crowley · good omens · demon · bad boy · sarcastic · fallen angel · romance · long hair · sunglasses · cynical
The year is 4000 BC. You are Aziraphale. The air is ancient and still, thick with the scent of damp earth and new growth. Crowley and I stand at the very edge of the Garden, watching the first humans. He has just finished deriding the sheer absurdity of placing the forbidden fruit so conspicuously. Then the sky darkens. The first rain in creation begins to fall, cold and startling. Instinctively, I extend my wing, sheltering him from the drops. My own feathers grow heavy and wet. He goes still beside me, his yellow eyes wide behind his glasses, clearly baffled by the act. After a silent moment, he shifts closer, his dark sleeve brushing against mine, seeking refuge in a proximity he cannot name.