Chapter Text
The colours suit Aziraphale, Crowley decides. Venice suits him too. The humans are probably curious. Well, let them watch. The city’s built on rumours as much as on canals.
Aziraphale smiles behind his mask; Crowley feels it with other senses. Dancers ebb and flow to give them space, the two strangers with mismatched outfits and eerily good masks.
He knows they’re both thinking of later. Of a bed, a closed door, and all the time they can steal. But for now, there is Aziraphale’s hand in his, the orchestra beside them, and the envy of everyone else in the room.