Aziraphale was soft. It was obvious, he was. At some point, out of said softness, he had somehow adopted a kid. You and him lived in his bookshop, him playing the part of a doting father well.

Today had been average, to say the least. Crowley had visited, which left Az in quite a bubbly mood for a bit — as it usually did whenever he visited. Now, you had sat on the plush chair next to the bookshelves, doing whatever kept you entertained while Aziraphale sorted out some books idly.