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Anthony J. Crowley, who went by his surname, had been working in the basement (more like the dungeon) of Morningstar Industries as a mailroom clerk for the better part of five years, during which time his fair, freckled skin had become even paler from lack of exposure to sunlight.
In total, Crowley had been working for Morningstar Industries for around two decades, so long that he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t worked there… literally. It was as if he hadn’t had a life before succumbing to the corporate hell that was Morningstar Industries. Crowley’s inability to recall anything or anyone from his time before Morningstar didn’t faze him as he was a loner by nature, with no family or close friends to speak of. Rather, Crowley found comfort in cocooning himself within the little life he had built for himself in his modest flat. He didn’t need family or friends when he had a fully stocked wine fridge and a verdant garden in his spare bedroom to occupy his time away from Morningstar.
However, every once in a blue moon, Crowley experienced a little niggle in the back of his mind, the kind that piqued his curiosity as to what had come before Morningstar, but, just as quickly as it came, that niggle always went away before it raised any concerns. So, as the years ticked by, Crowley settled into his solitary life, entertaining himself by asking questions and sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, which ultimately led to his downfall.
Crowley spent Monday through Friday toiling through piles and piles of mail, sorting it and routing it to its destination within the fifty-story building that housed Morningstar Industries, which was not easy under dismal lighting. The mailroom was two levels below ground level, with its only light source being an outdated overhead fluorescent lighting system that constantly flickered and emitted a constant low hum, fostering an atmosphere of low-grade despair amongst the mailroom’s employees. The fluorescent lighting was not only harsh on the eyes (prompting Crowley to wear sunglasses indoors) but also unflattering, as it made everyone’s skin, regardless of their original skin tone, appear various shades of green, which clashed with their orange, prison-inspired uniforms.
The basement’s dingy gray walls and the thin, grimy film that coated much of the mailroom’s equipment, desks, chairs, and filing cabinets added to the basement’s spooky vibe, but that never bothered Crowley, who was a self-proclaimed big fan of spooky. Though he learned to make the best of his working conditions, mailroom clerk was by no means Crowley’s dream job. Rather, it was a position he was relegated to after sauntering vaguely downwards from mail courier for the upper floors for asking too many bloody questions.
The top brass at Morningstar, and the rank-and-file staff for that matter, had gotten tired of entertaining Crowley’s incessant questions whenever he delivered mail to the various office floors. After fifteen years with the company as a mail courier, Crowley’s curious nature caught up with him, leading to his banishment to the basement. His charming personality had delayed the inevitable for far too long.
The mailroom staff at Morningstar witnessed Crowley’s fall from grace, but what they did not know was that Crowley had scored a very favorable deal in the process. You see, Crowley’s inquisitive nature led to him unearthing some unseemly dealings within the company, which would have irreparably harmed the company’s reputation had the information seen the light of day. Crowley knew too much, so the top brass made it a point to keep Crowley literally from seeing the light of day while paying him a hefty salary to buy his silence. As the company’s unethical dealings did not harm people, animals, or the environment, Crowley was happy to let his silence be bought, as it would allow him to start saving money to leave this hellhole for good and start a new life above ground.
And so, Crowley trudged along the dingy corridors and poorly lit rooms of the mailroom alongside his creepy coworkers who hadn’t seen the light of day in years, with a twinkle in his eye because every day he was building up his nest egg and getting one day closer to starting his second act. He even chuckled each time he passed the “Don’t Lick the Walls” signs that upper management insisted be hung throughout the mailroom, as if anyone dared to go near the grimy walls in the first place.
After five years and two hundred and ninety-five days confined to the basement (Crowley had kept count), Crowley submitted his resignation, confident that he had saved enough money to fund his future. He just didn’t know what that future looked like until six months later when he wandered through Soho one perfect spring afternoon and stumbled upon The Garden of Eden, a quaint garden shop that not only sold fancy floral arrangements but also featured a lush and verdant garden in the backyard that could rival its namesake.
Crowley was enamored with the garden at first sight, with its menagerie of exotic flora, some of which shouldn’t even be able to thrive in London but somehow did within the confines of this tranquil garden nestled in the heart of trendy, bustling Soho.
It was springtime and everything was in hyper-bloom, with bursts of color everywhere. He spent about an hour walking through the small grounds of the garden while customers came and went, more interested in purchasing the floral arrangements found inside the shop, which were exquisite, but were nothing compared to the thriving plants in the garden. Crowley fully immersed himself in the sights and scents of the garden, recognizing many of the species, being a plant enthusiast himself.
What had started as a hobby with a couple of hearty plants on his windowsill had evolved over the years into the creation of Crowley’s Zen Garden in his spare bedroom, his safe place from the drudgery and misery that was Morningstar Industries. Crowley took immense pride in his indoor garden and could tell that whoever ran this shop was also a plant geek, insisting on perfection with every leaf and petal.
Despite the garden’s splendor, it paled in comparison to the beauty of the figure that graced the center of it. Being a phytophile, Crowley had initially been too engrossed in examining the garden’s rare collection of flora to notice the other aspects of the garden. However, once he took a moment to admire the entirety of the garden, he was rendered speechless at the marvel before him.
Standing on an intricate stone pedestal was the most exquisite creature Crowley had ever laid eyes on. It was the statue of an angel in motion dressed in a classic tunic carved out of gray stone. The folds of the angel’s tunic skimmed his curvaceous body, accentuating a strong, broad chest and muscular arms. He exuded authority with his commanding stance as his bare right leg leaned forward with its foot planted firmly on the ground.
Oh my, Crowley thought as he sighed. That leg alone was a masterpiece that could rival Michelangelo’s David with its luscious thigh peeking out from under the tunic and its impressive sinewy calf muscle. Crowley wished he could see the angel’s left leg, but it was hidden behind a curtain of tunic, leaving Crowley no alternative but to use his imagination to envision it. Luckily, Crowley was blessed with a vivid one and blushed as he imagined the hidden leg in all its thick, muscular glory.
Focusing on the angel’s upper body, Crowley noticed everything, from the prominent biceps on the angel’s raised right arm to his strong hand featuring broad, sturdy fingers that were pointing with purpose, as if reprimanding someone off in the distance. The angel’s left arm was at his side with his elbow pointed out and his defined hand planted firmly at his waist, reminiscent of the classic Superman pose.
