Chapter Text
Prologue
It was rare for Aziraphale to spend extended time outside his factory. It was rarer still for him to relax while he did it. Well, maybe less so in the last few years. Not since he had found his wonderful human beau. Crowley did like to bring him out on all sorts of marvelous dates. But today was still a notable exception. Aziraphale, or Zira Zonka as most people knew him, was touring around the world. He was promoting his new line of caramels that were soft when you chewed them but hard enough to bounce when thrown. The perfect compromise for fans of both soft and hard caramel!
Everywhere he went, Zira saw new children delighting in his latest wonder. It almost made him happy enough to not regret being parted from his factory, which could not travel, and his Crowley, who did not want to. Not that Zira blamed him. Even a magical press tour involved far too much work to play at being a vacation. And Crowley had a busy life these days, supporting all the children in his new youth program.
The short of it was, Aziraphale was quite pleased with himself for finding a moment of calm tranquility to enjoy his own company, up on the roof of a fine theater where he would give another little performance in a few hours’ time. For now, he happily sipped a cup of tea and began another chapter of the story he was enjoying. It was bliss.
A breeze blew past, ruffling the book’s pages. For a moment he nearly lost his place. Aziraphale frowned. It suddenly seemed a touch too chilly out. He closed his book and picked up his tea again, giving it a slow, thoughtful sip. Something was odd. Something...familiar?
Aziraphale stood from his chair, which vanished behind him, and looked out at the roofs around him. Nothing seemed to be amiss. People were still going about their normal business. Cars were still growling down roads. Millions of wishes and whispers still floated and twined through the air.
He saw a light go on in an apartment. Perhaps a bit early, but it was nearly twilight. It was…
The air grew colder again, though Aziraphale could not be sure if he’d had anything to do with it. He swallowed the lump in his throat and slowly looked up. He could see the moon above the city, a waxing gibbous. And then, just to the left, just far enough that he had to turn his head, Aziraphale saw a second moon. Full. Bright. And a rich, bold purple.
The tea spilled out of Aziraphale’s cup as his hand forgot why he held it upright.
“Oh,” he said softly, “fuck.”