It isn't as though they've been through a long period of forced separation recently. It's just winter, and all the greyness and constant, wet cold that Aziraphael allows himself to feel more often these days. It's nice, in some ways, to be able to turn to one another for warmth, but here it's abundant and there's a little freedom in not having to cling together as though for dear life.

Something here, perhaps the angle of the morning light in the room or the clean, blue boundary of the sea just outside, means there's a world of possibility in everything he touches. It feels like a fresh start.

Smiling a rather silly smile, Aziraphael replaces his hand with his mouth.