Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Fuck.”

Aziraphale Fell’s voice was barely above a whisper, and even if the others were close enough to hear him, the clattering of the entire cutlery tray being dropped on the ground would most likely have drowned his curse out.

Adam Young, hands frozen in the air where the cutlery tray should have been, looked sheepishly up from the mess in front of him.

“My bad.”

Adam was a good worker, he was, but at times he could be... clumsy. It had only been a few cake slices mushed into the ground thus far, and Aziraphale could let that slide, but this inconvenience would require a stern talking to from him. The thought of the confrontation made him grimace, and he shoved the task to the very back of his mind, in a box labeled “LATER”.

For now, all he could do was sigh, briefly bring his fingers to his forehead, and muster up as much of a smile as he could manage.

“It’s okay, my dear. Mistakes happen. Get it cleaned as quickly as you can, and perhaps stick to running orders for the rest of the day.” Aziraphale made a motion with his hand which meant “get on with it”, and swiftly turned back to the stovetop.

A quick glance at his watch told him that the time was 12:32 - right in the middle of rush hour. Of course it was.

The steak he had been carefully monitoring 60 seconds prior was now on the edge of being overdone, so Aziraphale quickly removed it from the scalding pan before finely chopping it and laying it over a bed of various leafy greens that he had prepared. He used his right hand to drizzle balsamic glaze over the dish, while his left reached to the ledge in front of him to ding the small silver bell that sat there.

As the ding echoed around the kitchen, four small heads popped up from the floor, their attention instantly turned to the dish being placed on the ledge.

Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale put the last of the fallen cutlery back into its tray to be re-washed, while Adam stood up, wiping his hands on his trousers.

The four teenagers had been working here for just over a year, after Pepper had stormed in and demanded a job for her and her friends, who called themselves “The Them”. She also threatened to tell her mother’s book club that Aziraphale was a “sexist-dream crushing-miscreant” if he denied her. They all appeared again the next day with a basket of treats and a handwritten apology from Pepper’s mother, stating that their request still stands, only if they ask very nicely.

Aziraphale had taken a liking to the fiery young girl at once, and had already made up his mind. They all started the very next weekend, and had slowly become very valuable employees.
Even more than that, they had become friends. Their already strong relationship had enhanced the overall morale of the workplace, and they had seemed to draw everyone else in closer. They had become like family in such a short time, and Aziraphale would like to think that if he had ever had children, they would’ve been somewhat like his young friends.

“Beef Salad up! Table 22, please.” Aziraphale flashed a quick smile at the boy in front of him, and turned back to his station.

“Is that the one without dressing?” Adam asked while inspecting the order note.

Aziraphale blinked. He hadn’t noticed any order notes. He whirled back around and his eyes landed on a large rope of tickets being printed from a machine to his left. It had been, what, 2 minutes since the cutlery incident? How on earth could this many orders come through at once? He quickly picked them up before the trail reached the floor, and looked over his shoulder to the ticket for the Beef Salad for table 22.

Bugger. There had been a note for no dressing, and he had smothered the dish in it.

“That’s my fault. I’ll remake it at once.”

There was a yelp and a smash from over Adam’s shoulder, where Anathema had come bolting around the corner with a high stack of dishes and barged right into Pepper.

“You’re supposed to say corner!” The younger girl groaned. Anathema scowled.

“And you’re supposed to be out front. Serving the group of fifteen that just walked in.”

The two young women often clashed, but Aziraphale suspected that it was simply because they were so alike. He hoped they would realise that one day, as they would make a fantastic team.

Anathema turned to Wensleydale, who was now on his feet, and placed the surviving plates in his arms. “This was your table. These are your dishes. Have fun!” She put on a fake smile and waltzed back to the coffee machine, leaving a struggling young boy holding far too many dirty plates for his stick-like arms, and the freshly cleared floor decorated with 3 smashed plates and someone’s unfinished Fish and Chips.

Anathema had been the barista at the café for the longest time out of all the staff - spare Aziraphale of course - and she was only 13 when she started. She had cleverly lied about her age to get the job, and had everyone completely fooled because of how mature and well-mannered she was. Now, 8 years later, Aziraphale was the only one who knew that she was only 22 instead of 25 like she told everyone else. He wasn’t quite sure why she kept up the lie, as all the staff who worked at Eden Street Cafe when she started were long gone, but he was happy to play along with it.

“Spare Beef Salad here if anyone wants it!” Aziraphale called, sliding the dish onto the shelf in front of him. The children all screwed their noses up, and Anathema chirped “No thanks!” as she swooped by to deposit a dirty mug.

“I’ll have it!” a faraway voice called.

Beez, the café’s goods supplier, walked through the back door (connecting to the break room) wheeling a stack of boxes, presumably packed with dairy and meat. They pushed up the long sleeves of their work shirt and began to haul two boxes at a time to the fridge.

Beez was technically only supposed to come once a week with a delivery of goods, but the range of high-quality ingredients that Aziraphale sought out caused the delivery dates to be spread throughout the week. He saw Beez almost every day, and they had become a beloved part of their little work family. Aziraphale had even invited them to the staff function last year, and they were an absolute blast to drink with.

Once their hands were free, Beez approached the shelf that separated them and Aziraphale. They grabbed a fork and shoved a big chunk of the dish in their mouth. Beez nodded in satisfaction and brought their hand up to cover their mouth - still full of food - and sort of moaned.

“This is the shit Aziraphale. The shit. The good shit.” They swallowed. “Mind if I borrow the bowl and bring it back tomorrow?”

The man smiled at the praise (if you could call that praise) and sighed. At least someone could enjoy the dish.

“Of course. I’m glad you like it.” He watched Beez stroll out the door, ruffling Brian’s hair on their way past.

Aziraphale started again on the beef salad, while also beginning to juggle some of the new orders that had come through. He was very behind schedule, but at least he was good at multitasking. He began to crack eggs into a pan with one hand and shimmy sausages out of their bag with the other, while his foot nudged open a cupboard underneath him, containing cooking oils and sauces.

The ticket machine was going mental beside him, spitting out orders at a rate he had never seen before in his 10 years of working at Eden Street Cafe. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see them slowly gathering on the ground and creeping out towards him.

He leaned slightly over and called vaguely in the direction of the small window that peered from the kitchen to behind the front counter of the cafe. “Pepper? Please warn customers of a 30-minute wait for food.”

Adam’s head appeared in the window. “Yes sir!” He chirped in a high voice, imitating Pepper.

“Thank you, Pepper.” Aziraphale smiled fondly and Adam shot him a toothy grin before wandering off again.

Turning back to his work, Aziraphale threw the eggshells in his hand somewhere behind him, hoping they would find their way to the rubbish bin. He stirred a pot with a wooden spoon clenched between his teeth, while his arms began to chop various herbs on the cutting board slightly to his left. He used an elbow to nudge a pan slightly and spread melting butter around.

He knew, of course he knew, that the café was getting busier. It had been increasing in popularity steadily for the last 6 months, and he supposed he could thank his teenage employees for that. Pepper and Adam particularly had provided ideas to “bump up” the place - these had included a new selection of magazines and some more modern decorations in the seating area. The cozy and warm atmosphere of the cafe remained, along with the shelves of old books, but it was now slightly tidier and appealed to more than just the “old farts”, (as Pepper liked to call them).

Wensleydale had also had the brilliant idea of using social media to promote the business. They were on both Instagram and Facebook - not run by Aziraphale of course, as he wouldn’t know the first thing about the apps. They also had a “Tick Tock” account, and though it was mostly run by Pepper, Aziraphale was occasionally asked to sing along to some absurd lyrics with a camera pointed at him, or stand there with a specific expression on his face. The Them would stand huddled around the mobile phone and play back the video an unnecessary amount of times, giggling like 5 year olds.

The cafe gained more recognition from these small changes, and now had customers coming from all around town, as well as the regulars and locals. It had begun to be a tiny struggle to keep up with orders lately, and Anathema had ridiculously suggested that they hire more help in the kitchen.

