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adelaiderowan

Title: A Love That Feels Like Coming Home

(Rating: G, Crowley/Aziraphale)

Summary: There is a single black feather on Aziraphale’s bedside table.

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There is a single black feather on Aziraphale’s bedside table.

No-one knows about it. No-one knows about the bedside table, for that matter, or the bed, or the room itself. It’s above the shop, locked away in a fold of spacetime - a neat bit of miracle-working if he says so himself. A fine and private place.

He sits there now on Egyptian cotton sheets with the feather in his hand. It’s very soft and very black. No sheen of green or blue; no sheen at all. Completely matte, it is like a slash cut in the fabric of the world. Looking at it is slightly disturbing; fitting, since it’s a demon feather.

Crowley’s, of course. Not stolen - Aziraphale, in his darker moments, had thought about it - but given freely. They’d both been drunk, and were both Not Talking about what happened before the Fall. It happens sometimes. They’ll look at each other - look at each other, in a way that would mean nothing to anyone but them. But to them, it means I remember and I miss you and It’s not fair, it was never fair. They don’t speak, of course; they don’t do anything except drink until the melancholy passes.

But on that night, Crowley had opened his mouth and Aziraphale had been terrified - elated - at the thought that he might say something. He hadn’t. He’d sighed instead, and shaken his head before unfurling his wings and plucking free a single feather. He had offered it to Aziraphale wordlessly, and after a very long moment, Aziraphale had taken it.

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