The last time Aziraphale and Crowley met someone who was named in Genesis, the world nearly ended. Of course, Adam had been the Antichrist, but the two had realized long ago that everything happened for a reason, and a girl named Eve didn't show up on your doorstep nearly a year after a boy named Adam had tried to destroy Earth.

"Well, good job there, angel." Crowley took a swig of his wine.

"I didn't know her name!" Aziraphale argued.

"When a meteor or something hits London tomorrow, I don't want to hear it."

"Wouldn't our respective offices had contacted us if there was some sort of evil entity roaming around London?" Crowley said nothing, just shrugged as he took another sip.

"Well, whatever it is, somebody, somewhere, is trying to send us a message, or a warning, or an omen or whatever."

Aziraphale walked over to the table that Eve was working at and neatly stacked the architecture books. "I think she was just writing a paper." He said.

Sure enough, Eve returned two days after that, after London had successfully not been hit with any meteors. However, she came to find Mr. Fell alone in his shop, and without his friend who was there before. Eve had secretly watched them while she took her notes the other evening. She didn't always mean to do it, but she loved observing people and watching how they interacted with others.

Eve was shy and timid around new people. She spoke quietly and quickly and didn't always make eye contact. With Mr. Fell and his friend, Eve observed that something was most definitely going on between the two of them. Friends didn't usually linger over gazing at each other.

Even more-so, what had been bothering her for the past two days then was how her clothes, her hair, and her book bag had dried so quickly and her books and notebooks weren't at all damaged by the rain. It wasn't like her bag was entirely waterproof.

She took the Tube to Mr. Fell's shop after her last class that day. With his sporadic business hours, she was lucky for him to open that day. She pushed open the door, and the twinkle of the bell caught his attention as he stood at the cashier counter, drinking tea. "Ah, good afternoon, Eve."

Eve almost jumped from where she stood at the door. She hadn't expected the bookseller to remember her at all. After all, she found herself to be quite forgettable.

"Back for more research?" he asked.

"Uh, yeah. I wanted to make it back yesterday, but I got stuck in the studio all day. I had to finish drawing my elevation." She started to make her way back to the table and sofa where she sat before, seeing the books she was using as her sources in a neat pile. Before she sat down, she paused and turned back to the bookseller. "Mr. Fell?"

"Yes? Anything I can help you with?"

"Are you a witch?"

It came out so childishly and nonchalantly, although it made Aziraphale almost choke on his tea, "A witch? What makes you say that?"

"Well, it's just," she looked back at the fireplace, which wasn't lit at the moment as that day had been sunny and warm, "people don't dry off in five minutes."

Oh bother, she had noticed, Aziraphale thought to himself. I can't tell her I'm not a witch, there's no other explanation. And if I'm not a witch, what else am I? Oh, I wish Crowley was here. He's always good at averting a crisis.

"I'm not a witch… I'm, well, an angel." Aziraphale clasped his hands in front of him, bracing himself for whatever reaction the girl would have.

What he didn't brace himself for was her breaking out into laughter. She started to shrug her bag off of her shoulders, "Yeah, okay. You know, I'm not going to burn you at the stake if you really are a witch."

Aziraphale sighed. Eve continued giggling and there was the sound of rustling feathers and then the loud 'thump' of her book bag on the hardwood floor. Aziraphale had magnificent white wings that somehow glowed like they were made of diamonds. Eve gaped at them, speechless before the English language entered her mind again. "Well, I'll be damned."

"Quite the opposite, actually," Aziraphale smirked and his wings disappeared.

"And your friend? Is he an angel as well?"

"Crowley? No, he's… a demon."

"Ha!" Eve let out and brought her palm to her forehead like she was checking to see if this was all just a fever dream. "A bloody demon and a bloody angel…" She slowly sat down on the sofa, still looking flabbergasted.

"You mustn't tell anyone, though."

"Who would I tell? And even then, they'd call me crazy for even saying it!" She looked at the books, but couldn't find it within herself to concentrate on schoolwork when there was something much more interesting going on. "So, I guess your name isn't really A.Z. Fell, then."

Aziraphale shook his head. "It's just Aziraphale."

"Aziraphale," Eve repeated, testing the pronunciation. "I like that much better." She gave a small smile, now having absorbed the fact that she was in the company of a celestial being. "So, how did you two meet?"

"It's a long story, actually."

"I've got time." Eve shrugged. And that was how the two of them ended up talking for hours on the sofa. Well, actually, Aziraphale did most of the talking, while Eve intently listened. He told her his and Crowley's story, from the very beginning in the Garden of Eden, to Ancient Rome, to the sixteenth century, to the Victorian era, to both World Wars, and coming to a close at the Apocalypse-that-didn't-happen.

"So, you're telling me that the world almost ended a year ago?"

"You mean you don't remember anything from that day? Or even that week?"