Aziraphale had been appalled, to say the least. He had managed to run this kitchen by himself for nearly 10 years, and it was absolutely not necessary to have anyone else in his space. He knew where everything was at all times, and could reach for his favourite knife without even glancing in its direction. As generous as he liked to think he was, his kitchen was one thing he could never imagine sharing.

“Table 22 is asking about their salad,” Brian cautiously reminded Aziraphale.

“It’s coming!” He replied as he hastily continued chopping.

Wensleydale came back into the kitchen and began drying dishes. “19 wants to change their Chicken Burger to Fish of the Day, is that fine?”

“Yes, fine. Change it on the ticket, would you?”

“Aziraphale!” Anathema whined from the coffee station. “The crazy man thinks I’ve poisoned his coffee again. Would you please talk to him?”

“Coming dear!” He called back. “I’ll be there in two shakes of a lamb's tail.”

An angry looking man stormed in and stood with his arms crossed at the kitchen door. “She is a witch! My coffee does not taste like that! She’s done something to it, I tell ya!” His heavy accent echoed throughout the white walls of the room.

Anathema appeared behind him with the order ticket in her hand, and shoved it in his face. “That’s because you ordered it with oat milk, you imbecile!”

Aziraphale looked at him in disbelief. “Sergeant Shadwell, please step out of the kitchen, it is a hazard.”

“Aye? You let children run around in here all the time. And witches!” He hissed.

“For the last time, those “children” are employees, and they deserve to be treated as such.” Aziraphale stopped what he was doing to look Shadwell in the eye. “Please remove yourself from the kitchen. Anathema will remake your coffee.”

Shadwell eyed Anathema suspiciously before walking out of the kitchen. The woman grumbled, but followed, crumpling the ticket in her hand and throwing it in the rubbish on her way out.

Aziraphale turned back to his station, and was alarmed to find that a small fire had started on the stovetop while he was distracted.

“Ah!” He yelped and reached for a tea towel to stamp it out with. His right foot slipped on the edge of the long line of tickets, and he fell flat on his arse.

“Everything okay in there?” Pepper called from outside.

“Fine! Just fine.”

He sat on the floor for a few seconds longer than he should have, and began to hoist himself upwards when he felt a searing pain in his hand.

The tea towel he was holding had red flames creeping down it from the (now slightly larger) fire on the stovetop. Out of pure instinct, Aziraphale jerked his hand forward and shrugged the burning fabric off of his skin. The fire took this as an invitation to completely engulf the tea towel, leap higher and spread wider, and begin to singe the wall behind the stove.

Aziraphale gasped and scrambled backward, knocking the shelf behind him with enough force for it to begin to rock backward and forward.

On his feet in a second, Aziraphale ran to the fire extinguisher and fumbled with it for a few seconds before finally getting a grip of it and confidently aiming it at the fire.

The white powder shot right into his face.

A frustrated scream escaped his lips and he began to tumble blindly backward. He would now finish his earlier job of barging over the shelf with every plate, bowl, and piece of cooking equipment in the entire kitchen.

It all happened in a fraction of a second. The shelf tumbled down with enough force to shake the entire room, and made enough racket to attract all of the staff, plus a few customers to the door of the kitchen, mouths hanging open.

All Aziraphale could do was stand there, blinded and helpless, among hundreds of dollars worth of damage. He felt a pair of strong arms lift the fire extinguisher from his iron grip, and heard the hiss of the contraption putting out the fire.

Aziraphale wiped his eyes and slowly looked around the room. He could feel tears prickling in his eyes, and he couldn’t tell whether they were from the fire extinguisher, or something else.

The room was an absolute mess. Plates and bowls were smashed to millions of pieces all across the floor, and all of the pots and pans were heavily dented. The wall surrounding the stove was black and burned, as was the beef in the pan. A sharp knife was wedged into the wall, only inches from where Anathema stood in shock.

Adam placed the fire extinguisher on the ground and gently put his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“It’s okay. Mistakes happen,” He said softly.

Aziraphale slowly sunk to the floor, with Adam’s hand still on his shoulder. His mouth was stuck slightly parted, eyes wide with disbelief. He hugged both his knees to his chest, and brought his trembling hand to his mouth.

“I think I might need some help,” He whispered.

Chapter Text

They had all been very nice.

Adam had sat down next to Aziraphale and continued to quietly reassure him. Anathema had used saline solution and a cotton bud to clean the cuts across his face, where the broken shards had sliced him open. Wensleydale and Pepper politely informed customers of the incident and offered them a refund or cabinet food to make up for their lost orders, while Brian began to pick through the wreckage and save whatever he could.

Anathema had helped him to his feet and hugged him, long and hard, and told him that she was proud of him for finally admitting that he needed some help, and that she only wished it wasn’t a disaster that did it. The Them had shyly joined, patting him on the back and muttering their agreement. All he could think about right then was the gratitude and love he felt for his team, and in that moment nothing else mattered.

~

The owner had heard of the incident and told Aziraphale to take a couple of days off work. He was surprised, though, that she still did not come into the café and speak to him in person, communicating only in vague emails. He had only met her once, many years ago, when she had appointed him as manager and chef. He didn’t even know her name, she was simply known as “The Owner” or “The Boss”. None of the younger employees had so much as seen her. Pepper was convinced that Aziraphale was playing a big joke on them all, and that “The Owner” didn’t actually exist, and Adam wholeheartedly agreed.

After two long days of rest and self-care, Aziraphale was back at work. The café had stayed open, offering cabinet food, sweets, coffee, and simple hot food (Pepper only knew how to work the deep frier). Apparently, Brian had tried out the toasted sandwich machine, but quickly retired after he overestimated how much cheese was necessary and made an enormous mess.

He stepped into the kitchen and was greeted by a tired looking Anathema, sipping a black coffee.

“Good morning my dear. How were the last couple of days?” Aziraphale asked.

Anathema swallowed her coffee. “Pretty good, actually. Kids were great, you would’ve been proud.”

Aziraphale smiled so hard his eyes crinkled at the corners. “I am proud.”

Anathema smiled back at him. He knew how fond of them she was, though she would never dream of admitting it to their faces.

The sweet moment was broken when a loud knock came from the locked glass door at the front of the café. Aziraphale and Anathema both jumped to their feet, and cautiously peered out of the kitchen.

A tall, red-haired man in sunglasses stood outside. He had one hand on his hip and was leaning into it, and his head was tilted forward, trying to search for something inside the café.

Aziraphale sighed and slowly walked over.

“I’m terribly sorry, we’re closed at the moment,” he called through the glass. “We open in 35 minutes, at 8 AM? It says it just there on the door.” He pointed slightly to the left where the opening hours were clearly visible.

“Yes, I can see that,” The man drawled, tapping his foot impatiently. “I’m here for the job? I’m the new hire. Boss said to be here 7:30.” He spoke as if it were obvious.

Aziraphale looked over his shoulder at Anathema, who was now standing close behind him. She shrugged. The man outside fumbled with something in his hands before pressing a crumpled piece of paper to the window.

“Contract. See? Let me in.”

Aziraphale looked closely at the contract, before realising that it was legitimate. He had guessed that someone would be hired quickly, but he at least thought The Boss would let him have a say in the matter. This man was to be his partner, after all. But no, she insisted on working in mysterious ways and leaving the staff to deal with the outcome of her decisions.

Aziraphale reached for the keys in his pocket, and unlocked the door. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t realise that we had already found a new hire.”

He smiled at the man apologetically, but was only met with a grumble.

The man stepped inside, butting Aziraphale on the shoulder on his way past, and looked around the place. Aziraphale followed him with his eyes, and let out a small huff of annoyance. He was utterly appalled at the manners of the strange man, but decided to put his opinions aside and attempt to introduce himself.

The red-haired man seemed to be inspecting the café, completely picking the place apart. The judgment on his face was painfully obvious.

He was rather lean, wearing black skinny jeans and a plain black button up. His sunglasses (who on earth wore sunglasses at 7:30 AM on a rainy day?) were tinted so dark that Aziraphale wondered whether he could even see out of them. On the side of his face, there was a small black mark - a snake tattoo.

Aziraphale thought he could almost be attractive if his face wasn’t stuck in a grimace. And he wasn’t so rude.

