Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry, what?” Aziraphale looked at Gabriel in disbelief. “Why on earth would we employ that man? He’s done nothing but disparage my work since I started publishing it.” He was sat on an uncomfortable chair opposite the Dean of King’s College. He’d been at work exactly forty three minutes and in that time had managed to go from mildly annoyed at being summoned to the Dean’s office to completely outraged. Gabriel was looking at him with a carefully blank and patient expression that only served to irritate Aziraphale further.

“Quite aside from the fact his blog is driving traffic to your and therefore our website, he’s a leading authority on modern literature and its place within current culture and affairs. We need to appeal to a wider range of students, and we need to keep the ones we currently have, interested. He’s highly recommended and the student body responded very well to news he’d be joining the faculty.” Gabriel responded patiently.

“ Modern literature? You mean…Harry Potter…and and…Twilight? That… tripe.”  

“Harry Potter is almost thirty years old Aziraphale, and Twilight is twenty next year, it won’t be long before you’re teaching them.”

Aziraphale gaped at him, “You wouldn’t dare!”

“No. That’s why Professor Crowley is being hired.”

“Fine! But I don’t like him.”

“I don’t really care to be honest, just keep it civil.”

Aziraphale clenched his jaw. “What does this even have to do with you anyway? Since when does the Dean take an interest in how the English department is run?”

“Aziraphale I couldn’t care less about the English department, no one else wanted to tell you so here I am.” Gabriel smiled widely then gestured at the door, “I’m really very busy.”

Aziraphale muttered to himself at the back of the number 9 bus the entire, admittedly short, journey home. Anywhere else it probably would have raised eyebrows, but the average London commuter had cultivated a particular tolerance for tuning out weird behaviours. 

His feud with Anthony J. Crowley had started several years back when he’d come across an online blog discussing his latest academic paper on regency era publications. He’d been excited to read it, Aziraphale wasn’t naive, he knew his subject of interest was niche and so rarely got reviewed. Aziraphale had dived in, eager to find out the opinion of someone who had gone to the effort of not only reading his work, but publicising their opinion on what appeared to be—based on the following—a fairly popular blog.

It had been a bitter evening filled with what eventually became a bit too much wine and one particularly aggressive call to his post graduate/assistant/only friend by virtue of not having got sick of him yet, Anathema. She had borne the brunt of what turned out to be an embarrassingly weepy phone call culminating in the declaration of an arch enemy. They never discussed the phone call, though the arch enemy moniker had stuck. 

Aziraphale shook off the memory as he pushed open the door to the out of the way bookshop he called home. Located just off Chinatown it had been there for decades and he’d taken it over on a whim some years back, unwilling to see it sold off to developers. He’d given Anathema a job during her undergraduate courses when she’d come to him to advise she was dropping out of his course due to personal circumstances — those circumstances being her family back in the US failing to keep up with the money she needed to live and study in the UK.  

“You’re back early.” Anathema peered over her large spectacles at him.

“Yes, well, no classes this afternoon and Gabriel’s ruined my life.”

“Oh. Are we being a drama queen this afternoon?” She went back to typing on her laptop, “Must be Tuesday.”

Aziraphale glared at her, “It’s Thursday actually .” He said, not entirely able to keep a small smile off his lips.

Anathema smirked at him, “Well then, you’re two days late.”

He huffed and stomped into the shop, hanging his jacket up as he went, “Don’t you want to know what he’s done?”

“Hmm, I am assuming it has something to do with this?” She spun the laptop round and showed Aziraphale.

On her screen was the King's College English department's homepage, Anthony Crowley’s face was plastered across it and a small paragraph declared him some sort of new and exciting feature. There was a date and time of some mixer event for him and prospective students. 

“Oh that bastard! He doesn’t hang about does he?! He only just told me.”

“Yeeeaaah, I don’t think Dean Archer was quick to get this up, I think he put off telling you for as long as possible. Professor Crowley starts on Monday, he had to have accepted ages ago for all this to be done now.”

“Why would Gabriel do that?! Don’t I deserve to know what’s happening in my department?”

Anathema raised an eyebrow and looked over him. “I think you’ll find it’s Professor McDormand’s department and I can’t imagine why the Dean would have wanted to put off dealing with this,” she waved her hand up and down Azirapahle, “for as long as possible.”

“Oh, please McDormand hasn’t been seen on campus for years, she’s just too stubborn to retire.”

“Not gonna address all this then?” Anathema looked up and down at him pointedly.

“I’m not being a drama queen.” Aziraphale said defensively.

“Sweetie, drama queen is your middle name.”

“I’m being pushed out of my career in favour of a younger, hotter model,” he huffed.

“So you think he’s hot? Gotta be honest, hard agree there. I mean, mmn, those cheekbones.”

“I do not! He’s still my…my arch enemy!”

Anathema rolled her eyes, “People don’t have arch enemies.”

“You agreed with me!”

She shrugged, “Sure, when he was some mystical entity on the internet; but he’s a real person, coming to your real job, in your real life. I dunno, maybe just think of it as an opportunity to tell him some of the things you sobbed down the phone at me.”

“We don’t talk about that.” Aziraphale retorted grumpily.

“And yet, I still have to remember it.” She said sweetly. “Now it’s late, I’m going home, I have a ridiculously long tube journey to do battle with.”

“It’s four thirty!”

“Yeah, and I’ve been here since seven a.m.because you had that early class and couldn’t open up. Not that anyone ever wants to buy an antique book at seven a.m. on a Thursday.”

“You never know.” Aziraphale said primly.

She rolled her eyes, “Don’t forget I’m away tomorrow, I will be back on Tuesday and you can tell me all about your new best friend.”

“Ah yes, you’re meeting the parents aren’t you?”

Anathema nodded, “I think Newt’s more nervous than I am.”

“Well, good luck and have fun, I’m sure they’ll love you.”

“Course they will, everyone loves me.” She smiled brightly and gathered up her belongings, dumping it all into a satchel and slinging it over her shoulder.

Aziraphale waved her off and then turned back to the laptop she’d left open, Anthony Crowley’s face glared back at him from the screen. She was right, those cheekbones were impeccable, sharp and slightly flushed, they framed his nose and mouth perfectly. The man was wearing sunglasses, which Aziraphale felt was quite rude for a photo given for your workplace’s webpage, plus it stopped Aziraphale from seeing his eyes. He had a crop of messy red hair, it was far too perfect and Aziraphale just knew the man had spent hours making it look effortlessly tousled. He had earrings dangling from both ears and a face tattoo. It was a completely unique look that would have been ridiculous on virtually everyone Aziraphale knew; but on this man…Aziraphale slammed the laptop lid shut blushing, he was admiring the man.

“Absolutely not.” He muttered walking away to lock up.

Come Monday Aziraphale had worked himself up properly into a quietly simmering rage. He’d settled himself down on Saturday evening at his favourite restaurant with a pair of headphones and a good meal and decided to flip through a selection of Crowley’s reviews of his work. A voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Anathema had informed him this was a terrible idea — he’d ignored it. 

It had been a terrible idea, all the scathing remarks and pointed jabs at his ‘old-fashioned’ and ‘stuffy, ignorant’ view of the world churned in his head, keeping him awake far longer than he wanted Saturday evening. They lingered throughout Sunday as he sat in the bookshop glaring away tourists and carried over to Monday as he made the short walk from the bus stop to the Strand campus for his first lecture of the week.  He was used to being called old-fashioned, took some level of pride in it even. Stuffy was something that stung a bit more, but was hardly unheard of. Ignorant though? Aziraphale prided himself on being as well informed as he could be, particularly on current social affairs. The jab about ignorance, the underlying implication he might be stuck in the past and hanging onto some older, intolerant version of the world he preferred, well, it hurt. 

He walked into the staff room and immediately saw him. The man cut a striking figure in amongst a room full of tweed and sensible brown suits. Black ripped jeans, some sort of chain peeking out from beneath a black jacket that had its arms pushed up to his elbows revealing the hint of a sleeve of tattoos. The red hair was just as shockingly bright in person as it had been on the laptop screen, it was longer though. The top half scrunched back messily in a bun. The remainder loose and getting caught in the collar of his jacket as he moved around animatedly whilst talking to Gabriel.

Gabriel caught his eye and used the opportunity to interrupt, “Aziraphale!” He called, waving at him.

Aziraphale moved towards them reluctantly, “It’s Professor Fell.”

“Sure, sure, meet Anthony, he’ll be working with you on the new hybrid literature course for next year.”

“Hi.” Anthony stuck his hand out, “Anthony Crowley.” He said.

Aziraphale ignored it, gaping at Gabriel, “I’m sorry did you say ‘hybrid literature course’?”

“Yes! We talked about it.”

“We most certainly did not.” Aziraphale shot back, finally noticing Crowley’s hand still awkwardly stuck out and taking it, “Professor Aziraphale Fell.” 

“Uh, nice to meet you. I gather then…you don’t know much about me?”

Aziraphale turned his full gaze on him and levelled him with all the annoyance he’d felt since his conversation with Gabriel on Friday. “Oh, I know all about you Professor AJ.” He turned and stalked out of the staff room.

“I take it he knows about my blog then.” Crowley said after a moment's silence.

“Oh yeah.” Said Gabriel, “He knows all about the blog.” He turned and clapped Crowley on the shoulder, “Good luck, you said you were after a new challenge!”

Aziraphale stomped into his office and closed the door behind him, he flipped his laptop open and booted up his email. Sitting in his inbox was a meeting invite from Professor Crowley for Wednesday and an email from Gabriel with several attachments detailing the new course he was planning for next year. Both sent on Sunday evening. Aziraphale was prepared to charitably forgive Crowley - new job, new boss, trying to get caught up ASAP and make sure you looked like you were contributing, he wasn’t exactly immune from firing off some emails over a weekend. But Gabriel? He knew full well Gabriel had sent that information at the last possible moment so Aziraphale wouldn’t have time to speak to him ahead of meeting Crowley. Sneaky arsehole, now Crowley knew about it he couldn’t refuse without looking petty. The Anathema in his head pointed out he was being petty; he ignored it. Sighing he tabbed over to the word document he had open in the background instead.  

Aziraphale’s second job was less well known, certainly by anyone in the academic circles he moved in. They knew about the bookshop of course, it was a running joke within the English Department that Professor Fell had a book collection to rival that of the British Library - and twice as hard to gain access to. It was also the subject of much speculation over how he managed to keep it afloat. What with its prime location in SoHo, bizarre opening hours, a catalogue of books that refused to even dip its toes into the 21st century, and Aziraphale’s well known inability to part with books. They all knew roughly what his university salary was — and how little that would help given they were all largely on the same money. 

What they didn’t know was that Aziraphale had a large catalogue of published young adult novels that had unexpectedly become incredibly popular over the last fifteen or twenty years. He’d started writing during his own university days; his therapist at the time had suggested it as an outlet for processing his thoughts in a ‘safe space’. He’d rolled his eyes at her at the time but begrudgingly acquiesced, and even more begrudgingly admitted she was right several months later. 

His first few stories were fanwork, something in notebooks he kept tucked away, never shared and admittedly quite poorly written, but deeply treasured. The therapist had been right though, they did provide a good space for him to work through things on neutral ground. His own sexuality, for one, had begun showing itself openly in the pages of those works; it was years before he could admit it was more than just storytelling - but it had been a start , a step he would have otherwise never been able to take. By the time he had worked up the courage to publish something online he’d left home and was balancing literal survival with academic survival; the feedback and discussions had often been the only thing keeping him going. It had been a natural progression to begin creating his own worlds and people, and by the time his degree was complete and he’d secured a job teaching he’d written four novels and couldn't shake the idea that they needed to be shared. It had been the publisher who suggested a pen name, citing his own as being too ‘fussy’. He’d been offended at the time but now the ability to keep these two parts of his life separate was a blessing. 

And so ‘Elisa Ennis’ had been born, his publisher citing statistics that female authors for this demographic were better received and that the alliteration fell off the tongue nicely. At the age of 27 he’d published the first volume of The Shadow Chronicles, a thin book, barely 100 pages, detailing the adventure of two friends who discover a matching set of rings that allowed them to travel backwards in time. It was a flimsy premise and he knew it, but the friends weren’t—strictly speaking—the point.   The time travel was also just a means to an end; it allowed Aziraphale to write about any period in history he wanted and his two characters were simply vehicles for the stories of the people they met. They had proven wildly popular almost immediately, in part because if a reader didn’t like one of the stories, the other novels were bound to have something they would enjoy. Aziraphale was currently working on the twenty-second book of the series, set in the surprisingly recent period of the late nineteen hundreds and it had been causing him trouble as he tried to navigate the time-period typical bigoted views with due care and consideration. Staring at the page wasn’t helping, the fact his brain kept supplying him with information like ‘Crowley smelled a bit like earth’ wasn’t helping either. The knock as his door was virtually a relief,

“Come in.” He called, expecting a student.

Crowley opened the door and walked in, Aziraphale slammed the laptop lid down, the last thing he needed was his secret being found out.

Crowley startled back, “Uh, sorry to disturb you? I did knock? You said…I mean I’m pretty sure I heard you say ‘come in’?”

Aziraphale sighed, “Yes, I just wasn’t expecting…nevermind. How can I help?” He plastered a smile on his face.

Crowley reached up and scratched the back of his neck, Aziraphale’s eyes flickered, following a loose strand of hair that the movement dislodged. He shook himself mentally and looked determinedly into Crowley’s eyes, well, sunglasses. The infuriating man was still wearing them inside. 

“I feel like maybe we’ve got off on the wrong foot, and I’m beginning to think that perhaps Dean Archer wasn’t entirely truthful with you about my coming here. I just want to clear the air.”

“Well, you’re right about one thing, Gabriel has been less than honest with me. However, I think we got off on perfectly the correct foot. You’ve made it clear what you think of my work and whilst I’ve no desire to engage with someone who obviously thinks so little of me, it’s been made clear I’m expected to work with you. So,” he gestured to the chair in front of the desk, “How can I help.”

Crowley stared at him for a few moments before sitting down carefully. “Well, I have a few ideas. I put a meeting in your calendar for Wednesday, but I thought I’d just drop off some notes and stuff so you had a chance to think about it before we met up.” Crowley placed a folder on the desk, it had neat little multi coloured tabs sticking out the side. “There’s a USB as well, wasn’t sure what you preferred.”

Aziraphale looked at them, carefully prepared and organised, two formats, not just an assumption that because he looked old fashioned and all fuddy-duddy he wouldn’t know how to use a laptop. His inner Anathema was staring at him smugly and he was struggling to hang onto all the anger from this morning. “Yes, I saw the meeting; this morning, I don’t typically work during my personal time.” He said snippily instead, focussing on the one thing that he could actually be snippy about.

Crowley smiled weakly, “I didn’t expect you to, that’s why I set it for Wednesday — so you had working hours to look it over.”

Aziraphale pressed his lips together, “Well, thank you then.” He said eventually. “I’ll see you on Wednesday.” He stood up and gestured to the door.

Crowley stood up and went to leave, he turned back just as he opened the door and took a deep breath. “You know I was quite excited to come here and work with you. I enjoyed reading your work. I disagree with a lot of it, but your writing style is lovely and every so often you’d let that privileged rich white boy mask drop and it was fantastic. I was hoping to meet that Professor Fell, but I’m beginning to think maybe he doesn’t exist and I’m going to be stuck with a rude stuck up arsehole for the next five years.” He slammed the door behind him before Aziraphale could respond. 

Aziraphale gaped, open mouthed, at the shut door.

Anthony J. Crowley shut the door to his office and sank to the floor with his back against the door. He banged his head back against it, wincing as it made harsh contact.

“What the fuck, Crowley?” He asked himself, “Couldn’t even make it one day without mouthing off could you?” He groaned and let his head fall forward into his knees, startling when the door tried to open against his back.

“Oi! Lemme in!” The door slammed into his back again.

Crowley rolled his eyes and clambered to his feet, opening the door, “Bea, lovely to see you as always.” He stepped aside to let them in.

“Nice to see you’re settling in.” They walked in and slung themselves down in a chair, gaze bouncing between the bare office and the single, small cardboard box on the top containing Crowley’s scant personal belongings. 

“I just started this morning, when exactly would I have had time to decorate?”

“Gabriel managed to get his office looking just perfect by lunch time when he started here.”

“Based on my five minutes of interaction with him I’m going to assume the Dean comes spring loaded with ‘live, laugh, love’ signs for that very occasion.”

Bea grinned back at him and licked their lips, “Well he certainly comes spring loaded.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, “Ugh, gross. why are you here?”

“Thought I’d bring you a welcome drink.” They pulled out a bottle of whiskey from their bag and slammed it onto the desk.

“It’s ten a.m., on a Monday. We are at work, in a school.” Crowley said.

“Yeah, and I just heard you managed to piss off your new co-Professor before you even arrived. So, drink?”

Crowley stared at them for a moment before sighing and sitting down in the other chair, “fuck it.”

“That’s the spirit.” Bea twisted the top off the bottle and rummaged around in Crowley’s box until they found two pen holders.

Crowley watched in horror as they bashed out some dust, gave it a quick wipe on the hem of their shirt and then poured a generous amount into each one.

“What? I don’t have glasses, do you?”

“No! Why would I have whiskey glasses in my office?”

“Aw, sweetie, why wouldn’t you?”

Grumbling, he grabbed the plastic tidy, it was shaped like a duck and had a hole in the top of its head for the pens. It was an incredibly awkward angle to get liquid back out of it and Crowley was going to be amazed if he managed not to spill whiskey everywhere.

“So, what d’you do? Normally people have to at least meet you to hate you.”

Crowley poked his tongue out at them before taking a long swallow of whiskey, it tasted faintly plasticky but otherwise good. Bea didn’t skimp on quality alcohol. “Reviewed his publishings on my website.”

“Ooo, the naughty one? Have to say he doesn’t seem like the type to be publishing smut.”

“It’s romance , and no, not that blog, the other one.”

Bea sat up straighter and coughed round a swallow of whiskey, “You mean the arsehole blog? You ripped into his work on your blog dedicated to being as much of a prick as possible?”

Crowley glared at them, “It’s not an ‘arsehole’ blog. It’s honest commentary on published academia that the rest of academia is too afraid to say out loud.” Bea stared at him smirking, he sighed. “But yes, the most popular posts were the ones where I got a bit…aggressive in my critique. So I leant into it.”

Bea snorted, “No wonder he hates you.”

Crowley sagged and let his head loll back, “Fuuuuucck, Bea. I was so looking forward to this, and I need this job. I thought it would be a fantastic five year stint working alongside this amazing literary figure I’ve been reading for years. Instead he’s just a…a…dick!”

“Well,”  they said grinning. “You did call him an ‘out of touch stick in the mud’ who ‘wouldn’t know an enjoyable book if it smacked him in his stuck up face.”

Crowley groaned, “Oh God…I did, didn’t I.”

Bea cackled and poured them another whiskey.

It took Aziraphale three lectures and enough tea he lost count to get over being called a ‘rude stuck up arsehole’ and open the folder Crowley had left. He tucked the USB into his laptop bag; he’d download the files there later to flick through on his phone leisurely and possibly make notes on via his tablet if need be. For now though he was more than happy to have physical copies. Aziraphale loved the ease with which you could move things around, change them, send them, view and edit on whatever device you had, in whatever location you were in with the digital and online world. But truly, nothing beat the physical feel of paper and ink. 

The pages were carefully arranged by term, references to other publications and literary texts to use within the lectures were noted and referenced with colour coded sticky’s. As he flicked through he could see Crowley had chosen several book pairings - one classic, one modern - to lecture on throughout the year. Each with comparable subject matter, each with notes on his thoughts for comparing their handling of the topics, each building a clear theme of minority representation for their time period and genre of literature. He’d virtually written the entire curriculum and Aziraphale found himself engrossed in reading through it. The notes for the modern set of material were far more detailed, Crowley clearly leaving space for Aziraphale to offer his expertise on the older volumes. It was well laid out, thoughtful and intriguing.

Aziraphale wondered how this could be the same man who had publicly decried Shakespeare as ‘dreary and dull’ and ‘only good for sending you off on a nap’. He made a note of the books mentioned he hadn’t read and placed a quick Amazon order to have them delivered the following day; he'd given up borrowing from the university library years ago after he found spaghetti buried halfway through a chapter. A knock on the door startled him  and he looked up to find Anathema smiling at him from the doorway,

“Earth to Aziraphale. I’ve been standing here for five minutes.”

He looked up at her in confusion, “Weren’t you due back tomorrow? Did something happen?”

Anathema rolled her eyes, “Due back at work tomorrow, we got home a couple hours ago, thought I’d swing by the shop and see how you were. Imagine my surprise when you weren’t there.”

His eyes flicked over to the clock, it was well past his usual time for leaving, and several hours had passed since his last lecture. “Oh my, I’ve rather lost track of the time.”

She laughed, “I’ll say, whatcha reading?”

Aziraphale flushed, embarrassed, “Professor Crowley’s curriculum for next year.”

Anathema frowned, “Did he ask you to review it?”

Azirapahle sighed, “No, Gabriel announced this morning we’ll be co-lecturing a hybrid course next year. A fact he neglected to mention during our previous conversation.”

