Work Text:
There was a shriek of tires out on the street, and Aziraphale frowned. Honestly, people these days. Disturbing the neighborhood at this hour, with no regard for — Oh!
The internal rant was forgotten, along with the frown. That tire squeal might not have been particularly distinctive, but his more ethereal senses did pick up something which was. A certain presence, smelling of darkness and tasting of warmth and sounding of dry spice, was welling up strong now, so that Aziraphale was already hurrying to the door as it opened.
(Aziraphale can sense love. He can sense something from Crowley, too, but he's quite sure it's not love. Goodness, it is awfully strong these days, though, isn't it?)
Written by the incredible ineffablefool and read out loud by me and My friend A Pinkish Blue.