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The desert knows.
It covers the ground all walk over; makes its way under buildings, inside shoes, plasters itself on sweaty skin and dry mouths.
It's everywhere, so it knows.
It knows when snakes, hungry and desperate, went too long without finding mice and should be claimed by its sand. It heard when the last birds sung; it welcomed the progressively harsher sun each day, sands turning dangerously scorching, biting skin, burning plants. It was there when two people found reasons again to laugh; the desert laughed with them everytime.
“You should eat it.”
Her voice caressed the air softly, sound escaping her mouth gently not to upset a too dry throat.
“Nah. You know I don't like sweets anyways.” The still-wrapped MilkyWay was refused, being pushed again towards the blonde. “The only chocolate I could stand were the bitter ones. You can have it.”
“Crowley! But you haven't—”
“Nor have you.”
A breeze carried the sand further in the abandoned building, the desert curling around the quiet moment. It had watched those two march together, trying to find a way out of it; scavenging old houses, forgotten stores. Walking on shadows when they could, hiding during the day when there was no other option. The desert followed their search, and kept to itself the truth: it was much more vast than four feet could travel.
The plastic wrapper being torn didn't make a sound, but the one holding it did; a deep sigh before she even bit down.
“Dear, how do you think this got here?”
“Someone probably was curious if there was any difference between a MilkyWay and a Mars bar… or, maybe it was forgotten here by an American tourist.”
A sad smile took over the blonde’s face.
"Can you imagine? Coming all this way across the ocean just to —” The smile faltered. “Ah. Well. Doesn't matter much anymore, does it?”
Crowley squeezed her thigh. “Yes. Eat it, Aziraphale.”
She bit into it, the sugary concoction still soft. There was sand there too, a few, very fine particles that the breeze suspended in the air. The desert was everywhere. She hummed with it, her eyes closed. She smiled, it did too; a little tremor far away, a building collapsing and making its way into a dune.
“How does it taste?”
“Sweet. Old.” Aziraphale opened her eyes, they smiled at each other. The desert knew it was for sure old. “Well— if you won’t have it why don't you—” She swallowed dry, cheeks turning red. “At least taste it from my mouth, then?”
“That I can do.”
The desert didn't really understood why they did it, the kissing. Was it to share water through their saliva? It couldn't know, but liked to watch anyways. It was nice to see their cheeks red and their breathing heavy from something that wasn't the scorching heat — almost the only thing the desert could truly offer.
“Hmmm. Sweet. Old. Yeah, reminds me of someone.”
Aziraphale swatted Crowley's arm, the redhead cackling at the gesture.
“You're lucky I love you.”
Bite by small bite, the MilkyWay disappeared under the gaze of yellow eyes and yellow sands.
“That might have been the last MilkyWay.”
“Oh no. Definitely not… besides, there will always be the one above us.”
“Do you reckon the stars are made of chocolate?”
Crowley chortled, a huff that was almost ugly, but that made Aziraphale bite her lips and pull her close anyways.
“Well, only if the moon is made of cheese.” She leaned down, pushing her partner to lay on the duvet that covered the ground. They would share body heat during the frigid night, like the desert had seen they do every time. “A whole constellation of nibbles, comets made of meatballs. Maybe the black holes are swirls of pasta…”
“And the planets are cake.”
The desert laughed, a howl of wind sharpening its dunes like teeth.
They wouldn't last, but they had found some shade of happiness walking on its sands all the same.