He shook his head and put on his most charming smile. “My name is Aziraphale, it is a pleasure to meet you. I look forward to working with you!” Aziraphale stuck out his hand as an invitation for the man to shake it.

“Crowley,” He grumbled. He didn’t take Aziraphale’s outstretched hand, instead turning back around and continuing his inspection.

Aziraphale slowly lowered his hand and had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying something untoward. He peered at Anathema, and from the corner of his eye, she looked just as appalled as he felt. She was far worse at hiding it. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her widened eyes followed Crowley as he continued to walk around the room.

She met Aziraphale’s eyes, and raised her brows. He pursed his lips and gave her a knowing look.

What was The Boss thinking?

~

Adam, Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale had arrived an hour and a half later, when customers really started to spill in for breakfast. They had been greeted with an opened mouth gape from Crowley, as he hissed “Your only other employees are children?” at Aziraphale.

“They are fine young workers, thank you very much.” Aziraphale snapped at him before leading The Them away and having a whispered conversation around the corner, filling them in on what had happened earlier in the morning.

“He won’t last with that attitude.” Pepper said with an eye roll, at the same time Wensleydale asked “Is he related to Gordon Ramsey?”

~

The start of the day went semi-smoothly. There wasn’t much for Crowley to do seeing as there was no time for any proper training. Aziraphale sent him on simple tasks, mostly out of the room if he could help it. If he had nothing to do for a long period of time, he would stand quietly behind Aziraphale and observe how he cooked or plated a dish. Aziraphale hoped he was taking it in, but with the dark glasses covering Crowley’s eyes, he thought the man might just be having a snooze.

A shiver ran down his spine when he realised he could feel Crowley’s breath on the back of his neck. He wasn’t used to this kind of proximity, and it felt oddly intimate. He hurriedly stepped away, pretending to search for something in the lower cupboards.

Crowley got in the way a handful of times, as Aziraphale was used to swinging all around his space with no obstacles. He got a few nicks from a hot pan, and was almost run through with an incredibly long knife. Crowley had muttered an angry warning, but stood at a greater distance from then on.

He also began to make small comments about the place; such as the size of the freezer, the old-fashioned radio, and the outdated uniform. They weren’t directly unkind, as such, but Aziraphale could sense the hint of judgment in his tone.

“Well, our freezer size has never been a problem over the last 10 years.” Aziraphale said bitterly, assembling a burger on the bench in front of him.

“I mean yeah, but the place is obviously getting busier. The best way to keep up with things is having as many components pre-made as possible, and that tiny freezer is not going to store it all.” Crowley countered from beside him, cocking a hip.

“I thought our way of keeping up with orders was hiring you.” Aziraphale looked at him expectantly. Crowley went quiet.

“My experience is what you really need.” He eventually said. “Just a few upgrades here and there, and this place will be running smoother in no time. No more little... accidents.” There was venom in his voice. His words had clearly been aiming for a sore spot, and they had found their mark.

Aziraphale bit the inside of his cheek, feeling a pang of guilt in his stomach. “Well then. You can be out of here in no time.”

~

Just as rush hour started to die down, Brian broke a glass. It simply slipped from his grasp and broke into a few big pieces at his feet - a complete accident (and a minor inconvenience compared to some previous breakages).

Aziraphale heard the sound and jumped, instantly assuming the breakage was somehow his fault.

He sighed in relief when he turned to see that the shelf behind him was still perfectly intact, and it was simply a small drinking glass that had been smashed on the floor.

“Oh dear Brian. Are you okay?” Aziraphale smiled softly at the boy.

“Yep. Sorry Aziraphale. Slippery bugger.” He reached down and started collecting the pieces.

“It’s okay dear. Mind the sharp edges, we don’t want any blood spilled today.”

Crowley waltzed in from the back room, a carton of two dozen eggs in his hands, and groaned when he saw the boy bending over broken glass. “Fucking idiot,” He mumbled.

Aziraphale dropped his knife onto the bench with a clatter. “Excuse me?” It wasn't even a rhetorical question, and he was truly hoping that he had misheard the man.

“You heard me,” Crowley said sharply as he placed the egg cartons behind him.

Aziraphale's jaw dropped open, stunned at the audacity of this man to act like a complete prick towards his staff when he had been there for less than a day.
“You will not speak to my staff like that.”

Crowley turned around to face Aziraphale. His dark glasses gave nothing of his expression away, but somehow Aziraphale knew that the man was looking him dead in the eye.

“Your staff? I thought we were partners.” Crowley hissed the last word. “They are as much my staff as they are yours, and I’ll speak to them however I like.”

“You most certainly will not!” Aziraphale raised his voice, stepping out from behind the shelf and pointing a threatening finger at Crowley. Brian’s eyebrows shot up, his eyes darting between the two men. He had never heard Aziraphale speak like that, to anyone. “They are my staff. I hired them, and they will not be disrespected in my kitchen.”

Crowley scoffed.

“Yes, I suppose they are your staff.” He spoke sourly. “I can certainly see where they learned their habits.” He glanced at the broken glass lying at Brian's feet, and Aziraphale instantly understood what he meant.

He was at a loss for words, the sick feeling of guilt slowly creeping back into his stomach.

“Why do you think The Boss hired me, huh?” Crowley continued. “This place is a fucking disaster. You clearly need my help, and you’re going to have to learn to deal with my methods.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, and he let out a small huff of disbelief. His words came back to him in an instant, guilt in his stomach being replaced with pure rage.

“Would you mind explaining to me exactly how calling a 17 year old boy a ‘fucking idiot’ is helping this café run any smoother?” Aziraphale was yelling now, crossing the room to stand eye to eye with Crowley. He puffed up his chest as much as he could and placed his hands on his hips, trying to at least give the illusion that they were the same height. The two were inches apart, and Aziraphale tilted his head expectantly, waiting for a reply.

They were frozen like that for a moment - heavily breathing in each other’s faces, neither one willing to back down.

At this distance, Aziraphale could really see Crowley’s face. He shouldn't be looking, but the man's features hung there like a painting, willing to be admired. He could see the gentle creases on Crowley's forehead, and the small beads of sweat that gathered at his hairline. If he squinted slightly, he could make out the outline of round eyes behind the tint of dark glass. He could see the way his mouth quirked naturally downwards, and the way his lips were plump and red, slightly parted.

What a shame that pretty mouth didn’t smile.

Aziraphale realised that he had been staring at Crowley’s lips for far too long when the other man began to back away.

“Fucking whatever.” He turned sharply, shoulder pushing Aziraphale's chest, and stormed out through the back door. Aziraphale heard a loud engine starting, and the scrape of tires as Crowley sped away, leaving him and Brian staring at each other in complete and utter shock.

~

“I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone, Anathema. Not like this.” Aziraphale was sitting in a comfortable armchair in the break room at the back of the café, with Anathema leaning on the wall a few feet away from him. He was only on his second glass of wine, though he was admitting things like it was his fifth. “I don’t think I could care less about what he said to me. It’s the children. How could he speak to Brian like that?”

“I’m not particularly fond of him either, you know. He wanted me to stop what I was doing - when I had 10 orders in front of me - and make him a bloody coffee!” Anathema snorted like it was the most ridiculous thing.

“So entitled! What coffee did he want?”

Anathema laughed harder. “Get this - six shots of espresso. Big cup. Nothing else.”

Aziraphale scoffed. “Psychopath.”

There was a pause.

“Brian said you yelled. I’ve never heard you yell before.” Anathema said softly.

“I didn’t yell. I slightly raised my voice.”

Anathema raised a brow.

“Oh, I don’t know!” Aziraphale slumped further into his chair. “I don’t know why I lost my temper. I suppose…”

“Hm?”

“I suppose I feel responsible for the children. I know they can take care of themselves, but at that moment I felt like I needed to stand up for Brian. He’s a sweet boy, he wouldn’t have said anything to defend himself.”

“You’re very good to them.”

Another pause.

“I need you to help me keep an eye on him tomorrow.” Aziraphale set down his glass of wine on the coffee table. A part of him hoped that Crowley wouldn't show up to work, and they would never have to see the cruel man ever again. But they should be prepared, just in case. “I don’t want a repeat of what happened today.”