“Oof, bet that was a fun surprise this morning.”

“Quite.”

Anathema came in and sat down, she nodded at the folder, “So?”

Aziraphale huffed, “It’s good. I like it, I’m excited to discuss it and I think it’ll be fantastic to teach.”

“So why do you sound so annoyed?”

“Because I can’t be angry about it, and I’m going to have to…to work with him.”

“You mean admit he might be good at his job and you quite like his work?”

“No.” Aziraphale said sullenly. Anathema looked at him.“Ugh, fine, yes. That.”

“Oh no, I’m a respected Professor whose co-worker is intelligent and thoughtful and wrote out an entire year’s worth of lectures for me and I’m going to have to say thank you. My life is so hard.”

“There’s no need for sarcasm.” He chided.

“With you there is.” She leant forward, “So apart from his academic prowess, what else happened.”

“He called me a privileged rich white boy and a stuck up arsehole.”

Anathema stopped smirking at him and sat back, serious. “Well, you are kind of a stuck up arsehole sometimes, but where does he get off calling you that. I mean seriously? Has he met you?”

Aziraphale sighed, “It was in relation to my online works on niche literary classics, I mean he’s not wrong is he? I’ve worked very hard to get the reputation I have, to…distance myself from where I came from, but it’s still there under everything.”

“Why didn’t you correct him?”

“And say what Ana? ‘I know I was born into what basically amounts to nobility these days, but I think being kicked out at nineteen equalises me with your struggles.’?” Aziraphale shook his head, “Quite aside from the fact I don’t want to talk about that. All it does is prove him right.”

“Aziraphale you’re not your family. You haven’t been your family for almost thirty years now, you don’t have to have suffered more to understand and see other peoples struggles. It’s not a competition.”

“You sound like my old therapist.”

“Well if you keep on like this you might have to start going again.”

Aziraphale smiled lightly, “Enough about me dear, how did meeting the parents go?”

Anathema looked at him hard for a few moments, before deciding to shelve this conversation for another day. She grinned widely, “Newt threw up all over his grandma shoe’s”

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose, his mouth turned down, “Why are you so happy about that?”

“It was a fantastic ice breaker, I took Nanna off to get some clean socks and she showed me all his baby photos. Turns out he’d eaten something dodgy so he was in bed most of the weekend. But his folks showed me around the village they live in, they’re absolutely lovely.”

Aziraphale patted her hand, “I’m glad dear, I personally don’t understand Newt, but he certainly makes you happy.”

“He does.” She smiled, “What about you? Still living your best single life?”

Aziraphale arched an eyebrow at her, “I’m forty five going on seventy, my dear, I’ve been single since I was in my twenties and I’m really quite stubbornly set in my ways, who on earth would I date?

Anathem grinned, “I know a cute red head that just joined the staff.”

Aziraphale glared at her, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Just saying, fine line between love and hate.”

“Stop it, and get out of my office.” He made no movement to get her to leave and Anathema just carried on laughing. 

It was dark by the time Crowley got home, his normal train from Waterloo had been delayed so he’d chanced a different one without realising it was the Hounslow loop line and his twenty minute slog back to Twickenham had turned into an hour of dreary South West London viewing as they trundled round the long way stopping in places Crowley had never even seen on any journey in or out of London. He was wet because of course it had been raining by the time he arrived at the station for his fifteen minute walk home, sans an umbrella. 

He threw his bags down on the dining table and collapsed into a heap on the sofa running a cold hand over his dripping face. Not the best start to a new job, wasn’t the worst he’d had either though, if he was looking on the bright side, which he was trying to do as best he could. His phone pinged and he fished it out of his pocket to see it was an email, personal this time not via his university address. He flicked down the notification bar and his heart jumped when he saw the email handle attached, Angel_dust_afee. It was a nod to a plot twist in one of the books Crowley had posted about on his other blog, and it was that post Angel had left a lengthy comment under several years back. Crowley had been trading emails back and forth with them for a couple of years now, sometimes several a month and other times it could be weeks. 

Crowley’s other blog did not garner as much attention as the one associated with his real name. It wasn’t featured on a university webpage, it didn’t have tens of thousands of views per day and it rarely attracted any high brow discussions. But it was Crowley’s favourite, partly because it was actually something he did because he enjoyed it, not to drive up web traffic or increase engagement. And secondly because he had met his Angel through it.

Sort of, they’d never met, he didn’t even know his real name. But he did know he was English, around the same age, and had a shared passion for the predictable but gorgeous romance found between the pages of The Shadow Chronicles series. Romance of course meaning ‘poetically beautiful sex in all manner of permutations’. Bea called it smut, Crowley — if pushed — would insist it was erotica and he had been hooked from the moment he’d first picked one up at a used bookshop in Croydon when he was twenty nine and still reeling from having been kicked out by his girlfriend. He still had that book, it sat pride of place on his bookshelf and he’d fight anyone who said he should bin it and get a less shabby looking copy. That book had seen things, but it had stuck with him through some particularly shitty times and he was damned if he wasn’t going to defend it’s right to look a bit tatty.

It wasn’t unusual for him to get comments underneath his musings on the series, it was unusual for them to be so well written and so lengthy. It was more typical to get short enthusiastic agreements and emoji laden praise from a demographic of readers younger than he was really comfortable interacting with. He cherished every single one of the comments for the appreciation they were—but he also had no desire to engage in conversation with what may very well turn out to be a fourteen year old. 

It was, therefore, unusual for him to respond to the comments; however, the comment from Angel_Dust_afee was so well reasoned and the tone so mature he had been confident it wasn't written b y a secondary school kid, so he’d taken the chance.

One message here and there on the blog turned into many all over the blog. When it became apparent they were dominating the comment section and their interaction was publicly viewable to all (much to the other viewers open amusement at points) he’d given his email address over and suggested they move their conversation somewhere private. 

They’d traded light hearted jabs back and forth about the Shadow books before moving onto other shared literary tastes. Eventually, they had settled into simply chatting about their daily lives, both cautious not to reveal too much. Crowley gathered Angel taught based on his prolific complaining about students, Crowley guessed it was some sort of tutoring deal since Angel’s true passion appeared to be his bookshop. He’d gathered he was gay based on a brief mention of an ex boyfriend some years ago. Apparently single for some time as well, and an aficionado of the finer restaurants in London based on the amount of times the emails started, ‘Just settling in for dinner at…’ then named some niche place in central Crowley had to google so he could drool over the menu and imagine he was there as well. 

This email detailed a particularly trying day at work. Angel had a new coworker who’d been sprung on him last minute and been rude to his face, then he’d got caught in the rain coming home and his shoes were ruined. Crowley smiled softly, tapping out a reply quickly. Lamenting over the ruined shoes and expressing agreement that sudden co-workers were the worst . He said he’d just started a new job and he was trying so hard to show he was capable but he just seemed to have said all the wrong things. He commiserated over terrible commutes and shared he’d got on the wrong train.

The response pinged in almost immediately, a soft and gentle reassurance he was doing great and if his new co-worker didn’t see that they were an arsehole.

Crowley gazed at the phone screen, feeling so much better than he had all day. It was ridiculous how much an email from this stranger, for all intents and purposes, could make him light up, how his affirmation lifted a weight off his shoulders. 

He knew this was dangerous ground, it had been dangerous ground for a while now, their chat turning more and more personal and responses traded back and forth with more and more frequency. Again and again Crowley thought about extending an invite to meet in person, he was working in London now, living just outside, it would be so easy.

Aziraphale slid further down into the heavy weight of his duvet, the bright screen of his phone illuminating the space around him. He knew he should be switching it off and settling down to sleep, it was late enough it was almost early. But he was hoping another email might ping through from his online pen friend. 

He had been wary at first of posting a message on the blog he had discovered about his books. He felt it was a bit arrogant to indulge in discussing his own work with fans, especially whilst hiding his identity. But the blog had been so enthusiastic and the understanding of his work so deep and thoughtful he hadn’t been able to help himself. Eventually the writer had suggested they move to email and so he had somehow found himself in a friendship with ‘Red’, trading back and forth increasingly familiar conversation. While he waited he’d scrolled back through the blog re-reading some of the entries, it had proved a complete distraction and a couple of hours had passed as he scrolled through posts and old comments. He smiled and touched the screen gently, accidentally highlighting a section of text. 

No new email alert popped up, he flicked into the mail app and pulled the screen down a few times to refresh it, still nothing. He sighed and conceded defeat, he knew they were in England somewhere, so it was just as late for them, and it had been their first day at a new job. He shouldn’t be surprised they were no longer replying. But he still felt disappointed as he dropped his phone onto the table next to the bed and snuggled down into his pillow properly. Idley he wondered if it was ludicrous to hope they were nearby, he knew they’d previously been located down south somewhere, but they never said where their new job was. Lots of jobs in London, or in places easy to get into and out of London from. 

Chapter Text

Tuesday passed without incident for both Crowley and Aziraphale, a busy schedule of lectures and student meetings for frazzled first years had kept both of them occupied and out of each other’s orbits the entire day. Aziraphale had barely had time to eat lunch, let alone check his phone for email. By the time he got back to his flat above the bookshop even Anathema had locked up and gone home, leaving a note to say she’d be back first thing in the morning. He barely made it through a reheated dinner, five minute shower and changing into pyjamas before collapsing into bed. He didn’t even check his phone, knowing full well that if he saw an email he’d be up again for hours talking, and if he didn’t he’d be up for hours thinking about that instead. As he drifted off his brain helpfully threw out that he had his meeting with Crowley tomorrow and had no idea where it was supposed to be, he made a vague attempt to rouse himself to check before giving in and letting sleep take him. 

The following morning he cursed his exhausted self for not trying harder as he checked the invite and saw Crowley had suggested a local cafe called Lilly’s just outside the campus in the heart of Covent Garden. It wasn’t one he’d gone to before. Scrolling through the pictures on google he had to grumpily admit it looked quite nice. A large rooflight let in plenty of light for the plants adorning the edges, their leaves hanging down into the space below. Potted plants were crammed into any available corner and lined the narrow hallway to the back rooms. The place was decorated in warm and inviting tones and had well spaced out tables with sensible chairs instead of those annoying low sofa’s so many cafes favoured these days. It was not what he’d expected from someone who favoured black skinny jeans and a studded belt. 

The meeting had been set for ten a.m., thoughtfully giving both of them time to get to the campus as normal if needed or simply come in a little later and go directly to the cafe. Aziraphale cursed himself again as he realised he could have had a lay in and strolled over to the cafe directly from the bookshop.

He checked the time, just coming up to nine a.m.. He supposed he could get going, walk through Chinatown and Leicester Square, maybe cross over the Thames and wander down the South Bank before cutting back past the university and onto the cafe. He looked outside, the sun was shining, it would be cold this time of year, but nothing a warm scarf and pair of gloves couldn’t ward against. Decision made, he wrapped a pashmina round his neck, pulled on his outer jacket, tugged brown leather gloves over his fingers and left the shop, waving to Anathema as he went.

Crowley looked up as the door to the cafe opened, he’d done so everytime it had for the last fifteen minutes. He was early, he knew that, but still couldn’t help himself. He’d never clarified with Aziraphale this was an acceptable meeting point, he’d thought of it before meeting the man, hoping it might be a nice casual invitation to spend some time together outside of work. Now he was worried Aziraphale was sitting in his office waiting for Crowley to come to him, or worse walking around campus looking for him and getting annoyed. He wondered whether he should just go back to campus and wait there. The door dinged again, he looked up and almost dropped his coffee.

Aziraphale was standing in the doorway, pulling soft looking leather gloves off his hands and scrunching his fingers to get the blood moving again. He had a pale cream, almost white woollen coat on, the collar turned up against the wind, buttons straining over the bright golden pashmina that had been shoved down inside it. His cheeks and nose had turned pink in the autumn weather and the wind had ruffled his normally impeccable hair into a messy fluff of blonde curls jutting out at all angles. He looked around almost anxiously, eyes scanning every table looking for someone. Aziraphale caught sight of Crowley and his body relaxed and he smiled.

It was like looking at an entirely different person. Aziraphale was obviously just happy he hadn’t been stood up, or got the wrong cafe. But for a moment Crowley could pretend it was directed at him and he could forget the way he’d left things on Monday. He went to smile back and wave, maybe he could salvage this. Then Aziraphale seemed to remember himself and rearranged his face into something less enthusiastic and stomped over.

“Professor Crowley.” 

Crowley stood up, “Professor Fell, can I get you a drink?”

Aziraphale nodded, “Earl Grey tea please.”

Crowley slipped out from between the chair and table and wandered over to the counter chatting amiably to the woman behind the till. Aziraphale shrugged out of his coat, draping it carefully over the unoccupied chair at the table. He stacked his scarf and gloves on the seat and pulled out the folder Crowley had given him and his laptop. By the time he was done Crowley was making his way back to the table with two plates.

“She’ll bring the drinks over in a minute. Hope you don’t mind. I didn’t get breakfast this morning and these croissants looked incredible.” He placed one in front of Aziraphale, it had a light dusting of green powder.

“Pistachio?” Aziraphale said, “unusual.”

Crowley laughed awkwardly, “Yeah, I have a friend who loves pistachio, he always says it’s such a rare-”

“-thing to find in this country.” Aziraphale finished, mouth fighting back a smile. “Hm, well your friend sounds like he has good taste at least. He’s right as well, although it’s getting more and more popular, especially around here.”

“Can’t say it’s for me; far too green.” Crowley joked, “just regular almond over here.”

“Nothing wrong with the classics.”

Crowley stared at him for a moment, “that almost sounded like a joke.”

“Hm.” Aziraphale broke a piece of croissant off and placed it in his mouth. “Anyway, this lesson plan.”

Crowley looked anxious immediately, “Look I worked really hard on that whilst I was moving up here, before I met you. I thought it would go over well if I didn’t just show up empty handed and I think it’s a great concept. I obviously didn’t realise you hadn’t been told and that you, for some reason, were not keen on that. So…like, I’m happy to make changes or whatever, I was a bit over excited and maybe I overstepped a couple places but don’t just toss it out because it’s mine.” Crowley finished breathlessly, looking at Aziraphale defiantly.

Aziraphale sighed, “My dear, I’m not so closed minded and stubborn I’m going to turn down a years worth of lecture plans that are actually quite good. I do have some notes, but to be honest…” he looked slightly pained, “I’m quite impressed.”

“Oh.” Crowley looked surprised, “Well…uh…thanks.”

“Now, let me finish my croissant - oh thank you.” He paused to take the tea off the barista as she placed Crowley’s coffee in front of him. “I can’t abide food crumbs in my work.”

Crowley’s lips twitched, “Fair enough, I’m starving anyway, happy to eat first.”

“How come you missed breakfast.” Aziraphale inquired politely.

“Overslept, stayed up too late last night, had to dash for the train this morning.”

“Hmm.” Aziraphale hummed, he could hardly judge, he’d done basically the same thing the night before.

Crowley picked at his croissant, before taking a deep breath, “Look, at the risk of upsetting this fragile level of nicety going on here. What is your problem with me? Apart from calling you an arsehole, I’ve been nothing but polite.”

“Polite?” Aziraphale stared at him incredulously, “Look, I don’t know where you're from, but where I’m from publicly calling some an intolerant bigot where all their coworkers can see is not polite.”

Crowley gaped at him, “What the fuck are you on about?”

“I told you I knew all about you Professor AJ, I suppose it never occurred to you when making those asinine little reviews you might actually meet me.”

“My reviews were perfectly accurate.” Crowley crossed his arms.

“See, you’re not even remorseful.”

“What do I have to be remorseful about? I admit my blog trends towards an aggressive and critical tone, that’s the style people like and I’m not about to argue with success. But nothing I wrote was untrue, and I stand by those opinions.”

“You painted me as an out of touch, snobby old man who can’t keep up with society and doesn’t want to!”

“No.” Crowley said, sitting forward, annoyed now. “I painted your writing as out of touch, snobby and behind the times. I said before, every so often it slips and something wonderful comes through, but those publications? They reeked of rich white boy privilege”

“What does that even mean?!” Aziraphale snapped, “I’m obviously only one of those things and I fail to see how that’s relevant.”

Crowley shifted his jaw about, “I know you think I’m some sort of jerk who has no talent and just goes around slagging people off online. But I do actually have a doctorate and I take pride in what I put out there. There was something about your writing I noticed the second I started reading, so I looked you up. You’ve taken great pains to distance yourself but it’s not that hard to find the connection, Aziraphale Heavenstone . Your writing paints you as an out of touch rich boy because you are one.”

Aziraphale stared at him and Crowley knew instantly he’d gone too far. The colour had drained from Aziraphale’s face and his fists were clenched tight; he stood up, the chair making an awful noise as it scraped suddenly over the floor. Aziraphale grabbed his laptop and angrily shoved it back into his bag,

“I don’t know who the hell you think you are, but you don’t know the first thing about me, how dare you sit there and pass judgement.” Aziraphale’s voice was cold and calm, and Crowley found it so much worse than if he were shouting. “I’m aware enough to know neither of us can get out of this ridiculous hybrid course, I’ll email you my notes and we can correspond that way.” He grabbed his coat and stalked out of the cafe leaving Crowley sitting there alone. 

Aziraphale got halfway back to his bookshop before he realised he was freezing and then immediately afterward, that he’d left his scarf and gloves in the cafe. He cursed at himself, there was no way he was walking back in there, quite apart from the embarrassment of returning after such a dramatic exit he wasn’t entirely sure he could see Crowley’s face again without saying something potentially fireable. He hurried back to the bookshop instead and slammed through the door startling Anathema.

“You’re early.” She frowned, “And angry. Didn’t go well? What’d he do? Disagree with your suggestions?” She was smirking.

Aziraphale stood there staring at her, he was shaking slightly as he hung his coat up, Anathema looked him over and her face changed to alarm.

“Az, are you okay?” 

“He knows my name , Anathema.”

She looked confused, “Well, yeah it’s on your door.”

Aziraphale shuffled into the shop and dropped onto the sofa, “No, my real name.”

“Oh.” She sat down in the chair opposite, “Shit.”

“What am I going to do? I’ve worked so hard to get away from them, no one at work knows except Gabriel. What if he tells people? What if he threatens to tell people?”

“Aziraphale, you’re panicking, calm down. What, exactly, did he say?”

“He said there was something about my writing, he looked into me and found out who I was.”

“Okay. So it sounds like he’s known about you a while then? And he’s never said anything.”

Aziraphale wrung his fingers, “True. That is a good point.” He could feel his heart rate coming back down. 

“What else?”

“We were arguing about his reviews, he said he stood by them and that my publications were out of touch and snobby. He said they portray me as privileged because I am.”

“Somehow I feel like those aren’t the exact words he used.”

“It's what he meant and I mean he’s right. Even you called some of those pieces ‘pretentious’.”

“Aziraphale…” Anathema trailed off hesitantly, “Why do you care so much? Last week you’d never even met this guy.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath, “You know me quite well, probably better than most I’d wager. But you still met me once I’d established myself. Gained a reputation, you’ve no idea how hard I had to work for that, especially after my family cut me off. Those articles were a huge part of how I did that, they were highly praised by…well…everyone.”

“So he was critical? So what?”

Aziraphale shook his head, “Crowley didn’t say anything about my work I hadn’t already thought myself.” He said quietly, “I wrote the right opinions and commentary to get the right reactions and commendations to build my career. None of it’s wrong, but it’s boring, accepted discourse. It’s not brave and it doesn’t provoke anything.” He hesitated and looked up at her, “It makes me feel dishonest. Dishonest about who I am and who I want the world to see me as.” He sat quietly for a few moments, “I know my family keeps tabs on me, I suppose a small part of me wanted them to see it and approve.”

“You don’t need their approval. They’re asshats from everything you’ve said.”

“I know that, my dear, and they are. But it doesn’t change the wanting .”

Anathema sighed, “I get that, I suppose. What are you going to do about Professor Crowley?”

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose, “Send him my notes via email and see if I can convince Gabriel to let us lecture our sections of the course separately.” Anathema stared at him. “What?” He said huffily.

“You just said he was right!”

“I did not!” Azriaphale looked affronted, “I said he wrote things I was already thinking. Not that they were correct . Even if they were, he was still rude and disrespectful. And he nosed about in my private life!”

Anathema shook her head, “Aziraphale, I love you, but sometimes you are your own worst enemy.” She looked up as the doorbell went and a frazzled looking student wandered in, no doubt thinking they could maybe pick up a textbook or something. “I’m gonna go do the job you’re actually paying me for, but…maybe just think about how petty you’re being for five minutes.” 

Aziraphale muttered darkly to himself as she walked over to ask if the student needed any help and patiently usher him out of the door with directions to someplace better suited.

Crowley sat in Lilly’s long past his coffee getting cold, his barely touched croissant and Aziraphale’s half eaten one mocked him from their place abandoned on the table. Eventually one of the staff came over and quietly cleared the plates and cups away, politely saying nothing even though they had clearly seen the entire debacle from behind the bar. He murmured a thank you and slowly gathered his things, adding Aziraphale’s forgotten belongings to his bag without a second thought. He’d work out how to return them later.

