Aziraphale keeps his most treasured possession in a cigar box that finds its home nestled in the tea cupboard next to the angel's favorite brand of earl grey.
Crowley had stumbled upon it by chance, many decades ago, during a rainy afternoon spent in the angel's company. When he had pulled out the box along with the tea leaves he had been looking for, Aziraphale had started, spilling almost half of his tea in his haste to implore Crowley to be careful.
"Oh, it's nothing important, really, just sentimental, you see, and a bit fragile, so if you wouldnt mind..."
"Something special, then?" Crowley asked as he handed the box over.
"Ah, yes," Azirsphale seemed visibly relieved to have the item safe in his hands. "Very. I treasure it quite dearly." He had smiled softly, then, in that special way that only he did, and Crowley entirely lost track of what he had been planning to say next.
He never did get to see what was inside, which would be why he was asking about it now, on yet another rainy afternoon after the little-apocalyose-that-couldn't.
Aziraphale blushes at the question. "Oh, it's a bit silly," he says, averting his gaze from Crowley's. "You'll probably laugh."
Crowley, laugh. At sentimentality. Crowley, who had asked Aziraphale to head off into the stars with him? Never. "Bet I won't."
The angel suddenly finds the contents of his teacup exceptionally interesting as he deliberates.
Crowley sighs, realizing that he may have overstepped. "Alright, look, I shouldn't have asked, just forget I said--"
"No!" Aziraphale blurts out. His face reddens even deeper at his outburst and he clears his throat. "I mean, no, you can look, it's okay. I... I want you to see."
When Crowley, clearly still unsure, makes no move to open the box, the angel meets his gaze imploringly. "Please?"
Crowley carefully lifts the lid.
Azraphale's most treasured possession is not what he expected. He hadn't been expecting anything really, but this...
It is fragile with age, preserved still only through what Crowley guessed had to be a miracle. Smooth on the inside, rough on the exterior, ("a bit like you, my dear," isnt that what Aziraphale had said?)
"From our first time dining together. Do you remember?"
Does he remem-- Of course he remembers! He wants to tell the angel as much, but he can't quite seem to get his voice to cooperate.
"It's not the shell that's important, of course, it's just, I look back on that day rather fondly, and-- oh, Crowley! What's wrong?"
But Crowley can't seem to stop the tears, despite the joyous laugh that bubbles out his throat as he pulls Aziraphale close and kisses him.
And Aziraphale had worried that he was the sentimental one.
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