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Summary
“I still wonder what they taste like,” Aziraphale says, soft. Curious. Eyes flitting between the chocolates and Crowley.
“Don’t hold back on my account, angel,” Crowley offers absently. “They’re for you.”
Aziraphale purses his lips, rolls his eyes. Clears his throat and speaks more deliberately.
“I always had this hope that you would give them to me yourself, one day,” he explains, slowly, clearly. “Would you mind getting one for me?”
After Aziraphale opens his bookshop, Crowley brings him some chocolates to celebrate. Years later, Aziraphale reminds him of his gift.
Aka, the post-bookshop-opening scene that never was.