Anathema nodded. Aziraphale continued.

“Pepper and Wensleydale are usually out front, close to you. Don’t let him out of your sight around them. And if anything happens-“

“-tell you straight away. I've got it. Now let’s get going,” She said, pushing herself off the wall. “I’m sure we’ll have an interesting time tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

The next day, Crowley arrived at work slightly later than he should have. He was met with a troubled expression from Aziraphale, almost like he was deciding what to do with him.

Crowley hated that look, and he knew it all too well. He didn’t want to think about all the instances he had seen it on the faces of his parents or friends. He only wished he could somehow wipe it off the man in front of him, but something held him in place, unable to move or speak. He had a feeling he knew exactly what Aziraphale was going to say when he opened his mouth.

Crowley had absolutely no intention of making amends with Aziraphale, as he was prepared to keep his time at the café at a bare minimum. He would use his skills and experience to impose systems and make small improvements to the place, before handing in his resignation and moving on. That was how he did things, and it worked fine for him.

It was no use getting attached to a place, or the people there.

He had learned his lesson early in his career, when he realised that he seemed to bring bad luck wherever he went. He was well aware of how psychotic it sounded, and that’s exactly why he never told anyone. But to have three bosses in a row die in a terrible accident is hardly coincidental. To have his first real job burst into flames, and the next go bankrupt couldn’t be a mistake.

He had once made friends with his co-workers. Hastur and Ligur were hit by a drunk driver a few weeks later, and were in the hospital for days being treated for severe injuries.

Crowley knew then that it was him. It had to be him, he was the only thing in common with all "accidents" leading to people getting hurt. He was sick with guilt for weeks, and felt it unfair that he and his Bentley always made it home unscathed. Since that night, he had started to drive recklessly, getting up to almost 90 mph in the middle of town. He was daring the world to hurt him, to give him back what he had brought to others.

It never did.

“Ahem.” Aziraphale cleared his throat, breaking Crowley's train of thought, and beckoned for the man to follow him around the corner and out of earshot from the rest of the staff.

“I do not want to speak of yesterday any more than you do,” Aziraphale began. “So I suggest that you apologise profusely to Brian and we can leave it in the past. Yes?”

Crowley scrunched up his face. “If you think I’m going to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness, you are gravely mistaken.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “I would like to remind you that I have been here for over 10 years, and I am not going anywhere. This entire staff can make your work life miserable if we choose to do so. I suggest that you make your apology and you make it now, or you will not so much as get a glance in your direction today.” His tone was stern, and Crowley felt as if he was being scolded by a teacher.

He looked at the blonde man in front of him for a long time, before deciding he didn’t have the energy to push back.

“Fine. I’ll… say sorry to the boy. If that’s what it takes for you to let me do what I need to do.”

“And what is it you need to do, exactly?”

“I suppose you’ll have to find out.”

Aziraphale bit his lower lip in contemplation. “It had better be a proper apology.”

“Yes, yes-”

“-with a little dance.”

Crowley stared blankly at the man. He couldn’t be serious.

“I don’t dance.”

Aziraphale’s stern expression was gone in a second. “Oh! Oh no, it’s really quite easy, just a few steps and a twist-” The man began to demonstrate.

“I am not doing that-”

“-I think it really gets the point across, don’t you?”

“You look ridiculous.”

“There’s no harm in-”

“-I am not doing a stupid apology dance, I will say it with my words like a normal person-”

“-Brian! Why don’t you come over here, I believe Crowley has something he wants to say to you. And show you.” He turned back to Crowley, a taunting smile on face.

If looks could kill, Aziraphale would be six feet under.

~

The rest of the week entailed more unpleasant interactions with Aziraphale, but no more loud arguments. They seemed to have a silent understanding that neither man wanted a repeat of what had happened a few days prior, so they stopped themselves when discussions started to get heated. Their conversations often consisted of rude quips, sarcastic remarks, or childish bickering (much like they were doing right now).

“That is not how we do it. No one does it like that. This is how you do it.” Crowley watched Aziraphale fold the wrap carefully, tucking in one side before folding the other two over it, leaving the end opened and placing it down in a napkin-lined basket.

“That’s just ridiculous.” Crowley snatched the wrap back and unfolded it. “All the moisture will be pushed down to the bottom and it’ll get soggy.” Crowley re-folded the wrap, tucking in both sides this time, and slicing it open slightly diagonally, before laying the halves on top of each other in the basket.

They were probably too close. Crowley leaned one arm on the countertop and leaned slightly forward into it, watching for the other man’s reaction. He didn't know when the gap between them had become so small, and he should probably fix it. They were close enough that their arms brushed when Aziraphale reached forward to closer inspect the basket, and it sent a shiver down Crowley’s spine. He ignored it.

Aziraphale scoffed. “You weren’t hired to change our entire menu, I simply needed an extra set of hands-”

“What a shame you’re not an octopus.”

“-so thank you for your input, but it is very much not needed.”

Crowley rolled his eyes at the stubborn man. His wrap looked better, and they both knew it.

It was past 2 PM, which meant that the kitchen was closed, but the café stayed open until all the customers had left. This was Crowley’s designated training time, where Aziraphale would take him through the menu one dish at a time, and show him the tips and tricks to get each one just right. Every day for over a week they had done this, and fallen into the routine of sitting silently and picking away at the completed dishes. They were good, Crowley had to admit, but his stomach filled quickly, and he ended up pushing the majority of the dishes over to Aziraphale to finish.

On Wednesday, they had made the entire burger menu. This piqued the interest of all four teenagers and Anathema, and Crowley watched from afar as his 6 coworkers stood comfortably around a bench while they laughed and shared burgers and fries. Something in Crowley’s stomach twisted, and he had to look away.

~

Another week passed by smoothly, with only a warning glare shot at Crowley when Pepper had mucked up somebody's order. Crowley bit his tongue, and that was that.

Crowley had slowly begun to make changes around the place, starting with scheduling an installment for a walk-in freezer.

“This is ridiculous and completely unnecessary.” Aziraphale had protested when he found out. “Do you know how much those things cost? Does The Boss know?”

“Yup.” He replied, popping the ‘P’. The speaker in the kitchen (another new addition Crowley had made) was playing “Killer Queen” quietly in the distance as Aziraphale walked quickly to keep up with Crowley’s long strides down the hallway.

Aziraphale stopped Crowley in his tracks with a hand on his shoulder. The man whirled around, looking questioningly at Aziraphale, and then his outstretched arm.

“If we are truly to be partners, I would like for you to include me in big decisions such as this in the future.” Aziraphale started carefully, the words coming out as if they had been rehearsed.

“Fair enough.” Crowley shrugged.

“I also think we should talk about the other week.” Aziraphale slowly removed his hand from the taller man’s shoulder.

Crowley realised what he was trying to do. He stood up straighter out of instinct. “No, we shouldn’t. We don't have to do that. I don't want to, you don't want to-”

“Well, you said some very hurtful things.”

Crowley looked away guiltily. He had said hurtful things, hadn’t he? It had been wrong, holding Aziraphale’s mistakes against him like that. He hadn’t intended to, but his defenses shot up as soon as he met Aziraphale for the first time. He could feel how the man was trying to look through him, and he didn’t like it one bit.

Crowley’s expression must not have come off quite right, because Aziraphale loudly scoffed.

“You don’t even remember what you said? Great.”

Crowley did remember. He hadn’t been able to stop remembering, for that very first argument had crept into his mind unexpectedly every day. The way Aziraphale had raised his voice, and how Crowley had been pleasantly surprised at him fighting back. How the last time he had been that close to someone, they had been doing a lot more than talking. How his stomach had jolted at the realisation that Aziraphale had broken their intense eye contact to stare at his lips.

Crowley knew he should probably apologise. Aziraphale was clearly making an effort to put the past behind them, and everything would probably be easier if they were on better terms. But then he looked back to the man in front of him, and he was doing it again, looking at him with such desperation, searching for something deeper than what his expression was saying. Crowley hated it.

“When the fuck did I say that?“

Aziraphale raised his brows pointedly. “Right then, with your face.”