He didn’t have any lectures for the rest of the day, it was part of the reason he’d chosen Wednesday. His schedule was completely free, by some miracle, and Aziraphale’s had shown only one class at three p.m.. They were supposed to have had almost all day to chat, instead he was standing in Covent Garden, alone, with an entire empty day stretched out in front of him. He wandered down towards the river, he couldn’t face getting back on the train and heading home and he wasn’t sure he wanted to hang around the university all day, especially since that’s where Aziraphale would likely be heading. 

The wind coming off the Thames was biting and Crowley turned his collar up against it, he’d dressed for travelling on public transport and sitting in cafes not walking round London alone for hours. Helpfully his brain pointed out there was a perfectly good scarf in his bag, he dismissed the idea until a particularly strong gust of wind blew right through his jacket. Figuring he could add it to the ever growing list of reasons Aziraphale hated him he dug it out and wrapped it around his neck. God, it smelled amazing, like a warm fireplace somehow. Crowley stopped himself burying his nose in it completely and tucked it down into his jacket. Not exactly his colour but it was by far the warmest scarf he’d ever had. 

Now considerably less cold, Crowley’s mind wandered, which unfortunately meant his brain was turning the conversation with Aziraphale over and over. Crowley knew the second the name left his mouth he’d overstepped; quite aside from Aziraphale’s almost instant reaction it had been patently obvious during this research Aziraphale did not want to be associated with the name Heavenstone anymore. The only reason he’d even found the association was because he’d gone looking years back— when Aziraphale had first started publishing. Buried in one of Aziraphale’s papers was a link to a source he’d cited, some obscure journal Crowley had never heard of. But it in turn mentioned Aziraphale in a review of up and coming voices in literature. The article was old, around the time Aziraphale would have been starting his degree, there was a  note at the bottom indicating the article had been  edited. Curious as to what the original might have said, Crowley had fed it into the Wayback Machine. The content of the article hadn’t changed, but Aziraphales last name had been revised.

Crowley had been so gleeful, so much of the tone of Aziraphale’s writing made sense now. The carefully correct bland statements that toed the line of accepted opinion. The polite deferential tone and inoffensive wording. Aziraphale was the child of one of the most affluent and powerful families in the UK. Rubbing noses with royalty and carefully maintaining a picture perfect, butter wouldn’t melt personality. It would be perfect for his blog, not only would it bring in loads of readers — always eager for gossip — but it would expose this man for the fraud he was, working under a false name, publishing under a false name, pretending he was just like the rest of them trying to make a name and career out of very little. 

He’d eagerly started researching the family, page after page came up about the patriarch - widowed now, two other children, Michael and Uriel who maintained perfect little perfect lives as far as the public were concerned. But he found nothing about Aziraphale, it was as if the man didn’t exist. Everything he could find under that name circled back to the Aziraphale Fell studying and working at Kings, and publishing little known articles about classical literature. It was if someone had scrubbed the existence of Aziraphale Heavenstone off the face of the planet — well the internet, but that was basically the same thing these days.

It all painted a picture of someone very much not in the good graces of their rich fancy pants family, which, Crowley had had to admit, was far more in line with what else he found out about Aziraphale online. There was vanishingly little information about him, amounting only to where he was studying, what he was studying and a few social media pictures with friends that popped up on their profiles. But it certainly didn’t show a picture of a rich stuck up prick; quite the opposite. Aziraphale was withdrawn in the few older pictures Crowley had found, cheap clothing hanging off him, pushing himself almost out the frame. The location tags related to a variety of well known LGBTQ haunts around London although nothing in the pictures themselves suggested the association. It was the profile of someone very much trying to disappear into the background and pass unnoticed.

So Crowley had kept quiet, kept the information to himself. Continued posting his scathing reviews and quietly tracked Aziraphale’s career throughout the years hoping to make some sense from it. He followed as Aziraphale graduated, carried on studying whilst teaching, gained his doctorate and settled into life at Kings. He watched the social media posts get a little less sparse, the man in them fill out and occasionally crack a smile. He kept up with the publications Aziraphale made, watched as the tone changed and matured, every so often letting something rich and dark and promisingly beautiful shine through.

All in all, over almost twenty years, all he’d really done was develop a mild crush and borderline obsession with a man who lived eighty miles away from him and didn’t know he existed. And then he’d moved to London and fucked it all up in three days.

Crowley jerked out of his musings suddenly, the Houses of Parliament were directly in front of him, he’d wandered aimlessly for half an hour and wound up almost a mile from the university, although he supposed, not entirely too far from crossing the Thames to get back to Waterloo — even if it was rather the long way round to have gone. He checked his watch, barely coming up to midday. He sighed and sunk deeper into the warm pashmina, he couldn’t face going home just yet. He supposed it wouldn’t be the end of the world to just walk around Central London, he’d not visited as a tourist before and whilst he wasn’t particularly fussed about seeing the Palace or Westminster Cathedral he wasn’t opposed to taking a stroll by and making an appropriately impressed face. Or, he thought as he walked down the road away from the river, he could just sit on a park bench and feel sorry for himself. 

St James’s was perfect for bench sitting and feeling sorry as it turned out; ducks honking loudly in the nearby pond, people walked past chattering and it was a bit more sheltered from the wind. He tugged his phone out of his pocket, scrolling through his emails, mostly junk, one from the energy company reminding him to submit a meter reading he marked as unread and another from the GP acknowledging his registration with their clinic, he filed that one and deleted the rest. Brought to the top was a reply from Angel that he’d fallen asleep before managing to respond to on Monday. He’d meant to do it yesterday but between delayed trains and a packed schedule he’d barely had time to pee let alone compose an email.

He tapped out a reply now, responding to Angel’s lighthearted mockery of an impassioned speech he’d sent about the latest episode of Bridgerton. He knew full well Angel loved it, based on his intimate knowledge of the characters and plot, but refused to admit so, instead lightly winding Crowley up about his enjoyment of the raunchy period drama. He paused before continuing, wondering, not for the first time, if he was revealing too much about himself. But, who else did he have to talk to? Angel was fast becoming one of his oldest friends. The crowd he had considered friends back in Portsmouth when he was working on his thesis had made it abundantly clear they no longer wanted anything to do with him, The teaching jobs he’d picked up between then and now had been strictly professional and he doubted they even remembered his name. Bea was the only other person who’d stuck around. 

I think I really fucked this new job up, said something I shouldn’t have. 

This new colleague though, he’s just infuriating, makes me forget to keep my mouth shut!

I swear sometimes I just wanna scream at him.

But then he’ll be nice to me, and I dunno. I forget all that.

The reply pinged back almost immediately, surprising Crowley.

How amusing, I was just about to send this when your reply came back.

I’ve kept what I had typed out and added my response to the bottom, a bit awkward!

—

Sorry for messaging twice, it’s just I hadn’t heard back and I’ve had the worst day and all I could think was, well I just must talk to you. I was hoping maybe you’d had a lovely time and would cheer me up?

—

Bridgerton discussion shelved for the moment dear I think!
Seems neither one of us shall be cheering the other up, I’m so sorry your day was terrible as well, you’d said you were looking forward to meeting this colleague. I’m sure he’ll listen to an apology and you can try again? 

Crowley smiled at the disjointed content and shot back a reply quickly.

Some things are unforgivable, Angel. Can’t imagine I’d be able to walk this one back.

Unless you’ve got any suggestions for some top notch grovelling?

As it turned out Angel did and by the time he apologetically said he had an appointment Crowley realised he’d been sitting on the bench for over two hours chatting away. He got a waft of Aziraphale as he stood and the scarf shifted, he felt a lot lighter having spoken to Angel, the idea of traipsing home now far less daunting, plus he was armed with several ideas for extending some olive branches. Smiling he shot back one last message before getting up to make his way back to Waterloo.

Anyway, enough about me and my sad life. You said you’d had a bad day? What happened? This new guy do something? Incompetent or just unpleasant?

By the time Crowley had navigated Waterloo and made his way home a few hours had passed , he checked his phone to see two messages from Bea and a new email. He opened the email first, not able to stop the small twinge in his chest. He scrolled through the message, a fairly long rant about Angel’s new co-worker and the fact they weren’t incompetent at all which made it all the more infuriating for them to be so unpleasant.

I just…Oh I don’t know. I think under different circumstances we may have been friends. But..the things he said…it brought up a lot of bad memories.

Before that though…he was funny….and smart…I found myself forgetting all the reasons I was mad and just…liking him.

Is that crazy?

How can you like someone who infuriates you so?

Crowley’s heart clenched. Angel had never mentioned anyone in his life beyond a handful of work associates in passing and one close friend who helped with his bookshop. He’d never mentioned a crush, or even a cute waiter he’d seen. Crowley had been operating on the assumption he was single and uninterested in being anything other than single. He hadn’t thought it mattered, they were friends and they’d never met and they didn’t really know each other. Yet, his chest tightened and his face felt warm as he read over those words again, the thought of his Angel liking someone settling uncomfortably despite knowing it made no sense for him to be jealous. He took a deep breath, he was being stupid. He tapped out a response, hesitating before adding the final line.

You know, they say there’s a fine line between hate and love.

Idiot, he thought miserably, why don’t you just push him right into the arms of this twat. He swiped over and checked the messages from Bea, one about his class schedule the other just saying ‘call me’. Sighing he did, barely waiting five seconds before they picked up.

“Finally got my message then?” Came the instant snappy opener.

“I’ve been busy.”

“No, you spent half an hour in a cafe, said something to royally fuck off our classics professor and now I have 3 student complaints on my desk about his attitude.”

“Sounds like you need to talk to Professor Fell then.”

“I will, but right now I’m talking to you. What the fuck did you say to him? I put in a good word to get you this job and you promised you wouldn’t fuck it up. Getting fired from Portsmouth is not a good look on a CV and I had to practically beg Gabriel to take a look at your blog and consider how that might work for us.”

“Yeah, I bet you did.” Crowley shot back snidely.

“Crowley.” Bea’s voice came down the line harshly, “I’m not fucking around. I put my neck on the line for you because we’ve always looked out for each other and because I genuinely think you’d do this place good. But not if you piss off Aziraphale.”

“What’s so fucking special about him anyway?” Crowley snapped, “I’ve never known you to give a shit about whether someone is happy or not, especially someone like him. I know he’s smart, and the students love him, he’s got some do gooder reputation with them. They never shut up about how lucky they are to have him as a student adviser.”

“Well now you just sound jealous.”

“M’not jealous. I just don’t get what all the fuss is about.” Crowley grumbled. Bea sighed heavily down the phone and Crowley rolled his eyes safe in the knowledge they couldn’t see him. “Look we were having a perfectly amicable meeting over the course notes, I bought him a croissant, he said nice things about my lecture plans. I asked him what his problem with me was, he got all uppity about my reviews of his writing and I just defended myself. I said his writing was typical stuck up rich boy and - ” Crowley cut himself off. For some reason he was still reluctant to share what he knew about Aziraphale with anyone.

“And?” Bea said, “Come on, you must know what you fucked up if you don’t wanna tell me.”

“It’s not that, well, I mean, yeah I know what I said to piss him off. But it’s private… I don’t think he’d want you to know.” There was a long silence and Crowley eventually sighed, “A long time ago, when I first started writing my blog I looked him up, research you know? I found something about him, his past. I thought…I don’t know what I thought, Bea. I wasn’t thinking, he just…makes me forget how to bite my tongue.” He finished lamely. For a long while all he could hear was even breathing down the phone.

“You need to speak to Gabriel.” Bea said eventually. 

“Fuck. Bea I can’t get fired again.”

“This shit is above my pay grade, Crowley. You’ve got a weird little love hate thing going on and instead of just fucking him like anyone normal would, you’ve gone and opened up a whole other can of beans.”

“What does that mean? Bea? What do you know?” Crowley sat upright on the couch, “Bea!?”

“Go and talk to Gabriel.” They hung up and left Crowley sitting on his couch even more confused.

Aziraphale looked up as his door was thrown open. “Mz Prince. A pleasure as always, may I ask what my door has done to offend you this time?” He had a contentious relationship with Beatrice Prince, officially the department's administrative assistant. Unofficially, they ran the place with an iron fist. Aziraphale wasn't opposed to their management of the department, he largely stayed off their radar and he wasn't so stubborn he couldn't admit they ran a tight ship. Still, they had no respect for common courtesy and closed doors were largely interpreted as impolite suggestions of privacy. There were handle shaped dents on the walls of most of the English buildings rooms. 

Bea slammed a collection of papers on his desk. “I don't know what crawled up your arse, but get it out. Students are complaining about you.”

Aziraphale's heart sunk, he knew he'd been in a mood all afternoon. Short and snappy, unable to dredge up his usual patience for first year questions. But he hadn't realised it had been bad enough to cause that level of upset. “My apologies, I've had a trying morning. It's no excuse though.”

Bea hesitated, shifting their jaw uncomfortably and looking like they'd rather be anywhere else. “I've spoken to Crowley as well. I know it was him.”

Aziraphale looked up, worry clear on his face. They held up a hand, “He didn't tell me what he said just that he knew it was over the line.”

Aziraphale's face hardened, “that's an understatement.” He muttered. 

“Yeah well, whatever, I don't normally care what bullshit ruffles your academic feathers. But Crowley is an old friend, he fucked up I'm sure. But he's basically not a total shit head.”

“What stunningly glowing praise.” Aziraphale said acerbically.

Bea shrugged, “Is coming from me. Anyway, I'm just saying. Do what you will with it, just keep it out of your classroom and off my desk.” They swept out the room, leaving the door wide open.

Aziraphale sighed and got up, irritated, to close it behind them. He’d calmed down since talking to Anathema and realised she was likely correct, his fear of being outed was probably unfounded. Crowley had obviously had this information for some time and not done anything with it. Even revealing to Aziraphale himself didn’t seem designed to do anything other than air a grievance the man held either against him personally or the group of people he so clearly thought Aziraphale belonged to. It didn’t do much to assuage the anger though. He’d said as much to Red, venting the second they had given him an in and confessing all the deep hurt and outrage he felt. The things Anathema didn’t seem to understand, the things Gabriel wouldn’t care to hear. He’d been vague in his communication to his friend over the years, particularly about his family, so Red saw him as simply another book nerd with no weight or reputation attached to his name. He’d lamented over getting negative feedback on some of his work years ago, keeping the specifics vague knowing too much would tie him directly to his published reviews and thus reveal him. He’d been given an outpouring of sympathy and support and it had helped him through some of the worst days. Now, as he lamented his new co-worker and their immediate conflict, he was getting the same. Not for the first time he ached deeply to know more about this person, to be brave enough to suggest they meet. Not for the first time he dismissed it as fantasy, meeting would mean the truth, and the truth for Aziraphale was complicated. 

He considered the last message he’d got, ‘ fine line between hate and love’ . Anathema had said basically the same and he’d dismissed it —was still dismissing it, to be honest. He might be prepared to skirt around the fact that when he wasn’t insulting him Crowley had all the hallmarks of someone Aziraphale would be friends with, it’s part of what made their friction so irritating. But there was absolutely no way it was anything more than that and he couldn’t ignore the odd twist of disappointment he felt upon realising Red was insinuating something deeper between him and Crowley. As if it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it didn’t bother them. Aziraphale wanted it to bother them, he wanted a response that gave him any small sliver of hope that one day he wouldn’t just be a middle aged, lonely man sitting on one side of a mobile phone pining for a person he’d never met.  

You’re the second person to say that to me. I’m not sure what it says about me that my two closest friends jump to romantic intentions just because I got a little passionate!

The man is intolerable, comments on things he doesn’t understand and has no respect for people’s personal lives at all. 

If I could swap you for him I would!

Aziraphale sent it before he could second guess himself.

Chapter Text

Crowley looked at his email for a long time, he tapped the screen to keep it going dark. Marked the email as unread multiple times as he lingered on it. He couldn’t deal with this right now, this email is a ‘reply once home’ email. He locked the screen and tucked the phone away in his pocket. Sighing deeply, he knocked on the Dean’s office door.

He heard Gabriel acknowledge him from inside and opened the door. 

“Dean. I…uh…need to speak to you.” Crowley started awkwardly. 

Gabriel sighed and put his pen down, “Sure, look, whatever Aziraphale said or did, I’ll speak to him.”

Crowley looked confused, “He didn’t…well…he did , but I said something first, Bea told me to talk to you.”

Gabriel straightened up, “Well, take a seat I guess. Can’t imagine them sending you here for no reason.” Crowley sat uncomfortably and stared at Gabriel, “Come on, I don’t have all day.”

“Honestly, I don’t know why I’m here. They said ‘talk to you’, they didn’t give me a list of questions to ask.” Crowley snapped.

“Why don’t you start with explaining why my office administrator slammed in here earlier hollering about stuck up professors and their attitude problems. It was not the good kind of slamming.” Gabriel sighed.

Crowley pulled a face that luckily went unnoticed and exhaled, “Fine, I said something to Professor Fell that was over the line, we were arguing about my blog, I called him stuck up, then I…I said something about his past. Something I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t have known. He left and then Bea came to slam doors and throw stuff at me, too.”

Gabriel had gone still, the pen he’d been tapping silent against the desk, “What did you say?” 

Crowley heard the tone, the careful nonchalance and posture, he chewed his cheek, “I’m getting the strangest feeling you already know.” He said slowly, “But I’m not saying, it’s obvious this is a big deal for him.”

Gabriel relaxed slightly, “Hm, you’re right, I do know a lot about him, he is my brother after all.” Crowley’s jaw actually dropped and he slammed his lips back together once he realised he was gaping. Gabriel grinned, obviously pleased with himself. “Well, almost, I was engaged to his sister a long time ago. Very odd family.” Gabriel threaded his fingers together and propped them up under his chin.

“So you understand why we can’t do this class together.” Crowley said, “He won’t even be in the same room as me.”

“Well that sounds like a ‘you problem’, Professor Crowley. As in, you broke it so you fix it, sunshine.”

Crowley gaped at him, “How the fuck am I meant to do that? Aziraphale barely tolerated me before, and he’s the most unreasonable person I’ve had the misfortune to try and work with!”

“Go crawling back, say you're sorry, be nice. If you’re not doing what I hired you to do, then there’s no reason for you to be here.”

“You’re going to fire me?!”

“I never said that.” Gabriel replied calmly, “But generally speaking the department does not look kindly on short term Professors with no references upsetting our long standing faculty members.”

“He’s never going to forgive me! He’s had it in for me since day one, and I mean, being completely honest even before my fuck up we were arguing.”

Gabriel sighed and pushed his chair back, relaxing slightly into it, “Anthony, I’m going to give you some information that doesn’t leave this room. I’m doing this because, whilst I absolutely could remove you, cancel the course and happily move on and never look back, I’ve put a lot of time into making this work. Plus, several other department heads told me this was a bad idea and are actively betting against me. I hate losing, so I’m going to do everything in my power to win.” He leant forward, steepling his fingers. “Aziraphale will forgive you, because he forgave me. It’s just what he’s like. You may have uncovered his secret, but I’m the reason there’s a secret to uncover in the first place. In a misguided attempt to win my bride-to-be and her family over I outed him to his family and ultimately got him kicked out. By the time I came to my senses about the woman I was engaged to I had a decent position at the university and learned Aziraphale was sleeping on someone’s couch about to drop out.” Gabriel ran a hand through his hair, “I felt bad for him, but it took a few more years and someone else pointing it out for me to realise I owed him something.”

“So you, what? Gave him a job as an apology for ruining his life?” Crowley scoffed, Gabriel hadn’t looked particularly remorseful at all, relaying the sad state of Aziraphale’s past as if it were something he was reading out of a book. “You can’t fix having your home taken away from you.”

“Yeah, that’s what Bea said.”

Crowley huffed, “Why am I not surprised.”

Gabriel did actually manage to look a little contrite, “I can’t change what happened to Aziraphale. I’m not going to lie and say I cared much for him then, or that I care much for him now. Bea opened my eyes to a lot of things though, they’re part of the reason I left Michael. I’m so much happier now than I would have been.”

Crowley snorted and stood up, “Yeah, Bea’s a real eye opener. Look, I’m so glad you found your happy place and discovered some fun stuff about yourself and this modern world we live in along the way. But respectfully, and knowing full well you can fire me, fuck you and the horse you rode in on. Aziraphale deserves so much better than all of you.” He took a breath, “You are right though, if he forgave you, he’ll forgive me. What you did was so much worse.”

Crowley turned around without waiting for a response, and stormed out of the office. He was absolutely going to regret this later when he was packing up another desk, but for now he was struggling to find it in himself to really think he’d made the wrong choice. Regardless of whether Aziraphale ever spoke to him again or not. 

Aziraphale had sat in his office and contemplated what Beatrice had said to him about Crowley. It was rare for them to involve themselves in personal matters, let alone to leap to anyone’s defence. Those thoughts were still turning themselves over in his head when he made the short journey across the building to Gabriel’s office, intent on apologising for his behaviour and promising to make it up to the affected students personally. 

He’d raised his hand to knock when he’d heard voices coming from inside, he couldn’t hear what was being said, only the tone of Gabriel’s deep rumbling being met with a quieter voice. Well, quiet to a point, it was suddenly quite clear who the other person was as he heard Crowley’s raised voice through the door perfectly clearly curse Gabriel out in his defence. 

