you'd like to stay in heaven (but the rules are too tough)

you say you've found heaven but you can't find god

Hello hello I'm back with another chapter!! I hope everyone's doing well!! I am definitely not. Finals week is going to take me OUT.

Sunday, January 16th, 2039

When Aziraphale steps into the circle, he's ready for it this time; he won't be discorperated—quite a relief, given all the paperwork they dumped on him after he lost his body the first time (even though he did get it back without their help—if he's honest, this was probably an expression of their displeasure with the whole preventing Armegaddon business).

He finds himself in Heaven, which looks only slightly less empty than usual. A few angels mill around, looking extremely peaceful and ethereal, and there are tables there and there, although whatever used to be on them (not food, angels don't eat, except for the occasional celebratory nectar, like champagne. Except for Aziraphale, that is—he likes his diet to be a little less one-note) has since been cleared away.

Aziraphale is just thinking perhaps no one noticed he missed the celebration when there's a long, low, "Aaaaaziraphaaale," from behind him.

He turns to find the Archangel Gabriel standing behind him with his very... distinctive smile. It's so flatly, obviously false, imitating a smile just as well as autotune imitates a real human voice singing a real human note—not at all, and yet they keep trying to use it anyway, as if this time they'll get away with it, and one begins to suspect they do not know that no one is being fooled.

"Gabriel," Aziraphale greets him with shaky, false cheer. The false cheer is hanging on by a thread; it is to real cheer what Gabriel's smiles are to genuine smiles.

"You're late," Gabriel informs him, sort of confidingly, as if he thinks maybe Aziraphale hasn't noticed, and he's doing Aziraphale the favor of letting Aziraphale know, so he can display the proper amount of embarrassment. "Today was the big release! The big day!" He spreads his hands, but not his arms, in a display of excitement tempered by angelic restraint, and gives another large smile. It's the kind of smile that's hard to maintain while speaking. "Everyone was so excited."

"Were they," Aziraphale responds, unsure how else to react.

"And on time," Gabriel adds, because Aziraphale seems not to be getting the point.

"Ah," says Aziraphale. "Yes. Sorry about that. I was—well, I was caught up. I mean, I'd forgotten what day it was, and then, well, after I got my name, ah. I had a little bit of a conversation with my Soul-Mate. After that, I came here straightaway."

"Ahhh." Gabriel nods with understanding. "The Soul-Mate. Congratulations on finding him so quickly."

Aziraphale doesn't comment on the assumption of pronouns; it did not take him very long, after entering society, to discover people assumed his preferences about five seconds after setting eyes on him. (They are, actually, preferences. He enjoys ladies. A very small bit. But a bit. Especially when Crowley is feeling like one—then Aziraphale finds he really does, quite—Well. That's neither here nor there.) He says, "I've known him a very long time."

Gabriel looks at him. He looks at Gabriel. He wonders if Gabriel is going to ask—Aziraphale would much rather be asked than volunteer the information, but if he must volunteer the information, then so be it.

He waits a little bit.

Gabriel just smiles at him very aggressively.

"Wh-what about your Soul-Mate?" Aziraphale asks, smoothing his lapels. "Have you found them?"

Gabriel's smile goes even more rigid, which Aziraphale had not thought, until this moment, could be possible. "It's been agreed among all of us that our Soul-Mates are an extremely personal matter, and not to be asked about. Which you would know if you were in attendance."