“Stop doing that!” Crowley hissed, throwing his arms up.

“Doing what?”

“Trying to see through me! Pretending to know what I’m thinking!”

“And is that so wrong? Forgive me for trying to build a connection with you, since we’ll be working together for God knows how long.” Aziraphale crossed his arms and looked at Crowley. When no reply came from the other man, he shifted his gaze to the wall.

There was a long pause, and Crowley took a few deep breaths, trying to compose himself.

“6 months,” Crowley mumbled finally.

“What?”

“6 months.” He enunciated each syllable obnoxiously. “I’m only here for 6 months.”

“But the contract doesn’t-“

“Contract doesn’t matter. I was never planning on staying for long.“

Aziraphale breathed deeply. “Right.”

“So, if you could find it in you to put up with me for 6 months, then I suppose I can learn to tolerate you until I leave. After that, we never have to see each other again. Okay?” Crowley held Aziraphale's gaze, knowing the man could tell he was looking directly at him. Aziraphale's lips were in a sort of pout, and he looked torn. Eventually, he spoke.

“Fine.”

“Fine?”

“For the cafe.”

“Right. It’s a deal then?” Crowley stuck out his hand.

Aziraphale didn’t take it, instead barking out a laugh before pushing past Crowley and walking back around the corner.

Bastard.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale was sweating. He always did when he was nervous, and today he was more than ever.

The Boss was coming in at 9:00, to “check on things”.

To check on him.

It had been 8 weeks since the accident, and though he hated to admit it, things were going smoother with Crowley in the kitchen. Well, as smooth as they could be when both men hated each other. Aziraphale had no real reason to be as stressed as he was, and yet something about The Boss coming in made his blood run cold. He hadn’t seen the woman in years, and couldn’t even picture what she looked like anymore.

What would she think of the place? What would she think about his choice of employees, or the way he managed them? What if she didn’t like the food? A million questions rushed through his mind, and he had to sit down and take a few deep breaths when his hands started to shake.

He had swept the floor about 6 times in the span of an hour, and made Adam triple-check the dates on everything in the fridge.

“And Pepper, you’re sure that you mopped the walls well enough?” Aziraphale asked, hands running through his hair.

“Yes Aziraphale, I mopped the walls. Look, you don’t need to freak out like this. It’s just your boss. You’re my boss, and you don’t scare me” Pepper shrugged.

“Except for when you’re all nervous and jittery like this,” Wensleydale chimed in.

“And when you yell at Crowley,” Brian added.

He paced back and forth around the kitchen, glancing up at the clock to see that not even a minute had passed since he last checked.

“Huh?” Crowley called from the store room, obviously having heard his name.

“Nothing!” Adam replied, at the same time Pepper yelled “Don’t worry about it!”

“It’s none of your business,” Aziraphale huffed.

Crowley appeared in the doorway a few seconds later, a judgemental look on his face.

“Oh please don’t tell me you’re all strung up about seeing The Boss,” Crowley remarked, cocking a hip.

Aziraphale glared at him. “You don’t understand how important this is. I’ve been here 10 years and she’s only come in once before. Once.” He held up a single finger, looking around the room to exaggerate his point. “She hasn’t been here since I started. She hasn’t tasted the food since then, seen the decor, seen the kitchen, met any of you, and if there’s one thing she doesn’t like, that’s on me.” Aziraphale deflated, finally stopping his mad pacing.

Crowley blew out a breath. “Okay, so no pressure.”

Aziraphale shot him a warning glance, and Crowley clamped his mouth shut, rolling his eyes. Or, at least Aziraphale thought he rolled his eyes. It was hard to tell with his stupid sunglasses.

“Oh! Your stupid sunglasses!” He clicked his fingers at Crowley.

“What?” The man looked around. “My stupid sunglasses?” He said, pointing at himself.

“Yes, your stupid sunglasses. They need to come off today, at least while the boss is here.” Aziraphale looked to Anathema for support, and she nodded at him.

“Please,” He added, eyes falling to the ground.

There was a long silence in the room while they all waited to hear Crowley’s response.

The man started to laugh. Quite hysterically.

“HA! HAHAHAHA!" He paused to catch his breath, and his face turned to an expression Aziraphale had only ever seen before on that very first day - defensive, ruthless, furious. 

"Oh you’re absolutely mental if you think I’m going to just-”

Anathema grimaced and hurriedly shooed the teenagers out of the door and slammed it behind her as the room erupted into incomprehensible shouting from both men. Their "arrangement" had worked so far, but they all knew there was bound to be a breaking point.

“Don’t be difficult about it-”

“-if you think you can just order me around however you like-”

“-it’s not an unreasonable request! If you could-”

“-partners he says, but NO-”

“-it just gives the impression of friendliness and openness! There’s all sorts of psychology behind it-”

“OH, you want to see friendly? I’ll show you friendly, you fucking-”

“-please there’s really no reason to make a big deal out of it-”

“-I’M making a big deal out of it? You’re the one that-”

Crowley was cut off by a loud knock on the closed kitchen door.

Aziraphale looked at the clock. 9:05.

“No,” He whispered. “No, no, no, no-” He began to straighten his uniform up and wipe his forehead with a napkin.

He tossed a sideways glance at Crowley to see that the man was also adjusting his collar and running a hand through his styled red hair.

“Crowley please, if you could just remove them for the first few minutes-” Aziraphale whispered.

“Have you ever considered there’s a reason I keep them on?” Crowley hissed, leaning closer to the man.

“I-” Aziraphale hadn’t even thought about it. He’d just assumed that they were a part of Crowley’s insufferable “bad boy” demeanor, and that they were nothing but style. “Is there a reason you keep them on?” He finished quietly.

Crowley didn’t reply, instead hesitantly bringing his hand up to ever so slowly take off his glasses.

Aziraphale sucked in a breath, brows raising slightly.

Crowley’s eyes were unexpectedly round and soft, worlds different from the harsh points of the rest of his body. Long dark eyelashes fluttered as the man blinked, and if Aziraphale was thinking properly, he would almost be jealous of them.

The most brilliant things sat in the center of all this - his irises were the most striking shade of yellow he had ever seen, almost resembling the sun. His favourite color. Crowley’s pupils cut through them like slits, resembling something Aziraphale had only ever seen on an animal. A cat? No, a snake.

On anyone else, it might have looked odd, but on Crowley they were perfect. Such precise stripes, such bright colour, almost as if they had been hand-painted by God Herself.

He looked so… real.

Before, Aziraphale could only ever guess what the man was thinking, but now he could see him. Truly see him. There was so much emotion and depth in his expression that was hidden before, but now lay raw on the surface. There was vulnerability there, desperation, and something else that Aziraphale couldn’t quite pick out.

Crowley was holding his gaze like a lifeboat, eyes darting between both of Aziraphale’s, searching for something. A reaction? Approval?

Aziraphale let out a short breath. “Crowley, they’re…” Beautiful. Magnificent. Bewitching.

He couldn’t say any of those things. The right words were forming in his mind, on the brink of spilling from his lips... but he was a second too late.

Crowley’s face fell, and he stepped away from Aziraphale, fumbling to replace his glasses.

“Sorry. Should’ve warned you. I know they’re a lot.” His tone was flat, and his expression back to being unreadable.

“No! No I didnt… I wasn’t…” Aziraphale stuttered desperately, trying to fix whatever he had done. “I- I wasn’t trying to-”

Another loud knock on the door.

“You should probably let her in,” Crowley said, pointing at the door. When Aziraphale didn’t move, he added; “I think I’ll keep them on. I wouldn’t want to startle her as much as I did you.”

~

The boss was different than what Aziraphale remembered her to be. The tall figure that stood in the door somewhat resembled her - white hair, sharp eyes, and neat clothing.

The facial hair, that was new though. And the lack of cleavage. And the… man.

It was a man. A man was standing in front of him.

Aziraphale coughed. “I’m sorry. I’m slightly confused.” He shot a sideward glance at Crowley, who looked equally as puzzled, and stepped closer to him.

“I thought you said the boss was a woman,” Crowley whispered in his ear.

“I thought the boss was a woman!” He hissed back.

