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[demonicmiracle]

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

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[demonicmiracle]

[All things considered, Crowley will accept the thank you with only a small grumble and fond roll of his eyes, rather than actually arguing about it. There are times when a little back and forth is called for and can even be fun, he just doubts that now is one of those times.]

'Course.

[Like it's easy. Like none of this makes him all squirmy and uncertain, though not necessarily in a bad way, just an unfamiliar one.

He can squash all that down for the moment.]

You can — call me, you know? Or whatever. If things ever get a bit much again.

[Crowley came anyway, because he knew something was wrong, but he still needs to put the offer out there, so that Aziraphale understands he wants to be there for him.]

[oldbookshop]

[ Aziraphale hesitates. It's the tell-tale hesitation of trying to figure out how to thread the needle he wants threaded. The space between very real, fluttery gratitude and abject embarrassment.

He already admitted that this helped, which was a relief in itself because he hadn't had much idea of what would. In the moment. It's just. ]

I'll, um. I'll remember that, yes. Word of honor. [ See. He will remember it. Because it's very nice, and because if he says differently, Crowley might think he doesn't want him here. Or might think that when he offered the other way around, it didn't count.

So complicated. ]

I don't plan on indulging in any repeat performances, of course. So, so no need to have an active concern about that. [ That's how feelings work. If you believe. ] But you're the only one I would call in any case.

[ The only mortifying ordeal that would not outright kill him, he's fairly sure. ]