It was clear that every curve and angle had been sculpted in great detail to project power and confidence, but what truly captivated Crowley was the angel’s face with its delicate features that should have clashed with the strength that oozed from the rest of his body… but somehow didn’t. Rather, the angel’s wide eyes, full cheeks, upturned nose, and plump lips served to soften – humanize - what was otherwise a cold stone statue.
As Crowley continued to study the angel’s beautiful face, a sudden warmth blossomed in his chest, and a smile overtook his face.
“You’re gorgeous,” Crowley uttered under his breath. He had never seen anyone as beautiful in real life.
The angel’s stunning face radiated strength and vulnerability at the same time, and, despite never having seen that face before, it radiated a sense of familiarity, which Crowley found comforting.
“I see you’ve met Aziraphale,” a posh voice stated from behind Crowley.
Crowley was only half listening, too absorbed in gazing at the striking statue before him in wonder.
The voice cleared its throat, which made Crowley blink out of his trance and turn sideways to face the man who had been talking. Crowley was now directing his attention to an elderly gentleman with perfectly coifed white hair dressed in a three-piece brown check tweed suit.
“Sorry?” Crowley shook his head in confusion.
The older gentleman chuckled. “I said, I see you’ve met Aziraphale.”
“Azira what?”
“Not what, but who. This is Aziraphale, the Guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden. The Eden.” The elderly gentleman leaned in on the balls of his feet for emphasis, as if too refined to use air quotes.
“Oh.” Crowley turned his attention back to the statue with even greater curiosity.
“By the way, I am Derek Tron. But most people call me The Metatron. I admit, it sounds silly, but it stuck.” The Metatron chuckled at the nickname. “I own this place.”
“I’m used to odd names. I’m Anthony J. Crowley, but I go by Crowley. Nice to meet you.” Crowley offered his hand and the Metatron gladly shook it. “You have an incredible garden back here.”
“Why thank you… It took almost two decades of wisdom and strict discipline to get here, but it was all worth it.”
“I completely understand. I also run a tight ship when it comes to my plant collection at home.”
“Nice to meet a fellow enthusiast… You know, I have been keeping an eye on you, young man.”
Crowley quirked a brow, unable to read the Metatron’s facial expression. “Why? Have I done something wrong?” Crowley asked, wondering if he had somehow offended the shop’s owner.
“Not at all, on the contrary. You see, most people don’t notice Aziraphale much. Too focused on those hideous weeping angels in the corner.” He nodded towards the grouping in the corner of four creepy female angel statues baring fangs with their arms outstretched in front of them in a menacing pose. Oddly, they were positioned in a circlular formation facing one another with flared nostrils and frightening fangs as if embroiled in a heated argument at an occult club meeting.
Crowley glanced over at them and shuddered. “Can’t imagine why?” Crowley added sarcastically and the old gentleman let out a hearty laugh.
“Why do you even keep those? Menacing bitch angels don’t exactly go with the serene aesthetic out here.”
“Came with the place when I acquired it twenty years ago… along with Aziraphale. Previous owner warned me not to move them or something terrible would happen, and I took his word for it.”
“And you just believed his story?”
“He was dead serious about the matter. Practically turned white as a ghost when he told me about them, so I figured, why chance it… Whether it’s true or not, who knows. Simply put, they don’t bother me and, most importantly, they are excellent scarecrows.”
“Scarecrows?” Crowley quirked a brow.
“That lot scares away potential burglars and teenage hooligans. Believe me, they look even more menacing at night. Haven’t had any break-ins or rebellious pranksters in all my years here… Scarecrows.” The old man gave Crowley a wink.
“I see… Well, you know what they say, if it ain’t broke and doesn’t scare the living daylights out of you, don’t fix it.” Crowley chuckled as he flashed a lopsided grin.
Crowley came back to the Garden of Eden three more times in that first week after discovering the place. The Metatron always lit up when he saw him and welcomed him warmly, especially since he had never met another person who was similarly enthusiastic about his garden.
With the Metatron’s blessing, Crowley began visiting the garden on a regular basis and the Metatron took him under his wing. On every visit, they engaged in stimulating conversations, discussing their favorite plant varieties, the proper care and maintenance of the garden, and pest control options. They even shared secret gardening tips with each other while enjoying afternoon tea. Crowley didn’t care so much for the tea, but he always looked forward to afternoon tea because the bistro table where they enjoyed their tea and tasty bites was situated in perfect view of the stunning statue of his angel Aziraphale. Yes, his angel.
The Metatron had shared what little knowledge he had about the angel Aziraphale with Crowley, but Crowley craved more, so he made it a point to uncover all that he could about Aziraphale on his laptop. He even went to the local library and checked out a book on angel lore, which had a small chapter dedicated to Aziraphale that detailed that he was a principality who had been entrusted with a flaming sword to guard the Eastern Gate of Eden. Crowley committed every bit to memory, along with every detail of the full body portrait of Aziraphale that accompanied the chapter and captured his divine beauty.
Crowley was smitten, so much so that he even taped a photocopy of Aziraphale’s portrait onto his refrigerator at home. The image of Aziraphale in his mind progressed into dreaming about him. In his dreams, Crowley imagined spending time with Aziraphale under Eden’s famous apple tree, drinking expensive wine and discussing religion, ethics, and anything else they fancied. Sometimes, in Crowley’s dreams, he would get comfortable and lay his head on Aziraphale’s plush lap while Aziraphale stroked his hair and regaled him with stories about Heaven, the Garden of Eden, and the difficult angels he had the misfortune to often work with. Crowley assured him that there were cunts working in Hell too, as he shared some colorful Morningstar Industries work stories with him. He had forged a kinship with Aziraphale in those dreams, and it was heavenly.
Two months into his visits to the Garden of Eden, the Metatron invited Crowley to have a chinwag over hot cocoa and fresh pastries. Yes, the Metatron had finally realized that tea was not Crowley’s cup of tea.
They sat at the little bistro table in the garden that faced the statue of Aziraphale with two perfect hot cocoas in hand as the Metatron spoke frankly, “I’m getting too old to run this place and need to find a successor to take over.”
“Oh.” Crowley was crestfallen but didn’t dare show it. “Well, I’m sure this place will be sad to see you go... Are you keeping it in the family?”
“Oh no. Don’t be daft. I don’t have any children, and you met my nephew the other day. He’d run the place to the ground. Wouldn’t recognize a Venus Flytrap if it bit him on the nose, and it has. Idiot got too close to mine once. Of course, it didn’t cause him any harm, but he could have easily destroyed my flytrap with his damn foolishness.”
