[A small part of him has to wonder if this is feeding the Eye, too. If the awful, squirming feeling in his stomach after admitting what is essentially another secret, might satisfy that same fear of judgement that he felt under the lights. Someone might as well get a kick out of it, since Crowley sure as Hell isn't enjoying the excruciating wait for Aziraphale to respond with more than a soft exclamation. He has far too much time to imagine all of the worst possibilities for what might come out of his mouth.
It also gives him time to finish the last of the dishes and dry his hands, so that he can scrub his hands over his face. He has to hope that Aziraphale is either distracted, or that he'll attribute the action to exhaustion, and not realize it's more about making sure a stray tear doesn't escape.
He isn't sure what to do with the response that finally comes. He wasn't expecting an apology, though he supposes that's better than more yelling.]
S'fine. [It probably isn't, but it turns out that nothing takes the wind out anger sails quicker than emotional vulnerability.
It takes a lot of self control not to look at Aziraphale; he wants to see his expression, to know what he's thinking, but he's not sure he could bear being observed in return.
He suspects that this is the point where a human might ask for some kind of physical reassurance, a — hug, or a hand to hold, but that isn't the sort of thing the two of them do, and he's not going to embarrass himself by asking.] Don't worry about it. If you need some time, take it.
[Which is the exact opposite of what he's asking for, but the fight has gone out of him and he lacks the energy to figure out where to go from here.
He also has no idea what to do about dinner, he thinks he might have been overestimating his ability to stay standing and focused for long enough to actually cook anything.]
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It also gives him time to finish the last of the dishes and dry his hands, so that he can scrub his hands over his face. He has to hope that Aziraphale is either distracted, or that he'll attribute the action to exhaustion, and not realize it's more about making sure a stray tear doesn't escape.
He isn't sure what to do with the response that finally comes. He wasn't expecting an apology, though he supposes that's better than more yelling.]
S'fine. [It probably isn't, but it turns out that nothing takes the wind out anger sails quicker than emotional vulnerability.
It takes a lot of self control not to look at Aziraphale; he wants to see his expression, to know what he's thinking, but he's not sure he could bear being observed in return.
He suspects that this is the point where a human might ask for some kind of physical reassurance, a — hug, or a hand to hold, but that isn't the sort of thing the two of them do, and he's not going to embarrass himself by asking.] Don't worry about it. If you need some time, take it.
[Which is the exact opposite of what he's asking for, but the fight has gone out of him and he lacks the energy to figure out where to go from here.
He also has no idea what to do about dinner, he thinks he might have been overestimating his ability to stay standing and focused for long enough to actually cook anything.]