Eve shook her head, "I must've been in the studio." She laughed. The studio was a windowless room crowded with drafting tables and uncomfortable stools. She spent sometimes hours on end in there, even to early in the mornings, working on her elevations and floor plans and details.

"This shop actually burnt down, but the next morning, everything was back to normal, not a scratch on anything."

Eve looked around the shop, at all of the books so carefully cared for, and not to mention the warm and cozy aesthetic. It would have been sad if this place actually had burnt down and remained that way. Plus, she would have never been able to get the books she needed for her thesis. And she would have never met Aziraphale.

When you are lonely, it's easy for you to find yourself attached to people, even if you just met them. You may find ways to entertain yourself, like reading a lot or daydreaming, creating worlds and stories and scenarios that would never happen. When someone allows you to talk, you talk and talk because there's so much that's gone unsaid within you. And Aziraphale was very kind to the young girl and welcoming, and besides, he was a literal angel so what wasn't there to not trust or not like about him. And his bookshop was just as warm and welcoming, and Eve found herself excited to return there, even if it meant having to work on her paper.

Likewise, an angel can only go for so long enjoying the same company. Not that he ever grew tired of Crowley; there was no such thing of growing tired of the wily demon. But he and Crowley had heard each other's stories. Actually, they had been there for most of one another's stories. But it was nice to have someone new to tell those stories to. It was quite fun to watch Eve's face in awe as Aziraphale told his story.

When he finished, Eve was sitting with her chin her palm, a warm smile on her face. "That was the best story I've ever heard."

"Thank you, dear." At some point in the midst of all that storytelling, Aziraphale had, what he told Eve, "miracled" some hot cocoa for the two of them and was just finishing his mug up, Eve's long gone.

"So, are you together now?" She asked curiously.

Aziraphale looked thoroughly confused. "What do you mean? Are who together?"

"You and Crowley, of course."

Now it was Aziraphale who burst into laughter, "Oh, you sweet child. H - he and I aren't together!"

Well, that story sure as hell sounded like a 6,000-year romance story, she thought. "My apologies. It's just, you seemed close, and the way you speak of him..."

"Oh, Crowley is only my best friend. Besides, I highly doubt demons are even capable of being in relationships - not any more than angels are."

"I guess you're right." But she knew something was off with him. He was so flustered about it, there was no way they were "just friends." Eve looked at Aziraphale's grandfather clock, which had just hit the next hour. "Oh, shoot. It's late. I really have better get going." She stood and slung her bag over her shoulder. "Thank you again. And, it was nice to finally meet you, Aziraphale."

"Likewise, Eve." He smiled and let her out, and as she was walking out the door, a 1930s Bentley pulled up in front of the shop with a screech. Crowley got out and almost walked completely past Eve if she hadn't said, "Hi, Crowley," in an almost knowing tone. The demon stopped and looked at her quizzically before she waved to them both and walked down the street.

When she was gone, Crowley turned to Aziraphale, "What was that all about?"

"You must have known she'd come back to do more research, Crowley?"

"Not that! How'd she know my name?" Aziraphale stepped aside to let Crowley in and shut the door, but kept his gaze to the floor.

"Well... I told her."

"What? You told her what?"

Aziraphale bit his lip before saying, "Everything."

"Aziraphale! What in Hell's name were you thinking?"

"She asked! Well, she asked after she had accused me of being a witch!"

"Oh, so telling her you're an angel is much better than being accused of some occultism and light magic?"

"Well, when you put it that way. You needn't worry, Crowley, she said our secret is safe."

"It'd be even safer if you had just kept your mouth shut." Crowley whisked over to Aziraphale's desk and the old sofa that had been his for years and plopped down.

Aziraphale, of course, didn't tell Crowley that Eve had thought that the two of them were together. After the Armageddon-that-wasn't, the mood had shifted between them. Before, they would occasionally meet up, go to the park together, talk for an hour or two in Aziraphale's shop. Now, it felt like they were almost always together, and closer to one another, physically. It was just a hand on the knee or on the arm, but they lingered for longer than what may be socially acceptable, and it made Aziraphale's heart beat so loud, he was surprised Crowley couldn't hear it.

There was always that lingering urge, that ache in his chest, the twitch in his fingers, to reach out and take Crowley's hand and feel what kissing his lips would feel like. He had always been curious, but he managed to subside it for thousands of years. Until the Second World War when Crowley had saved him in that church and saved his books nonetheless. That had been the nail on the coffin.

But he'd never tell Crowley that. Instead, he told him, "Eve said you're the prettiest demon she's ever seen."

Crowley rolled his eyes, "She thinks she can buy me over with some sweet words?" He miracled himself a drink and took a sip and then grumbled, "Although, it is true."

"Wholly," Aziraphale smirked. Crowley just took another drink, hoping to hide his pink cheeks with his glass.