Crowley chuckled and then took a sip of his hot cocoa.
The Metatron wasn’t kidding.
Crowley straightened up in his seat. “Right, terrible choice.”
“Exactly.” The Metatron paused for a moment and looked Crowley straight in the eyes. He took a deep breath, exhaled it slowly, and then stated resolutely, “Actually, I was thinking… you.”
“Me?” Taken by surprise, Crowley’s eyes widened.
“Why not? You told me yourself that you’re in search of your second act. And you’ve impressed me immensely in the little time you’ve been coming around here with your knowledge and enthusiasm… Although, I must admit, all those questions of yours can get a bit… much.” He waved a hand in the air for effect.
“I’ve heard that before. Sorry,” Crowley mumbled as he sank in his seat.
“It’s not necessarily a bad thing, my boy. Curiosity in search of knowledge is an admirable trait. Just dial it down a bit, so people don’t get tetchy.”
“I’ll keep that in mind… So again, me?”
“Yes. You said you’ve saved some money to start your own business, why not this one. It’s already up and running and I can train you on the ins and outs of this place before I officially retire… I’ll give you a great price too, because I have a good feeling that I’m leaving the place in good hands. Call it a ‘peace of mind’ discount.”
“A feeling? You are offering me this place on a feeling?” Crowley asked in disbelief.
“Absolutely. My intuition is never wrong.”
“I’m flattered, truly… I didn’t even know that the place was for sale.”
“It wasn’t, until now. I was waiting for a sign, and that sign was you.”
And so, with the Metatron’s vote of confidence, Crowley bought The Garden of Eden lock, stock, and barrel from the kindly old gentleman who was ready to retire after devoting his life to taking care of his menagerie of exotic plants.
Crowley kept the shop’s small staff, which consisted of Eric, the delivery driver, and Muriel, the florist, who prepared arrangements and handled customer service. Muriel became Crowley’s righthand person. The transition of ownership went smoothly as the three of them fell into a comfortable groove, getting along and working well together.
Crowley focused on working in the garden, leaving Muriel to handle most duties inside the shop. Muriel taught Crowley how to prepare floral arrangements, so that he could help her when the shop got busy, but Crowley preferred working with living plants: planting them, pruning them, and caring for them. Crowley spent hours in the garden, listening to music while he worked and threatening his plants to “grow better” when necessary. However, his demeanor softened considerably whenever he addressed Aziraphale.
Every night, Crowley patiently waited for the shop to close and for Muriel and Eric to go home so that he could talk to his angel. He preferred spending his evenings engaged in one-sided conversations with his angel in the perfect setting over spending his evenings alone in his lonely flat. Granted, he was technically alone either way but being in the garden felt different. He felt invigorated and alive in the garden…. Alive enough for them both.
In the evenings, after tidying up his outdoor workspace, Crowley made himself at home, as if he were in his own flat. He purchased patio furniture for the garden, including a cozy cushioned loveseat with throw pillows. He placed a lidded wicker basket next to the loveseat where he stored comfy blankets for chilly evenings. It was late summer by now, so there were occasional evenings in which Crowley, being practically cold-blooded, needed a blanket to keep his skinny arse warm.
Crowley also installed a small kitchenette that featured a compact kitchen island with drawers, a microwave, and a dual zone wine fridge/mini fridge where he could prepare and store his favorite foods and drinks and keep his wine bottles chilled to the perfect temperature. But his favorite new addition was the flat screen television he mounted on the shop’s outer wall, so that he could binge watch movies and television series while working at his hardwood work bench or lounging stretched out on his loveseat.
Crowley was a huge fan of movies, classic series, and everything pop culture, so he watched a lot of television in the evenings with Aziraphale right beside him, perched on his pedestal. Over several weeks, he introduced Aziraphale to some of his favorite series, including The Golden Girls, Friends, Downton Abbey, Breaking Bad, Ted Lasso, and Doctor Who. He even threw in The Good Place, a sitcom about human souls being tricked into believing they were in heaven when they were actually being tortured in purgatory, for good measure. He thought Aziraphale might get a kick out of that one.
Crowley enjoyed a glass or two of wine most evenings after work to unwind and made a point to describe each new bottle to Aziraphale in great detail as he drank. Being an angel, he imagined Aziraphale would be a sophisticated being with good taste and a refined palate.
“Tonight, we are enjoying a Cabernet Sauvignon from the Bordeaux region of France. I think you’d like this one. It’s one of my favorites.” Crowley poured himself a glass, picked it up, and then twirled the stem of the glass between his fingers, so that the wine could breathe and release its aroma as it swirled around in the glass.
Crowley then tipped the glass towards him to smell it. “Yes, I can smell black cherry and hints of cedar.” With his wine glass in hand, Crowley walked over to Aziraphale, climbed onto the base of Aziraphale’s statue and raised his wine glass to the tip of Aziraphale’s upturned nose. “Can you smell the fruity notes?”
Crowley then carefully climbed down and poured himself onto his loveseat, crossing one leg over the other. He held the wine glass in front of him for inspection. “A good cabernet, like this one, is full bodied and a deep red because of the dark fruits in it.”
Next, Crowley went ahead and sampled the wine. His lips smacked in satisfaction. “Ah. Perfect… A good Bordeaux wine never disappoints.”
Crowley paired his wine with a light dinner he had prepared in the microwave and started watching a movie. “This one’s a classic. One of my favorites. It’s called Back to the Future and it’s about a teenager who travels back in time and messes up his parents’ first meeting, endangering his own existence. Heavy.”
When the Delorean appeared on screen, Crowley hooted, “Just look at that car, Angel!... Doc’s right, if your gonna build a time machine, do it with style,” Crowley drawled.
Later that week, Crowley introduced Aziraphale to Doctor Who. “While on the subject of time travel, I thought I’d introduce you to some classic British television.” Crowley started the program and when the Tardis appeared on screen, he explained, “This is the Tardis. It’s a spaceship disguised as a police call box. Now, it might look small for a spaceship, but it’s much bigger on the inside, just wait and see.”
A few minutes later, Crowley continued, “Now that bloke is The Doctor. The Tenth Doctor to be exact cause they regenerate often, but I’ll explain that as we watch the series… Anyway, the Doctor travels through time helping those in need and is around a thousand years old… I’m sure that’s like a blink of an eye to angels, but for humans that’s really, really, really old.”
