"I was looking for a soul that's real, then I ran into you. And that cherry blossom tree was a gateway to the sun. And friendship, once it's won, it's won, it's one." Cedarwood Road by U2

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Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

You wake up to the "melodious" bleeping of your alarm clock. Six am--It's time to get ready for your job as a bagger at a Whole Foods you found.

As you shower, you can't help but hope that today isn't too much of a bust. You really need the money or else you'll be evicted from your apartment-- you only had enough money to fly to London, that's it. Your new manager was skeptical of your ability at the interview, so you'll just have to prove him wrong.

You get dressed, brush your teeth, and finish your morning ritual. Unfortunately, you don't feel like changing in the bathroom and carrying your uniform, so you're just going have to endure the weird looks people will give you for wearing it on the street. Oh well.

You leave the house in your work outfit, and as expected, many people stared at you walking past. Eventually, you make your way there. As you walk in, your new manager, Christopher Barnett, turns and glares at you.

"It's about time." You glance to a clock-- you're five minutes early...? "Get to work." He leaves and you take a spot at a register. A woman is standing there, waiting to be checked out.

As you ring up her few items, you decide to initiate a conversation as you'd been taught. Your stomach twists, but you need to ace this in every way, including socializing with costumers.

"Ah, hello, how are you doing today?"

She glances up, bored. "I'm fine, how're you?"

At this, your mind becomes completely and utterly blank. You forget what normal people would say in response to this, and you're compelled to just stammer out a "hi". A full thirty seconds later of your mini meltdown, you manage to squeak out a response.

"Oh, that's good, I'm good, everything's... good." Outstanding job, Y/N. You can already imagine yourself getting employee of the month.

The woman stares at you, unamused. Your face heating, you quickly finish bagging the groceries. She leaves and you breathe out a sigh of relief-- a breath you didn't know you had been holding. 

You look back to the register and see a long line of people, all looking the same as the woman. Bored and annoyed. You quickly start ringing up the next person, not daring to start another conversation with anyone.

The day passes on. It's the same routine, over and over. Ring up the groceries, avoid eye contact, bag the groceries, on to the next customer. You don't particularly enjoy this job, obviously, but at least it pays. You find your boss glaring at you a couple of times throughout the day. You don't understand why he hates you so much-- You think you're doing a good job.

As you consider this, you must have stopped paying attention because now a shattered milk jug is lying on the floor pitifully. What did you literally just say to yourself about not screwing up? Your boss walks up to you, glaring fiercely. You get a distinct feeling that he's been waiting for you to make a mistake like this one for as an excuse to fire you.

"Y/N. Get this poor customer another bottle of milk. Then clean up this mess you made."

"Definitely, right away, Mr. Barnett." You scurry away to the refrigerated dairy section. You find another milk exactly like the one you dropped and jog back to the check-out, ignoring any bemused stares from the shoppers.

You quickly put the milk in the bag and reach for the next item to check out and find that your boss had already finished with the groceries. You look up to your boss, who's looking into your eyes with a soul-crushing, frighteningly vacant stare. You're as good as fired.

"Next time you mess up," he says, sliding his hand across his neck in a "you're dead" motion, "you're gone. Understand?"

"Y-yes, thank you, sir." Thank God. But one more mistake, and as he said, you're doomed.

After work, you head back home to get dressed in normal clothes and pick up some textbooks. You rush to get out the door because the cat piss smell is still way too strong for your liking.

You head to A.Z. Fell & Co., looking forward to some discussions with Aziraphale to get your mind off of work. Maybe he'll even be able to help you with your homework-- an analytical response essay on an article about how finger length ratio has a link with exam performance.

To be completely honest, you didn't really want to go to college in the first place, but your parents had insisted on it a few months ago before the accident, and you want to honor them in any way you can. Even if that means struggling through college.

Besides, you needed to get out of that town. There are so many bad memories outweighing the good ones. And luckily, you're book-smart, so getting a scholarship to a fancy college out here wasn't too difficult for you.

As you walk through the door, Aziraphale stands up from his desk and smiles. "Y/N. How are you today?"

You don't really feel like complaining about your job to him, so you lie. "I'm doing fine. How about you?" Talking to Aziraphale is much easier than a stranger. That's the only reason you can think of as to why you were able to say that without panicking.

He ignores the response question. "Are you sure you're doing fine? The lo-- I mean, you seem to be... tense."

"Oh, just some trouble at work." No point in furthering the lie. "I might be fired soon, so..."

"That isn't good. Unfortunately, I don't have much work here for you."

You glance around the empty shop. "Yeah, it's kind of like a ghost town in here..." With a flash, you suddenly realize what you just said. "N-no offense!"

"None taken." He grins widely. "But you realize it's on purpose."

"What do you mean...?" He smirks slightly. Somehow, it looks both so out-of-place yet belongs at the same time.

"I make it so people don't like to stop by. In all honesty, this is more of a giant bookshelf full of my favorite books than a store."

You could see yourself doing that. Well, if you were ridiculously rich and not in college. "But what do you do for money? You know, electricity, food, water, mortgages..."

"Occasionally, someone does stop by and they buy an incredibly expensive book. That usually keeps me going. Most of these books are thousands of pounds." He looks around the shop in pride.

"But won't people steal?"

He glances back to you, his eyes widening in realization. You can tell by his sudden tight posture that this question is making him nervous for whatever reason. "People don't usually rob my store. It looks cheap from the outside, and the people who do look closely at my books are the type not to rob from others, especially something so valuable." His gaze and shoulders relax.

