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A nice, hot cup of the best brew of the dark liquid is perfect on a rainy day in London Town.
A soothing and most Human custom, or more like a British one, having been adopted by the etherial being during his time around.
Usually loving the quiet of the afternoon, the closed shoppe with the ticking clock, nothing disturbing Aziraphale’s peace.
Until…
… the chime of the bell at the entrance to the supposedly closed bookshop.
“Angel, you busy?”
“Crowley.”
“Yeah, well, I was just in the hood and thought we could, ya know, have some wine and chat and whatnot.”
The huff-filled jump onto the couch. Tea time, over.