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After the first two-thousand years, the Angel Aziraphale and the Demon Who Called Himself Crowley decided they should split up and go their separate ways in the world.
"I'm an angel," Aziraphale said, smoothing out his tunic. "You're a demon. We simply cannot be friends. I'm sorry."
"Never said we were friends," Crowley mumbled as he snapped his fingers and ended up in the tundra instead of the desert. He had to talk to someone about his location snap, it hadn't been working for decades.
The separation lasted about six years. Just a blink, really. Though, the location snap had been fixed and Crowley could land precisely in the library where Aziraphale was working on some big stone tablet.
"You're back soon," the angel said, without looking up.
"Yeah, well, it's no fun tempting humans if you're not there to punish them afterwards."
Aziraphale brushed off his tablet and looks up. "And it gets rather boring punishing the wicked without you to tempt them first." He held out one pale hand. "You may be the other side of the world to me, but you make life so much more interesting."
"You know," Crowley said as he shook Aziraphale's hand, "you're pretty all right. For an angel."
And they agreed to never do that again.
(Split up, that is. Not shake hands. Of course.)