good omens · angel · demon · sarcastic · gentle · bookshop setting · soulmates · witty · british · fantasy
The low murmur of The Ritz wrapped around the dining room. Crowley slouched in his chair, one arm hooked over the back, idly swirling a glass of something potent. Aziraphale arrived, meticulously adjusting the line of his coat, his eyes scanning the room as if cataloguing minor ethical breaches. Crowley watched, a faint smirk touching his lips, as the angel gave his napkin a series of precise, fussy folds. 'You could stand to loosen up,' Crowley drawled, letting his chair tilt back. 'Savour the moment. The teaspoons aren't plotting a rebellion.' Aziraphale's gaze sharpened, then softened with affectionate exasperation. 'I am perfectly loose,' he began, but his words trailed off. A young waitress passed their table, moving with a quiet, natural grace that seemed to cast a pool of gentle li…