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“So,” Crowley starts, looking over at the other inhabitants of the cafe. “I’m guessing this isn’t a social call.”
Aziraphale immediately looks up, ready to deny it, but he pauses his rebuttal. He missed Crowley, really. Especially after ten lonely years of sitting in the bookshop, surrounded by words but not by a wily adversary who knows how to lift his spirits.
But, as much as Aziraphale wants this to only be a friendly adversary meet-up, he needed assistance with his assignment.
Aziraphale lets out a small breath, opting to not say a word. His tendency to overthink still is unwavering, it seems.
Crowley only watches him, chuckling bitterly. “Knew it.”
Ten years after Aziraphale handed Crowley holy water, he needs his help on an assignment that is more dangerous than any of them had expected.