"Just... Well..." Oh where to start? He let in a deep breath, filling his lungs with clean fresh air. He could smell pine and oak, and the scientist in him wanted to collect the fallen leaves.

"Tell me your favorite memory," he smiled. It was a game they used to play when they didn't know what to say or when Aziraphale had been frieghtened of the dark or a dinosaur (he blamed Michael on those stories). He'd hold the little cherub and ask... Tell me your favorite memory... and from there they would launch into all sorts of wonderful discussions, sometimes for hours until their hot chocolate was nothing but cold sludge.

Good times, he thought fondly and he smiled up at him.