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At the end they did not talk about it. Aziraphale was not sure where to start that conversation, so it came as a relief when Crowley turned round and asked if he wanted to go to the beach.
- To the beach?
- Mmmnnhh, yeah, to watch the sea… and stuff. ‘s supposed to be relaxing.
- I, um, that is-
- You don’t like the beach, do you?
- Not particularly, to be honest… - Aziraphale wanted to kick himself, he really could have held back with the honesty on this specific occasion, - But I do like looking at the sea! A-and I like fish, mostly eating it, but it does normally come from the sea, I mean except for when it comes from the lakes, or the rivers, or… Forgive me, my dear, I am rambling.
- Well, there you go then, we can rent one of those umbrellas, you can just sit underneath it, watch the sea, might even drink cocktails and read a bit… And then go and eat a fish.
- And you?
- What about me?
- Well, I am assuming you would be there too?
- Yeah, always up for cocktails, me.
It felt like there was something tightly wound in Crowley as he made this suggestion. Something beneath the surface, something mostly only Aziraphale would notice, but it was undoubtedly there. So the angel decided that he could come to some sort of understanding with the sand (how did it manage to get everywhere?), and spend the day together the way Crowley wanted. As they arrived to the shore, and Aziraphale settled under the brightly coloured umbrella and a suddenly rather comfy plastic chaise-longue, that tightly wound something seemed to have let up a little…
“I’ll just go stand near the water for a bit, you get comfortable, Angel.” – and with that Crowley was gone. Aziraphale watched his lanky figure grow smaller as the demon walked closer to the water, low tide luring him further and further away. Aziraphale sighed and fished out the book out of his bag. It was not one of his usual prized volumes, but rather a paperback promising whatever lurked inside to be “the best thriller of this summer” – not exactly the most enticing recommendation, but if a book had to be sacrificed to the waves, Aziraphale would rather it were something like this.
When he lifted his eyes from the book (good god, was he already through half of it?! That was a gripping read, perhaps only somewhat aided by his desire to escape reality for a moment), it took him some time to find Crowley. Aziraphale finally spotted him near the water, down on the sand, frantically digging for something, his cocktail glass half-empty and forgotten. Was Crowley building something?
As he watched Crowley energetically shovel sand around, a thought came unbidden into his head and refused to leave. “He should put sunscreen on”. Not that Crowley's skin would burn or anything, probably not, but… it looked so pale, so fragile under those rays. Aziraphale could, of course, just miracle it, but the idea of doing it the human way: putting the sweet-smelljng cream onto his hands and running his fingers over Crowley's shoulders, over his lightly freckled arms, over those shoulder blades… They looked so fragile, yet powerful, making something burst in Aziraphale's chest - he wanted, he needed to touch them.
Aziraphale took a deep breath and got up from the chaise longue. He got a bottle of sunscreen out of thin air and started making his way towards Crowley, nor quite believing he was truly about to go through with the plan.
- That's quite impressive! - Aziraphale finally stood next to Crowley, admiring his sandy creation
- Why, thank you! Always liked building things. Not that I often do, but ya know… and sand's good, it's a good material, I mean, versatile for one thing, and not in short supply!
- I can't fully vouch for the accuracy, I'm afraid, but signor Alighieri would have been flattered.
- Ha! I'm sure he would.
Aziraphale took some time walking around the hourglass shaped structure, admiring the detail of Crowley's work. It certainly was inspired by Dante’s work, with some marked alterations, mostly on Hell’s side. A wave got precariously close to the outer sides of the walls.
- Pity the tide is going to wash it all away…
- That's the idea.
They stood there together, watching the sea wash over and drag away bits of the sandy heaven and hell, and somehow, miraculously, it felt like something unwound in both of them. Aziraphale took Crowley's hand and squeezed it, and held his breath. He was not good at asking for forgiveness, not with the only person with whom it mattered anyway. He scrambled for the right words, but none came, it seemed like all his attention was focused on Crowley's hand in his and the waves licking away the last of the sand structure.
- That's it, it's gone. No heaven, no hell.
- Just us.
- Yeah, just… us. And the world.
- That's all we ever wanted, wasn't it?
Suddenly, Crowley pulled his hand over his head, landing Aziraphale's arm neatly around his shoulders.
- You know I wouldn't mind a bit of sunscreen, right?
- You foul fiend!..