The year was 1941, the marvellous Mr. Fell, was just about to go on stage and—

Aziraphale pauses his very accurate narrative. He wasn’t actually much of a magician, but it wasn’t a crime to pretend, was it?

He looks to Crowley, who was.. his.. friend. Well, maybe Aziraphale had just realised that his feelings for Crowley were a tad bit more than platonic.

But he wouldn’t admit that. After all, he was a magician.

He could make those feelings disappear.

He was sure of it.