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Summary
“Aziraphale’s face slowly lit up as he realized the demon was asleep. He didn’t quite understand why Crowley liked to sleep, but he found it endearing all the same. His heart fluttered in his chest as a wave of love love love washed over him. He fumbled about his desk for a pen and paper; he desperately needed to get his feelings out of him before he exploded. He scribbled words down on the paper, not really thinking, just writing furiously.”
Aziraphale pines and writes a lot of poetry. Crowley finds it and stops functioning.