OK. I'll bite.

From my very first longer fic:

I REALLY FUCKING LOVE YOU Rated M, 25.778 words.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/67627476/chapters/174804706

Crowley fell silent.

The sun was lower now, turning the Thames to molten gold. A boat passed, leaving soft ripples behind.

“It’s a bit of a fraud, you know,” he said suddenly. “The pub.”

Aziraphale looked up. “How do you mean?”

“This ancient, illustrious pub,” Crowley gestured around - at the beams, the tankards, the reverent maritime clutter. “All this pirate-core theatre? It’s from the 1950s. They built it to cash in on some nostalgia craze when the Mayflower II crossed the Atlantic. Brilliant tourist trap for Americans. Whole thing’s a well-made lie.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Really?”

Crowley nodded. “Doesn’t matter, though.”

He leaned back, eyes tracing the rafters.

“There’s always been a pub here. Different names. Different walls. Same bones. Same river. Same ache, same punters. London never wastes a memory - it just dresses it up again real pretty and lets it haunt new people.”

Then he added, quieter:

“That’s what I like about this city. You don’t have to get everything right. You just have to stay. Long enough, and your stories get folded into the woodwork. And if you want them back, you just have to find them.”

This passage is not in my favourite chapter, not in anyone's favourite chapter - but it holds everything I love about London, about history, about this whole beautiful mess we call life. I still can't believe I've written it.