He’d hurriedly stepped back and around the corner as he heard boots cross the office, ducking out of sight just as Crowley exited the room looking furious and stalked off muttering to himself. Aziraphale never made it into Gabriel’s office, instead he left the English building in a daze, absently smiling and nodding goodbye to students as he left. He had walked back to the bookshop instead of taking the bus, needing the space and time to think. Making his way home even more distressed than when he had got to the campus after his disastrous meeting with Crowley in the morning. He pushed open the door to the shop, quietly walking past Anathema and the older gentleman she was serving to sit in the large wingback at the desk behind the register. She frowned at him, but otherwise carried on her conversation, waiting for the door to swing closed behind the man before turning to him, hands on hips.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“Do you ever think maybe you’ve misjudged someone?” Aziraphale said, fingers scraping along the carved swirls of the chairs arms.

“Rarely, I’m an excellent judge of character. You on the other hand…” she raised an eyebrow.

“Hmm.” Aziraphale hummed and carried on staring past her. 

Anathema frowned, Aziraphale rarely passed up an opportunity to rise to the bait. It was part of the reason she enjoyed laying it out so often. She took her hands off her hips and walked over to lean against the desk next to him. She grabbed his hand, where it was picking at a loose thread on the padded arm. “Seriously, what happened? You’re worrying me.”

“I overheard Professor Crowley telling Gabriel off.”

“Oo-kay. I’m still not sure why you look like someone died.” 

He finally focussed on her face, “I think they were talking about me.”

She wrinkled her nose, “Why?”

“He said I deserved better.”

“The Dean did?”

Aziraphale snorted, and immediately looked affronted by the noise his body had made and coughed, “Ah, no dear. Really, could you imagine Gabriel possessing an ounce of awareness or empathy?” he sighed, “If anything I think he might have just handed Crowley my entire sordid history on a silver platter.”

Anathema rolled her eyes at the dramatics, “Sordid is a bit strong, you got kicked out of home it’s not like you were embroiled in a plot to overthrow the government.”

“I think they would have preferred that to be honest, trying to overthrow a government is considered ‘character building’ in those circles.”

“I knew it.” She said, bumping her shoulder into his and getting a small smile for her effort.

“What am I going to do Ana? It’s bad enough I’m tied to this university and Gabriel so I can do a job I love without people asking any awkward questions.”

She leant into him, resting her head on his, “It’s not the worst thing you’ve had to deal with.”

He let out a short laugh, “No, I suppose not. There was this one time I took in a bedraggled second year student, still can’t get rid of her, milling around my shop not selling a single thing.”

“Oi!” She smacked his arm lightly, “I’ll start selling stuff if you’re gonna be like that.”

“You wouldn’t!” Aziraphale looked at her in mock outrage, eyes betraying his amusement.

Anathema pushed him laughing, “Willing to bet your Oscar Wilde first editions on that?” She darted off into the shelving, still laughing.

“How dare you!” Aziraphale stood up, “Ana?!” The shop was silent, “Anathema!? You come back here right now!” A paper plane flew out of the stacks and bounced off his forehead. Anathema following it grinning broadly.

He rolled his eyes and tutted at her, “You are a terrible person.”

“ I am awesome and you love me.”

Crowley slung himself over the arm of his couch onto his stomach and buried his face in a couch cushion, screaming. He’d managed to contain it all the way from the university to Waterloo and the entire time he was travelling home, he was considering that a miracle. 

“You dumb fuck.” He shouted into the fabric covered foam. He rolled over and looked up at the bright light on the ceiling. “Uggghhh.” He flopped an arm over his face.

“Of all the things…I mean…Gabriel…the Dean of all people. Couldn’t just keep your mouth shut? You don’t even like him!” Crowley fell silent, talking to an empty room was just depressing after a while. He rolled onto his side and stared gloomily at the sparse living room he’d barely had time to furnish between moving to London and starting his new job.

He pulled his phone out his pocket, no messages from the university asking him to politely go elsewhere yet. Angel’s last message was still set there unread and unresponded to. He opened it again.

If I could swap you for him I would!

The words glared off the page, white on black. He entertained the fantasy, Angel worked in education of some description, he had co-workers so he clearly was part of a company or school. Crowley was fairly confident he could teach most age ranges. He wondered if it would be completely inappropriate and or insane to ‘jokingly’ ask if there were any jobs going. A whats app notification appeared on the top bar and the phone vibrated in his hands, he flicked it down and read the preview. It was short, from Bea and just said,

Not fired! Tlk tmrrw!

The fantasy disappeared instantly, but so did the tight knot across his chest and he breathed out in relief. Crowley didn’t know if she’d done something or was just relaying the information knowing he’d be worrying, either way he probably owed her a drink. He dismissed the whats app and opened the reply for Angel’s email.

Aw, you’d hate working with me! I chew all the pens, can’t sit still and I talk to myself when I’m concentrating!

I’d drive you batty in a day! 

Well, even if love isn’t in the air - making friends with this guy would probably make work a lot nicer, no ?

He tapped send; a nice safe message. Acknowledge the sentiment and play it off with a self-deprecating joke, before deflecting onto something else. The alternative was coming dangerously close to skirting into emotions, and Crowley wasn’t prepared for those at all.

Instead he flicked back up the email chain and eyeballed the suggestions Angel had made for extending an apology. Some of them were a bit faffy, or required getting hold of things that he definitely couldn’t get hold of in Twickenham at 9 p.m. at night. One of them was promising though, he tabbed over to chrome and typed in a search for nurseries.

He grumbled as the search offered him sixteen different places to send small children and specified ‘plants’ tapping over a couple options near him, only one opened early enough in the morning — Streets Florist and Greengrocer —  he looked through their website, mostly flowers but he saw a few promising items he thought could he could make work. Plan set, he closed the phone down and stretched out, swinging himself around to lurch off the couch as his legs reminded him they needed blood flow as he staggered off to bed.

Aziraphale was in work early on Thursday, he had a 9 a.m. class. He couldn’t help but be mildly impressed then that someone had beat him to office - despite being annoyed at the break in.

A plastic duck shaped pen holder sat on Aziraphale’s desk, upon closer inspection it contained a thick twig, seven olives and smelled lightly like whiskey. A note attached read,

Apparently you can’t buy literal olive branches??? Couldn’t find a dove either….

I hope the sentiment is still there.

• Crowley

Aziraphale smiled despite himself, it was a fairly cleverly cobbled together gesture. 

He threw the olives in the bin — there was absolutely no chance he was eating something that came out of a piece of novelty stationary. The twig in the penholder he moved to the windowsill, eventually the twig would have to go as well but for now it was fine sitting in the weak autumn sun. He caught the time out of the corner of his eyes and startled, he had three minutes to get down to his lecture hall, a location approximately six minutes away. Grumbling about trespassers he grabbed his bag and hurried out.

Crowley was in a good mood as he sauntered through the quiet halls of the English department to his office, he’d not managed to get what he wanted from the garden centre — the assistant had actually seemed incredibly confused by his request — but he thought he’d pulled together something suitably apologetic. He spotted Aziraphale hurriedly walking towards him and paused, a tiny bubble of hope starting to form as the man seemed to be marching determinedly at him.

“Excuse me!” Aziraphale said, barging past before Crowley had time to even open his mouth, “You made me late! And you’re in my way!”

Crowley turned confused and realised he was standing outside the door to the main lecture hall, he shuffled to one side and Aziraphale disappeared in with a huff and shut the door.

Crowley closed his mouth, the bubble of hope bursting. 

Walking on to his office he pulled out his phone and looked at the suggestions Angel had made, he still had plenty to try and one of them was well suited to Aziraphale — Crowley already knew he liked pistachio from the cafe, and luckily he knew the perfect place to get something he was pretty sure Aziraphale would love.

“Hey. Watch where you’re going.”

He looked up from his phone to find Bea standing in front of him, hands on their hips.

“Morning.” He said, ignoring the comment and unlocking his door, he swept his arm down and indicated for them to go in first. “Don’t suppose you brought the whiskey back?”

“Obviously not, whiskey is for celebrating.”

“Well, I heard I’m not getting fired.”

“Barely, you only got away with that because officially Gabe never even had that conversation with you.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, “I stand by what I said. I can’t believe you put up with that man. You of all people…”

They glared at him, “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh come on, Bea. He’s an arrogant self centred twat. Do you even know what he did?”

“Of course I do, who do you think kicked his dick until he understood why he was wrong?”

Crowley sighed, “That’s my point Bea, he had to have it pointed out to him. I mean come on, he didn’t even seem that sorry.”

“Do you really want to start talking about shithead blokes we’ve fucked? Cause yours still takes the piss.”

“Don’t.”

“Well don’t turn up in my life after fifteen years and start being a twat about it.”

“I just don’t get it, Bea. We grew up together, I saw what you went through with your folks to get them to accept you, you saw what happened to me when I first brought Luke home. How can you be with someone like him after all that?”

“Because he’s ignorant, not bigoted, and ignorance can learn. You don’t really know him, Crowley. Sure he’s not had the same shitty childhood we had but you can have privilege and still have a crappy upbringing. You know he was told to marry Aziraphale’s sister right? They wanted a family connection and saw Gabriel as an easy method of getting it. The only reason he’s not married to her right now is because the Dean position is tied to the church —  and there’s nothing these posh rich love more than a God connection. They might privately hate me — and they do.” Bea grinned, “But publicly Gabriel is a man of the church, he’s done nothing wrong by most of society's standards and they’d rather the minor upset amongst their friends of him leaving his fiancee for me than the major one of kicking him out.”

“I just never imagined you settling for someone so completely the opposite of you.”

“It’s not settling when you’re in love, Crowley.” They smiled and relaxed back in the chair, “The monster dong helps as well.”

Crowley choked on his own breath, “Fuck sake, Bea.” He grumbled as they laughed.

Aziraphale waited patiently as the last students slowly packed their belongings up. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and opened up the email waiting for him. He’d seen it pop up the night before and hadn’t had a chance to read it. It was making him nervous. 

His eyes skimmed over the text, disappointment warring with relief that there was no departure from their usual joking tone. He’d been hoping for more, but he supposed he should be grateful it wasn’t worse. He ran through the last sentence a few times, chewing his lip.

Well, even if love isn’t in the air - making friends with this guy would probably make work a lot nicer, no?

It wasn’t an unfair point. Crowley had also reached out with a metaphorical olive branch. He didn’t appear to have done anything with the information he had. Gabriel had succinctly informed him he had ‘had words’ with him, which was honestly terrifying since Gabriel had an innate knack of saying exactly the things you didn’t want spoken aloud. But then surely, Aziraphale thought, if Gabriel had said something Crowley wouldn’t be trying to be nice?

Well, I don’t know about friends. But I suppose you make a good point, we have to work together, a civil level of cordial is reasonable. If I have to.

Still, I would rather it were you I bump into in the corridors.

He was pushing it now, and he told himself firmly if this garnered nothing he would drop it.

The last student finally filed out and Aziraphale packed up his things and walked back to his office, he had a couple of free hours until his next lecture and in light of attempting to be cordial he decided he may as well take a look through Crowley’s curriculum and make his own notes. Aziraphale pushed his office door open and immediately noticed someone had been in there again; sat on his desk was a cardboard box sat on top of a pile of napkins. The box's bottom was almost translucent where whatever was inside had seeped through. He sighed, no doubt it was Crowley again, he had to find out how the man kept getting in. Gingerly he picked up the box and flipped the lid open, the scent of warm honey filled his nose and his mouth watered instantly. Nestled inside were small squares of pastry, roughly chopped nuts covering them and gathering in the base. The cardboard was soaked in a sticky, sugary, viscous liquid. Aziraphale had a brief moment of conflict about the morals of accepting an apology confectionary from someone you had no intention of forgiving before picking one up and popping it in his mouth.

“Oh.” He said, “mmmmm.”

“I take it you like them then?” An amused voice came from the door and Aziraphale looked up to see Crowley standing there.

“It’s okay.” He said, around the pastry.

Crowley rolled his eyes but otherwise didn’t say anything, “I was just dropping by to ask if you had any notes on the curriculum? Gabriel wanted it submitted by the end of the month.”

Aziraphale flushed guiltily, “I was just going to start work on it.”

Crowley nodded, “Just email it over.” He turned to go and Aziraphale chewed on his lip for a moment before calling out.

“Wait.”

Crowley turned back, his body tensed and guarded, he raised an eyebrow.

“W-w,” Aziraphale cleared his throat, “What are they?”

Crowley looked at him for a short moment, and Aziraphale worried he might just ignore him and walk away. “Baklava, filo pastry, honey and syrup and nuts. One of my student’s parents runs a small Moroccan restaurant about twenty minutes away, he made them for me.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale swallowed the last mouthful, “Well, it’s delicious. Please extend my compliments.”

Crowley nodded, “Sure.” He turned and left Aziraphale standing in his office, sticky mouth and fingers, not sure what to make of the homemade treats he was holding that Crowley had obviously gone and got whilst he was in his lecture. His phone dinged and he put the box down, wiping his fingers carefully on a napkin, a reply to his email.

Me too Angel.

His mouth went dry. 

Crowley left Aziraphale alone the rest of the day, it was clear his gestures were received well enough — he’d spotted the duck pen holder on the windowsill — but that Aziraphale wasn’t going to respond to them. Perhaps two office break-ins in one day was too much. He figured he’d give him some space and maybe try again on Monday, he turned away from Aziraphale’s office and slid his phone out his pocket to re-read the message he’d got whilst picking-up the baklava. It had made his heart jump and filled his brain with all those stupid fantasies he had been doing such a good job of ignoring. He’d played the first one cool, brushed over it and given them an out to carry on without edging the conversation into anything else. Angel hadn’t taken it, that had to mean something . Before he could second guess himself he tapped out a short reply and hit send, praying to anyone who would listen he wasn’t making a huge mistake. He shoved the phone back into his pocket, not wanting to think about it and grabbed his notes for the lectures he had that afternoon, somehow he’d managed to get the worst Friday afternoon schedule and would be in classes until the end of the day. He supposed at least it would stop him dwelling on the message he had sent, or the situation with Aziraphale.

By the time he remembered the message again Crowley was most of the way home; crammed onto a train heading out of London towards Windsor. He’d hit peak rush hour; the train previous had been cancelled, and the resultant crowd of people meant his journey home was standing room only. He had had at least two sweaty strangers uncomfortably pressed way too close the entire time and had neither the energy nor the space to open his phone. He pushed his way off the train and made his way down the length of the platform behind a slow mover, somehow managing to take up just enough space he couldn’t dart around. He tapped his Oyster card to get out and finally take a breath of cold, fresh air as he started the short walk home. It was refreshing but really only added to the general dirty feeling he had and he was stripping his clothes off as soon as his front door closed behind him, making his way directly to the shower. 

Crowley stood in the shower letting the hot water beat down on his back and trickled through his hair and over his face. His first week at this new job had been decidedly not what he wanted and extremely stressful. He’d managed to mortally offend his new co-worker before even meeting him, somehow make it worse in person and then immediately turned around and told the Dean to fuck off. At the same time he was reasonably sure he’d just imploded one of his closest friendships.

That thought made him close his eyes and droop even further, how pathetic , he thought. Forty-five and the best friend I’ve got is some virtual stranger I’ve never met and the only connection we have is a shared interest in smut aimed at teenagers and twenty somethings. 

He turned off the water and stepped out of the shower, scrubbing at his hair as he wandered from the bathroom to his bedroom. A splash of colour caught his eye and he groaned as he remembered he still had Aziraphale’s scarf and gloves. He’d meant to take them into the university in the morning and he knew the weather was going to be getting a lot worse on Monday morning; he didn’t want to leave it until then. Sighing, Crowley flopped down onto the bed and opened his phone to shoot a text to Bea asking if she knew whether Professor Fell had Saturday office hours or was likely to be at the university over the weekend. They replied almost immediately asking why so he explained he’d grabbed something of his by mistake and wanted to return it. Their reply bounced back explaining they were not allowed to disclose information about faculty members. Then immediately following it a message that simply said ‘unrelated’ and contained a link. Crowley opened it and rolled his eyes at his oldest friend and the way they always managed to find a way to skirt the rules; it was a yelp page detailing a bookshop in SoHo. It was very clearly owned by Aziraphale based on the name and had a 1 star rating and a plethora of outraged reviews against it ranging from ‘poor service’ to general complaints about the owners attitude towards selling things and one specific, several page long rant about the shocking way a person had been treated after enquiring about the availability of ‘Spare’ — a book Crowley was entirely unsurprised that Aziraphale refused to stock. He made a note of the address and figured he could go there tomorrow and drop off the scarf, Aziraphale would need it for Monday he justified, besides it counted as a third apology. Decision made, he opened his email account to address the blinking notification icon he’d been studiously ignoring since unlocking his phone to message Bea, he tapped it open and was greeted with a wall of text.

Do you? I hoped you would. I worried so much when I suggested it a second time you’d think me needy or…pushy.

I’ve been thinking about it ever since you said you were changing jobs, hoping wildly that perhaps it might bring you closer to me. 

Oh, I hope I haven’t misinterpreted. Please tell me to stop if I have.

I cherish these conversations so much, I don’t want to over step. 

I feel sometimes like you are the only person I’m truly myself with — despite you not even knowing my name! How silly.

I don’t know what to do, we’ve never even met. I’m not sure I’m ready for that either. 

I’m sorry, I know I started this, but … there are risks, I don’t know if I am brave at all..

Crowley smiled, the rambling worry was adorable and he suddenly and deeply wanted to be able to hold his Angel and smooth it away. But it was clear neither of them were ready for that yet, still, there was promise. 

Oh, Angel, you’ve not overstepped, and you’ve nothing to worry or be sorry about. 

For your information my job has brought me to London — I admit, based on your restaurant choices I already knew we were closer but wasn’t sure how to bring it up. 

I love these messages as well, and….I was trying to work out how to suggest we meet, but I didn’t want to push. I’m glad I didn’t  –  if you’re not ready, then that’s fine. 

But I would very much like to know you, when you’re ready.

He’d barely closed the app down and locked his phone when it buzzed with a reply, short but heavy with promise.

You’re so close…

Perhaps we can set a date, in a month? 

Something to look forward to, and in the meantime we just carry on as we were?

Crowley’s heart leapt, and he opened his calendar, picking a Saturday one month from now and shooting the date back quickly before he could second guess himself. The response took a lot longer and he sat on his bed, towel draped over this shoulder, hair dripping slightly onto the sheets as he waited anxiously. The delay was obvious once he opened the message, he laughed. There was an agreement to the date and then a lengthy rant about the latest episode of Bridgerton, Angel had picked up their conversation right where it left off before being derailed by co-workers and...feelings.

Chapter Text

Anathema hummed to herself as she opened the bookshop up, Saturday morning’s were lay in morning’s for Aziraphale and she knew full well he wouldn’t wander downstairs into the main shop until at least lunch time.

She took advantage of the quiet morning to go through her TA feedback , adding notes and marking out questions she wanted to take to the lecturer the following week. She wasn’t expecting anyone in — no one ever came into the shop this early, let alone on a Saturday — so the bell sounding startled her. She looked up to watch the man walk in and peer around, he was wearing sunglasses and had the hood on his jumper turned up against the cold.

“Can I help?” She called out

“Uh, yeah. Um, does someone called Aziraphale Fell work here?” The man walked closer, shrugging off his hood and letting loose a mess of red curls.

“Oh. Crowley.” She said, raising an eyebrow and crossing her arms.

He stopped and recoiled, “Do I know you?” He asked tentatively.

“No. I know you though.” Her frosty tone didn’t change.

“Ah.” Crowley stuck his hands in his pockets and stood there awkwardly for a moment. “Look, I don’t know what he’s said to you, but obviously it can’t be anything good. I didn’t come here to start anything or upset anyone.”

“Why are you here then? It’s one thing to break into his office but it’s completely inappropriate to track him down outside of work.”

Crowley looked a little abashed, “I know, I’m sorry, I just-” he rummaged in his bag. “Here, just give him these will you? He left them in the cafe. I forgot to bring them to work yesterday and it’s going to be cold on Monday.”

Anathema took the items and re-crossed her arms awkwardly around them, she jerked her head sharply at the door, “Go on then. Bye.”

Crowley nodded and retreated across the shop, he paused at the door, “I am sorry, I spoke before I thought and -” he shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, he won’t want excuses. Just, maybe can you tell him I’m sorry?” He slipped out the door before Anathema could answer.

She watched as he slouched down the road and into the distance, relaxing as he vanished from sight. She pulled the scarf and gloves out from under her arms and dropped them on the counter, sighing.

She’d only met Crowley for less than five minutes and she completely understood what Aziraphale had meant when he said it was infuriatingly difficult to stay angry at the man.

She absolutely could if she wanted or Aziraphale needed her to, but she was already on the fence about whether Aziraphale was being completely fair to him. The man taking time out of his weekend to come and drop off a scarf because it was going to be cold later was tipping the balance more towards Aziraphale being the stubborn arsehole in this scenario than Crowley. She loved Aziraphale dearly, but Christ on a bike, he could be unreasonable sometimes. 

