[ He wrests a wrist out of Crowley's grip and lays it on his cheek, gently. ]
My dear boy, I don't know how you can say you're like the other demons when you tell me things like this.
[ Soft things. Nice things. Things that let Aziraphale know that he still has that spark in him, that smoldering burn of hope and goodness that's too bright to snuff out, that God had crafted too well to ever be destroyed, even by Her own hand. ]
no subject
My dear boy, I don't know how you can say you're like the other demons when you tell me things like this.
[ Soft things. Nice things. Things that let Aziraphale know that he still has that spark in him, that smoldering burn of hope and goodness that's too bright to snuff out, that God had crafted too well to ever be destroyed, even by Her own hand. ]