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"I know it sounds ridiculous, but I came down this morning and my books were alphabetical." Aziraphale wasn't quite sure why the human in sunglasses was talking to him. He'd surfaced on Aziraphale's left and carried on as if they were in the middle of a conversation, not a queue. Australian, perhaps, although his accent didn't quite match.
"Shouldn't they be?"
"Of course not," Aziraphale huffed. "I have my own very particular order. Besides, even a library doesn't arrange books alphabetically by title."
"They don't?" He seemed taken aback. "Perhaps your poltergeist doesn't read books."
"Then they've no business loitering around mine." Aziraphale sighed. He shouldn't be confiding his problems to a human, however sympathetic. "I thought I was imagining things. My cocoa moved, my salt and sugar reversed... well, I can be quite absentminded while reading. The books were the final straw."
"Perhaps he despaired of getting your attention."
"Why are you presuming their gender?"
The human gave him a long slow look, head to toes, lingering particularly on his bow tie. Despite the glasses, Aziraphale felt oddly naked, as if his comfortable clothes were stripped away and his wings bared to the gaze. "No reason." His thin lips twitched. "Crowley."
"Hmm?"
"The name's Crowley."
"I'm Aziraphale." He turned to make his order, nodding at his companion. "Perhaps I'll see you again sometime, Crowley."
"I'm here every morning at half ten."
"What a remarkable coincidence! That's when I come for my elevenses."
"I know, Aziraphale."
A strange person. Aziraphale collected his eclairs and cocoa, and headed to the door. He was almost... But handsome strangers in black didn't approach him, and if they did, he wouldn't exploit the affections of a human. Still. There was something darkly pleasant about Crowley.
The sky opened on him, even though it had been clear and blue a moment ago. Aziraphale awkwardly shifted his bag of eclairs to the hand with his hot reusable cup, and opened his umbrella. As he did, a lean figure sidled out of the door beside him, and he automatically tilted the umbrella to cover him as well.
Crowley didn't thank him, falling silently into step beside him. Aziraphale thought of asking where he was going, but it seemed he was coming to check out the bookshop and poltergeist.
"Well, Crowley," he said weakly, as they entered the shop. "I wonder what the poltergeist is up to now."
"This." Crowley took his bag and cup from his hands, and Aziraphale felt the dark aura flame up around him. Ah. A demon. And they had said each other's names, with all the magical weight that entailed. He should be afraid, he thought dimly, as Crowley took his hands and leaned in. Or smite his mortal enemy. Not tilt his face up for the kiss he knew was coming, that felt inevitable, that felt like home.
"Now I have your attention, angel."
Aziraphale was only sure of one thing. "Don't touch my books again," he said, and kissed him back.