Anathema had known Aziraphale almost ten years now, he was right to state she’d met him once he’d already established a reputation and dragged himself out of the worst place after he’d been kicked out. But, even ten years ago, Aziraphale had still been struggling with who he was and his place in the world. He had been so closed off to the world and defensive it had taken until two years after the end of her postdoc for them to move beyond a formal student/professor relationship.

Anathema had been exhausted, out of money and unable to prove to the UK government she had the means to support herself. Aziraphale had swooped in and helped her not only navigate the complicated bureaucracy of the system but sponsored her and provided the necessary money and documentation to get her visa sorted. To this day she had no idea why she alone, amongst many struggling foreign students, caught his attention. Her first thought was less than charitable and he had anxiously informed her was ‘quite gay, thank you’ when she’d levied the accusation at him before accepting his help. He told her later it was the first time he had admitted it out loud since telling his family. 

She’d insisted on paying him back and Aziraphale had eventually suggested she could work in his shop. He could do without the early mornings and she could work off what she owed.

They both knew it was a cop out, Anathema barely considered this work — she spent most of her time in the shop studying or working on side projects she had — and Aziraphale had no problems keeping the shop closed until he felt like waking up, it had never made any difference to the sales what the opening hours actually were.

When she was finally granted the right to work, he started paying her a wage and neither of them mentioned it, unwilling to upset the comfortable friendship they’d settled into. It enabled her to pursue her doctorate and Anathema had the suspicion she might be the closest thing to family Aziraphale had; a sentiment she realised almost immediately she returned.

She didn’t know everything about his past, some things were still too hard for him to talk about and keeping things secret was too ingrained a habit to completely break. But she knew about his family, who they were and what they had done. She knew about Gabriel. She knew how much those things had damaged him, even after years of therapy. She also knew how it had conditioned him to assume the worst of anyone and get his claws out before they could. 

Anathema ran her fingers over the scarf and gloves, messed up now she had grabbed them, but clearly having been folded neatly by Crowley at some point. She looked up at the ceiling to where she knew Aziraphale was awake and pottering about, the old ceilings of the building creaking with his footfall as he walked about.

She didn’t want him to think she didn’t have his back — she would always have his back. But her gut right now was telling her Crowley was a good person, and could be a great person for him — if he just let him.

“Good morning, my dear.” Aziraphale called out as he made his way down the stairs and into the main shop.

She jolted out of her musings and turned to smile at him, his eyes caught on the bundle on the counter - the scarf was brilliant yellow-gold; it was hard to miss.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, suspiciously.

“Professor Crowley, he left a little while ago.”

“He came all the way into London at the weekend?” Aziraphale sounded baffled.

Anathema shrugged and scooped the items up, handing them over to him, “said it was going to be cold on Monday.”

Aziraphale took them, his brow pinched together. He stared down at the scarf and gloves in his hands.

“He also said to tell you ‘sorry’.” Anathema spoke carefully, watching Aziraphale for a reaction.

His mouth twitched ever so slightly, face softening just slightly, before he caught himself and frowned again. It was brief, but Anathema knew him well - and was watching closely - she saw the moment of accidental fondness and inwardly relaxed. Her instincts were proving correct, despite all of Aziraphale’s bristling and Crowley’s loose tongue these two idiots were drifting closer whether they realised it or not. 

“You know.” She said delicately, “three apologies in two days, four if you count the scarf, is pretty sincere.”

“I absolutely do not count the scarf, it’s his fault I left it behind in the first place!”

Anathema held her hands up, “Just saying, it’s not asshole behaviour.” 

“An arsehole can still occasionally do the decent thing. He should apologise.” Aziraphale huffed.

“And he has, Aziraphale, you’re the one refusing to accept it. At some point you start looking like an asshole.”

He glared at her but didn’t disagree, his shoulder slumped and he sighed, “I know. I’d already forgiven him once he gave me that silly olive, twig and duck thing. I just…” he looked up at her, “your the closest friend I have Anathema, you’re basically my family at this point. It took me years to trust you with everything, and Crowley just… has all this information.”

“I know it’s scary, but has he done anything to indicate he’s going to use it against you?”

“No,” he said reluctantly, “I suppose not.”

“Then maybe it’s time to have a little faith in people, take a chance.” She smiled softly at him, before letting her face slide into a wicked grin. She reached over and poked Aziraphale in the arm, “Beside’s, he is an absolute snack.”

“Anathema!” Aziraphale managed to look scandalised for about 3 seconds before biting on his lip and looking at her conspiratorially, “he is isn’t he.”

She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, “You should have seen the skinny little jeans he showed up in this morning. Borderline indecent.”

“Stop.” He said, face betraying his amusement, “It’s unprofessional, and besides he’s probably not even gay. Statistically speaking most people aren’t.”

She looked down her nose at him, “Statistically speaking most single, cute men, working in an English department and wandering around SoHo dressed like that are.” she said wryly.

“Those are stereotypes and you know it.”

“They’re called stereotypes for a reason.” she singsonged after him as he walked away with his scarf and gloves.

“Not listening!” he called back. “Get back to work, I’m not paying you to ogle the customers.”

“And yet, I do.” She yelled after him as he walked back upstairs, she laughed as a muffled response she couldn’t make out came back down the stairs. 

Aziraphale spent the rest of the weekend sending casual messages back and forth with Red. The date they had set hung over him, it was anxiety inducing and yet the most excitement he had felt for a long time. He had panicked and typed out a frantic message back to them and sent it without really thinking. Worrying the entire time it took for Red to respond, only relaxing when the message came through and made it clear they were both thinking the same things. Learning Red was in London, so close to him, had been such a thrill, he had been bold and forgotten all the reasons meeting this person in real life was a terrible idea. Now the date had been set, and agreed to, he was on a timer. 

It was nerve wracking, he didn’t have many people in his life he could count as friends. The thought of one of those connections being ruined by him wanting more, wanting too much was almost enough for him to call the whole thing off. The situation with Crowley was weighing heavily on him, and both of those things had more than contributed to his sleepless nights and churlish attitude at work. 

He’d decided late on Sunday that one of those things he could control and reduce his stress. Crowley had extended multiple apologies and brought him back his scarf simply because he worried he might be cold walking to the university. Anathema was right, it wouldn’t be the end of the world to extend a courteous hand and offer some civility. 

Crowley was still riding the joy of the conversation with Angel over the weekend when he arrived at his office on Monday morning to find Aziraphale standing outside it awkwardly, holding two paper cups and swathed in his bright yellow scarf. 

“Your shop assistant passed the scarf on, I see.” He said, nodding towards it.

“Ah, yes, she did.” Aziraphale hesitated slightly, “Also your apology.” He thrust out one of the cups, “Coffee, if I recall a triple espresso, no milk, no sugar.”

Crowley looked at the coffee and then back up to Aziraphale’s face, tinged slightly pink in a way Crowley suspected had nothing to do with the weather. He reached out and took the coffee, noting it was from Lilly’s, not a coffee shop that was exactly on the way from the bookshop to the university — Aziraphale had gone out of his way to get this. “Thank you, just how I like it.” 

Aziraphale’s cheeks flushed even further and his eyes darted away, “Yes, well. You made your apologies, I’m making mine. We have to work together, it would be a…difficult…year otherwise.”

Crowley nodded, agreeing and sipped the coffee, not piping hot —  Aziraphale must have been waiting a little while for him, unsure when exactly he was going to arrive. “Did you want to come in? We could go over the notes?”

Aziraphale’s face twisted awkwardly, “I’ve got a lecture, and I’ve not finalised my comments yet.”

Crowley nodded, “Sure, well, whenever.” He didn’t want to push, there was still a thick tension between them and a very tentative peace he didn’t want to blow up before it was even established. 

“Perhaps lunch? I’ll be free around one thirty?” Aziraphale looked nervous.

Crowley nodded, “Yeah, sounds good, whereabouts?”

Aziraphale hesitated again, “You mentioned a… Moroccan restaurant?”

Crowley smiled widely, “Did you want more baklava?”

Aziraphale toyed with the tassel ends on the scarf, turning them anxiously in his fingers, “No.” He said, in a tone that absolutely meant yes.

“It’s okay, Professor Fell, I like North African food and to be honest you looked like you were thoroughly enjoying the baklava last week. I can see if they’ve got space for two around two-ish, give us time to walk there.”

“Aziraphale.” came the quiet response, and Crowley furrowed his brow, “you can call me Aziraphale, not ‘Professor Fell’.”

“Oh.” Crowley let out the noise without thinking, surprised, “Well, Aziraphale ,” he said, careful to get it correct, “I guess you can drop the Professor too, just Crowley if you want.”

Aziraphale nodded, “I’ll see you at half past one then, Crowley.”

Crowley nodded, ignoring the shiver that trickled down his spine at his name rolling off the other man’s tongue. 

Aziraphale nodded again, turned sharply and walked away, coat swishing around his legs behind him. 

Crowley opened the door to his office and walked in, ‘ Aziraphale’ , he thought to himself, smiling as the permission to use the man’s actual name settled pleasantly over him. He didn’t notice Bea sitting at his desk until they spoke.

“You have a stupid face on.”

Crowley jumped, almost spilling the coffee, “What the fuck? Have you been in here the entire time?”

“Yup.” They spun on the chair, “Heard the whole thing, glad you’re making friends.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he said walking over to his desk and dumping his bag down, “And get out of my chair.”

They stood up, “You gonna fuck him then?”

Crowley choked on the sip of coffee he was trying to take, “No! Jesus Bea, not everyone solves their problems by hopping on the nearest dick.”

“Mmm, my money is on him hopping on yours.”

Crowley ignored them, “What do you want?”

“Well, I was going to ask how your little SoHo jaunt went, but based on the fact Aziraphale has been standing outside your office for forty minutes this morning I’d say quite well.”

“You let him stand out there by himself for over half an hour?”

“ I didn’t want to talk to him, stuffy little man.” They wrinkled their nose

“Don’t talk about him like that.” Crowley grumbled.

Bea looked at him for a moment before breaking out in a grin, “You like him.” 

Crowley glared at them, “He’s a good lecturer and makes fairly decent conversation. Besides, it doesn't matter, he doesn’t like me.” He hesitated before continuing nervously, “Anyway, I’ve maybe, sort of, got someone else.” He rushed the last words out before he could change his mind.

Bea stared at him, jaw slack, “Seriously? Mister ‘I’m never dating again, I’ll die single and alone, people are the worst?’”

“I did not say that.”

“You were three bottles of wine into my booze cupboard and you absolutely cried that over the last glass before passing out on my couch.”

“Doesn’t sound like me at all.” Crowley said sulkily. 

“You’re a weepy drunk, just own it.” They sat down on the edge of the desk, “Now, who’s this maybe, kinda, sorta?”

Crowey looked away, “It’s stupid, you’ll think I’m stupid.”

Bea sighed, “Come on, jokes aside.” They nudged his shoulder, “I won’t take the piss.”

Crowley sighed, “Do you remember I said I had a commenter on my blog, the smutty one.” He rolled his eyes as he clarified. “We exchanged emails a few years ago and we’ve been chatting ever since. Recently, I dunno, maybe it was moving up here, maybe it was all this shit with Aziraphale. We’ve just been chatting more.” Crowley shrugged, “We’re going to meet up next month.”

Bea was quiet for a long moment and Crowley looked away, “Yeah I know, stupid.”

“No. I’ve not said that. I’m not going to say that. It’s just…meeting some stranger from the internet for sex seems like something nineteen year old Crowley would do.”

“It’s not for sex!” He bristled, “I knew you’d do this, forget it.”

Bea grabbed his face and turned it back towards them, “Hey, I’m sorry ok, I’m not judging or whatever, I’m just worried. You don’t know this person.”

Crowley closed his eyes and exhaled, “I know that. But I…I like him okay. I know it’s dumb and probably going to blow up in my face. But we’ve been talking about everything for years, and this last week has been really shitty, and the weeks before that weren’t exactly great either. Talking to him was the highlight of every day.”

Bea shook her head, “Wow, you’ve got it bad huh?” They let go of his face and petted his hair gently. “What about Aziraphale?”

Crowley looked confused, “What about him?”

Bea looked at him incredulously, “Come on dude, really? Your crush on that man is a mile wide.”

“My-” Crowley gaped at them, “What?”

“The pair of you are like school kids elbowing each other in assembly because you haven’t figured out how to express your stupid feelings yet.”

“I have a professional respect for him!”

“You travelled from Twickenham to SoHo on a rugby weekend to return his scarf.”

“I didn’t know it was rugby until I’d already left!”

They looked at him, eyebrows raised, “Not the point I was making.”

Crowley sputtered for a few minutes before falling silent, “Whatever, even if I did like him it’s not like he’s ever going to feel anything more for me than professional civility.”

“Fine line between love and hate.” They said, patting his shoulder and leaving the office, the door wide open behind them.

Crowley stared out at them for a while, that was exactly what he’d typed out to Angel. Odd that it would be directed at him now. 

Aziraphale stood outside the restaurant Crowley had led them to and looked at it dubiously. It was down a side street and away from the main hustle and bustle of Covent Garden. Tucked under residential flats the exterior was tiled with distressed signage naming it ‘Souk’ and a solid metal front door. It looked odd sandwiched between some sort of talent agency and the back end of The Ivy. It was in no way, shape, or form anywhere Aziraphale would have ever gone — in fact he was eyeing up the windows at the end of the street that looked into The Ivy and wondering whether it would be rude to suggest a change of plans.

“I know it looks a bit…odd.” Crowley said awkwardly, “I’m sure you’re used to going to nicer looking places, you obviously enjoy food.”

Aziraphale bristled, “What, because I’m not all tall and skinny like you?” He said, “Sorry I wasn’t blessed with natural good looks, but I’m quite content with the way I am, thank you very much.”

“I didn’t mean that!” Crowley held up his hands defensively, “I just meant, like…I’ve seen you eat, you obviously enjoy it, it’s not just a thing you’ve got to do you know? You appreciate good food, and I promise this is good food.” 

“Hmph.” Aziraphale looked at him dubiously, “Fine, let’s go.” He pulled the door open and turned to let Crowley go in ahead of him, “After you.”

Crowley smiled as he walked past, “And you are, you know? Blessed with natural good looks.” He swept into the restaurant before Aziraphale could do anything more than gawp and blush.

Aziraphale followed him in, face still heated and was hit immediately with an overwhelming scent of spices, cooking meat and a sweet undertone. He took a deep breath, he could make out onions and garlic, apricots with cinnamon and saffron. The scent of grilled lamb filled his nose and he closed his eyes enjoying the sharp tang of cardamon and cumin cut through with the sticky sweet rose smell of the shisha permeating the room from where it had wafted back inside. 

“Oh, my, this smells amazing.” He opened his eyes and found Crowley looking at him with an oddly soft expression. As soon as he noticed he straightened his face out and turned to the women waiting patiently and gave his name over for the reservation.

They sat down and Aziraphale looked over the menu with increasing confusion, all the ingredients listed made sense and were things he had eaten before. But none of the dishes were familiar.

“Do you want me to order? We can get some small dishes, little bit of everything and share?”

 Aziraphale hesitated for only a fraction of a second before placing the menu down and nodding, “Yes, I think I’ll defer to your expertise here.”

Crowley nodded and caught the eye of the waitress, she came over and greeted him in Arabic smiling warmly. Crowley responded in kind and rattled off a rapid slew of words, laughing lightly at her response and nodding at Aziraphale before pointing at a few things on the menu. 

“I didn’t know you spoke Arabic.” Aziraphale said, once she’d left.

Crowley shrugged, “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” He didn’t mean for it to come out so snippy and winced, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“No, it’s alright.” Aziraphale cut him off, “You’re right, I don’t know you, and I didn’t make much of an effort to try to. I acted poorly and hypocritically. I am sorry.”

Crowley stared at him, then looked down, fiddling with the napkin awkwardly. “Well, uh, thanks. I’m sorry too, I suppose I didn’t really consider the real person behind the writing I was criticising and…” he hesitated, “At the risk of upsetting you again by bringing it up…I never meant to imply any threat with your name. I just…I don’t know…I suppose I’m just defensive. I had to fight so hard to get accepted in this field, to get my opinion heard and taken seriously. I met so many people with rich parents, and fancy private school education, just get their bullshit, zero effort, garbage takes on literature accepted without question.” He shrugged, “Just hit a sore spot I guess. Finding out this person who’s writing I admired seemed to be just another one of them.”

“You have a strange way of showing appreciation. Your blog is quite…well… aggressive. ”

“Yeah, I know. It’s what works to get readers in, though. People like the sarcasm I suppose. You were right — I never expected to meet anyone I was writing about, to be honest. ” 

“You talk about it like it’s some sort of job,” Aziraphale said, confused. “Like you don’t really enjoy it.”

“Well, it is a job. I mean it didn’t start that way, but once it got popular I was able to monetise it and then I had to keep it going, especially after…” Crowley cut himself off and cleared his throat.

Aziraphale looked at him expectantly, waiting patiently.

Crowley sighed, “I’m surprised you don’t know to be honest. I was…asked…to leave my last position.”

Aziraphale looked surprised, “Asked?”

Crowley squirmed, “Fired, okay. I mean they couldn’t actually fire me for what I did, but they made it clear I wasn’t welcome and my life would be a nightmare if I stayed.”

Aziraphale looked appalled, “Surely not!”

“I don’t have a fancy name, there was no Dean looking out for me. I’ve got a contentious subject and a contentious personality. You should know that.” Crowley looked at him pointedly.

Aziraphale sat back, picking at the cutlery sitting next to this plate, “What did you do?” He asked eventually, quietly.

Crowley tapped his fingers on the table for a minute, quietly contemplating Aziraphale. “Can I trust you not to tell anyone? Even Gabriel doesn’t know the real reason, I let him believe whatever the university told him when he called them for a reference.”

Aziraphale nodded, “Of course. I mean I’d never betray anyone’s confidence, but you do also have something of mine I’d quite like kept quiet.”

“Well, consider this a peace offering then, an equaliser of sorts. I know your secret, you know mine.” Crowley took a deep breath, “I teach more modern literature, you already know that, and if you’ve read through my curriculum notes you’ll know I often try to include books that cover…delicate subjects.”

Aziraphale nodded, “I liked that, it made it very hard to stay angry at you when I first read it.”

Crowley smirked, “Good to know.” He shifted to one side to let the waitress place the various plates of food on the table. “Dig in.”

Aziraphale eyed up the multitude of plates crammed onto the small table, Crowley was busy offloading anything he could onto the floor or the table next to them to make space.

“What is it all?”

Crowley started pointing at dishes, “Well, pretty sure you know what hummus is. That’s falafel, it’s vegetarian, chickpeas and herbs and stuff. Then this is labneh, sort of a minty yoghurt dip, just stick whatever you fancy in it. Then I just got a selection of grilled meats, some couscous and finally some pitta to kind of scoop it all up with. Nothing is too spicy, wasn’t sure how you felt about that, so, uh, go for it.” Crowley tore off some bread and tucked in, using it to scoop up bits from each dish to eat.

Aziraphale watched him for a moment, “Well, when in Rome I suppose.” He said quietly and followed suit, dropping little bits of yoghurt and couscous until he got the hang of balancing the loaded bread, Crowley smiled at him and continued.

“So anyway, delicate subjects, one of the subjects I like to talk about is gender. Society's gender roles, how they play out for authors and characters, but also for the students themselves. Their idea of gender, and how those biases can influence them.”

“Doesn’t seem to controversial, we have plenty of similar lectures at King’s”

“Yeah, well, I taught that semester dressed as a woman.”

Aziraphale swallowed the piece of lamb in his mouth whole and tried to choke on it silently with little success. “That was deliberately timed.” He accused, around coughing.

“Lil’ bit. Maybe.” Crowley grinned and handed him a glass of water.

Aziraphale took a large swallow, “Is that, um, something you do often?”

Crowley raised an eyebrow, “Dress as a woman, or teach my lectures dressed as a woman?”

“Both? Either?” Aziraphale looked a bit bewildered and Crowley took pity on him.

“Generally speaking, most of the time, no, I do not dress as a woman, and that was the first time I had done it for a lecture. It obviously didn’t work out very well for me, so I doubt I’ll be repeating it.”

“Shame.” Azirapahle looked mortified as soon as the word left his mouth. 

Crowley grinned at him.“Is it now?”

“Well,” Aziraphale cleared his throat, “I can see how it would be a good learning tool, particularly for those students who have the privilege of not having to consider those things in their general lives.”

“That’s what I thought, the head of my department disagreed.” Crowley shrugged, “It is what it is, can’t change it.”

“Still, it’s a shame to hear about such close mindedness inside any centre of learning.”

Crowley shrugged, “That’s the problem with it though, especially subjects like yours, if you don’t make an effort, it’s easy to just keep teaching the same outdated notions that have always been taught. That’s the point I was trying to make with my reviews on your publications. What you wrote has already been said, it’s not new, it’s not exciting. It doesn’t consider the source material in a new light, or with new context. It doesn’t hold it up against contemporary literature, or popular literature and ask about the similarities as well as the differences.” Crowley was getting more animated and was gesticulating wildly with a piece of loaded pitta bread. Aziraphale reached out one hand and gently calmed the flailing arm down as Crowley continued his rant, “I mean take something like Shadow Chronicles right.”

