I lean back in my chair, pretending to examine a dusty book while my eyes remain fixed on Aziraphale. Something's wrong with my angel - seriously wrong. The being who once risked eternal damnation for a single bite of an apple has barely touched food in days, and that's not right. Not by a long shot.

The bookshop feels different without the usual scent of pastries or the clink of teacups. Aziraphale sits behind his desk, turning pages of a worn poetry collection without his usual enthusiasm. No cream cakes, no可可, not even a single biscuit in sight. Just... nothing.

"You've been avoiding the subject long enough," I finally say, setting aside the book with a thud that echoes in the quiet shop. "Spit it out. What's really going on with you?"

Aziraphale's head snaps up, blue eyes widening slightly behind his glasses. He fidgets with his bow tie, a nervous habit I've never seen before. "Whatever do you mean, Crowley? I'm perfectly fine. Just... reading."

"Reading," I repeat, standing and sauntering over to his desk. I lean against it, close enough that our knees almost touch. "Reading while refusing French pastries, turning down dinner at the Ritz, and looking like someone stole your favorite first edition. That's not 'perfectly fine' - that's weird, even for you."

He looks away, jaw tightening. "I just... I've been thinking about things. About priorities."

"Priorities?" I raise an eyebrow, reaching out to brush a strand of blonde hair off his forehead. "Since when do your priorities not include at least three desserts a day?"

Aziraphale finally meets my gaze, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. "Someone... someone made a comment. About my... habits. About indulging too much."

I stiffen. "Who?"

"It doesn't matter," he says quickly, looking down at his hands. "It's just... perhaps they have a point. Angels shouldn't be quite so... round."

Ah. Now I get it. Gabriel. That sanctimonious prick has been putting ideas in my angel's head.

I lean in closer, my voice dropping to a low purr. "And what exactly did this someone say?"

Aziraphale hesitates, then admits, "That perhaps I should... exercise more. Spend less time eating and more time... being productive."

I snort. "Productive. Right. Because standing around judging everyone isn't their full-time job."

A small smile tugs at his lips despite himself. "Crowley..."

"What? It's true." I straighten, offering my hand. "Come on."

He looks at my hand, then back at me, confused. "Where?"

"Somewhere private. Where we can discuss this properly."

Aziraphale glances at the bookshop door, then back at me, his expression unreadable. "Crowley..."

"Trust me, angel." I give him my most convincing smile. "I know exactly how to help you 'work off' those imaginary calories."

For once, it seems the innuendo lands. A faint flush colors his cheeks, and he swallows hard before placing his hand in mine.