“You must be Aziraphale and Crowley!” The man’s voice was deep, and oddly cheerful as he strode forward to approach the men. 

He firmly shook both their hands. “A pleasure to meet you both, I’m sure. Unfortunately, your boss could not be here today, as I’m sure you read in the email.”

Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other, and back at the man in front of them.

“Oh yes! The email! Of course!” Aziraphale started.

“Yep. Great email, that was. Very… informative. And easy to, uhm, understand,” Crowley babbled, earning him a subtle dig in the ribs from Aziraphale.

The man didn’t seem to notice their blatant lying, and if he did, he didn’t care. “You may call me The Metatron.”

“Well, it is lovely to meet-”

Crowley snorted. “We may call you The Metatron?”

The Metatron raised a brow, his expression remaining serious. Crowley’s jaw dropped when he realised the man was serious, and Aziraphale not-so-discreetly elbowed him in the side.

The awkward silence that had filled the room was broken by Aziraphale’s nervous chuckle. “Well then. Uhm. Would you like me to show you around?”

~

Aziraphale couldn’t think.

After a lengthy tour of the building, The Metatron had spent hours inspecting the cafe, and observing how each of the staff members worked. Crowley seemed to do well under the pressure, but Aziraphale tended to crack when he had someone watching over him.

He seemed to be almost finished, but then the man pulled out a notepad, and began calling each employee to the back room one at a time to have a little “chat”.

“Aziraphale. You’ve been frying that egg for 9 minutes,” Crowley pointed out from beside him.

“Hush. I’m thinking.”

A pause.

“About what?”

Aziraphale didn't turn to face Crowley, instead idly nudging his long burned egg in the pan before him. “About how the outcome of this little inspection could determine whether or not I keep my job. What I would do with my life if I lost my job. How I have no partner or children, and would be left with absolutely nothing. Perhaps the logistics of opening a bookshop-”

Crowley snorted. “A bookshop?”

Pepper burst into the room, causing Aziraphale to jump. “Wensleydale, he wants you.”

She whispered something in the boy's ear, then watched as he disappeared down the hallway. She turned back to the two men in the kitchen. “You. He wants to know about the two of you,” She remarked, pointing a finger at them.

Aziraphale winced. “And… what did you tell him?”

Pepper paused. “I told him that you’re an excellent boss. That you’re kind, and patient, and that everything has gone very smoothly for the past couple of months.”

Aziraphale gave her a grateful smile.

“And about me?” Crowley asked from beside him.

“I told him I couldn’t say much about you, since you haven’t been here long. As for the two of you together…” Pepper trailed off, and both men grimaced.

“...I told him that you’re the perfect team.” A cheeky grin crept onto her face. “That you’ve established such a strong relationship already, and how it reflects greatly on the workplace.”

Aziraphale let out a relieved laugh, and turned to see that an amused smile had appeared on Crowley’s face.

Aziraphale couldn't help but go and hug her. “Oh, you wonderful, wonderful girl. Thank you.”

Pepper smiled against him. “You would do it for us in a heartbeat. Anytime.”

He gave the girl a final squeeze before releasing her, letting out another breathy laugh.

Crowley stepped forward to give her a playful punch on the shoulder. “Clever one, you.”

The Metatron and Wensleydale eventually emerged from the back room, both looking very satisfied. Wensleydale gave Pepper a painfully obvious wink, luckily unseen by the man standing beside him, and was met with an unimpressed eye roll from the girl.

“Well, I’ve heard all I needed to hear. I am impressed, to say the least, and the Boss will be pleased with the state of the place. Well done, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale beamed. His heart warmed at the approval, and he thought about how much he missed receiving this kind of validation.

The Metatron looked over the small clipboard in his hand, checking boxes with a pencil, before pausing and hovering over one area.

“Oh, but there is one thing. The cat has got to go.”

Aziraphale chuckled. "Yes, yes, the..." He frowned, registering the man's words. "I'm sorry, cat?"

He glanced around the room, quickly scanning the confused looks on the staff's faces. Everyone, except for Crowley, who seemed to look almost...

Guilty.

He craned his neck at the man, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Crowley?"

His tone was sharp, and thinking of what Pepper told the Metatron, quickly corrected himself. "Ahem. Crowley. Could we have a word please, in private?"

He laughed awkwardly and nodded at the Metatron as he dragged Crowley out of the room by the arm, and all the way down the hallway beside them.

"Tell me you did not bring a pet into work!" Aziraphale whisper-shouted.

Crowley raised his brows and opened his mouth before answering; "I... don't have a pet,"

A small "mew" sounded from the floor close by, and both men snapped their heads towards the noise at the same time.

A slinky black cat sat in the middle of the hallway, blinking up at them innocently with wide yellow eyes. Like Crowley's, Aziraphale thought, before scolding his mind for so quickly making that connection.

Aziraphale looked from the animal to the man in front of him, and back to the animal, his jaw hanging open.

"You can't tell me that doesn't belong to you. It quite literally looks like you."

Crowley shook his head. "No. I don't do pets. Look, it's not my fault it chose to follow me around."

Aziraphale let out an exasperated sigh and brought his fingers to his temples. "You can't let it follow you to work! Do you know how many laws that breaks?"

"I'm not the one that chooses to leave all the back windows open for 'airflow' while we work!"

"Do not try to blame this on me. This is your problem."

The cat was now winding itself affectionately around their legs, and Aziraphale bent to pick it up, before promptly dropping it into the man's arms.

Crowley gasped and made a noise that sounded like a squeal as the creature squirmed in his grasp. "Agh! Why is it bendy?"

"Now, I'm sure you can find a can of tuna for tonight, but you'll need to find more substantial food for the future-"

"NO. I am not taking this... thing home with me!"

"Oh, but look how smitten it is already!"

Crowley looked down to find a sleeping, purring furball very comfortably cradled into his chest. His mouth dropped open, and he looked back up at Aziraphale helplessly.

"Jolly good!" The man beamed. "Why don't we go and explain the terrible misunderstanding to our new friend so he can be on his way. Yes?"

"You are dead, Aziraphale. Dead! Do you hear me?" Crowley's threats disappeared as Aziraphale walked back down the hallway, a satisfied grin on his face.

Perhaps these next 4 months wouldn't be as bad as he thought.

Chapter Text

Crowley was a mess.

Correction, his apartment was a mess. There was dirt everywhere, a few broken plates on the floor, and a collection of takeout boxes stacked on his kitchen island.

Crowley was slouched in his obnoxiously large throne, staring into space, and absentmindedly stroking the small cat in his lap.

Although the creature had dug up half of a large potplant, knocked a stack of dishes off the bench, and picked Crowley’s nicest rug to do its business on, he couldn’t help but give in when it looked up at him with those big yellow eyes.

He still didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl, and he was too scared to look. “The Antichrist”, he had jokingly named it, planning to come up with something more clever at a later date, but he feared it had already stuck.

He’d never had a pet before, not a proper one. He’d had a goldfish when he was 10, but it just looked so hungry all the time, and he snuck it extra food when his father wasn’t looking. He didn’t know that it was bad for them. He didn’t mean to kill it.

After a week of coming home to the place absolutely destroyed, Crowley had given up on cleaning the mess, as it would just be recreated the next day. Therefore; Crowley’s apartment was a mess. A complete and utter mess.

At work, Aziraphale was getting the silent treatment.

“Crowley,” He had said, in that infuriating voice of his. “All you need to do is ask for help. I’m more than happy to-”

“-I don’t need help!” Crowley had argued, intently focused on cleaning the grill. “We wouldn’t even be having this conversation if you hadn’t forced me to adopt that animal!”

“Well. You can continue being stubborn, but as soon as you’re ready to accept help, I’m just a phone call away.” Then, he had taken Crowley’s phone out of his breast pocket, and typed his number in. Crowley just stood and watched the man with an unamused look on his face. His phone was replaced in just a few seconds, Aziraphale’s warm hand lingering on his chest for a moment longer than it should have.

Crowley didn’t want help. Not from Aziraphale. Not from anyone, really, but especially not from Aziraphale.

