sterility

"I forgive you." He doesn’t know who he said that to. He doesn’t have a single thought in his head, only guilt-guilt-guilt, because he’s an angel, because it’s wrong, because he’ll be punished, because they both will get punished. Their place is here, they won’t run away to another planet, they won’t do anything to hide, he knows it. Others will surely come for them, and again, everything will be wrong-wrong-wrong. Aziraphale wants to disappear, to dissolve completely, so that he never really existed, and he wouldn’t have to decide anything, wouldn’t have to feel guilty, wouldn’t have to watch Crowley walk away after everything fell into place, even if it was just for the slightest amount of time, not even a second. But he was right, saying nothing lasts forever and some things are destined to last only for a moment. When Aziraphale leaves the store with Metatron, he still feels Crowley’s presence on his lips, and his fingers still remember the fabric of the jacket. He hears Metatron’s voice, probably even answers something, but there’s absolutely nothing in his head except drowning fear. He doesn’t know if he’s afraid to stay here or to return to Heaven. Metatron is waiting for him at the elevator entrance. He feels unable to take a single step. The last inhale of real air, the last time he hears street noise, the last time he was in his shop, the last time he sees Crowley. Crowley, who is standing on the other side of the street that had already become their street, by the car that Aziraphale had already begun to call their car. He knows this face better than anyone else’s. He feels safer with him than anywhere else. He’s watching, trying to get it into his retina, to remember this moment so well that he can replay it in his head for the rest of eternity. Aziraphale turns around and steps into the elevator. He smiles at Metatron, he’s happy, he’s very happy, he’s returning to Heaven, he’ll be able to change everything for the better, he’ll become purely good. He’s so unaccustomed to this white light that his eyes begin to water. This feels endlessly long, and the silence nearby is completely unfamiliar and wrong. The doors open again, and he steps out into this endless space filled with light. They look at him, they talk to him, they smile at him, they whisper about him. He nods, he says hello, he listens to Metatron. They give him a table, and Aziraphale almost physically feels others’ envy, although that’s not what angles should feel. He takes a deep breath of sterile air without a single admixture of smell and decides that it’s better for him to never let this absolute divine emptiness into himself again. It takes time before he gets used to the position, and even more before he realizes that this is forever. On Earth, there has always been a feeling that someday the end will come. Be it because of people, angels, demons, or he alone will disappear from the Earth, but you need to catch every moment that is possible. Everywhere, everything was changing every second, humanity never stood still and never maintained stability. In Heaven, everything is eternal. There’s no one new here, nothing here ever changes and won’t change, because everything is perfect by definition from the very beginning. Probably, over time, he gets tired, probably, over time, he gets bored. He no longer knows his emotions and sensations, there’s nothing to experience them there, and it’s even easier for him that way. There’s no need to worry, no need to think, and no need to wait for anything. Everything is eternal, all work is dictated, he has become an absolute good, and he won’t receive any punishment. He’s above other angels, he’s safe, now he can do what he wants. He probably doesn’t want anything anymore, but if it’s the price to pay for feeling absolutely safe, maybe it’s just worth paying. They’re discussing the second coming. Aziraphale probably should be against it, he probably needs to do something. Everything is meaningless, why try to change the divine plan if it’s divine? He tries not to think about Crowley. It’s easier to do this when he’s immersed in duties and the absolute sterility of thought and matter. Yes, he wished Crowley would just agree to go with him. He wished that they would live without fear and the constant threat of war. But these are only his desires, this is not angelic and shouldn’t even be present in him. Metatron no longer comes to him. He became the same full-fledged archangel as the rest, with important responsibilities and enduring authority. All that remains for him to do now is appear at meetings and occasionally personally listen to other angels. For the first time in Heaven, he gets the opportunity to be on his own and think. So, in order not to do this, he looks at the stars, but it turns out that it only makes it worse. In each star, he sees the hand with which it was created. He remembers the moment of the birth of the galaxy, the flashes of light, and the feeling of absolute delight, but not his. He remembers how he wanted to be able to rejoice like that himself, not thinking about any plans but simply enjoying the perfect creation. He gets less and less work, more and more stars. He starts talking to them, feeling that it makes eternity a little less unbearable. And when the light of the stars begins to ripple in his eyes, he realizes that he can no longer do this. Either he’ll return to Earth or he’ll eventually burn himself in flames. When he enters the elevator, he barely manages to push the button down. When the doors open, he’s afraid to take his first breath. But he does it, and a number of smells penetrate him which he hasn’t heard for a very long time. He’s filled with fear, but he hasn’t felt anything but hopelessness for so long that he wants to soak up this feeling, to leave at least something in him. Arizaphale comes out of the same building he entered. His shop, which is technically no longer his, is on the same street, but he can’t bring himself to take a step in its direction. He almost doesn’t want to know how everything is there. So he walks around the neighboring streets, looks at the dates in magazines, and hardly believes that he’s been gone for only a couple of months. Life in Heaven seemed so endless that a couple of months seem absolutely ridiculous. He approaches the bookshop on wadded legs. The shop’s sign still has his name, even though it’s owned by Muriel now. Aziraphale touches the doorknob he has held countless times before and opens the door. Everything here looks exactly the same as before. The furniture is still in the same places, the books are exactly the same, and only the warmth and absence of dust indicate that someone was here after him. He walks into the kitchen and stops at the entrance, his hands trembling. Crowley sits at the table, coffee poured into a white mug and his glasses on the table beside him. He doesn’t know how long they stare at each other. He doesn’t know what to say because he has too much to say and is afraid of what Crowley might say. "Angel?" He refuses to admit to himself how much he missed this intonation and how this word can sound. He refuses to admit it, but his breath stops for a moment, and his eyes almost begin to water. Therefore, all he can do is collapse into a nearby chair, squeeze the fabric of his clothes, and pointlessly say at least something, just not to be silent anymore, looking only at the dark glasses. "Forgive me. I’m sorry. So sorry. I know why you didn’t want it, I wish I’d understood before. I really believed that it would be better for both me and you." Aziraphale must be crying. He was terrified of leaving Crowley, but going back to him was much more terrifying. He had never felt this before — the feeling that his whole eternity depends on one single person. If Crowley doesn’t accept him back, he’ll understand, he won’t endure, but he’ll understand. In the end, virtue is one of the few truly angelic things left in him. He feels a touch on his hand. For the first time in the whole conversation, he looks up, and he doesn’t know how he could’ve left Crowley last time, looking into his eyes. Crowley runs a finger along Aziraphale’s cheek, wiping away the tears, and his touch has never been so light and frightened as now. "I forgive you." Aziraphale grabs Crowley’s jacket, pressing into the kiss, and everything finally feels right again, everything is as it should’ve always been. Crowley’s fingers clench Aziraphale’s shoulders, and this time he finally pulls Crowley closer.