For several long seconds, Aziraphale simply stared blankly at Gabriel, trying to comprehend the words he thought he'd just heard… But, then, he'd probably simply misheard. The words "Michael is my girlfriend." simply could not have just come from Gabriel's mouth. Aziraphale smiled his best smile given the circumstances and asked, "I'm sorry, I believe I misheard… What did you just say?"

Michael stepped over, eyes forward slightly, sidling in front of Gabriel with a proprietary hand resting on his stomach. "He said, I'm his girlfriend."

The shock that filled Aziraphale at realizing that yes, he had indeed heard those words correctly, and yes, his entire plan had just been derailed by a single sentence, and yes, his true love thought he was in love with another person made coherent thought nearly impossible. "Girlfriend?" The word was quiet as he said it, disbelieving even in the face of such cold, hard, undeniable proof.

For a second, it felt like his world had been turned on end. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he tried to deny it one more time, tried to convince himself that he was wrong, but it didn't take. His legs felt like jelly, threatening to collapse under him, and he stumbled backwards, turning away so as not to face the couple.

All at once, he felt nauseous, the breakfast he'd eaten that morning threatening to resurface, but he forced it down with a few deep breaths. He could hear Michael talking to Gabriel, quiet whispers somehow loud and invasive, worming their jeering way into his head. For a second, they're all he hears, the words they spoke blending together into a low murmur as the world fades, his vision blacking out.

When it slowly starts to return, it's in splotches of red, black, and silver, the colors dancing before his eyes like oil on water before coalescing into the forms of three very familiar people.

"Carmen? Sable? Chalky?" He shook his head, blinking. As far as he knew, they were still back at home, not coming to visit Heaven Law of all places. "What are you doing here?"

Carmen grinned her trademark predatory smile, but it was odd, distorted. Aziraphale could see traces of blood winding their way down her face, blonde hair interwoven with a red ribbon that writhed like a river of that self-same fluid. "This is the end of your world, Ezra. And every apocalypse needs the Horsemen!"

Sable nodded. "We're here to help. But we're not actually here. The room is barren, save for you and… those two. We're in your head." He, too, looked different; his skin was waxy and oddly pale, teeth sharp as needles and just as vicious. His cheeks looked hollowed out, overall gaunt and thin in an almost nightmarish way.

Chalky looked the most normal of the three, though their skin and clothing looked just a touch more dirty even than usual, black smeared across their face. "What are you crying at, Ezra?" Wait, he was crying? A touch to his face did indeed reveal wet tracks on his skin, tears tracing down to his chin. Hastily, he rubbed them away, the smoothness of his handkerchief doing little to soften the rough sensation of cloth dragging against skin.

"Yeah, she's not exactly a threat, Ezra." Carmen gestured over at Michael, a sneer on her face. "I mean, look at her! A little girl with her toy." She snorted. "Should have stuck with her dollies, stayed away from law school." A laugh replaced the snort, genuine and frightening in equal measure. "You've got to get your head back in the game, Aziraphale. You can't let… that… steal your man." She turned, forcing Aziraphale to pivot as well and look back. "Look at her. She thinks all her chickens are coming home to roost."

Sable nodded, teeth bared slightly in what was probably supposed to be a grin but came across far more negatively. "She doesn't understand, though… You're meant to be together. She has no more chickens. You've just got to get your head back in the game."

Aziraphale could feel the air displacement as Carmen nodded, prodding him forward gently. "Go on… fight for your man."

For a second - just a second, but it was there - Aziraphale found himself going along with it, tempted by the idea. He could see himself marching over there and fighting for Gabriel's sake - the motivation was there, at least - but he stopped himself at the last second, literally digging in his heels to stop. Who did he think he was? Some… vigilante? A protector, a fighter? If he had that romanticized a view of himself, what was next? Some magic weapon, like a special book or a flaming sword? As if he ever physically fought? For anything?

"No." He turned back, pushing Carmen back. "No, thank you. I'm not a fighter. And I wouldn't fight her even if I were."

Sable stepped over to Aziraphale's left side, voice low and coaxing. "Maybe fighting with fists isn't your style, but I'm sure you can turn his head." His cold hand settles around Aziraphale's chin, turning him to look at Gabriel again. "Look at his eyes… He's not engaged in their conversation. So cold, so cool." It was true; Gabriel was looking at Michael with a stiffness that didn't belong in the relationship, blueish-purple eyes flicking around the room judgmentally rather than meeting hers. "There's no hunger in that relationship. No passion, no desire, no… lust." The word dragged out, sibilant through sharpened teeth in a way that made Aziraphale shudder.

Chalky stepped up to Aziraphale's other side, leaving him caught between the two. "Think about it, Ezra. All you have to do is find your way back into his head. Worm your way in and rid it of the corruption she's placed there." They stepped forward and Sable followed immediately after, both ushering Aziraphale forward. "You could, you know." Their words turned quiet, wheedling, insistent. "You could save him from that…" They trailed off, spitting out their next word. "...pollution, and get him to look at you again."

"It's not that hard, you know." Sable advanced again, taking the lead. "You've got the clothes, and that natural blonde hair isn't the most common thing in the world. All it would take is a little care in your wardrobe and…" He trailed off, a rather suggestive pause filling the area.

Aziraphale shook his head again, pushing them both back by Carmen. "No." The three chorused in outrage, violently protesting his answer before he stopped them in their tracks. "Gabriel doesn't want somebody violent or…" He paused, looking for a word that wasn't coming until he settled on "...provocative. He needs somebody serious." Each word felt heavy, thick with undeniable truth. His next sentence was as much a revelation to himself as it was a statement to them, half-muttered under his breath. "He's not the one who needs to change… I do." Another chorus of protests arose, but he shook his head, speaking louder and more assuredly. "I simply haven't changed enough. It's what needs to happen."

It was almost as though his world shifted on its axis. One second, he swore there were three figures in front of him, splotches of solid color streaking like oil paint in front of him. The next, they were gone and the hall was completely empty, as though they had never been there at all… which, he supposed, they hadn't been. He glanced around, looking first for his friends - no sign - and then turning to address Gabriel and Michael, but they were gone as well. Instead, the hall was completely and utterly silent, filled with the heavy gravitas of most old institutions and isolating to the extreme.

Despite the bizarre and off-putting ambience of the place, Aziraphale couldn't hide the spring in his step or the sudden urge to smile. Sure, he'd gotten kicked out of class. Sure, Gabriel thought he was in love with another woman. Sure, they made a good - and serious - couple. But Aziraphale had the situation well in hand. He knew what needed to be done.