Everything seems a bit colder from his absence. It's all Aziraphale can do not to pull him back into his space. He misses with strange abruptness the feeling of his hands and the brush of his breath and that wonderful gentle knee in just the right place that he only notices as Crowley withdraws. He clears his throat and straightens his clothes, realizing they are still the center of attention but not caring. Let the humans gawk. They would forget soon enough.

And then ...his heart goes out to Crowley. How can it not? He knows how difficult it is to want to be one thing but forced to be another. How they had both spent hours sometimes trying to justify how something was good or bad just to have a semblance of a life. Of course Aziraphale should be above such things and set a moral example. An angel shouldn't try to wiggle out of goodness in order to live a life in a place not really meant for him.

But for a demon well... It seemsa lot harder than it ought to be.

He smiles a little, forgiving him, the warm feeling filling him from head to feet, from wingtip to wingtip. What an odd demon he is. How passionate. How wiley. And how strangely intriguing. How beautiful. How warm.

He wants to hold his hand but doesn't dare. He wants to wrap his wing around him. To hold him close. To kiss his jaw and neck and let him know that at least one being in the universe finds him amazing just how he is.

But in that way lies a madness he cannot go back from.

"It's alright, Crowley." His voice is as warm as his feelings and he couldn't keep the honey from it even if he wanted to. "It's a new experience for both of us." He does stretch his wings a little, and, oh look, his feathers are jut brushing Crowley's. He can't really help that.

"And I'm actually almost looking forward to a few things."