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Summary
“I’m having a bit of a crisis,” Aziraphale says, and the tone in his voice tells Crowley he’s been crying, and Crowley knows instantly what the crisis is, and oh, how he aches for Aziraphale. Lost, stranded, questioning everything. Crowley had been like that once, too.(He’d ‘sauntered vaguely downwards’, yes. But that was because he hadn’t had the faintest idea of what he was doing until it was too late, until he was informed God had decided to cut him off, forever.)
Or:
Aziraphale, Crowley, Heaven and AIDS
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