"I don't know," Aziraphale slurred, two-thirds into his bottle of unspeakably expensive Merlot, "I always imagined the two of us... you know, closing up shop together."
"Isss your shop," Crowley managed. His spectacles were balanced on the end of his nose.
"No,, I mean, all of it. The universe. Her creation." Aziraphale gestured. "At the end of it all, I thought you and I would be there... putting the chairs up on the table, turning out the lights. You know."
Crowley caught his eye. "You. An... me."
"Yes."
They sat in silence, a moment, eternity looming.
"That'd be all right."
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I'm not crying, you're crying
Smrtijedka
I'm not crying, you're crying.
That'ssss nice. A little
Small_CS_Traff…
That'ssss nice. A little disturbing, but nicely disturbing.