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    Summary

    Crowley and Aziraphale celebrate the end of the first world war with a few drinks. Things...spiral from there.

    ***

    “To peace,” he said brightly, trying to make his face match his tone. It didn’t work, never worked, but Aziraphale pretended not to see.

    “To peace,” the angel echoed, and they both downed their whiskey in one go.

    “Oof. Whiskey never was my favourite,” Aziraphale said, and held his tumbler out for another.

    Language:
    English
    Words:
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    Chapters:
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