"That makes sense..."

"You have textbooks? You're in college?" He seems unusually eager to change the subject.

You don't mind-- it's probably about time for you to get started on your homework, anyways. "Yep. Contemporary writing at Queen Mary."

"That's a very nice college. Do you have a scholarship? Or are you paying?"

"A scholarship."

He smiles. "Your parents must be very proud." You look away, not saying a word. His smile falters and his gaze seems to penetrate your deepest thoughts. "What's wrong? Do they not support you in this path?"

"Oh, they do." A moment passes and you correct yourself. "Did."

"What happened?"

Your stomach clenches. You don't want him to know, you don't want his pity. You don't want to see the grief in his eyes. He's so kind and empathetic-- knowing something like that about you could completely change his view of you. The first person to know you, to truly know you without being forced to, and you scare them off with tales of your dead parents.

But on the other hand... He's so perceptive. He knew you were lying earlier, he'll know you're lying again. And, no offense to him, but he's middle-aged, leaning towards old age. You're sure that he's been through the deaths of plenty of loved ones. He'll understand. And you're sure that if he pities you too much, you can just... ask him not to. If you work up the courage, of course... Oh, what the hell?

You rip off the bandaid. "Both of them died a month or so ago in a car accident, no survivors. The police said they died as soon as the collision happened. I moved to London from America with a scholarship to try and forget. After the funeral, I packed my bags and left."

To your surprise, he holds your gaze with a soft curiosity and... affection. After a moment, he responds. "Do you believe that you'll see them again?"

That took you by surprise. "You mean Heaven? No. I don't believe in... all that stuff."

"It may help you cope..."

"No thanks." You look away, unable to keep eye contact with him. Your mouth moves before you stop to think. The unusual question, the reality check you've just been shoved through... You forget who you're talking to and just spill your thoughts. "It just seems so frivolous to believe that you go to a magical place in the sky when you die, where everyone is suddenly happy and perfect and forgiving or whatever, singing Christmas carols year-round and wearing those little golden floaty rings over their heads and white robes that never stain."

There's a moment of silence as you realize what you said to Aziraphale, of all people. In all honesty, he's probably super Christian and that's why he brought up religion in the first place. And you've just offended his personal beliefs.

You open your mouth to apologize, but he speaks before you get the chance. "Very well, if that's what you believe." That sentence stings. It's defeated and submissive... Fix this, Y/N!

"A-are you Christian? I mean, you are, I guess, or else you wouldn't have said anything. I'm super sorry, I didn't mean to offend you, I just wasn't thinking, and--"

He interrupts your panicked rambling and you feel your mind grind to a halt. "I suppose I may be, and don't worry, your opinions are valid. I don't mind."

A wave of incredible relief hits you. Aziraphale has been so kind to you, and you can't bear the thought of hurting him in any way. "Oh, okay. But I am sorry, I don't know why I--"

He sees that you're about to start rambling with apologies again, so he interrupts once again. "As I said, everyone has rights to their own opinion. I don't mind at all, and when you put it that way, I can see how you can think it's silly." He smiles warmly at you then continues on. "Would you like some help with your studies? I used to be quite the writer..."

Your heart fills with love. He's so kind and makes you feel as though you belong. Even if you two don't agree, you both still get along incredibly well. "That... would actually be amazing. Thank you so much." Those words can barely contain the happiness and affection that's overtaking you, but it'll do.

He pulls a second chair out from behind the desk and slides it across the floor to you. "There you go."

"Thank you."

He sits and smiles. "Of course."

You realize something odd about his words a moment ago. "Wait, what did you mean, 'you suppose you may be'?"

He laughs nervously. "Oh, ah, you don't need to worry about that. Perhaps I will tell you later, but I'm not sure."

You give him a strange look but accept the notion. "Okay, then."

He changes the subject. "So, what are you working on right now?" From that, you work together through the textbook. A lot of the materials that you didn't understand before somehow make sense now. But before you know it, it's about time for you to walk back home.

"See you tomorrow?" Aziraphale asks as you stand and walk towards the door, books in hand.

"Sure, bye!"

"Goodbye. Talk to you soon." You nod and wave, gently closing the door and walking back home. Once again, you've survived another day, even if it's just barely.

~Aziraphale's POV~

As Y/N leaves, Aziraphale can't help but sigh in relief. As much as he enjoys spending time with the strange girl, he can't help but slip up almost constantly. He nearly spilled about being able to sense her depressingly low love levels. As soon as she walked in, he could tell something was off. In fact, he'd sensed it the moment he met her-- it was just so much worse today.

But he can't blame her. She's so firm against the notion of religion, and her parents are already dead. She's too young for the hand She's dealt her.

And to top things off, he really wants to tell her everything. Who he is, Crowley, the (admittedly short) future... everything. But based on what you've said already about religion... He doesn't think you'd react well.

He stands a little straighter and fixes his bowtie. He then heads to his back room to make a call. The phone rings for a moment then clicks.

Aziraphale speaks into the receiver. "Hello. I've got a lot on my mind. Would you be so kind as to listen? And, perhaps, provide some advice?" A beat.

"Sure, angel. Nothing better to do."

"Okay. There's this girl..." Aziraphale continues speaking on throughout the night, letting his worries about you flow free. He wants to help, he truly does. He just needs a few pointers from the expert on bruised souls.