Bookshop

The thing was, it always smelled like Aziraphale.

Books and tea and dust. Most people didn’t care for the last part, but most people couldn’t catch it when the dust wasn’t actually there. Aziraphale had made a place that reflected himself. Crowley had watched it happen with interest, because he didn’t think Aziraphale thought about it like that.

It explained even more as to why he didn’t want anyone inside. As good of a person as he was, Aziraphale had a lot of barriers up.

That explained why Crowley didn’t really want anyone inside. This bookshop was Aziraphale and he didn’t think anyone else really had earned the right to see the inside. That Aziraphale would try to chase others out, but not him, told him how much he was right.

But different bookshops? That was different.* Continue reading “Bookshop”

Zombie Apocalypse (pt18)

Tim followed him in, if just to make sure that the other man wouldn’t look out at the car the moment Irish moved in it and made him realize that she had indeed showed up. At least, not until Tim had prepared him for it. “You ran your last car off a bridge.”

“That wasn’t my fault!”

“And the one before that ended up a tree somehow. I’m more surprised that you still have a license. And a new car.”

Heherson was studying him now, something Tim wasn’t sure what to make of. Heherson never looked all that intently at anything, he was usually too all over the place. Except for Irish, of course.

“Did she break up with me for you?”

He didn’t sound angry, simply curious and a bit sad. Nevertheless, Tim was a bit annoyed. “Uh, no? She broke up with you because no matter how much you have in common, Irish can’t stand a messy house and you seem unable to stand an immaculate one. Which I think she told you when she broke up with you.”

Heherson frowned. “But you both have been friends forever.”

“And that means what?”

“You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about it.”

It could be anyone, chill out

Rowan hovered on the other side of the door.

He could hear René, speaking to someone. To anyone, it didn’t really matter. The point was that René was busy once again. Rowan should have walked away, but he didn’t. He found himself frozen where he was, trying to make out who it was with René. He was curious, that was why. That was all.

He didn’t need to know what they were talking about, that wasn’t what he was trying to do. He just wanted to know who it was. If Rowan had to listen this closely to make out the other voice and so happened to hear what René was saying, well, things like that happened.

It continued as murmurs from this side of the door. He couldn’t tell who it was. What the man and René were talking about. He just didn’t know.

He knew he should leave, but he remained. Tried. Who was it? What were they talking about? Staying wasn’t an option.

He had to.