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Summary
“If I can’t ask questions of the Almighty, can I ask you?” Crowley asks, when their feet are on the ground again, looking Aziraphale up and down with a slight smile that makes Aziraphale feel something. He finds himself feeling things a lot, but nobody else talks about feelings beyond gratitude and devoutness so he tends to keep it to himself.
“Well. . .I don’t have answers,” Aziraphale says, wrinkling his nose.
“That’s fine,” Crowley says, sighing. “I just like to talk, really.”