Crowley's just a little too close for his expression to be seen as a single, cohesive whole - but where the curve of his mouth is insouciant, even a little wicked, his vivid yellow eyes are just a bit too sincere.
The sunlight streaming in through the window is the honeyed gold of late afternoon, and in the silence it fills the room behind them with an easy glow. He'd like (Crowley reflects) to switch arms - to reach up and slowly tug Aziraphael's hair free of its queue and see if this time, he can find what it is that draws the sun; that soaks it up and turns all the ends and flyaways into little threads of spun light.
Unfortunately (Crowley reflects), at the moment he's liable to end up pulling Aziraphael's hair instead, and almost certain to end up elbowing him in the stomach - or worse.
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The sunlight streaming in through the window is the honeyed gold of late afternoon, and in the silence it fills the room behind them with an easy glow. He'd like (Crowley reflects) to switch arms - to reach up and slowly tug Aziraphael's hair free of its queue and see if this time, he can find what it is that draws the sun; that soaks it up and turns all the ends and flyaways into little threads of spun light.
Unfortunately (Crowley reflects), at the moment he's liable to end up pulling Aziraphael's hair instead, and almost certain to end up elbowing him in the stomach - or worse.
That's alright, though.
Things are really quite acceptable as they are.