Crowley sang hymns long forgotten to the choirs of heaven. The lyrics, old and in a language remembered only by those who fought in the first wars, stirred a sense of familiarity deep within Aziraphale's soul, though try as he might, he could not seem to recall the songs with any sense of accuracy.
They were beautiful, though, made even more so by the sweet, low timbre of Crowley's voice, and honestly, Aziraphale couldn't remember ever hearing any sound that moved him more. For when Crowley sang, he did so with such reverence, such adoration, that it was hard to believe the crooning came from one who had Fallen.
Though, perhaps it would be more accurate to say that it was because of his Fall that Crowley was able to insert more emotion into the words than any angel ever had. After all, he knew the taste of loss, knew the bitter sting of rejection. How many angels could say the same?
Crowley sang of love, but he sang of a love that had been lost, and of promises that were conditional.
As the millenia progressed, Crowley began to pick up hymns composed of human words, as well. In fact, he seemed to devote even more of a fondness to those than he did the old ones.
It shouldn't have come as a surprise, then, when he started singing songs of a different kind of devtion, after the world didn't end. These were songs about a love that was as everlasting and as it was unconditional.
And though they were more bebop than hymns (though Crowley insisted that they were most definitely neither) Aziraphale found that it was the newer songs he liked best. Though, how could he not, when Crowley looked him in the eye and sang things like I hope you don't mind, I hope you don't mind, that I put down in words, how wonderful life is while you're in the world.
AN: This is sort of a companion to this piece, though the two don't need to be read together.