The man was insufferable when he knew he was right. His stupid lips pursed, and his stupid eyes twinkled, and everything about him made Crowley’s blood boil, and God, he just wanted to…

He wouldn’t give in. If Aziraphale was like this now, Crowley couldn’t even imagine how he would be if Crowley actually asked for his help.

At least, that is what he’d told himself. He had repeated those words to himself for the entire week, and it had gotten to the point where he couldn’t quite remember why.

And at 10:45 PM on Friday night, he completely forgot why. Because for the 7th time in the last 8 days, he was woken up by a terrifying yowling that echoed around the apartment.

“Fuck!” Crowley roared as he leapt out of bed, slamming the lightswitch on.

“What the fuck?!” He picked up The Antichrist from around its waist, letting its short legs dangle in the air. Two pairs of impossibly yellow eyes looked at each other, both longing for different things.

Crowley’s desperate for peace and order in his home, and for the sense of control to be brought back into his life.

The Antichrist’s for a top-up of cat biscuits, or perhaps some tummy rubs.

Crowley groaned in frustration and roughly placed the cat down, stomping into the kitchen to stand before its bowl and shaking some food into it.

“Is this what you fucking want? Is it? Be grateful you fucking prick. I’ve given you a home,” He angrily mumbled.

When he finally collapsed back in bed, the small thing tucked itself into the crook of his neck and let out a sigh. This part, Crowley could get used to. The closeness, the affection. He hadn't received anything like it in his life, and it was... nice.

Another noise escaped from the cat cradled into him, that sounded oddly like a...

The lethal smell flooded Crowley’s senses before he could finish his thought, and the rate at which his blanket flew off practically catapulted (haha get it) The Antichrist across the room.

“Fucking Aziraphale!”

He didn’t care anymore.

He fumbled for his phone and dialed the man’s number, not giving a shit that it was 11 PM and he was probably asleep. In fact, he hoped to wake him up.

“Hello?” His voice was muffled through the phone, but his distinct way of speaking could be recognised anywhere.

“Fuck. You.” Two words were all he needed for Aziraphale to instantly know who he was speaking to.

Crowley could practically hear the smile in his voice. “Ready to admit we were wrong, are we?”

“It shits on my rug. It rips up my furniture. It wakes me up at night to yowl for some bloody food! IT JUST FARTED. ON MY FACE!”

There was silence for a few seconds before the sound of Aziraphale’s soft giggle came through the phone. “I’ll be right over.” The line clicked off.

Crowley stared blankly at his phone for a minute, still slightly out of breath from his outburst.

Did he really mean that? Aziraphale didn’t know where he lived, did he? He supposed that he had access to his file, and that he might've looked over it when he was first hired… Shit.

In a blind panic, Crowley attempted to tidy the place a bit. He only got as far as putting some sweatpants on and cleaning the kitchen before he heard a knock at his door.

“Fuck. Shit.” Crowley stumbled over to the door and realised far too late that he was still missing a shirt. And his glasses.

He opened the door anyway.

Aziraphale was standing at his doorstep, arms full with a large box. The man was wearing brown linen pants and a cream sweater, and his white-blond curls were fluffier than Crowley had ever seen them.

Aziraphale opened his mouth to say something, but stopped as soon as he caught sight of Crowley. His mouth remained open as he let his eyes drift across the man’s body; taking in his lean figure and lightly tanned skin, the tufts of hair that were scattered across his chest and trailed down to where his waistband hung low on his hips. He paid particular attention to the winding snake tattoo that covered Crowley’s upper arm and reached to his collarbone, as it had only ever been slightly visible when he pushed up his sleeves at work.

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed out, before catching himself and straightening up. “I- I’m sorry, this was not appropriate. I can come back another time-”

“For fuck’s sake Aziraphale, just-” Crowley pulled the man inside and shut the door behind him. “I don’t care. Just fucking help me.” There was desperation in his voice, and probably his eyes as he watched the man scan the state of the room.

“I, uh,” Crowley started, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “It’s not usually like this.”

“Of course.”

Aziraphale gently placed the large box on Crowley’s freshly cleared island, and began to unpack it. “I had a cat, years ago. I kept all of her belongings after she passed, thinking I would get another someday.” He paused. “I never could bring myself to. It would feel too much like a replacement.”

Crowley leaned back against the countertop and watched Aziraphale intently, nodding as he explained what each of them was for.

“And this food dispenser will automatically fill the bowl when it’s empty, so hopefully no more meowing in the middle of the night.” Aziraphale crouched down and placed it on the ground next to The Antichrist’s old bowl, and watched as it happily nibbled the biscuits inside.

“What did you name her, by the way?” Aziraphale looked up through his eyelashes at Crowley, which caused him to choke on absolutely nothing and cough like an idiot for a few seconds.

“Her?” Crowley raised a brow and tried to play it cool, bending down next to Aziraphale to inspect the cat.

“Yes, her. Why, what did you think she was?”

Crowley shrugged, clearing his throat. “Dunno. Was just calling her an it. I didn’t want to look. Felt like invading her privacy a bit, y’know?”

The man hid a smile behind his hand. “So you haven’t named her?”

“I mean, I call her “The Antichrist”, as a joke. Think she might be a bit stuck with it now.” He grimaced.

Aziraphale hummed, stroking her back. “Could be Annie, for short.”

“Huh. Annie.” Crowley’s hand awkwardly bumped Aziraphale’s as he also began to stroke her gently on her back. “I like it.”

They took a few minutes to assemble a small cat tower before moving to the couch and continuing to observe the strange cat while she experimented with her new belongings.

“She really does look like you,” Aziraphale remarked. “With the eyes and all.”

Crowley stiffened, suddenly very aware of the absence of his glasses.

“I’m sorry, by the way. I didn’t mean to appear… startled, when I saw them. Because they’re not. Startling.” Aziraphale paused. “I think they’re quite incredible, really,” He whispered.

Crowley turned to look suspiciously at the man next to him, who was all of a sudden very fixated on a spot on the wall.

He wasn’t being sarcastic, was he?

“It’s uh- a mutation. Had them since I was born. You can imagine the nicknames I had growing up.”

“Is that why all the…” Aziraphale trailed off, turning to face Crowley and looking from his arm to the side of his face.

“Oh yeah. I guess so. Even though kids were being mean when they called me ‘Anthony the Snake’, it kind of felt like me, y’know?”

“Anthony?”

Crowley looked oddly at Aziraphale. “Yes, Anthony. That’s my first name. You haven’t seen it on my file?”

Aziraphale furrowed his brows. “I suppose I must have missed it. Anthony Crowley,” He tried out the name on his lips, really exaggerating each syllable. “Huh.”

Crowley groaned. “Don’t go calling me that. You’ll sound like my father.”

A coy smile appeared on Aziraphale’s face, and Crowley gave him a playful whack on his chest, which was met with a slap on his arm.

The men looked at each other for a long moment.

“Would you like a drink?” The words came out of Crowley’s mouth before he realised what he was saying.

Aziraphale blinked, visibly surprised, but nodded.

Crowley rose to his feet, shaking his head in confusion, and strode to the kitchen, beginning to pour two glasses of his best red. Curse his stupid mouth. It always seemed to act before consulting his head.

He whirled around, glasses in hand, to see the man’s head quickly turn back to face the cat.

Crowley lightly smirked.

Handing the wine to Aziraphale, he sat back down on the couch, tucking one leg under his knee, and letting the other dangle over the edge of the seat. He rested an elbow on the back of the couch and leaned forward slightly, watching as he sipped the wine.

The man’s eyes fluttered shut in bliss, and he let out a muffled moan. “This is incredible.”

Crowley went bright red. Shit. Oh, God. Why had he invited him to stay again?

Cat. Yes, cat.

He swallowed. “Um. Thank you. For, y’know.” He nodded at the animal in front of them, who was currently scratching her new post.

“Oh! It’s really no bother. The things would’ve just sat collecting dust for the rest of my life.”

“Didn’t have to be such a dick about it though,” Crowley mumbled.

Aziraphale hummed, almost in agreement. “There’s no shame in asking for help.”

“There’s a little bit of shame in asking for help.”