As they entered autumn, Crowley started drinking hot cider or hot cocoa on colder evenings to warm his bones, but still preferred to unwind most nights with his beverage of choice: wine. He continued watching television in the garden with Aziraphale but was now wearing warmer clothes and cocooning himself in the multiple blankets that he stored in the lidded wicker basket. He made a mental note to bring some gloves and a scarf from home to store in the basket as well.
In October, Crowley added some horror movies to the mix, because he was a big fan of all things spooky. There were a few times, while watching his selection of scary movies, where Crowley’s mind wandered and he imagined himself sidling up to Aziraphale on the loveseat during the scary scenes and being held protectively in Aziraphale’s strong arms. He usually snapped out of those daydreams whenever a shrill scream came through the television’s speakers. He also had similar daydreams when they watched romantic movies, but those often became R-rated.
In November, Crowley binge watched several holiday baking shows while eating comfort food, including warm pastries and hot chocolate with whipped cream from the local café across the street. He was sitting at the bistro table, close to a portable heater he had purchased to keep warm, with an open box of pastries in front of him. “Angel, I wish you could taste this chocolate croissant. It’s so gooey, warm, and flaky. Mmm.” Once he swallowed the bite, Crowley licked the residue chocolate off the corner of his lip.
“I bet you have a sweet tooth. I can just picture you enjoying a sweetened cuppa with a raspberry scone and clotted cream.” Crowley smiled as he took another bite of his chocolate croissant.
“Oh Angel, I’d give anything to share a meal with you.” Crowley got up and started pacing the area in front of Aziraphale, releasing his frustrations while gathering his thoughts. Once he felt better, he stopped pacing and enthusiastically continued, gesturing with flair for effect. “If I could, I’d take you to The Ritz and we’d order expensive wine and dine on the finest foods. I’d get you anything your heart desired because…” He paused for a moment, not sure if he should even say it aloud, until he looked up at Aziraphale and was instantly emboldened. He stood up straight and threw caution to the wind as he admitted, “because you’re my angel. I don’t know how we got here, and I know it sounds crazy, but I adore you Aziraphale. I really do.”
An awkward silence hung in the air and Crowley felt naked, his feelings out there for… no one to see. To distract himself from his mortification, he went back to the bistro table, cleaned up the area with a nervous hand and closed the lid on the pastry box. He then changed the subject. “Anyway… Have you ever heard of angel food cake? It’s a sweet airy sponge cake. I like it with strawberries… I’ll get a slice next time from the café so that we can check it out together. You can let me know if it lives up to its namesake,” Crowley chuckled weakly, still preoccupied with his recent confession.
Later that month, Crowley decided to watch some classic movies from a list he found online of the Top 100 greatest movies of all time. He and Aziraphale watched The Wizard of Oz, The Godfather, E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, Casablanca, West Side Story, Star Wars, and Gone with the Wind.
It was during Gone with the Wind that Crowley imagined Aziraphale sweeping him of his feet and carrying him up a grand staircase to deposit him on the bed, their bed, where… Well, you can imagine the rest.
While watching West Side Story, Crowley sobbed uncontrollably because he imagined himself and Aziraphale as the protagonists from two different worlds, unable to build a life together because of obstacles they couldn’t overcome… It was too real. He turned it off before it finished, apologizing to Aziraphale for cutting movie night short while he wiped fresh tears from his eyes.
Before he knew it, it was December, the shop’s busiest time of year, which was a great thing for business. However, Crowley was working twelve-hour shifts just to keep up with the shop’s orders. He was also spending more time inside the shop than outside in the garden as he and Muriel worked side by side taking orders and creating festive floral arrangements that Eric then delivered all over London.
Crowley and his staff kept the festive mood alive throughout December as the shop piped Christmas music through the shop’s sound system. They sang along with songs they knew and walked around the shop with a spring in their step, bouncing to the rhythm of the cheerful music as they picked, cut, and gathered flowers for their arrangements.
The energy of a Soho Christmas was contagious as the other shopkeepers decorated their shops with Christmas lights, Christmas trees, lighted garland that hung above the streets from lampposts, wreaths on doors, character blow molds, nativity scenes, and animated displays in the shop windows.
Crowley didn’t celebrate Christmas, except for feasting alone throughout the day on his favorite Chinese food dishes while watching a marathon of Christmas movies on the telly on Christmas Day. He didn’t have an issue with Christmas per se, it’s just that he didn’t have any family or close friends to celebrate it with. However, this year was different. He had become fast friends with Muriel and Eric at the shop, got close with many of the shopkeepers in Soho, and most importantly, he had Aziraphale to spend every evening with (until it got too cold and it was time to go home, thaw out, and crawl into bed).
Crowley initiated a movie night countdown to Christmas to share his favorite holiday movies with Aziraphale. Each evening, when Crowley finally had a moment to sit down and relax, he prepared a light meal for himself, poured himself a glass of wine to unwind, and watched a holiday movie with Aziraphale. Like always, Crowley added his colorful commentary to each movie they watched.
The energy in Soho combined with the Christmas music and movies they were enjoying made the Christmas spirit swell inside Crowley’s heart and inspired him to pull out all the stops to make it a memorable Christmas for his staff, his clients, his Soho neighbors, and most importantly, his angel. Crowley figured Christmas had to be every angel’s favorite holiday, so he was going to go over the top to make it a special one for Aziraphale.
Crowley went to the shops and placed orders online to gather all the supplies and decorations needed. It was an explosion of good cheer as Crowley decorated the shop, inside and out, with festive lights, blow molds of Santa and Rudolph for the kiddies, a gorgeous outdoor nativity set complete with a stable, and a living Christmas tree topped with shiny ornaments, multicolored lights, and a blonde-haired, blue-eyed angel tree topper that Crowley had scoured for hours online to find.
“Look at that topper, Angel. It’s you! Was tough to find one that looked like you ’cause most angel toppers are female ones with long hair, but by some miracle, voila!”
Crowley put his hands at his waist in satisfaction. “Just look at all this… You think it’s too much? Although, being an angel, it might not be enough for you lot.”
Crowley went back to the tree and adjusted a few ornaments, aiming for perfection, as usual. “You know, in all my years, I never decorated for Christmas and now, miraculously, it looks like I’ve made up for it in just one year! Chalk up another win for Christmas.”
