"No one in particular." Aziraphale shrugged. That was the odd thing. It was a different sort of familiarity. "It's more as though . . . I met you several hours ago but it seems as though I've known you for years. Just - that's all."

In a way it was more that he didn't remind Aziraphale of anyone that threw him off. There was a touch of playfulness that was familiar, distinctly human as opposed to Crowley's teasing and Adam's . . . creativity. But what was distinct was that, despite all the oddness around them and the pain and confusion that Aziraphale had glimpsed earlier, Owen was simply and straightforwardly kind.

"No agenda," he said into his glass, and drank the rest.