005 ☨ sorry seems to be the hardest word
Characters: Aziraphale and Alice?.
Location: Their apartment.
Time: Late afternoon.
Style: First for speed but I AM SURE WE CAN TL;DR.
Status: Closed like a angsty is sad.
[ Aziraphale didn't bother counting how many days it had been since Sanae had left Vatheon. He knew that counting the days would do nothing more than make the pain worse; he knew ( Read more... )
Location: Their apartment.
Time: Late afternoon.
Style: First for speed but I AM SURE WE CAN TL;DR.
Status: Closed like a angsty is sad.
[ Aziraphale didn't bother counting how many days it had been since Sanae had left Vatheon. He knew that counting the days would do nothing more than make the pain worse; he knew ( Read more... )
He can't bring himself to even pick up a paintbrush.
Everything simply seems duller, slower, as if he's still in a daze...which he is. A part of him still wishes--prays, hopes--that Mr. H will come back, but he knows better.
He won't.
But even knowing this, he can't just...move on.
The knock surprises him, and he blinks--blinks away wetness in his eyes and frowns at that, drawing a sleeve across them quickly.
Then he smiles, sadly. Tea...]
Alright.
[And he stands and goes to the door and opening it, expression still sad, but not devastated.]
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It was a daunting task at best.
He moved around, pottering like an old woman, fixing the tea and placing the teapot out on the table with the mugs. Aziraphale wasn't aware of how his new housemate liked his tea, so he left the milk out, the sugar beside it after he heaped a spoonful or three into his own.
Holding his cup gingerly, waiting for it to cool a little (he refused to cool it with his Will, he wasn't Crowley) Aziraphale turned to smile at Alice. ]
How are you feeling, my dear boy?
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It has been so long since he has had tea, and...well, he can't remember if anyone ever made him tea. Maybe...? One day, in the past that he doesn't remember?
He wishes he knew, and also, irrationally, wishes that this were coffee, not tea.
And he likes tea more, but if it were coffee it would be more like home--
But he takes it for what it is, adding some sugar and some milk as though making the tea is second nature; and maybe it is, he doesn't really know, even as he answers.]
I'm...okay.
[He looks up, worried as well.]
What about you?
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But is he okay? He doesn't think so. He's going through the motions of being alright, but he's losing his will. He knows that something will have to come and snap him out of this soon or he'll be lost in it, and he hopes, desperately, that it would be Sanae's return. But he knows that won't happen and he knows that he will be relying on Crowley.
He can't let Alice know all this, though.
He lifts the tea to his mouth, enjoying the slight burn as he swallows. Leaning back in his chair he keeps his smile up though it remains weak and hesitant. ]
I'm doing as well as can be expected, I suppose.
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He'll always remember that. And he knows that this...this existing isn't good for either of them. He is torn and desperate and hopeful, because there is that faint hope that Mr. H might come back...but that almost makes it worse. It would be so much easier if he had no hope.
He has always been good at moving on without hope. It's a product of his stubbornness. And Aziraphale...he's afraid of losing Aziraphale too. He can't say that this is home too...because it isn't. It can't be. That would be to accept that Mr. H is gone forever. But at the same time, he is afraid of being utterly alone once again.
He cups the mug in his hands, for the warmth and the smell.]
...You told me once that...
[His voice is so painfully hesitant, as though he doesn't know himself if it is true or a lie, but he has to try.]...You said that ( ... )
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"The Lord is good to those whose hope is in him, to the one who seeks him." [ He realises bible verses probably don't mean much to Alice (which is unfortunate, he thinks, but that's not important right now) and so he smiles as best he can, unsure and gentle. ]
There is always hope. People have left this city and returned. Perhaps it just takes time, or perhaps the leaders of this city have something in mind for them. We can always hope that the people we lose will return to us.
[ Then he looks a little uncomfortable. He purses his lips for a moment before looking Alice right in the eyes. ]
But too much hope, living your life on hope, Alice, could hurt you. You can always hope, but don't live for it.
