Crowley, who has no idea how bookshops work because he’s never been in one, tosses something over. “A little present. Congrats on the shop.”
Aziraphale huffs as he catches it, not expecting it to be so heavy. He delights as he tears off the paper, no matter that he’s a little nervous. “Crowley…” His voice is slow, cautious. “What is this?”
“A present,” Crowley says again.
“No, I understand that.” Aziraphale tries to find the most delicate way to phrase it. “I’m a little rusty, but if I didn’t know better, I’d think this is an original tablet of the Epic of Gilgamesh. Which is an absurd thought, because that’s clearly something you don’t have.”
“Is that …” He blinks, all innocence. “Not the kind of thing that goes in bookshops?”
“Where did you get this? Did you steal it?”
Crowley puts a hand over his chest. “I’m hurt.”
“I’m serious, Crowley. Did you take this from a museum?”
Both Crowley and Aziraphale had taken credit for museums with their respective organizations.
“What, do you want me to put it back?” He holds a hand out, fingers wagging.
Aziraphale pulls it against his chest. “No. No, I just …” He clears his throat. “No. I’m keeping it.”
Crowley nods, playing it cool. Partly because he is cool, and partly because he doesn’t want the angel to know he’s been holding onto it for over a thousand years now, just waiting for the perfect opportunity to give it to him.
It would just go straight to his head.