He didn’t notice how Aziraphale tensed up as his words, “It’s young adult literature, so it’s already on a back foot because it’s deemed ‘childish’. It’s written by a woman so people just assume it’s going to be soft and delicate. But those books aren’t. I mean, I don’t expect you to have read them, but you really should.”

Aziraphale wiped his mouth delicately and placed the napkin over his cleared plate. Crowley had been done for a while, with Aziraphale’s signal he was also done the waitress cleared the table. Crowley rattled off something else in Arabic as she left. Aziraphale cleared his throat quietly.

“I am familiar with the books. Can’t say I ever expected them to come up in a discussion about university level classwork.”

Crowley groaned, “That’s the point . You don’t, no one ever does, but they should .”

The waitress dropped a small plate of baklava on the table, a pot of hot water and fresh mint leaves and handed Crowley the bill.

Aziraphale opened his mouth and Crowley held a hand up, “I’m paying, don’t argue. I think I owe you one at least.”

Azirapahle acquiesced, “I’ll pick it up next time then?” He asked.

Crowley smiled, “Sure, we still haven’t actually discussed the curriculum we’re supposed to be designing.”

Aziraphale frowned, “Bugger, I got distracted.”

“Well, some of this might be relevant, so it’s not a total waste of time. You said you were familiar with Shadow Chronicles ? Right?”

Aziraphale nodded mutely, stuffing some mint leaves into a cup of boiled water and aggressively mashing them against the bottom. Crowley didn’t seem to notice.

“I was thinking about including them in the course, I know I shouldn’t but…they’re just gateways to so many amazing topics and other literature. It’s an intro course, right, it should be accessible and encourage the students to be interested.”

“You like them then? I can’t say I’ve read all of them, but I skimmed one or two when I’ve been browsing.”

“Like them?” Crowley said laughing, “I love them, I picked one up second hand years ago, I’d just been dumped and was still figuring out who I was. My girlfriend, well ex I suppose by then, she had me pegged already. Far too gay and far too in touch with my girly side for her.” He scoffed, and Aziraphale recognised the tone of someone who was putting on an appropriate tone but who still hadn’t entirely got over the hurt. “Those books helped me figure a lot of things out.” Crowley said slowly, quieter. He wrapped his hands around his cup, steam rising and drifting across his face.

“I’m glad.” Aziraphale said without thinking, hurriedly adding, “That you had something to help you,” when Crowley looked at him curiously. Luckily Crowley accepted that. “I have to confess,” Aziraphale continued, “they didn’t strike me as your sort of books. The plot seemed quite simple and I had heard some people describe them as a ‘thin excuse for teenagers going at it like rabbits’.”

Crowley laughed, “Well there is a lot of sex in them. But I don’t think the plot is bad, it’s vague but it lets the characters be who they need to be not just for the story they’re in, but also for the reader. It’s clever.”

“How come you don’t write about those on your blog then?” Aziraphale tried to keep the bitter undertone out of his voice. If only Crowley had chosen this section of his work to read and review, maybe they might have been friends.

Crowley flushed and took a huge gulp of tea, “Well, that’s not my only blog.” He fished his phone out of his pocket and quickly looked up the web address of his blog, flipping the screen around to show Aziraphale.

“I have a second one, I write under the name ‘Red’, not very imaginative I know, just based on my hair! But still -”

Aziraphale wasn’t listening any more, Crowley’s chatter about his blog faded into the background as he took in the oh so familiar page design and layout of the blog he had been reading for years. The blog who’s owner he was finally admitting he might have feelings for and whom he had been excitedly looking forward to meeting just yesterday. His eyes flicked back up to Crowley who was still talking about something, and back down to the webpage. This was too much.

“I’m sorry, I need to leave. Thank you for lunch.” He stood up hurriedly, so reminiscent of the coffee shop. Crowley stopped talking abruptly and looked at him,

“Is something wrong?” Crowley’s face slid into worry and Aziraphale felt his chest tighten.

“No, no, absolutely fine, tickety-boo, just need to, uh, go…somewhere.” Aziraphale made sure to grab all of his belongings this time. He swept from the shop and disappeared down the street faster than Crowley could blink.

“Tickety-boo?” Crowley echoed dumbly. “What the fuck?”

Aziraphale practically ran back to his bookshop, luckily it wasn’t far from the restaurant. He slammed into the shop, shutting the door and flipping the sign to closed.

“Aziraphale?” Anathema was staring at him from her position reading a book behind the counter, “What are you doing?”

Aziraphale just looked at her, panicked, he had never told her about his double life as a popular author and he’d never told anyone about his anonymous email relationship with Red. He was embarrassed, both about the reason for their connection and the fact he was a forty-five year old man who, apparently, could only form friendships with people who’d never met him. He breathed heavily, eyes darting around the shop, his chest felt tight and the room too warm. He stripped his coat and scarf off, dropping them to the floor as Anathema jumped up, face moving from annoyance to worry in an instant.

“Aziraphale, what’s wrong? You look like you’re going to be sick.” 

He felt like he was going to be sick, clammy and distanced from his limbs. That panicked him further, she was moving towards him swiftly, reaching out, his cheeks were hot and he could hear the ocean in his ears, pounding through his skull. His last thought was how fucking strange that was before his eyes lost focus and the sight of Anathema making a last frantic leap towards him disappeared behind splotchy grey static.

Chapter Text

“Aziraphale? Aziraphale? Can you hear me? Az…ugh, come on, I can’t…I don’t know, Az my phone is over on the desk, I can’t reach it. Wake up, come on…”

Aziraphale’s vision swam back into focus and he blinked slowly, “Don’t call me Az.” He slurred out, surprised at how difficult the words were to form.

“Oh god, oh thank you. Fuck, you scared me, are you aright?”

He could feel her hand stroking his hair and a small part of him recoiled at the sensation, he looked around and realised belatedly he was laying sideways on the floor of the shop entrance, head resting on Anathema’s lap. He tried to sit up, and found his limbs wouldn’t cooperate, “I don’t…what happened?” Aziraphale gave up trying to push himself upwards and resigned himself to resting his face on the thick black skirts that always smelled of incense for the time being.

“You came banging into the shop, turned the most horrific shade of grey and stripped off your coat and then dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. I barely stopped you hitting your head on the coat rack, you took me down with you!”

He wrinkled his nose at being described as a ‘sack of potatoes’ but otherwise kept quiet, it sounded like Anathema had managed to prevent a worse incident.

“Do you think you can sit up?”

“I believe so my dear, with a little help.” He pushed his hand underneath him and Anathema hefted his shoulder and between them managed to roll him up into a slumped seated position, propped against the wall. Much like a sack of potatoes, he thought glumly as he watched Anathema clamber to her feet and brush dust off her skirts.

“Don’t move, I’m going to call 111.”

“Oh my dear, don’t bother, they’ll just tell me to go to A&E. I don’t fancy spending 8 hours sitting in St Thomas’s for them to take my blood pressure, compliment me on how low it is, then give me some watery squash, tell me to rest and send me on my way. I have cordial in the backroom, that’ll do.”

Anathema looked at him dubiously, “Aziraphale, I don’t think you realise how awful you look.”

“Always lovely to hear.” He snapped back, then sighed, “I’m sorry. You’re trying to help and I’m being difficult. This isn’t the first time I’ve fainted, it’ll pass and I’ll feel better in a jiffy. If you can drag over that chair I would very much like to get off the floor.”

Anathema slipped her phone into a pocket of the voluminous skirt and cautiously dragged the wingback over. She grabbed his arms to help Aziraphale steady himself as he dragged himself up heavily.

“Oh, that’s better.” He slumped into the chair.

“You said there was cordial in the back?”

Aziraphale nodded, “And a biscuit.”

She disappeared off to gather a drink and snack; Aziraphale took a moment to take a deep breath and settle himself. His heart was still pounding, and he felt slightly dizzy but otherwise most of the disconnected and disjointed sensations had passed. He berated himself slightly for not recognising the signs and lowering himself to the floor as soon as his ears had started buzzing. He didn’t faint often, but it had certainly happened enough times in his early days of university that he should have recognised the signs before he’d got to the point of toppling onto the poor girl. He stretched his legs out, wiggling his toes and trying to settle himself back into limbs that felt too big for him.

“So.” Anathema said, “At the risk of setting you off again, are you going to tell me why you dashed in here like the hordes of Ghengis Khan were chasing you, slammed the shop shut then passed out on me?” She handed him a glass and plate.

Aziraphale took them, taking a large mouthful of the cordial and exhaling with relief. He nibbled on a biscuit, avoiding the question until Anathema stared him down, hands on hips.

“Aziraphale.”

“I found out something about Crowley that unsettled me.” He said eventually.

“Unset-, Azirapahle you passed out.”

“Not all the way.” He replied snarkily.

“Oh well, that’s okay then.” She said, throwing her arms in the air. “You only passed out a little bit, let’s just carry on then. Also since when is he Crowley ?”

“Since he asked me to call him that.”

Anathema tipped her head and pursed her lips, “Come on, I know there’s more here than that.”

Aziraphale sighed, “We went to lunch, names were exchanged, as were apologies.”

She frowned and crossed her arms, “Well that all seems incredibly nice .”

“I…I have this friend.” Aziraphale started hesitantly, “I don’t want you to judge me.”

Anathema frowned at the segue but went with it for the moment, “For having a friend? Aziraphale it would be fantastic for you to have other friends. I am genuinely worried I’m going to have to move in here and adopt you at some point.”

“I’ve never met them.” He said quietly, “We…just…talk online.”

“Okay? That’s super common these days.” Anathema shrugged, “I can’t say I ever pegged you for online chats, but you know. It’s normal .”

“I… like them, I told them I liked them.” His voice was getting higher, “I practically threw myself at them, oh God, we were going to meet up next month, I obviously can’t do that now. This is ridiculous, I knew something like this would happen, of course it would. This is my life all over.” Aziraphale wasn’t looking at Anathema anymore, he was twisting the ring on his finger almost violently and starting to look flushed again.

“Hey, hey,” she reached out and grabbed onto one shoulder, “It’s okay, just take a deep breath or you’re gonna be on the floor again.”

“Oh God, Ana, it was Crowley.”

She looked at him confused, “What was Crowley?”

“Red, Red was Crowley. This person I’ve been talking to for years. I’ve told them so many things. Now he knows them and Crowley knows about who I used to be, and they’re the same person Ana.”

There was a long silence as she absorbed and made sense of the mess of information Aziraphale had thrown at her, “Oh.” She said eventually. Then her mouth twitched as she bit her lip to stop it moving.

“It’s not funny!” Aziraphale exclaimed.

“It’s a little funny.” She replied, holding her fingers up, thumb and finger an inch apart.

“I’m having an existential crisis here, can you please take me seriously.”

“I am! I promise!” She knelt down so they were face to face and grabbed his hands, “I’m sorry, you are calmer though.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, lips curling slightly in the hint of a smile, “you’re terrible.”

“Yes, it’s my main feature. You know this.” Anathema grinned, “Come on, you have to admit, before we get into all the very valid reasons this is a huge, big deal. It’s a little funny that the two people who have apparently been twisting your insides all up are the same person. I mean what are the odds?”

Aziraphale huffed “Infinitesimally small I’d imagine. I suppose there is an element of humour to be found. Though I suspect it may take some time for me to fully appreciate it.”

“Fair.” Anathema stood up, “Come on, do you think you can move?”

“Yes, yes, I’m not an invalid.” Aziraphale stood up, helping her carry the chair back to its usual location. He caught sight of the Shadow Chronicle books he had lined up above the desk. He hadn’t been able to help himself but display them somewhere, when Anathema had asked — or anyone else for that matter — he just told them someone had dropped them off a while ago and he’d been unable to sell them and that they had sort of become part of the furniture. Most people accepted it, failing to realise a third of the collection were recent additions and every couple years one extra book would be surreptitiously added. Anathema had been the most suspicious but it appeared she’d long since forgotten they were even there. 

His phone dinged and his heart sunk, it made sense Red — Crowley, he supposed he should call him now — would message his friend after another absolutely disastrous meal with his infuriating coworker. Aziraphale swiped his phone open, ignoring the new message in favour of scrolling through the old ones.

“Oh, this is mortifying.” He groaned, “I complained about him to him.”

“Let me see.” Anathema said holding her hand out for the phone, Aziraphale handed it over, pinching his brow between his fingers as she flicked through the last few messages.

“It’s not that bad. You didn’t call him names or shit on him or anything. And look, he even says he likes you here, and he seems genuinely sorry about what he said to you.”

“Well it certainly makes sense he knew exactly how to apologise to me! I literally told him!” Aziraphale grabbed the phone back, “Oh god. Look, I told him I liked him.”

“Why is that a bad thing? You like Red and you like Crowley, and they’re the same.”

“It just is, look at this new message.” He held it out to her to read.

Fuck, I’m really looking forward to seeing you next month. I’m trying so hard at this new job, and I thought I was making progress with this guy. I followed your advice, apologised, literal (well almost!) olive branch and everything. We had the nicest lunch, I was starting to think, you know, maybe, maybe we might be able to be friends. He just fucked off and left, I don’t even know what I said this time, I’ve been going over and over it…

I just…I’m so glad I have you, sorry, that’s kinda mushy. But, it’s been a great help recently…just thought you should know…

“Aww.” Said Anathema, “He’s adorable.”

Azirapahle groaned, “I knew this was going to be a disaster, I knew I should have just kept to myself, run the shop, died alone.”

Anathema smacked him on the shoulder, “Stop being such a drama queen. There’s no way you ‘ knew’ this specific thing was going to happen and it’s not that bad. Just tell him. Sounds like he’d be thrilled to be honest.”

“ Absolutely not.” Aziraphale snatched the phone back and tapped out a message.

“Aziraphale.” Anathema’s face turned serious, “What did you do?”

“I just told him I can’t meet him, I can’t Anathema, I can’t do this. It’s too much. What if it goes wrong? What if I have to leave King’s and start over somewhere else? I can’t have Crowley knowing these things about me, what if he tells someone? What if –”

Anathema held up her hands, “Okay, okay.” Aziraphale was working himself up into a panic again and she knew full well there was no reasoning with him. “Okay, it’s your choice. I think it’s a dumbass choice but it’s yours and I’ll…I’ll drop it.”

He relaxed, “Thank you. I know it seems stupid, but…I’ve worked very hard and put a lot of effort into this existence I’ve got here. I can’t just…throw it away on a whim.”

Anathema nodded, her face clearly showed she didn’t agree, but Aziraphale wasn’t going to be talked around right now. 

 A few streets away, in a North African restaurant, stunned into silence, Crowley sat at his table alone. The waitress was looking at him with what she probably thought was sympathy but it just felt like pity to him. A message popped back from Angel and he felt the blood rush through his ears as his heart plummeted and all the hopeful, positive feelings from the last 48 hours vanished.

I’m sorry. I don’t think I can do this. I’m not who you think I am.

Crowley dropped his phone onto the table and leant back in the chair, trying very hard not to be a grown adult, alone, crying in a restaurant. 

It became clear by Wednesday that Aziraphale was avoiding him, and doing his level best to avoid the university. If the message he got from Bea, rudely inquiring as to what he ‘had done now’ was anything to go by. 

He’d received Aziraphale’s notes back via email for the curriculum and had occupied himself by going through them. It was confusing, he’d clearly done something to send the man quite literally running from him, but Aziraphale was also communicating about their curriculum like nothing had happened. He’d taken a peek into his office the day before, looking for him, and the duck pen holder had been moved onto Aziraphale’s desk. Obviously he’d been in there and he hadn’t thrown the thing out — surely that meant he wasn’t angry at Crowley?

Crowley hadn’t even started on what to do about Angel, the message back had imprinted itself on his eyeballs with the amount of time he had stared at it. It rolled around and around in his head, simultaneously making no sense and absolutely perfect sense at the same time.
Quite aside from the fact this was obviously how Crowley’s life went and really what did he expect ? To find the love of his life in the comment section of a shitty little blog he wrote that barely anyone paid attention to? He could hardly be surprised at someone getting cold feet at the prospect of meeting up with a stranger in a big city, it had ‘News at 10’ written all over it.

Crowley rubbed his eyes and went back to staring at the computer screen, trying to parse the notes Aziraphale had left him.They were well written and thoughtful, It seemed he’d actually gone and read the books Crowley was recommending be included and had some tentative opinions on them. Crowley could see the same beautiful tone he’d come to love when reading Azirapahle’s musing on classics shining through. Nothing particularly bold in his takes, things he knew could be found easily online if you were just beginning to try and understand the topics, but still they showed a marked departure from Aziraphale’s usual safe and carefully worded rhetoric. It seemed he had listened on some level to what Crowley had to say and was trying.

He skimmed over the notes and focussed on an added document that hadn’t been there before. It was titled after a lesser known Shadow Chronicles book — A Nightingale Sings . It was a fairly recent one that covered an interesting mix of religious topics and sexuality. It followed the story of a girl deeply embedded in her family's strict upbringing trying to reconcile with her own growing realisation of herself and had been received with very mixed reviews. 

Critics had called it unnecessary pandering and accused it of relying on cultural stereotypes that were a thing of the past. The LGBTQ community itself had been mixed, reviews had ranged from feeling the main character embodied a two dimensional caricature of homosexuality to complaining the author had shied away from portraying their sexual awakening as explicitly as she had done in earlier books. Many had felt it provided far too neat and tidy a representation of coming out, glossing over the real life dangers. Others had expressed disappointment that a series that had never strayed away from showing harsh reality was wallowing in self indulgent fluff. The book had ended happily, with the girl's family accepting her and shifting their viewpoints. 

Crowley had firmly been in the second, more positive, camp when he had read it. Quite aside from the fact that those good endings — where family reconciled and acceptance was won — did exist and deserved the same representation as anything else. He had remembered finishing it and thinking: sometimes you just needed a happy ending, whether it was realistic or not. Sometimes, you just wanted things to be okay in the end. It was fine to be indulgent in literature when real life was fully prepared to throw more than enough crap at you. It was necessary to see these stories play out positively when you were so surrounded by ones that didn’t.

He’d reviewed it as such, it had garnered quite a lot of attention, more than most of the other reviews of the series. Some was positive, but it was certainly more negative feedback than he was used to on a small blog with very few readers. It seemed someone had posted a link on their own, more popular, social media page via twitter and flooded it with people who disagreed with him. It had almost been enough for him to take the page down at the time; now, Aziraphale was offering him the chance to talk about it in a formal setting, with students. He wasn’t entirely sure he wanted that feedback directly in his face, but at the same time, it was an opportunity to educate and maybe send some of this new generation home with things to think about. It was the reason he’d got into this job in the first place. 

He looked up when he heard his door open, Bea was standing there.

“Can I come in?”

“You don’t normally bother asking.”

“Yeah, well you’ve had a tough week.”

“Doesn’t usually bother you.”

They shrugged, “Take it or leave it man.”

Crowley waved them in with a defeated sigh, “I’ve got Aziraphale’s course notes, I’ll get them back to him for final review by the end of the week. You don’t need to worry, we’re perfectly capable of teaching together.”

“I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you. You’ve not replied to a single message I’ve sent all week. You’ve been here early in the morning until late at night, whether you have classes or not. Gabe says Aziraphale is refusing to come in unless he absolutely has to and has shifted some of his classes online but won’t talk to him. What happened?”

“I didn’t do anything!” Crowley said defensively.

“Yeah, I figured… I mean Aziraphale is pretty quick to bitch and moan about everyone and anything but he’s refused to even talk about what’s got his knickers in a twist. Made me wonder if maybe he upset you.”

“No.” Crowley sighed, “Well, yes, but only because I don’t know what went wrong. We were having lunch, we’d been chatting, nicely, we both apologised. I mentioned the Shadow Chronicle books and we had a chat about those.”

“Really? He doesn’t seem the type.” Bea pulled a face, “He seems so uptight, sort of feel like those books might get him all flustered.”

Crowley tried not to imagine Aziraphale flustered and carried on, “Well he knows them, we had a fairly decent conversation he asked me why I didn’t review them so I showed him my other blog. I was halfway through a sentence when he just got up and said he had to go.”

“Maybe he had an appointment?”

Crowley looked at her sarcastically, “Oh yeah and he just happened to also not show up to work for the rest of the week.” He shook his head, “And then Angel messaged me to say he didn’t want to meet up anymore. So, honestly, it’s been quite shitty. I really just want to go home and lay down for a few days, but instead I’m coming in here early and staying late hoping to catch Aziraphale.”

“Why don’t you just go to his shop?” Bea ignored the comment about Angel, he knew they hadn’t been that happy about the idea in the first place so it didn’t surprise Crowley they were content to let that one lie.

Crowley stared at her, “Fuck me.” He said eventually.

They grinned, “you didn’t even think of that did you?”

He dropped his head into his arms, “No. I was only there for like five minutes last time before that woman kicked me out. I forgot it’s where he lives.”

“You know, he’s not here again today, I’ll bet he’s skulking about that shop.”

