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    Summary

    Crowley was unexpectedly reminded of a Higgs boson (or maybe a graviton, as hypothetical as such a particle was). The quantum excitation responsible for all mass, and subsequently, all gravity. And—even more subsequently—all attraction. Because that was the word for it, wasn’t it? Attraction. Crowley was attracted to Aziraphale. Physically, yes; as all matter was attracted to all other matter. And yet, as he closed in, the space (a dimension that felt oh so fleetingly linear) seemed squashed between their bodies. The distance, in its own maladroit discourtesy, was suddenly wavering for all its previous impertinence. Almost bashful in the way that it slowly (yet, somehow, not slowly enough) dissipated. Into nothingness. The air succumbing to the vehemence of their debate.

    Crowley was fucked. Oh, he was so utterly fucked.

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    AKA the inherent homoeroticism of co-authoring a paper.

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