Crowley reaches for Aziraphale’s hand. (They’ve been holding hands a lot these days, now that the world hasn’t ended, now that they can. They are each other’s, to have and to hold, and now they will let nothing stand in the way of that.)
But this time, Aziraphale flinches and pulls his hand away. Crowley draws back, alarmed.
“Is something the matter?” he asks, worry coloring his tone. Has he done something wrong? Has he upset Aziraphale without realizing it?
But Aziraphale smiles up at him, reassuring. “No, no, everything is fine. It’s just…this.” His smile turns slightly nervous as he brings his left hand up and presents it to Crowley. “I was going to show you later, but…”
Crowley can barely hear him, eyes wide as he takes Aziraphale’s hand gently in his and tries to process what he sees. On Aziraphale’s ring finger, delicate swirls of black ink trace the figure of a snake winding from fingertip to base, where it loops around as if forming a ring.
Aziraphale raises his hand out of Crowley’s grasp and presses it to the side of his face, right over where the small black image of a snake has sat curled for so many long years. “Now we match, see?”
Crowley can do nothing but stare at stare at Aziraphale, mouth hanging slightly open. Aziraphale’s expression is still slightly uncertain, and grows more so the longer Crowley doesn’t respond. Then Crowley lets out an inarticulate sound and gathers Aziraphale into his arms, pressing his face to Aziraphale’s neck.
“I love you,” he says, his words muffled by Aziraphale’s coat. “Oh, angel, I love you so much.” And as Aziraphale wraps his arms tightly around him, murmuring his own love back, Crowley’s eyes are more than a bit damp.