The audio droned on for the relatively short tram ride and Aziraphale missed having the basket if only to have something to do with his hands. So he drummed his fingers on his knees and listened to the tram drive through puddles, enjoyed the sounds of the dull murmur of the other passengers talking, and watched the flowers and trees as they passed by.

And thought about Anthony tending to the garden...

Until there Anthony was in person, in all his fiery glory, a bright tempting wildflower against a backdrop of a dreary day, and Aziraphale's heart beat a traitorous, triumphant fanfare in his chest.

He shot Crowley a panicked look and then urged him out of the tram. Aziraphale was so incredibly fucked.