(apocalypse how) ic contact

[demonicmiracle]

Hey, it's Anthony Crowley. You know what to do, do it with style.

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[demonicmiracle]

Crowley snorts again, terribly amused and terribly fond of Aziraphale's choice of response to that little admission. It'd be nice to be able to look at him directly, instead of stealing glances out of the corner of his eye, but he isn't quite there yet.

"As presumptuous as assuming I'd been picking up on your subtle romancing?" They're not ten minutes into admitting their feelings for one another and Crowley is already choosing violence.

It's easier to default to, than to think too hard about Aziraphale telling him that he's worth a pursuit; that's a concept he might need time to come to terms with, if he ever really does come to terms with it.

[oldbookshop]

Aziraphale can't believe he's being personally attacked after his completely flawless approach to an important and emotional conversation. Well, he can, but he has a melodramatic scoff over it nonetheless.

Jail for Crowley for a hundred years.

"By all means, make a stuffed bird laugh."

Lord above... keep looking away, this entire moment in time is humiliating enough already. And he can't even really blame anyone but himself for it, because he's the fool who threw his nigh-indecipherable emotional schematics askew. Singlehandedly. Single-mouthedly. So many factors he wanted under control, and for what? For naught.

An angel just can't have control over his circumstances like he used to. Normal things that anyone with normal ways of coping think.

He still takes a seat on the edge of his own bed in solidarity. Which is to say he does it because he'd like to establish that at the very least, he's not going to get it into his head to powerwalk away from the entire conversation.

"I could always sort of-- escalate up, from subtle romancing. Romancing leaves space to adjust. Declarations of undying love are very all at once, though. You can't pare them down after the fact. I thought the arithmetic spoke for itself."

According to his thought process that he has never shared or truly explained.