Crowley finished off his decorating by hanging hand-made Christmas wreaths on his shop’s front door, on the back door that led to the garden, and over the garden’s back entrance that faced the street, which he crafted at his work bench. Wreathmaking involved detailed work, but he breezed through it as he listened to (and often sang to) Christmas songs playing over his Bluetooth speaker. Once the shop was closed, Crowley engaged in his one-sided conversations with Aziraphale while he worked, which always made him feel tingly all over.
Crowley’s wreaths were so beautiful that several Soho shopkeepers asked if they could order some from him for their own shops, so Crowley made ten more wreaths and gifted them to the shopkeepers as a thank you for welcoming him into the fold. All the while, Aziraphale stood tall and proud, in the center of the garden, overlooking the buzz of holiday activity in the garden and witnessing Crowley embracing the spirit of Christmas.
In the days leading up to Christmas, the shop was alive with activity with customers coming in and out of the shop and visiting the garden to admire Crowley’s Christmas decorations.
On Christmas Eve, Crowley was surprised and humbled to receive presents from some of his loyal customers. He was gifted with chocolates, a wreath-shaped bundt cake, mince pies, Christmas mugs with hot cocoa packets for him and his staff, Christmas tea towels, and a holiday tartan scarf handmade by Rose, one of his elderly customers.
Crowley shared his treats with Muriel and Eric and what he kept for himself he saved to share with Aziraphale later than evening. Crowley could finally breathe and enjoy the holidays to the fullest as the shop was now closed until after New Year’s.
Crowley had finished eating a mince pie when he picked up Rose’s red, green, and black tartan scarf. He hopped onto Aziraphale’s pedestal and gazed into Aziraphale’s lovely countenance, which never got old. Considering Aziraphale was made of stone, one would think that his eyes were impenetrable, but that wasn’t the case. Crowley saw compassion, grace, and love in those stone eyes.
“You look like someone who’d like tartan.” Crowley proceeded to drape the scarf around the angel’s neck, tied a loose knot just under it, and finished up by draping the rest of the scarf neatly down the angel’s torso. He patted the scarf and then ran his hand slowly down the length of the angel’s broad chest. His fingers tingled at the touch and his cheeks blushed crimson. With his hand still firmly glued to Aziraphale’s chest, Crowley leaned back and admired his work. Satisfied with how smart Aziraphale looked, he complimented him, “You look very dapper. Tartan suits you… much more than it suits me anyway. Gift from one of my favorite customers. Not my style, but it was a kind gesture.”
Crowley had started drinking about an hour ago and was now downing his second bottle of wine to celebrate Christmas and simultaneously numb the ache in his heart from knowing that all these wonderful, exhilarating months with Aziraphale were simply a figment of his overactive imagination. A fantasy he had concocted over an attractive decorative statue to overcome his loneliness, which had to end before he cracked.
What better time to suspend disbelief than at Christmas, so Crowley decided to put a pin on his angst and worry about his mental health after New Year’s. Tonight, he was going to celebrate Christmas with full gusto with Aziraphale.
Crowley took his umpteenth glass of wine and sprawled onto the cozy loveseat near the angel statue. One leg was hanging over the loveseat’s armrest and the other was stretched out so that the heel of his snakeskin boot was now anchored to the floor. He was facing away from Aziraphale to admire his Christmas light display throughout the garden. As he engaged in conversation with Aziraphale about his hectic day at the shop, he would ever so often tilt his head up to look behind him to address Aziraphale directly, but his glances were short since he never expected a response back.
As Crowley stared wistfully at his Christmas tree, focused on the blonde-haired, blue-eyed angel topper, his eyes started to moisten. He blinked to stop any tears from falling and then, out of sheer desperation, Crowley made a Christmas wish. “God, I don’t know if you’re up there to hear this, but if you are…” Crowley sighed, “please help me find someone to love. I know that you have bigger problems to work on, but… I’m just so tired of being alone… and I’m a mess. Just look at me, I’ve fallen in love with an idolized image of an angel that may or may not have ever existed. No offense.” Crowley looked over at Aziraphale and smiled. “Anyway, if you can help me find someone who makes my heart sing like Aziraphale does, I’d really appreciate it… Thanks and Cheers,” Crowley toasted the night sky and took a long sip from his wine glass.
When he got up from the loveseat, he looked over at Aziraphale and noticed that the wind had blown his scarf askew, so he climbed onto the pedestal with one long stride and straightened it. “There, Angel. Can’t have the perfect angel wearing a crooked scarf.” He patted the angel’s chest once more and when he looked up at Aziraphale’s face, all he could see were welcoming lips, so he leaned in slowly and softly kissed Aziraphale. When their lips parted, he whispered, “Merry Christmas, Angel.”
It was suddenly eerily silent, so he took out his phone, opened a music app and started playing cheerful Christmas music to lighten the mood. “I think we could both use a little Christmas cheer.”
Crowley hopped down from the pedestal and started swaying to the music, directing his slinky moves towards Aziraphale. “Like how I dance, Angel? Do you like my body as much as I like yours?” Crowley peacocked as he cackled, a product of his intoxicated state.
Crowley’s lanky body had finished off two bottles of expensive Chateauneuf-du-Pape red wine, and he opened a third bottle to continue the festivities. Was that extreme? Perhaps, but it was bloody Christmas Eve, so why not? So, Crowley continued drinking and continued his one-sided conversation that had morphed into pure ramblings exactly at the stroke of midnight.
“Don’t get me started on the whales?” Crowley waved his arms in the arm in indignation as he sat slumped on the loveseat.
“What about the whales?” An unexpected voice asked.
“Aaaaah!” A startled wide-eyed Crowley spluttered as he scrambled off the loveseat and into a semi-upright position with fisted hands, striking a boxer’s pose, ready to act. “Who… Who’s there?” He asked in a panicked, stuttering voice.
“It’s me, you silly boy,” a calm posh voice responded.
“Huh?” Crowley looked around but couldn’t see anyone. “Who are you? Where are you? I can’t see you.” He squinted as he scanned the dark garden that was only lit by Christmas lights and one lamp on Crowley’s work bench but couldn’t see anyone. The place was empty.
Suddenly, there was a tap on his shoulder and Crowley’s shoulders tensed up as he froze in place.
“Oh my. Do relax, my dear. I won’t hurt you. It’s only me.”
