heavy feeling again.

When Crowley's voice came through the phone, it was quiet but firm. "I don't want to lose you. Tell me how we can make this work?"

"What if I come with you." The words were out before Aziraphale had time to really think about them. They just felt right.

"Really?"

"It's just a year right?"

"The contract is a year. They may want to extend it, but by that time, I should have a bit more pull in where I want to be and what I want to be doing. Will you really come with me?" The hope in Crowley's voice caused a tear to fall from Aziraphale's eye. He was still so scared.

"This is all so fast. I don't know how much it would cost to keep up my place here and rent a place with you in Oslo. There are things that I need to look into. But if you promise me just a year, and you'll look for something else closer if they don't want you to move back. Then I think I'd like to try."

"The firm is getting me a place. A two bedroom, fully furnished. Lots of room, angel, no rent required." He could hear the smile in Crowley's voice.

"It would be like an extended holiday," Aziraphale added, his mind still whirring.

"You could always fly back if you needed a break … from the city or from me. I know we haven't been together long."

"It's equally likely you might kick me out. I've been told I'm very fussy."

"You said I overcooked your eggs! They were perfect," Crowley replied petulantly, bringing up a silly argument they'd had over breakfast a couple weeks ago.

"They were rubbery." He knew he wasn't helping his case, but he had standards. A pause followed by a swallow. "I'm a lot."

"I wish you were here. I would kiss you senseless right now."

"Is that how you plan to win arguments? With kisses? This might work out okay after all."

Crowley laughed, and it made Aziraphale smile. He was still scared. There were a lot of details to work through. It would take him a couple of weeks to get his travel sorted and his things packed. Crowley could change his mind. If he hated it there, he could come home. He wouldn't be beholden to a lease. The barrier to try was low, even though the possibility of it felt monumentous.

"You mean it?" Crowley's voice was vulnerable.

"I need a couple weeks. Let me get sorted here. You settle there, and if you still want me to come, I'll come."

"I'm not going to change my mind, angel." Crowley had a very good poker face, but everything he hid behind a mostly stoic face came out in the tone of his voice. The excitement leaked through the call and filled Aziraphale with his own sense of wonder. "I'll find the best sushi place and crepes; you love crepes."

"I do love … crepes." Picking up speed did not mean he was ready to run yet.

~~0~~

To Aziraphale's horror, Anathema had tried to find a renter for him while he was gone. He had to explain in no uncertain terms that he was not letting anyone in amongst his things to do whatever people do. She had laughed at him but gave up when she could see that he was deadly serious.

"Can you imagine, Crowley? Someone touching my books? Getting crumbs on my Austens? Going through my canvases!"

Crowley's face pulled tight, trying not to laugh as Aziraphale lofted his soliloquy at him through the video call. Aziraphale appreciated his effort. He knew he was silly even when he was being entirely truthful.

"I bought you some sketchpads and the pencils you like. I didn't want to try for paint. There are far too many options. But we have a nice balcony here; you'll be able to sit out and paint in the mornings still, if you like." Crowley had been calling it their place from the moment he'd arrived. Their kitchen, their balcony, their bed. He had given Aziraphale a walk-through his first day there, although his cinematography skills lacked a bit, and it was mostly a bouncy view of doorways and walls. Still, Aziraphale had been charmed.

"So you're still sure then?" It had been twenty-six days since Crowley left. They'd spoken every day; and every day, Aziraphale asked him the same question. Sometimes, it had been in worry, and sometimes it had been in teasing. He'd asked it while sitting at his kitchen table, from his patio in the garden, and on a breath from his pillow while still panting and flushed.

"Get on that plane, Aziraphale, or I will come back and collect you myself!"

"British Airways flight 766 from London to Oslo boarding now at gate 23. At this time, we'd like to welcome our …" Aziraphale tuned out the rest of the announcement.

"That's my cue. For my queue." Aziraphale laughed, and Crowley groaned.

"I need to have a talk with myself about my taste."

This made Aziraphale laugh again. Sure, in the quiet times, Aziraphale could still spin himself out of control, but looking at Crowley, there was no denying the man was smitten with him. It was entirely mutual.

"I'll see you in a few hours," Aziraphale said, his heart thumping, this time in excitement.

"Have a safe flight, angel. I'll see you soon."

They disconnected their call, and Aziraphale gathered his tartan roller-bag and made his way to the line at the gate.

This was not what he'd pictured for his life. He'd wanted safe, and quiet, and small. He didn't think he could fill up a big dream. He hadn't known he was capable of such a big dream before meeting Crowley. Now, he was filled with possibility. Things he was likely meant to have felt in his twenties, but he had always liked to move slow. The future wasn't guaranteed; he had no idea if this new thing with Crowley would work long term. But he had faith, he had hope, and he had so much love.

Something he was definitely telling Crowley the moment he stepped off the plane.