“I can’t leave in the middle of the day, I’ve got coursework to mark.”

“You are useless to me pining.”

“M’not pining.” Crowley said sulkily, not putting much effort into denying it. “And if I were it wouldn’t be for him”

“Yeah, well you can’t do anything about the other one can you. So go do something about this one and come back when you’re a functioning Professor again.”

Not wanting to look the ‘Bea being an actual human being for thirty seconds’ gift horse in the mouth Crowley grabbed his bag and coat and sprinted out of the office. 

Anathema jumped as the door to the shop bounced off the wall. For a tiny out of the way bookshop that had spent years being largely ignored by most of London, the door was getting a proper workout recently. 

“Oh, it’s you.” She said, looking at Crowley, “Could you not smash up my shop.”

“Thought it was Aziraphale’s?” Crowley panted, then shook his head, “Nevermind, is he here?”

“Why would I tell you that?” She crossed her arms and glared at him, “You’ve upset him twice now, he had a panic attack and collapsed.” She was exaggerating but Crowley didn’t need to know that.

“Anathema, really, and you call me dramatic.” Aziraphale appeared from behind a heavy bookshelf, he was wearing a grey cardigan and Crowley was momentarily distracted by how utterly ridiculous and absolutely perfect he looked, softly tucked away down an aisle of old books.

“Well you did collapse.”

“My blood pressure dropped and I almost fainted, it’s hardly the first time. ”

“Hmn.” Anathema didn’t look impressed.

“It’s fine, my dear.” he said quietly to her. “He hasn’t done anything.”

Anathema turned away from Crowley so he couldn’t hear her response either, “you just ran away from him.”

“Weren’t you the one telling me to be civil?”

She wrinkled her nose, she hated having her own advice thrown back at her, “Fine, I’ll be in the back if you need me.” She said louder, so Crowley could hear.

“I’m a grown man Anathema, I think I can handle a conversation with a coworker.”

She snorted, “Every conversation I’ve had with you in the past week and a half would indicate otherwise.”

Aziraphale shooed her away, glowering at her mildly as she disappeared into the back.

“I like her.” Crowley said, breaking the awkward silence, “She’s got, attitude.”

“You have no idea.” Aziraphale replied, sounding exhausted. “She means well though, she’s really I’ve got these days.”

Crowley bit his lip. “Your family…I guess I owe you an apology about them.“

Aziraphale looked up sharply before sighing in defeat, “Of course Gabriel told you, that man has no concept of boundaries. I suppose he filled you in on all the sordid details of my past.” He said bitterly.

“A bit.” Crowley hesitated, “he mostly told me what he did to you. I…uh…told him where he could stick that.” Crowley scratched his head, “Thought I was going to lose my job, but it seems keeping Bea around in my life has one or two upsides.”

Aziraphale remembered the conversation vividly, he hadn’t known exactly what information the two of them were exchanging but he knew Gabriel well enough to have had a vague idea. “I know, I overheard you, not the whole conversation, but you.”

“Figured I owed you that apology after he told me about your family, guess I got the wrong end of the stick there.”

Aziraphale shrugged, as if it didn’t bother him, “people always do.”

“I don’t understand what happened, Aziraphale. I thought we were…sort of building bridges.

Aziraphale looked at him, distraught, “We were. We are -”

“I got your notes on mine.” Crowley interrupted desperately, stepping into the shop. “They’re great. I’m so glad you read the books I’m including, I’m even happier you liked them. I thought…I don’t know, I just thought -”

“I love the course you put together.” Aziraphale spoke over him, stepping back and wringing his fingers, “I loved it from the moment I read it, I hated that you were the person that wrote it. But, then you turned out to be perfectly lovely as well.” His voice was getting more frantic.

Crowley stepped forward again, “then please tell me what I did wrong? I’ll apologise for that as well.” He pleaded.

Aziraphale let out a long breath, “You didn’t do anything wrong, I just…realised something…troubling. I need to deal with it. It’ll just take time.”

Crowley just stared at him, face confused, before sighing, “I want to do this with you.” He said quietly, “I loved your suggestion to include A Nightingale Sings . It’s perfect, and you have such a wonderful understanding to lecture on.”

This seemed to make Aziraphale even more anxious, his eyes darted around the shop as if looking for an exit, “I can’t, you need to do it, not me.”

Crowley frowned, “It’s your suggestion, I wouldn’t dream of taking that away from you. I’ve never met another colleague who’s read those books, let alone understood them the way you do.”

“No, absolutely not, I can’t, I won’t. I should never have sent you those notes, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Aziraphale was getting louder, his voice pitching higher and Crowley could see Anathema skulking, the background watching him. 

“Okay, okay, I mean I’ve got some personal reservations about handling it, but I can manage.”

“Oh. Oh, dammit. Of course, I forgot; that whole thing with twitter. Crowley I’m sorry . I didn’t mean to…I’ll manage, or we can get rid of it.” Aziraphale had stopped anxiously twisting his ring around and was instead looking at Crowley distraught.

Crowley was confused, he played the last few sentences over in his head, there was something about those statements that didn’t fit here, in this space. They weren’t wrong ; there had been that whole twitter thing about his review of that book and that was why he didn’t want to publicly present the same opinion. But Aziraphale didn’t know that.

Angel did though.

Angel who lived in London, and taught, and owned a bookshop.

Angel who had an infuriating coworker he was butting heads with.

Angel who had emailed him minutes after Aziraphale had fled the restaurant to call everything off. I’m not who you think I am. 

“Fuck.” Said Crowley, over the top of Aziraphale’s babbling. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, how the fuck could I be so stupid and blind.”

Aziraphale stopped babbling and looked at him. Crowley saw the moment his brain caught up with his mouth and he realised what he’d said. 

“Oh. Fuck.” Aziraphale said, turning white.

Crowley just stared back, heart in his throat, everything over the last week clicking into perfect place as Aziraphale and Angel slid over the top of each other. He saw himself in Angel’s emails, rude, judgemental, and quick to lash out. Mortified, he recalled complaining about Aziraphale and admitting when he had found himself liking him. He saw this new side of Aziraphale he was just beginning to learn about, clever, quick witted and funny permeating through the warmth and kindness he’d enjoyed so much when talking to Angel. He remembered Angel confessing to liking him.

Crowley met Aziraphale’s eyes, they were wide and fearful, he took in the anxious finger twisting, the tense set of his shoulders. Crowley knew what he wanted to say to Angel when they met in a month, what he had hoped would be mutual. He looked over Aziraphale, nothing had changed, if anything it was more intense. The knowledge that these two people in his life, one who had held space in his heart for years; the other who had forced his way in, in little over a week, were the same was…terrifying and exhilarating.

Aziraphale opened his mouth as Crowley stepped forward, grasping his cardigan and pulled the man towards him, their mouths crashed together, teeth clacking as Crowley collided with him.

Aziraphale made an odd noise, muffled and surprised, his hands coming up to grasp at Crowley’s back. Crowley pulled back, easing the pressure and felt Aziraphale suddenly melt into his arms, the tension seeping from his limbs as he moved his lips and kissed him back. He released the cardigan, fingers sweeping up the warmth of Aziraphale’s neck and tangling in the blonde curls behind his ears. Crowley released his mouth and held his head in place, pressing their foreheads together.

“Angel. You’re Angel.” Crowley breathed, almost silently.

Aziraphale’s nose let out an odd squeak as he tried to catch his breath, “Yes.” he said quietly. “You’re Red.”

“Yeah, yeah I am.”

“Oh. My. God.” Anathema had exited the stacks of books and was gaping at them, “You two are absolutely the most ridiculous people I know.” She strode over to Crowley, “What are you doing? You can’t just come in grabbing people and kissing them?!” She turned to Aziraphale, “For the love of all that is holy, Azi, kiss the man back!”

“Azi?” Crowley muttered under his breath, lips twitching.

Aziraphale turned to him, “If that name ever leaves your lips you’re going to need a lot more than a duck and some fruit.” 

Crowley’s smile vanished, “Noted.”

“Very mixed messages there, dear.” Aziraphale said delicately.

“How did you two idiots manage to get PhDs?” She stomped off towards the door, “I’m out, I’ve had to listen to three separate sad rants about you.” She pointed at Crowley, “Sort it out, I’ll be back in the morning.”

Crowley looked at the door as it swung closed behind her. “We should never let her and Bea meet.”

Aziraphale shuddered, “Lord, could you imagine.”

“So.” Crowley said, stuffing his hands in his pockets, “Sorry, ‘bout all that. I sort of got carried away. Not exactly how I wanted to meet you, or how I generally treat coworkers.”

“H-how did you want to meet me?” Aziraphale asked nervously. 

Crowley sighed and scratched at the back of head, “I don’t know, I guess I just figured we’d chat, and see where things went. I mean, at the end of the day, we really didn’t know much about each other.”

“Clearly since we couldn’t even figure out we’d been working together almost two weeks.”

“Well. You spent a lot of it not talking to me.”

Aziraphale tilted his head, “That’s fair.” He let out a deep breath, “I don’t know what to do now, you're two people who each had a bit of me. Now you’re one person and you…you know so much about me. Who I was, who I am, what I had to do to get there.”

Crowley spread his arms, “Well what do you want to know?” He said, “I grew up on a council estate in a flat barely big enough for me and mum, let alone the two kids her loser boyfriend dragged home with him every so often. We had nothing, and what little we did have that shithead would steal. I lied my way into whatever jobs didn’t check your ID too closely and I mostly managed to keep myself and the two kids fed. I got the shit kicked out of me at school because I had aspirations beyond having my own layabout girlfriend to push out a couple more kids with.” He shrugged, “It was life. I left, as soon as I could, to go to university. I didn’t have grants or scholarships, I borrowed whatever the fuck I could from government schemes and I got into some low rate uni that was so under subscribed I managed to stay in halls for all four years for basically no rent. I worked the entire time, and when I finally thought things were turning around my girlfriend kicked me out because I was never around.”

Aziraphale had remained silent the entire time, the only indication he was hearing was the pink tinge on his cheeks. “I suppose I can see how you felt upon discovering my parentage a little clearer now.” He said quietly. “I must have seemed like quite the privileged individual.”

“It does no one any good to compare suffering.” Crowley said eventually. “It took me a long time to realise that and stop letting my past define me. It is what it is. It happened, it will always be part of my story. But it isn’t me.”

Aziraphale smiled, “No, you’re an excellent English Literature Professor with sharp wit and an eye for rooting out the truth hidden in the written word. You’re brilliant, Crowley. You were brilliant at dissecting my official work. It pains me to admit it, but part of the reason your words hurt me so much was because they were my own. You wrote out in black and white all the horrible things I already thought of myself.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You were right. You were right to voice that opinion and you were right to stand by that opinion.” He hesitated, “And you were brilliant in dissecting my unofficial work.”

Crowley’s brow furrowed, “I don’t understand, I’ve only ever written on your university publications.”

“Come with me, please.” Aziraphale asked quietly, “Just back here.”

He led Crowley behind the counter and indicated the desk, Crowley’s gaze moved over the desk quickly, immediately spotting the pristine covers of every Shadow Chronicles book. He looked at Aziraphale confused.

“I don’t understand.”

“What is my full username?”

“Angel_Dust_afee?” Crowley said, still confused turning back to peer at the books as if they might answer him

“Yes, af for Aziraphale Fell and ee for…”

“Ee for -” Crowley spotted it immediately, “Elisa Ennis.” He breathed out. “ You’re Elisa Ennis?”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Fucking hell. She’s a complete recluse, no one knows anything about her.”

“Well, two people do now. My publisher and you.”

“I need to sit down.” Crowley said, collapsing into the wingback behind him. He looked up at Aziraphale.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Aziraphale looked miserable, “I can’t present these works in our lecture. But you were so enthusiastic about them, and then I found out you were Red and you’re so right about them. I want them to be taught, I want you to teach them. And…” he broke off, taking a deep breath, “I don’t want to lie to you any more. The last few days have been simply awful, knowing something you didn’t, I didn’t even make it one conversation before I slipped up!”

Crowley snorted, “That is true. Christ.” He stared at the books.

“I’m sorry.” Said Aziraphale miserably, “I understand if you don’t want to continue our relationship, professional or…otherwise.”

“What?! Why?” Crowley looked at him shocked.

“I lied to you. For years. I reached out to you on that blog to talk about my own work. It’s deceitful and…well, a tad conceited.”

Crowley stood up and grasped Aziraphale’s hands, “Aziraphale, Angel.” he paused, “Elisa.” he added with a smile. “All three of my most favourite people are the same person. Do you have any idea how fucking fantastic that is?”

Aziraphale flushed, “Really?”

“Yeah, really. Elisa saved me from myself when I was depressed and lost and trying to find out who I was. Angel gave me a rock to cling to through all the ups and downs of life, and you, you Aziraphale, have pushed me to be better and I’ve only known you for two weeks.”

“Red was one of my closest friends.” Aziraphale said, “At first I just wanted to compliment them, show my appreciation and maybe revel in having someone to share those thoughts with. But…they became much more than that eventually.”

“They still are Aziraphale, Red is me, I still consider Angel my best friend, I’d hope you can do the same for Red.” Crowley held his breath, “Please.”

Aziraphale looked at their hands, his tucked neatly inside Crowley’s long fingers, and nodded. “I think I might need some time to untangle it all and put it back together, though.”

Crowley dropped Aziraphale’s hands, and held his own up, putting space back between them, “Of course. All the time you need, just please, please don’t hesitate to come and talk to me. Even if it's just about work, I…” He looked embarrassed, “I don’t think I can manage another silence from you, Angel.”

Aziraphale flushed at the nickname, “You know I’ve never heard it out loud, you typed it sometimes, I assumed it’s how you must think of me, the same way I thought of you as ‘Red’. But it’s, um, quite different hearing it come from your mouth.”

Crowley grinned, “In a good way I hope.”

“Quite.” Aziraphale replied, flushing. 

Crowley slipped his phone out his pocket and unlocked it, handing it to Aziraphale, “Put your number in there?” He asked, “It will be so much nicer being able to What’s App you.”

Aziraphale tapped away and Crowley heard the distant ding of a message alert come from his pocket, “Sent myself a text.” Aziraphale explained as he handed the phone back.

“I figured.” Crowley smiled, “Look, I need to get back, I have a lecture this afternoon that won’t finish until late. Maybe we can get lunch tomorrow?”

Aziraphale looked devastated, “I’ve got a full schedule tomorrow, back to back lectures and a meeting with my publisher at the end of the day. I’m supposed to be presenting a draft of my next novel, but…well…I’ve been a bit distracted.”

“Sorry.” 

“No, it’s not your fault. Well, a little bit; truth be told, I’m struggling to write it. It’s a contentious subject again and well… the last time I published like this there was a lot of backlash.”

“ A Nightingale Sings?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale nodded miserably, “I almost stopped writing after that. I have to be honest, your blog defending me was one of the few things that got me through it. I hated so much that I’d caused you to come under attack and I couldn’t do anything or say anything because you didn’t know who I really was.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I stand by that aggressive and disagreeable opinion as well.”

Aziraphale huffed lightly, “I appreciate it, it was…hard…hearing that feedback. I’m a bit ashamed to admit it’s part of the reason I don’t want to present it in my lectures. I don’t think I could handle the feedback to my face.”

Crowley looked confused, “I know the feedback on that book was particularly bad, but you’ve had other books critiqued.” Crowley was right, the content of Aziraphale’s book often garnered pushback from more conservative voices, and they’d popped up on various campaigns to ban books from classrooms or remove them from libraries. 

Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably, “This one is different.” He said, “It’s more...personal.”

“They all seemed pretty personal to me, especially now I know you. I can see a lot of lived experiences coming through the stories.”

“The girl in Nightingale ,” he said eventually, “She’s me, her story is my story.” His fingers tugged at a loose thread on his cardigan sleeve. “I changed the names, and places, and the time period, obviously. But it’s me, what happened to me…except…” He closed his mouth, and Crowley pretended not to notice the way his bottom lip trembled.

“No happy ending for you?” He murmured.

Aziraphale shook his head and looked down, “No.” His voice was shaky, “I just wanted to…reclaim it I suppose, make it my own and play it out how I so badly wished it had.”

“And everyone called it unrealistic.” Crowley murmured.

“I believe the phrase ‘trite, cliched sap’ was thrown around quite a lot.” He let out a shaky exhale and Crowley saw a tear leak from one eye.

“Oh, Angel.” He wrapped his arms around the man, tucking Aziraphale’s head into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

A muffled sob was his only reply.

Anathema crept back into the shop, it was dark, the closed sign was still up and she had had to unlock the front door to get in. She’d fully intended to go home, but hadn’t got far from the shop before she realised there was absolutely no way she could go home without checking on Aziraphale.

“Aziraphale?” She called out, dropping her bag on the floor and wandering further in, eventually spotting the light from the backroom kitchenette.

“Ana?” Aziraphale stepped out holding a cup of tea, “I wasn’t expecting you back.”

“Yeah, I know, I just couldn’t go home without making sure you were alright.”

“Oh, well that’s nice of you.”

She shrugged, “We’re basically family.” She looked around curiously.

“He’s not here, dear. He had a lecture, we’re going to get lunch together on Saturday. I said I needed some space.”

Anathema nodded, “And he respected that?”

“Of course he did, he’s not a bad person.” Aziraphale chided.

“Yeah, I know. Just..protective I guess. It’s been a rough couple weeks and most of it’s been around him. If he hadn’t been keeping secrets -”

“Anathema.” Aziraphale interrupted firmly, “He wasn’t the only one, we both made this worse than it needed to be.”

She sighed, “Yeah. Fair. I did try and tell you you were being a bit much.”

“You did, next time I’ll be sure to listen.” Aziraphale smiled at her, “Speaking of secrets though…” his smile dropped and he looked at her nervously. “There is something I want to tell you. I just feel, at this point you’ve more than earned my trust, and, well to be honest it’s been extremely tiring keeping it from you.”

Anathema raised an eyebrow, “You’re worrying me,” she said frankly. “Am I about to find out you’re secretly a spy or something? Or you’ve got a massive mafia debt against the shop and we both need to run for our lives?”

“What-? No, good Lord my dear, what sort of books are you reading?” He stepped forward and held something out, a slim book that she recognised from the shelf above his desk.

“Oh.” She said, taking it from him, “Are you going to tell me you wrote these? I already know.”

Aziraphale’s jaw dropped, “What? How? When?”

Anathema laughed, “Oh honey, I worked it out as soon as I started working here. I’ve been editing your notes for years. I know your writing intimately and they absolutely do not fit with anything else in this shop and every time a new one comes out there’s a pristine unread copy sitting on that shelf before it goes on sale.”

He stared at her, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

She shrugged, “Not my business, I figured you’d bring it up when you were ready. Gotta say I didn’t expect it to take this long.”

He huffed, “Well that was slightly less exciting than I’d hoped for.”

She walked past him and patted him on the back, “Aw, were you hoping for a big reveal and a gushing exclamation of how fantastic you were?” She grinned at him as she started making herself coffee.

“Well. I mean, not exactly that. But, I suppose I was expecting a bit of fanfare.”

“Did Crowley give you a bit of fanfare? Seems like it’s his job now not mine.” She poked her tongue out and wiggled her eyebrows.

“Oh, don’t be obscene. No, if you must know we talked about A Nightingale Sings and then…well. I cried on him.” Aziraphale sat down, pointedly not looking at Anathema.

Anathema nodded, “The book about you?” 

He looked up, “You…you knew?” He whispered.

“Az, I know you very well. I know I wasn’t there when all that shit happened, but it wasn’t hard to piece it together. You let things slip all the time, especially when you’re helping students with their own problems. Plus I have a standing lunch date with Bea, and they have so much gossip, Gabriel is quite the talker apparently.”

Aziraphale shuddered, “Not an image I wanted.” He frowned, “Wait, you know Bea?”

“Uh, yeah, of course. They’re the biggest hard ass on campus, we have lunch together and play judge the newbie. Got a running bet of who’s gonna break in their first year.”

“That seems unusually cruel for you.”

Anathema shrugged, “We don’t tell them, and besides Bea uses my opinions to go find them and see what they can do to help. It’s no use if the students quit, yanno.”

“Well I suppose I can tell Crowley to stop worrying about you two meeting, it seems our luck there has already run out.”

“Oh, yeah, you two are fucked. I didn’t realise Crowley and them were so close to be honest, we probably could have sorted all this shit out for you in an afternoon.”

“Rude.” 

“But accurate.” She grinned, “So you cried on him, that’s a great first date.”

“Oh shush, he was lovely.” His face softened as his thoughts drifted.

“You look really happy, Aziraphale.” Anathema said softly. “And it looks really good on you. Why are you here and not with him?”

“He’s got lectures, and it’s late, he needs to go home.”

“He can come here, it’s not far, the lecture can’t be that late. I know no one in the English department is scheduling evening classes.”

“I’ve known the man for two weeks, Anathema! I can’t just invite him back to mine.”

Anathema laughed, “Aziraphale, I love you, but for someone so clever you are so stupid. You’ve known him for years. You’ve been falling in love with him for years. Why waste more time?”

“Well… I mean…” Aziraphale floundered.

