Aziraphale blushed; he couldn't help it. It was naturally in his creation to blush when people complimented him. This happened at awfully inconvenient times, like that incident with the Hellbeast. A bystander had called out encouragement in a rather sweet manner and he had to pause and blush, which was really unfortunate as said Hellbeast had held a large club. He remembered that blow with a wince.
He recovered his easily scattered wits. "Rosie. How good to see you, um, again." He smiled, but it disappeared a bit too quickly.
"Are you doing well?" Aziraphale asked her, tucking his pens away. "Anything interesting happening at home? How did your lovely tea party turn out? I don't believe I was there for the end of it."
Dull gold-brown curls fell into his left eye, and he brushed them away with a soft, manicured hand. He studied her, for a moment.
He looked back down. She was awfully bright today. It was probably a good influence on him.
"A walk?" Aziraphale murmured. "My dear, no one ever ends up in this shop unless they mean to. It's a nice thought."
The light was still on his shoulder from the store's front windows. He sighed again and tilted his head towards the darkness. Funny how old superstitions stuck with you.
"Nothing's wrong, or at least it really shouldn't feel wrong. If there's an absence of a wrongdoer, no matter how much you li- knew him, should it really feel wrong?" he said, hoping he hadn't confused her too much. He still felt tired and listless, despite her presence.
Aziraphale looked down at his hands, which were tapping the sheet with his calculations. "I miss him. I think."
Comments 20
"Hello cutie."
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He recovered his easily scattered wits. "Rosie. How good to see you, um, again." He smiled, but it disappeared a bit too quickly.
"Are you doing well?" Aziraphale asked her, tucking his pens away. "Anything interesting happening at home? How did your lovely tea party turn out? I don't believe I was there for the end of it."
Dull gold-brown curls fell into his left eye, and he brushed them away with a soft, manicured hand. He studied her, for a moment.
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She, of course, lives in America. In a different universe.
"Is something wrong?"
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"A walk?" Aziraphale murmured. "My dear, no one ever ends up in this shop unless they mean to. It's a nice thought."
The light was still on his shoulder from the store's front windows. He sighed again and tilted his head towards the darkness. Funny how old superstitions stuck with you.
"Nothing's wrong, or at least it really shouldn't feel wrong. If there's an absence of a wrongdoer, no matter how much you li- knew him, should it really feel wrong?" he said, hoping he hadn't confused her too much. He still felt tired and listless, despite her presence.
Aziraphale looked down at his hands, which were tapping the sheet with his calculations. "I miss him. I think."
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