[ It's seeing the way Aziraphale has bloomed with confidence without the Archangels always trying to grind it out of him that leaves Crowley breathless and beaming. To Crowley's eyes, Aziraphale has always been brilliant and beautiful, but it's in these moments Crowley is really able to drink it in - the sight of him, the warm weight of his body, and the distant tickle of something else ethereal and wonderful brushing up against Crowley's very essence.
Crowley's said it once, he's said it a thousand times; Heaven has no taste. It's the only logical explanation he has as to why Aziraphale was treated so poorly rather than having half a dozen celestial suitors mooning over him at any given time.
In other words, Crowley is very reassured. Or at least too smitten to let his usual neurosis get a foothold. ]
Done a bit, yeah. S'where I plant all the rejects that didn't thrive in captivity. Let them do their own thing. Probably all overgrown now, gonna have to do a lot of weeding.
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Crowley's said it once, he's said it a thousand times; Heaven has no taste. It's the only logical explanation he has as to why Aziraphale was treated so poorly rather than having half a dozen celestial suitors mooning over him at any given time.
In other words, Crowley is very reassured. Or at least too smitten to let his usual neurosis get a foothold. ]
Done a bit, yeah. S'where I plant all the rejects that didn't thrive in captivity. Let them do their own thing. Probably all overgrown now, gonna have to do a lot of weeding.