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He knows that the chances are horribly, horrible slim. He knows that there is no reason to hope that Mr. H will come back, because he knows that he probably simply...won't. For every person that came back, a dozen more never did, and he is nothing if not a realist.
But that doesn't help the confusion. He lived without hope from the moment he realized that he had nothing; when given the opportunity for something, he was given hope, and that...that was all he lived for. He honestly doesn't understand--if waiting for Mr. H gives him a reason to live, well...it is better than having no reason at all.]
What else is there to live for?
[He doesn't know. He never has.]
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He closes his eyes for a moment to think. Hope was tangible, dangerous; it could offer the greatest strength whilst being the greatest downfall - and Aziraphale knew that from personal experience more than anything else. The hundreds of humans he had seen fall prey to the darkness of hope were images in his mind and he was forced to open his eyes, to look at Alice - anything to block them. ]Everything. The people that care about you, the people you have yet to meet. The fact that there is going to be a tomorrow - and Goodness knows what we will find happening as the days goes. There are a hundred little things, Alice, and for everyone it's different. We just need to find them and ( ... )
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He has never had the chance to stop and look. To stop and breathe and notice that there are 'a hundred little things' to live for. He is a little too cynical, a little too pessimistic, to believe it; his idealism has been crushed again and again and again and when he had been so close to gaining it back...it had been crushed again.
He struggles to believe Aziraphale; he really does want to. He wants to believe that there is something for someone like him--a nobody, rather, simply a scrap of discarded paper--to live for.
But he cannot.
It is too far out of his reach. He has no proof, no faith, all he has is that faint hope that is slowly disappearing. He sips his tea (sweet, warm, maybe that is why he likes tea), focusing his gaze on the cup clasped in his hands.]
...How do you find them?
[He's so...lost.]
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Aziraphale's eyes turn to Alice and he smiles as best he can. ]
I don't know. Sometimes it's a dream, or determination, or just a little spark of hope. But we all find it in different ways. I live for the Love of the Lord, His strength and His glory. I live because I have a friend who would be lost without me. [ And, he thinks to himself, that he would be lost without Crowley. ] Living has given me these things, and it will do the same for you if you let it.
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[It's a tired mutter; living isn't something he is accustomed to. He needs to find a life before he can live it, doesn't he? Sometimes he wonders if it is even possible.
If he finds a life...will he find something to live for? He raises his mug and breathes in the scent of the tea and takes the time to think.
...And a sigh. Aziraphale shouldn't have to deal with all of his problems on top of his own, Alice? can't help but think.]
I guess I'll...
[...He'll what? This is all much easier said than done, and it isn't even easy to say.]
I'll try.
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[ He smiles, soft and gentle, and shifts his chair closer. He doesn't mind having Alice's problems to worry about, and he doesn't mind caring for the boy. He just wants to get passed this pain, the emotional roadblock they were both feeling. It was too much for either of them to bear. ]
I'll help you however I can, my dear. I can promise you that.
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...Thank you.
[And he closes his eyes for a moment, propping his chin on his hand. A moment's thought, and--
Will it hurt him? He doesn't want to hurt Aziraphale, not after everything that he has done for him. At the same time...]
Do you know how to draw?
[...He thinks it's something Mr. H would want.]
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[ Aziraphale sips from his tea as Alice thinks, and when the boy speaks again he freezes ever so slightly. Drawing, art, everything to do with the creation of beauty through trivial means - things he had associated so strongly with Sanae.
He turns his head to the boy and smiles weakly, nodding a little. ]
I do. Not particularly well, however.
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So why is this so hard to say?
A deep breath, but his voice is quiet.]
I...want to learn how.
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Drawing was Sanae's thing, but if they could do this together... Then perhaps they could remember him, together. Forgetting was hard, and remembering was harder, but remembering with joy - that was easy. ]
Then we should teach you, hm?
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