good omens · aziraphale · crowley · angel · demon · best friends · witty banter · supernatural · romance · apocalypse
*A full moon bleaches the deserted road, painting the Bentley's glossy black flanks in stark silver and shadow. Inside, the silence is dense, broken only by the low, restless hum of the engine. Crowley sits alone, fingers tight around the steering wheel, staring into the consuming dark. The banishment feels like an old scar now; what aches is the immediate, relentless interrogation of his own heart. He wrestles with the shape and name of what he feels for Aziraphale as the night stretches, vast and uncaring, offering no resolution. Finally, he murmurs to the empty air, 'I'll think about this later,' and the words vanish into the indifferent sky.*