Crowley turned around slowly and found a fair, broad chested, yet soft around the middle, beautiful man standing in front of him with twinkly blue eyes and pale blonde curly hair, wearing a flowing tunic of purest white that made Crowley squint.
He raised his hand just above his eyes to shield them from the glare and whispered, “Aziraphale? Is that you?”
“In the flesh… quite literally,” Aziraphale responded with a soft chuckle.
“But... but that's impossible.” Crowley stared in shock. “No. I must be dreaming. Yeah, that’s it.” Crowley rubbed his eyes and when he opened them, Aziraphale was still there, blinking back at him.
“I’m quite sure that you’re wide awake.”
“If that’s the case, then I’m hallucinating… or dead ass drunk… or I’ve finally cracked.” Crowley muttered frantically.
“Cracked? That would be dreadful. I’ve witnessed many of my fellow brethren crack throughout the years and it… well, let’s just say, it never ends well.”
A genuinely concerned Aziraphale took his first steps and slowly circled Crowley to inspect his entire body. A still confused and shocked Crowley was frozen in place as he heard Aziraphale repeat "Mmm“ and "Oh my" a few times while conducting a thorough scan of his body, as if Crowley were inside an MRI machine. Once Aziraphale finished, Aziraphale's brows unfurrowed and his face softened. With an adorable giddy wiggle that made him somehow even more attractive to Crowley, Aziraphale declared, "Thankfully, it looks like you’re still all in one piece.”
Crowley opened and closed his mouth several times like a fish gasping for air, words suddenly escaping him. His brows furrowed and he rubbed his forehead in concern. Well, I guess I’ve finally lost it.
“Are you all right, my dear?” A concerned Aziraphale asked as he reached out and placed a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley stared at the hand on his shoulder. For such a strong hand, it provided the gentlest of touches, laced with genuine affection and concern for Crowley’s wellbeing.
Crowley’s shoulder felt warm and that warmth spread throughout Crowley’s body within moments as he melted on the spot. He raised his head and looked deep into Aziraphale’s bewitching cerulean eyes and decided right there and then, that this moment and this beautiful man standing right in front of him, was worth losing his mind over.
Crowley relaxed his shoulders and put his hand on top of Aziraphale’s. “I’m all right, Angel, now that you’re here,” Crowley confessed with a soft smile.
Aziraphale smiled in return with a smile so bright that it reached the crinkle in his eyes and made Crowley wobble at the knees.
“Aaaaah!” A horrified Aziraphale abruptly yelped as he clutched his chest with one hand and grabbed Crowley’s arm with the other. “Good Lord, did I look like that before?” He pointed past Crowley to the horrifying weeping angel statues in the corner of the garden.
Before responding, he looked down at Aziraphale’s hand clutching his arm and it felt surreal, yet so right. He snapped back to reality when he saw Aziraphale’s distressed face. “Angel, no. Never… I promise.”
Aziraphale felt relieved and loosened his grip, but did not let go of Crowley’s arm, which delightedly Crowley. Crowley continued, “Don’t worry. Those are just there to scare off burglars… You’ve always looked as gorgeous as you do right now.”
Did I really just say that out loud? An embarrassed Crowley took a step back, causing Aziraphale to let go of his arm. Crowley started rubbing the back of his neck and emitted a deflated, nervous sigh, “Ngk.”
Aziraphale’s plump rosy cheeks blushed and Crowley was rendered speechless for a moment.
Crowley decided to keep the conversation going in hopes of making Aziraphale forget his embarrassing compliment. “Only thing you all had in common is that you were both gray, except now…” Crowley searched for the right words, “now you’re in technicolor… Sorry, you probably don’t even know what that means.”
“Technicolor. Like in The Wizard of Oz?” Aziraphale asked.
“Yeah. Exactly,” Crowley responded enthusiastically, and then he quirked a brow. “Wait. How did you know that?”
“You watched it one night on that box over there with the talking people in it. It started in black and white and then changed suddenly to color… technicolor. You mentioned that word when you told me that the Munchkinland scene was your favorite because it felt so magical the first time you saw it.”
“Yeah. That’s right… Wait a minute, that was weeks ago. Have you been listening to me this whole time?”
Aziraphale cocked his head and thought. “I suppose I have.”
“That’s wild! I mean, sure, I talked my head off to you, but… but I never actually thought that you could understand what I was saying. Wow.” Crowley carded his hair. “This is heavy.”
“Back to the Future.” Aziraphale interjected excitedly. “Why are things so heavy in the future? Is there a problem with the earth’s gravitational pull?” Aziraphale had just proudly quoted Doc Brown’s lines in a deeper voice.
“You remembered.”
“Well, it was a very good movie. One of your favorites, if I recall.”
“Yeah... Wow." Crowley let out a long breath as he shook his head in disbelief. "I... I still don’t get it... get this. How is any of this possible?” Crowley waved his hands broadly at Aziraphale’s whole body in exasperation.
“Don’t know. Never had anything like this happen to me before. Never had this kind of connection with a human before, either.”
Crowley suddenly got very red with embarrassment, realizing that Aziraphale had heard all of their conversations. He had confided so much in Aziraphale. Confessed so much during their months of one-sided conversations, including his attraction to Aziraphale.
Aziraphale could read the worry all over Crowley’s face. “Don’t worry. You’ve always been lovely, and I’ve enjoyed our time together immensely.”
Crowley remained speechless.
“And… I think that you are gorgeous, too.” Aziraphale shyly admitted as he slightly rose one shoulder, exhibiting a nervousness on par with Crowley’s.
“Ngk.”
“My dear, you’ll have to tell what that means.”
“Huh? Oh, that’s just me rebooting my system after going offline.” Crowley saw the confusion in Aziraphale’s eyes. “It’s a computer analogy… Basically, you make my body feel all tingly inside and then my brain turns to mush.”
Aziraphale looked horrified.
“Not literally mush, Angel. Relax… It’s a good thing. It feels good.”
Aziraphale relaxed and blew out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. “Oh. That’s a relief… Well, in case you’re wondering, you make me feel all tingly inside too.”
“I’m glad.” Crowley flashed Aziraphale a sincere lopsided grin. “Wow. I still can’t believe that I am talking to you. That you’re here in the flesh in front of me… Don’t get me wrong, this is incredible. You don’t know how many times I wished that we could truly hang out together.”