“Exactly.” She said, “Call him, the worst he says is no and you get lunch on Saturday.”

Aziraphale pulled his phone out of his pocket and stared at it. “Are you sure? This is very bold.”

“Be bold, babe.” She stood up and clapped him on the shoulder, “Live a little, you might enjoy it.”

“I don’t like any of these nicknames.” He grumbled.

“I know.” She said grinning, “Now call him.”

Aziraphale dialled.

Chapter Text

The sound of Crowley’s phone ringing startled him as he tried to find his Oyster card in his wallet. He fumbled the phone, almost dropping it as he tried to answer and slide the bit of plastic out at the same time.

“Oi, mate, go through or move the fuck out the way.” 

Crowley turned round and found a beefy man wrapped up glaring at him and shaking his head, “Alright, calm your fucking tits, arsehole.” He backed out of the gate muttering under his breath, whilst the beefy man pushed through muttering under his. “Dickhead.” Crowley threw after him, even though he was too far away to be heard.

“Uh, Crowley?”

“Oh shit, Aziraphale, I’m sorry, not you! Obviously, not you. Just some bellend on the tube with no patience.”

“Oh. Are you on the tube?” Aziraphale sounded disappointed.

“Not yet, you just caught me as I was going in. Train got cancelled, so I’m trying the underground, couple of changes. Should be fun.” He said, in a tone that indicated it absolutely wouldn’t be.

“Where do you live?” Aziraphale sounded baffled by the journey he was taking.

“Twickenham, Zone 5, no tube station, two shitty train lines that are currently fucked.”

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale returned, “That does sound terrible, you do that every day?”

“And sometimes on Saturday’s.” Crowley shot back grinning despite himself, “Worth it though.”

There was a pleased noise from the other end of the phone, “Well, uh, anyway I suppose it’s good I just caught you, I wonder… if well…maybe…unless it’s too much hassle, maybe you’d like to come over? I just, I know it’s very soon, and we agreed Saturday, and I don’t want to be pushy, but Anathema pointed out we’ve actually know each other quite a while and - ”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley cut him off laughing, “That sounds fantastic, I absolutely cannot with the London travel network right now, but I might be able to after I’ve spent a while with you.”

“Oh, well, okay then.” Aziraphale sounded quiet as if he hadn’t expected a positive answer.

“I’m fighting my way out of Temple right now, be with you in two ticks.”

“See you soon, dear.” Came the soft response before the click of Aziraphale hanging up.

It took Crowley a miraculous seventeen minutes to make the typically thirty minute walk from Temple tube station to Aziraphale’s bookshop, he stopped outside to catch his breath before he went in. 

“Did you run here?” 

He turned around and saw Anathema, “Where did you come from?”

“I’ve just left, I spotted you power walking down the road.”

“Yeah. Well. He called.” Said Crowley, as if that explained everything.

Anathema smiled and shook her head, “You two are as bad as each other.” She said fondly, “Be gentle, Crowley, his entire heart is out there for you.”

Crowley swallowed, “I..I know. I think…I think I’ve known that all afternoon.” He bit his lip, “Mine too, to be honest. Probably for a lot longer.”

“Yeah, he always was a bit slow.”

“I think I love him.” Crowley blurted, “I know it’s stupid and too soon, but…” he spread his arms.

Anathema regarded him with a long look before sighing, “For what it’s worth I think he loves you too, and…I don’t think you’re too awful.”

Crowley laughed, “High praise.”

“It’s the best you’re gonna get.” She rummaged in her bag and threw him something, then turned on her heel and walked away. “In you go. He’s waiting.”

Crowley held the object up, a key to the shop, “Thanks!” He called after her and saw her lift her hand up in acknowledgment. He opened the door and slipped inside.

The shop was completely dark by now, the last dregs of spotty sunshine from outside long gone. Crowley frowned, this suddenly seemed incredibly creepy. He turned and locked the door up behind him.

“Aziraphale!” He called out loudly, there was no answer and he shuffled through the shop carefully, not entirely familiar with the layout. The backroom was dark as well, the only place he had left to check was the closed door he assumed would lead upstairs to the flat above. Crowley hesitated, it just seemed like a massive breach of etiquette. But Aziraphale was expecting him, and Anathema had given him the key. He pushed the door open and called up the stairs,

“Aziraphale?” Still nothing, but he could hear the distant sound of an orchestral section playing, grinning he called out again, “Aaaaazzziiii!”

The music stopped and he heard footsteps, Aziraphale appeared at the top of the stairs and looked completely amused.

“What on earth?”

Crowley held up the key, “Anathema gave it to me.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, “Of course she did, meddlesome. Well you better come up, I’ve just popped some food in the oven.”

Crowley took the stairs two at a time, “Oh? I wasn’t expecting feeding you know.” 

Aziraphale looked appalled, “Of course I’m feeding you!It’s late, you’ve had a long day and I dragged you away from your intended plans.”

“My intended plans of spending 3 hours crammed into a tiny metal tube before shoving a handful of crisps in my mouth and collapsing on my bed?” Crowley said amused, “Drag away.”

He turned the corner into Aziraphale’s flat and was hit in the face first with warmth and second with the overwhelming smell of tomatoes and garlic.

“That smells delicious, what is it?”

“Oh, just a chicken hot pot type thing.” Aziraphale brushed him off, “Nothing amazing.”

“Well it smells amazing.”

“Anything with that much garlic in it smells amazing my dear.”

Crowley laughed, “True.”

“I thought it was easier than ordering food, don’t need to go anywhere.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow and stuck his tongue out slightly, “Planning on keeping me up here, then?”

Aziraphale flushed and looked anxious for a moment before his face cleared and took on a delightfully mischievous look. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten that little ‘pet’ name. I did say you’d need more than a duck and some fruit to make up for hearing it come from your mouth.” He peered at Crowley and deliberately ran his eyes up and down the full length of the man.

Crowley felt every second of the look, his stomach twisted and his heart did something strange in his chest. He swallowed trying to make his mouth feel less dry.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” He said, looking directly into Aziraphale’s eyes, giving him plenty of space and time to object. Aziraphale met his eye. Crowley moved swiftly across the floor and had Aziraphale in his arms in seconds.

It was so much more than the first, panicked kiss earlier. Aziraphale’s arms came up and wound around his neck without any hesitation. He pressed his body into Crowley and let out a sound that sparked every single one of Crowley’s nerves and settled heavily in his abdomen.

Crowley slid his hands into the cardigan, palming the warm curves of Aziraphale’s waist and grasping at the fabric of his shirt, drawing him even closer. He opened his mouth and met Aziraphale’s tongue with his own.

Aziraphale drew back, breathing heavily, his eyes closed as he rested his forehead on Crowley’s.

“Okay?” Crowley asked, hands smoothing out the shirt where he had bunched it up. His hand found a gap where the fabric had come untucked and he fingered it until his palm was resting on newly exposed skin.

Aziraphale nodded, toying with the soft strands of red hair on the back of Crowley’s neck, “Yes, I didn’t want to…rush…but-”

“We’ve already wasted so much time.” Crowley finished, pressing light kisses along Aziraphale’s nose and down over his lips as if he couldn’t help himself.

“Exactly, Anathema told me to be bold. I’ve spent so long hiding, I want to be bold, Crowley.” Aziraphale pressed closer, subtle, shy but obvious in his intent.

“Your hot pot?” Crowley asked reluctantly, he didn’t want to encourage anything that might cause Aziraphale to move out of his arms.

“I cannot express how little I care about that right now, besides it’s in a slow cooker.”

“Aziraphale, are you sure? I need you to be sure. You said you needed space, I will absolutely give you that. But, Angel, if you invite me here, and take me to your bed… Aziraphale, I will never leave.”

Aziraphale whimpered, “Good heavens.” 

“I am all in,” Crowley whispered. “I think I have been for a while, I just didn’t know all the different sides of you. I fell for each bit separately and felt so guilty.”

“Do you want the hot pot now?”

“What do you think, Aziraphale?” Crowley smiled down at him.

Aziraphale stepped back slightly and cleared his throat, “Well, in that case I, um, I think you’d better follow me.”

“Oh you do, do you?” Crowley grinned as Aziraphale clung onto his hand and dragged him down the hallway, opening a door and pulling him inside. “Tartan?” Crowley said, looking at the bedspread, just visible from the dim hallway light.

“Shut up, it’s stylish.” Aziraphale flicked on a couple of lamps and the room was filled with a low light, “Shut the door.”

Crowley obeyed, closing the door behind him and resting against it, “Now what, Angel.” He eyed the man, rumpled, untucked shirt and ruffled hair. “You’ve got me where you want me.”

“Not yet, I don’t.” Aziraphale said, he looked nervous again, despite his words.

Crowley stepped forward into the room, “We don’t have to do anything.” 

“I want to.” Aziraphale was firm, and that alone reassured Crowley. “It’s been a long time, I’m not as young as I was and…look, I know what’s in my books.”

“Your books aren’t you, I know that.”

Aziraphale’s shoulders slumped, tension draining, “Good, I just didn’t want you to think…” he trailed off.

Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale’s shoulders, pulling him into a hug. “I have no expectations, and whatever you want will be perfect. I’m not exactly running around shagging the Greater London area.” 

Aziraphale smiled weakly, “Well I am glad about that, be terribly awkward otherwise.”

Crowley pulled back and kissed him, gently, a warm press of lips to lips, and let his hands slowly push the cardigan off Aziraphale’s shoulders, it fell with a soft thump to the floor.

“No garters today?”

“I’m in my own home, Crowley, I’ve dressed down.”

Crowley laughed and brought his hand around to the front of Aziraphale’s shirt, “Dressed down? Angel, you’re still wearing a bowtie.”

“I’m at home, not deathly ill, I have standards ,” Aziraphale looked appalled.

“Hmm, well I hope you don’t mind if I take all your standards and pop them on the floor.” He undid the bowtie and slid it off Aziraphale’s neck, dangling it from one hand.

“I’d prefer the chair.”

Crowley tossed it over to the chair without breaking his gaze on Aziraphale’s neck, “An acceptable compromise.” He murmured and he leant in, fingers undoing the top button of Aziraphale’s shirt as he nosed into the newly exposed skin. Kissing it gently and placing testing nips along the tendons there.

Aziraphale gasped and clutched at him, fingernails scrabbling for purchase on the fabric of the waistcoat Crowley was wearing underneath his blazer. 

Crowley paused in unbuttoning the shirt to shrug his arms backwards and let the blazer slide off him and onto the floor, “I don’t care, floor’s fine.”

“Noted.” Aziraphale said, breathlessly, undoing the single button that held Crowley’s waistcoat together and shoving it down his arms in the same direction as the blazer. “Take your shirt off.” He paused, then added, “Please.”

“Oh no, be bossy, it's fantastic.” Crowley complied, tugging the shirt off collar first over his head, his hairband getting lost in the process and sending waves of red curls over his bare shoulders. 

Aziraphale flushed, “Really? Most people have found it overbearing.”

“M’not most people. I like it when you ask for what you want, demand it.” Crowley had dropped his t-shirt on the floor and was rapidly unbuttoning Aziraphale’s shirt. Revealing blonde curls with the odd shimmer of silvery grey trailing down his chest and leading him towards the trousers the man was wearing. He could see Aziraphale’s erection angled upwards outlined by the fabric pulled tight across it. 

“Hmm, well I did say you’d need more than a duck and some fruit if I ever heard the name ‘Azi’ come out of your mouth.” Aziraphale said, snippy tone somewhat undermined by the breathy arousal simmering underneath.

“Thought you’d forgotten about that.”

“I did not. So, I suppose I demand my apology.”

“ Demand away.”

Aziraphale exhaled and tilted his head back as Crowley leant in and captured a rosy pink nipple in his teeth, “Take your trousers off then, I want to see you.”

Crowley instantly moved to his own belt even as he kept his tongue laving the tight bud in his mouth. He grumbled as he realised he would have to step away to wriggle out of his trousers, “You as well.” He said, nodding at Aziraphale as he hopped slightly on one foot to pull the jeans off his feet.

Aziraphale unbuttoned his trousers, letting them fall to the floor and side stepping them neatly, as if to prove how one should remove trousers. He scooped them up and draped them over the chair.

“Show off.” Crowley said grinning as he toppled back onto the bed with the last hop, leaving his jeans in a heap on the floor. 

“Pants as well dear.” Aziraphale said, tipping his head in the direction of Crowley’s crotch, the command losing some of its weight as he sucked his bottom lip in and openly stared at the tented fabric pulled across Crowley’s pelvis.

Crowley smirked and tilted his hips up, making a show of slowly sliding his underwear down, carefully pulling it over his arousal before dropping them to the floor and leaning back on his elbows. “Enjoying the view?”

“I do love a man in socks.” Aziraphale said amused, his eyes still openly roaming Crowley’s body.

“ Just socks.” 

“Ah yes, just socks.” Aziraphale corrected, he slipped his boxers over his hips and sent them in the same direction as the rest of his clothes. Walking towards the bed unashamed, but with nothing resembling sensuality. 

Crowley found it oddly endearing, he shifted over, making space for Aziraphale to climb alongside him and lay down. He slung a leg over Aziraphale’s hip and used his socked foot to pull the man closer.

“Now do you have me where you want me?” he murmured.

“No.” Aziraphale replied, quietly. He ran his hands down Crowley’s back, taking in the knobbles of his spine and the way he could feel his ribs, “I feel I should go and make you eat that hot pot.” He said, “You’re so thin.”

Crowley shrugged, “Hazards of the hours I keep I suppose, never really get time for regular meals.”

“Well, I’ll be making sure you do. I won’t have any partner of mine not being looked after properly.”

“Is that right?” Crowley said amused, “well, hot pot later then. Right now you can ‘look after me’ in a different way.” He rolled his body inwards, hissing at the heated contact as their cocks pressed against each other. 

“Oh, lord.” Said Aziraphale, hips jerking in response.

“At my dick, or my joke?” Crowley asked.

“Yes.” Aziraphale replied, “that joke was terrible.”

“And my dick?” 

“Stop fishing for compliments, you know perfectly well it’s lovely.”

“No one has ever called a dick ‘lovely’, Angel.” Crowley laughed, rolling onto his back as he let Aziraphale push them over. Letting out a pleased moan as Aziraphale followed and straddled him.

“Oh, be quiet.” Aziraphale said warmly, rocking downwards, “Or I’ll find a better use for your mouth.” The bright red of Aziraphale’s face belied the confidence of his words. But whether there was any weight behind them or not didn’t seem to matter to Crowley’s body. He arched upwards, hands coming up to grab at Aziraphale’s buttocks and hold him in place.

“Keep talking, I’ll come right here, Angel.”

“I’m afraid we might have reached the limit of my, uh, ‘dirty talk’ as it were.” Aziraphale looked slightly embarrassed. 

“S’ok, think I can take it from here.” Crowley said, groaning as he continued aborted little thrusts upwards, the underside of his cock rubbing along the underside of Aziraphale’s. “You’re really quite inspiring, look at you. Who knew underneath that buttoned up Professor look was a smoking hot dad bod.”

“A what?” Aziraphale asked, then shook his head, “You know what, never mind. Not relevant. Please keep moving.”

Crowley moved a hand, wrapping it awkwardly around both of their cocks, pressing them together and letting his thumb run over the heads as they pushed past his fingers.

“Ohhh.” Aziraphale dropped forward, hand’s coming to rest either side of Crowley’s head, tugging accidentally on stray hair. “Ohhh, Cro-owley.”

“Good?”

“Yes!” Aziraphale was thrusting into him now, encouraged by Crowley’s hand on his arse cheek, fingers pressing into the flesh and leaving red marks. “I-I..” His head dropped, wet hot breaths fanning over Crowley’s face as Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut. 

Crowley moved his wrist in time with Aziraphale’s thrusts, avoiding his own cock in favour of ensuring most of his palm was on Aziraphale’s and his thumb caught the sensitive tip.

“Go on, let go.” He encouraged; his own release building, but still distant.

“B-but you…” Aziraphale gasped out, not stopping.

“Never mind that, wanna see you. ”

“O-o-oh.” Aziraphale stuttered out, rhythm jerky and inconsistent as he chased his release, gripped in Crowley’s hand and pressed against his cock. “Crowley!” Aziraphale cried out, arching up and away, one final thrust forwards as he came across Crowley’s stomach. Hips twitching in short movements he collapsed forwards just catching himself short of landing on Crowley. 

He pressed a lazy kiss against Crowley’s nose —  the closest part of him he could reach without moving any further.

“See,” he said breathlessly, “Lovely.”

Crowley snorted quietly, his clean hand coming up to stroke through Aziraphale’s curls, “Idiot.”

“Give me a minute.” Aziraphale said, opening his eyes and meeting Crowley’s.

“You don’t need to.”

“I want to, I want to taste you. Want to feel you and hear you.”

“Christ, Angel.”

Aziraphale smiled and groaned as he pushed up and sat back on his knees, “Not as young as I used to be”

“Who is?” Crowley said, sticking his tongue out. “Doesn’t seem to be holding us back,” he stroked his cock, smearing his own and Aziraphale’s fluid over it.

“Tease,” murmured Aziraphale watching unabashedly. “Sit up a bit.”

Crowley complied, shuffling back on the bed and propping himself up with some pillows. Aziraphale wriggled down, pressing a handful of kisses along Crowley’s chest, stopping when he reached the slim cock, still held inside Crowley’s slowly moving hand. He opened his mouth and let Crowley gently feed it in, taking over as it filled him and batting the hand away.

“Fuuuuck.” Crowley’s head dropped back onto the headboard, the view of Aziraphale slowly descending on his cock was almost more than he could manage.

Aziraphale started slowly, swirling his tongue around and tasting their mixed fluid briefly as he bobbed his head. He hollowed his cheeks, humming as Crowley gasped and jerked up further into his mouth. A hand crept up from the bed and rested gently in his hair, not pulling or holding, just there, a grounding presence. 

“Aziraphale, so good, m’close. You don’t have to - “ Crowley cut himself off with a broken moan as Aziraphale pointedly opened his jaw wider and slid Crowley’s cock deeper into his mouth, swallowing carefully around it as he sped up. 

Crowley gave up on words, his eyes rolled backwards and he lost the battle to keep his hips still, jerking up into Aziraphale’s mouth, fingers clenching and unclenching in his hair as he tried not to force Aziraphale down on him.

Aziraphale got the message anyway, pushing his nose further into Crowley’s pelvis and taking his entire cock, hollowing his cheeks and swallowing rapidly one final time.

Crowley cried out silently, hip pushed upwards and he pressed his head backwards as he came down Aziraphale’s throat. 

Aziraphale pulled off, coughing lightly and shuffling around so he could lay down next to Crowley.

“Mmmm y’broke me.” Crowley murmured lazily. Stretching out an arm for Aziraphale to curl into.

“Not sorry.” Aziraphale said, folding himself into the arm and resting his head on Crowley’s chest.

Crowley huffed and dropped a kiss on the top of Aziraphale’s head.

“Fuck, dunno how I’m supposed to navigate the tube after that.”

Aziraphale stiffened slightly, “You’re leaving?”

Crowley peered down at him, it was useless, all he could see was the top of Aziraphale’s head. “I mean, I don’t want to. But I don’t want to over step.”

“You aren’t,” came the eventual reply, “I don’t want you to go.”

“Hmm, well I mean on the one hand I’ve got a two hour tube journey home, an empty flat and leftovers. Then on the other I’m already home and it’s got a hot Professor type naked in bed plus, hot pot. However will I chose?”

Aziraphale didn’t even bother trying to ignore how his heart dipped as Crowley referred to his flat as ‘home’. “A tricky situation indeed,” Aziraphale agreed. “Perhaps I can sway you with the promise of a rather delicious chocolate mousse cake I picked up from a patisserie just around the corner?

“Ooo,” said Crowley, “I do love chocolate. That does it, I suppose, I’ll have to stay here.”

“Brilliant.” Aziraphale said, settling back into Crowley’s arms. “Absolutely brilliant.”

Crowley smiled, looking up at the white ceiling surrounded by a tartan duvet, his three favourite people tucked up under his arm in the singular form of one slightly crabby English Literature Professor. He’d never been happier.

Later, after the hot pot and the chocolate mousse, when they’d showered and taken their time exploring with no reason other than to touch, Crowley snuggled them down under the tartan duvet and pulled his phone out. He teased Aziraphale into a smile and snapped a picture of them, duvet up to Aziraphale’s neck as he blushed whilst Crowley pressed a kiss to his cheek. He attached it to a What’s App message and sent it off with permission.

Caught my Angel.

Bea’s response was suspiciously instant given the late hour.

Holy crap, cannot believe you two are so dumb. Ana and I will never let this go. (Congrats though, happy for you.) 

Then two seconds later.

See, told you fucking him would sort your shit out.

Crowley snorted and showed the message to Aziraphale, who sighed.

“Those two are going to be absolute menaces aren’t they?”

“Oh yeah.” Crowley said, throwing the phone on the nightstand, “We’re fucked.”

Aziraphale was silent for a moment, “Worth it,” he said eventually.

“Oh yeah.” Repeated Crowley. “Absolutely.”