“Your eyes are beautiful.”
No one ever called his eyes beautiful before. They were a reminder of his Fall, of his mistake to dare ask questions. A reminder that he was a demon.
An angel calling that sign of his disobedience, his unforgivable act, beautiful?
Crowley blinked, something he didn’t often do. “I think maybe it’s you who needs glasses, angel.”
Aziraphale shook his head, smiling. “I can see perfectly well what’s in front of me.” He reached out, and stroked a thumb over Crowley’s cheek. “And it’s beautiful.”
Crowley wondered if it was possible to Fall a second time.