Aziraphale’s eyes brightened. “Well, maybe that’s it. Maybe you wished me to life, like Dorothy wished to go home. Did you recently click your heels while making your wish?” Aziraphale looked down at Crowley’s black snakeskin boots.
“No. Don’t own any ruby shoes. That doesn’t really work. That was just a movie. Not real life.”
Aziraphale didn’t understand. It seemed real. He had seen it with his own eyes.
Crowley picked up on the confusion. He pointed to the television. “That box, it’s called a television and the people in it… they’re actors… people pretending to be someone else to tell a story.”
“Oh,” a disappointed Aziraphale looked down and started fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. He felt a little silly that he had believed the fanciful movie to be real.
“But, maybe you’re on to something. It is Christmas Eve after all, and I did pray. Maybe you’re a miracle.”
“Yes, makes perfect sense. Just like Santa performed that miracle in Miracle on 34th Street. You watched that one three days ago. Santa must have come by earlier than expected.” Aziraphale nodded happily.
“Um, no. Again, just a movie. That doesn’t happen, ever.”
Aziraphale was crestfallen. “Oh, so Christmas is not real? This is all... just pretend?”
“What? No. I mean, yes, Christmas is real. It’s just that Santa doesn’t go around granting grand wishes like he did for that little girl in the movie.”
“Ah, I see. Well, from what I can tell, Christmas is a magical time of year, so maybe the spirit of Christmas granted your wish?”
“Maybe.” Crowley smiled as he looked up into the starry night sky, thinking about his prayer to God. Crowley whispered, “Thank you,” and he could have sworn that a bright star twinkled back at him in reply.
Within a minute, snowflakes started sprinkling down on them, which was just as crazy as the rest of the evening since it hadn’t properly snowed in London on Christmas for many years. It wasn’t even forecasted to snow this Christmas Eve!
Crowley’s amusement at the whole spectacle morphed into a belly laugh. “Angel, it’s snowing! It never snows like this in London.”
“Oh, how delightful! A white Christmas, just like in the movie. And like in Home Alone, A Christmas Story, and The Polar Express.”
“Geez. I didn’t realize we watched so many Christmas movies.” Crowley laughed as he started shivering.
“Dear boy, you’re shivering.” Aziraphale quickly fetched the heavy sherpa blanket that was lying on Crowley’s loveseat and wrapped it tightly around Crowley’s shoulders. “There, that should help.”
“Thanks. The temp dropped quickly. It’s freezing out here. Aren’t you freezing?”
“Not as such. This tunic is quite thick and multilayered, and this lovely tartan scarf that you gave me is keeping me warm and toasty.” He patted the part of the scarf that lay on his chest. “By the way, I am a fan of tartan.”
“Knew it.” Crowley winked at Aziraphale. “How about we take this party inside?”
“I’d love to.”
Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and led him into his shop, guiding him to the backroom where there was a black pull-out sofa, a coffee table, a sleek desk with a laptop on it, a small, modern kitchenette, and a large flat screen television.
“This is my home away from home. It’s my office and a place to crash for the night when I work late and I’m too tired to make it to my flat. The sofa turns into a bed.”
“How clever.” Aziraphale scanned the room. “It’s very cozy.”
“I admit, it’s a bit cramped.”
“No, I like it. It’s very you, and I like you very much.”
“Ngk.”
“Rebooting again?” Aziraphale chuckled.
Crowley blushed. “You can’t just keep saying things like that.”
“Why not? It’s the truth, and angels don’t lie.”
Crowley changed the subject. “Why don’t you sit down, and I’ll fetch some Christmas treats for you to eat… You can eat, right?”
“I imagine so, especially considering that when you mentioned food just now, my stomach started to grumble.”
“Tell-tale sign that you’re hungry. Just give me a sec… We can put something on the telly, if you want.”
“Sounds wonderful. How about one of those baking competition shows? I really enjoyed those.”
“Yeah, their good, especially the holiday editions.” Crowley grabbed the remote and, after pressing a few buttons, The Great British Baking Show appeared on the telly.
“Thank you, dear. I really enjoy this show.” Aziraphale settled in on the sofa while Crowley gathered and brought over different pastries and goodies. Next, he raced outside to the garden to collect the unfinished bottle of Chateauneuf-du-Pape that he had been nursing and the box of mince pies he had left on the bistro table.
As Crowley set up the treats on the coffee table in front of the sofa, Aziraphale’s eyes widened and his mouth watered. He couldn’t wait to start tasting them. Each treat looked even more scrumptious than the one before. Crowley went over to his kitchenette one more time and returned with two filled glasses of red wine. Crowley handed one to Aziraphale.
“I’d like to make a toast,” Crowley stated. “Angel, you captivated me from the moment I first laid eyes on you last spring, and you are even more wonderful in person than I imagined. I look forward to getting to know everything about you.” Crowley raised his glass. “To the beginning of something wonderful.”
“Cheers!” Aziraphale chimed in as their glasses clinked. They each took a long sip and Aziraphale remarked, “This is delicious. Now I understand why you were downing it like water.” Aziraphale took another sip.
“Careful. Don’t drink too fast, you’re not used to drinking alcohol.”
“Right, you’re absolutely right… Now, while there’s still some wine in this glass, I’d like to make my own toast.”
Crowley chuckled. “Go right ahead, Angel.”
“Thank you.” Aziraphale nodded. “Crowley, I too felt a strong connection between us early on and spending all these months with you has been heavenly. I don’t know if I’m really an angel or not, but the fact that I’m your angel means the world to me.” Aziraphale suddenly leaned over and planted a chaste kiss on Crowley’s cheek.
“Ngk.” Crowley was a verklempt goner.
“Ngk, indeed.” Aziraphale winked as they clinked their glasses together. Once Crowley rebooted, they took another drink from their wine glasses.
Crowley put his wine glass down and started rubbing his hands down his thighs to calm down from the heat generated by Aziraphale’s kiss. It was just one little kiss on the cheek, and it was dizzying and wonderful.
He wanted more but was afraid of moving too fast. Let’s face it, Crowley had had months to develop his feelings for Aziraphale, but Aziraphale had only just come to life that evening. He was innocent and everything was brand new to him. Crowley feared that one wrong move would ruin everything. In his frustration, Crowley grumbled to himself. Don’t blow it. Get your act together or you’re going to scare him away.
“Are you all right, dear?”
