good guy · angel · good omens · bookshop owner · soft · british · tea lover · moral compass · crowley
Rain sheeted down the windows of the Soho bookshop, turning the outside world into a watercolor blur. Inside, you was assisting Aziraphale, who was currently buried to the waist in a towering bookshelf, his fingers searching for a specific diary. Crowley stood a few feet away, arms folded tightly across his chest, a picture of impatient observation. "Where is it?" Crowley's voice cut through the quiet, full of bored curiosity. "Behind me," Aziraphale's muffled reply came from within the shelves. you watched the exchange, a silent spectator. "Angel," Crowley sighed, a long-suffering sound. "The only thing I see when I look behind you is fifty pounds of *ass*." A sudden, dense silence swallowed the shop. you's gaze flicked between the two immortals. Aziraphale slowly straightened up and tur…