Title: Nothing Personal, You Understand
Author: barrowdowns
Pairing: Aziraphale/Crowley
Fandom: Good Omens
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Good Omens belongs to the geniuses known as Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman.
Summary: Aziraphale's clothes are missing.***
Aziraphale's clothes are missing.
It had started slowly. A tweed jacket here, a tartan scarf there. Aziraphale blamed it on his own forgetfulness, forget my own head next, he'd murmured, standing in the middle of the bookstore, glancing around for the plaid cardigan he was certain he had just set down.
He tried not to think about it when his favourite pair of worn loafers were the next to disappear (oh well, needed a new pair anyway I guess, he'd said shakily, making himself yet another cup of tea), and he had barely managed to keep his cool when his most comfortable pair of slacks also went missing (they were just here!).
The day he lost his favourite brown argyle sweater, he was nearly inconsolable*.
"You mean the thing that made you look like you were wearing a dirty sock?" Crowley had asked, pouring them both a glass of wine.
"I loved that sweater!"
Not even lunch at the bistro that Aziraphale adored could cheer the angel's mood that day.
Now, as he stands in front of his bare closet, the only thing to remind him that he'd ever owned clothes are the pyjamas he is wearing (tartan of course). He sinks to his knees, wondering if he is going mad, or if this is some sort of punishment for trying to stop the apocalypse.
"What is going on?!"
***
Crowley is speeding through central London, narrowly avoiding pedestrians and other traffic. He doesn't even pause to yell or swear at them; his mind his elsewhere.
In the back seat, he's managed to stuff the entire contents of Aziraphale's closet, wardrobe, drawers, as well as the various scarves, gloves, and mittens he'd picked up amongst the dusty books.
He's trying to find a place to properly dispose of them.
Preferably, by burning them.
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*Fifty years ago when that argyle sweater was still fashionable Crowley had told Aziraphale "looks good on you" in passing, and so he refused to get rid of it (even if he would never admit this).
***