nny | 100 words

“Happily ever after is claptrap anyway,” said Aziraphale, placing the rejected Grimm’s back on the shelf. “I realise it’s the height of irony my saying it, so you needn’t comment, Crowley,” (Crowley endeavoured to look just as innocent as a man in snakeskin shoes can look, which is to say, not really at all), “but the prospect of eternal happiness is at best monotonous and at worst – at worst it’s itchy.”

“Itchy?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean.”

It was astonishing how well Crowley’s chin fit just exactly against Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Ever after, though?” he said.