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There wasn’t one book or piece of furniture out of place. Not even a spec of dust had touched any of it. All of it was exactly as he had left it.
All of it, except for one thing.
It wasn’t out of place or unexpected so much as Aziraphale thought that he had lost it and didn’t know if he would ever see it again. It was the most precious thing in his life, far more beloved than any book, more cherished and admired than any author. Aziraphale had decided a long time ago that he would give up everything he had ever collected, everything else he had ever loved or would ever love, as long as this one stayed safe until the day that the universe itself ceased to exist.
"Oh, Crowley."
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Bookmark Notes:
tears immediately from the first couple of paragraphs, gorgeously heartbreaking