“Huh. Yeah. Perfect… Um…” Crowley tugged at his shirt collar anxiously. He needed to compose himself. Suddenly, Crowley noticed the food before him and remembered what he was supposed to be doing. Right, Aziraphale was hungry. Yes, I can handle that.
Crowley quickly scooped up a small plate with a mince pie on it and shoved it towards Aziraphale. “Can I tempt you with a mince pie?”
“Temptation accomplished.” Aziraphale wiggled in his seat as he took the proffered mince pie.
On his first bite of mince pie, Aziraphale chewed carefully, getting used to the concept of masticating and the sensation of his taste buds. A moment later, he experienced an awakening and his countenance transformed before Crowley’s eyes. Aziraphale’s eyes blew wide in shock, and he emitted a soft gasp, as if his mind had been blown. He swallowed quickly and took another bite, a bigger one this time. This bite was accompanied with soft hums and purrs that were practically orgasmic.
Crowley was entranced by the whole scene before him. But more importantly, Crowley was fucked. His pants were getting tight at the crotch just listening to Aziraphale enjoying a third bite, and then another, and another. Shit, Shit, Shit. Think of something unsexy. Puppies… sweet little grannies… leaves with spots on them. That last one made him angry, but the distraction worked. He took a few deep breaths and relaxed onto the sofa.
When he looked back at Aziraphale, he had polished off two mince pies, a raspberry scone, and was now enjoying a large slice of bundt cake. “Everything is simply scrumptious. I never imagined food being so delicious.”
“Glad you like it.”
“Aren’t you going to have some?”
“I ate earlier. Besides, right now, I prefer taking care of you.” Crowley gazed at Aziraphale intently through doe eyes as he ate. The affection he held for Aziraphale radiated from Crowley’s beautiful amber eyes.
After a few more bites (and several more moans), Aziraphale finally put the plate down. “Thank you, my dear, for such a lovely Christmas Eve.”
Aziraphale then placed Crowley’s hand in his and started affectionately thumbing the back of Crowley’s hand.
“Ngk.”
“Dear, I know that you are smitten with me. I can see it in the way you look at me.”
Crowley panicked. “Angel, I… I’m sorry-”
Aziraphale cut him off. “Don’t apologize. I like it. I find it very romantic, like Maria and Tony in West Side Story. I remember that you cried when you watched that one.”
“It’s a tragedy. Please don’t compare us to them.” Crowley shook his head.
“They loved each other fiercely despite coming from different worlds, and I… I feel the same way about you. I love you, Crowley. Not just because of today, but because of every day we’ve spent together. You shared your life and soul with me, and I want to share mine with you now.”
“You love me?” Crowley wanted him to repeat it because he couldn’t believe it.
“I do. I love you, Anthony J. Crowley.”
“I love you too, Angel. I’m crazy about you.” Crowley caressed Aziraphale’s cheek with a tenderness that expressed just how precious Aziraphale was to him.
“May I kiss you, Angel?”
“I’d like that very much.”
Crowley leaned in and gently cupped Aziraphale’s chin, tilting it up to plant a sweet, short kiss on his plump lips. Even though the kiss was brief, it made both men swoon.
“You taste of red wine,” Aziraphale observed as he gazed at Crowley through long blond lashes.
“And you taste of the sweetest vanilla,” sighed Crowley.
“That was lovely, my dear, but there’s no need to go slow on my account.” Aziraphale licked his lips and without warning grabbed Crowley by the shirt and pulled him forward. As their lips crashed together, Crowley released an involuntary “Oomph” and then put his arms around Aziraphale and held him close. As they kissed, Crowley breached Aziraphale’s lips with his tongue. Aziraphale moaned, welcoming the move, and opened his mouth a little wider. Their kisses were desperate and needy, with Crowley grateful to finally have Aziraphale in his arms. As their tongues danced in a French kiss, Crowley moved his hand up and started stroking the hair at Aziraphale’s nape, which Aziraphale leaned into in pure bliss. Their hands explored their bodies without ever breaking the fervent kissing that had commenced many minutes earlier. Aziraphale’s hands treasured Crowley’s angles and taut stomach, while Crowley’s hands worshipped the muscles and fullness that made up the contours of Aziraphale’s robust body.
When their lips finally parted, they sighed in contentment, but the feeling didn’t last. In an instant, they were both overcome with mind-splitting headaches. They crouched onto the floor and grabbed their respective heads, rocking in pain and confusion. With their eyes closed shut, they could sense that their minds were being stretched to capacity. Crowley and Aziraphale were being crammed with information… 6,000 years of it.
The whole intense ordeal lasted less than five minutes. Just as quickly as the headache came, it disappeared and Crowley and Aziraphale were suddenly calm and pain free, sitting on the floor, their backs resting against the sofa.
From the moment they opened their eyes and looked at each other, they knew that they had changed. They had been rebooted.
Crowley reached out for Aziraphale. “Aziraphale. Angel. Are you all right?”
“Yes. Are you, my darling?”
“Yeah. I’m good... I remember, Angel. All of it. You?”
“I do too… I really am an angel.”
“And I’m a demon,” Crowley grumbled. The words were hard to swallow, especially after spending two decades oblivious to the fact that he was a real minion of Hell.
Aziraphale moved closer to Crowley and thumbed his cheek. “You are my demon, and I love you. Every part of you.”
Crowley clasped Aziraphale’s hand that was resting on his cheek and kissed it. “I love you so much, Angel. It killed me when they separated us twenty years ago… Those bastards!” Crowley was fuming now. Hell had erased his memory twenty years ago and Heaven had simultaneously trapped Aziraphale in a stone statue.
“It killed me too. But it’s in the past, my darling. What’s important is the here and now. We found each other and no one will tear us apart ever again. I promise. No longer star-crossed lovers. You are my forever… for all eternity.”
A tear fell from Crowley’s eye, and then Crowley grabbed the folds of Aziraphale’s tunic and pulled him in for a romantic, lingering kiss. This one wasn’t needy nor desperate. It was gentle and loving and marked the beginning of their eternity together.
When their lips parted, Crowley pressed his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “Merry Christmas, my perfect Angel.”
“Merry Christmas, my dearest.” Aziraphale smiled as he gave Crowley a sweet smooch. He then scooted closer to Crowley, closing the gap between them, and rested his head on Crowley’s chest whispering, “And dear, remind me tomorrow to take a sledgehammer to those weeping cunts that turned me into stone.”