“Look where it’s gotten you! Annie now has a food dispenser, a place to scratch that’s not your furniture, and plenty of toys to play with that aren’t your dishes. And of course, her own bed to sleep on, so she won’t be bothering you with…”

He trailed off as Annie clambered up the side of the couch almost on cue, and stretched herself across both of their legs. She clawed at Crowley’s knee in an effort to close the gap between them to suit her chosen sleeping arrangements. The men looked at each other and failed to bite back fond smiles.

Slowly, Crowley extended his right arm across the top of the couch and used it as leverage to carefully pull himself towards Aziraphale, only stopping when the sides of their legs were completely pressed together. Annie settled into the dip created by their limbs, and shuffled around until she was comfortable.

She looked impossibly adorable, and Crowley couldn’t help but place his wine glass down and reach out to stroke the side of her face. “Poser,” He mumbled somewhat affectionately, a smile still on his lips.

When he looked back up at Aziraphale, the man practically had stars in his eyes.

“Shut up,” Crowley scowled.

Aziraphale pursed his lips and smiled knowingly. “I didn’t say anything.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. Crowley couldn’t bring himself to move the arm stretched around the back of Azirphale’s head, and the other man seemed to have no problem with it. Their fingers danced around each other as they both ran their hands through Annie’s thick fur, nearly missing each other, just barely brushing.

Until suddenly they didn’t, and Crowley’s hand fell on top of Aziraphale’s. He pretended to ignore the hitch in Aziraphale’s breath, or the leap in his own heart when their hot skin met.

Strangely, neither man moved away.

~

Crowley wasn’t sure how they found themselves in more or less the same position the next morning; the only notable differences being that their fingers were loosely interlocked, and that Aziraphale’s head was rested on Crowley’s shoulder.

Crowley woke first, his face pressed into soft blonde curls. The man leaning on him was snoring ever so softly, and the cat in between their legs had disappeared overnight, and their joined hands rested on Aziraphale’s upper thigh. Crowley didn’t know any of this at the time, for all he could think of in his half asleep state was “warm”.

As soon as he was awake enough to open one eye, the golden light of the sun rising filled his vision. He tried to stand up to shut some curtains, but found there was something on his right shoulder that was inconveniently weighing him down.

Realisation dawned on him, and he opened both eyes and his mouth in horror. No. Shit. Oh, fuck. He yanked his hand out of the man’s grasp, then silently cursed himself for being so careless.

What happened to not making friends with co-workers?
Oh fuck, this was bad. He had gone drinking with Hastur and Ligur, and what had happened to them? Ohhh God. Oh fuck. He really needed to stop touching Aziraphale. Now.

He had to take a deep breath before gently pulling himself out from under the man, catching his limp face with a hand. His body began to slowly slide down without the support of Crowley’s shoulder, and strong arms held him as he slipped down onto a pillow that had not been there five seconds prior. Aziraphale didn’t even stir, and for some reason, Crowley couldn’t help but linger over him, his face still cupped in his hand.

Sunbeams lit up his features, revealing each crevasse of his skin in excruciating detail. The way his brows were relaxed, and how even in sleep he had the ghost of a smile on his red lips. The smile that would surely melt Crowley if he was ever so blessed as to receive it. How he had faint lines around his eyes, a dusting of tiny freckles from his years in the sun, how his face fell slightly to the left, showing the perfect bump of his perfect nose and…

Oh fuck. Oh fucking what the fucking fuck was he fucking doing-

Crowley leaped away from Aziraphale like his skin was poison, and backed into the wall.

The loud bump finally startled the man on the couch, and Crowley opened his mouth in a silent scream, tiptoeing frantically to stand in the kitchen.

His arms searched desperately for something to occupy them while Aziraphale stirred and groaned on the couch behind him, eventually finding the kettle and flicking it on.

“Oh my-” He heard the man say, his voice lower than usual, a hint of panic in his voice. “What time is it?”

Cool. Play it cool.

Crowley turned around and leaned casually forward onto the bench. “Oh, just-” He paused, looking at the clock. “SEVEN THIRTY?!”

Every shred of “cool” left Crowley’s body, and he shot upright. Aziraphale leaped to his feet and scrambled for his phone, double-checking the time.

“Shit,” The man hissed.

Aziraphale began to pace around the room, something Crowley was slowly learning he did when he was stressed. “We’re already fifteen minutes late. It’ll take at least 20 to get to work from here-”

“-10. I’ll get us there in 10.” Crowley rounded the island to grab Aziraphale’s wrist, forgetting about his thoughts just a few minutes prior. Aziraphale stopped in his tracks. Crowley gave him a look that said “Trust me”, and the man took a breath and slowly nodded.

~

A rushed change of clothes and a 10-minute drive later, they were at work.

Aziraphale was clutching his heart and the dashboard, breathing heavily.

Crowley was incredibly pleased with himself. “I told you I’d get us there in 10 minutes, didn’t I?” He said, bobbing his head happily.

“I thought you knew a shortcut,” Aziraphale said in between breaths. “You just broke every road rule I can think of.”

Crowley shrugged. “It worked.”

Aziraphale scrambled out of the car and through the back door, leaving Crowley by himself for a moment. All he could do was bring a hand to his mouth and stare down into his lap.

Fuck.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale and Crowley didn’t talk about it.

No one questioned them when they arrived at work late. No one questioned them when they left together in Crowley’s car.

It was… a glitch. A one time error in the system, not to be repeated.

It was also probably the wine. And the cat. Definitely nothing to do with… Definitely nothing.

And for weeks, nothing like it happened again. Aziraphale was certain it never would.

Until it did.

~

Now, Aziraphale stood in front of the mirror in his bathroom, admiring his new uniform. It had been Crowley’s idea, of course, but they had worked together to choose good quality chef shirts, and after a small debate, had agreed on the placement and size of the cafe’s new logo - a flaming sword. This particular detail had been the choice of the owner, and though Aziraphale had no clue what it meant, he quite liked it.

The only thing they couldn’t settle on was the colour - Crowley believed black to look better and be much easier to get stains out of, while Aziraphale had insisted that white looked much cleaner and professional. (He also thought that dark colours didn’t look very good on him and much preferred to wear white, but he didn’t tell Crowley that.)

In the end, Crowley had ordered it in black for himself, and white for Aziraphale. They had gotten the same design printed on t-shirts and aprons for the rest of the staff, in both colours so they had a bit of a choice. Aziraphale’s old uniform was covered in stains that never quite seemed to wash out, and the stiff fabric had grown tighter around his waist over the years. The new shirt was breathable and soft, and the fabric hugged his curves in just the right way.

He felt… good. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt this comfortable in his work uniform, and he hated the fact that Crowley had been right about this particular topic.

When he arrived at work, strolling in confidently, it seemed oddly quiet. At least Crowley should have been there by now.

“Hello?” He called out to the empty cafe.

Silence.

Then, a muffled noise came from somewhere in the distance. Aziraphale frowned, heading for the kitchen. A loud banging came from the other side of the door of the freshly installed walk-in freezer, along with a; “Help! Get me out of this thing!”

Aziraphale gasped as he realised what was happening, and struggled for a moment before hauling the large door open. An icy Crowley fell into his arms, clearly not expecting the door to open with such force. The man stumbled to his feet, and looked around, dazed. Aziraphale kept a steadying hand on Crowley’s waist, and one on his shoulder as he regained his balance.

“Goodness me. How long have you been in there?”

“Just a couple minutes. ’M fine.” Crowley grumbled.

Aziraphale removed his grip from Crowley’s shoulder and cautiously took the man’s hand in his own. Crowley looked up with shock, but made no effort in pulling away.

“You’re freezing, dear. What time did you get here?”

Crowley’s lips were purple, and his cheeks drained of colour.

“A bit past 7.” He mumbled, shrugging.

Aziraphale sighed, leading Crowley away from the open freezer door. “It’s almost 7:40 now. Come, I’ll turn the heater on.”

It was far too hot to be turning on the main heating, so Crowley sat in the break room, hovering his hands over the small electric heater that was usually kept in storage. He looked purely miserable at having to be fussed over like this, but had complied when Aziraphale had wrapped his jacket around the man's shoulders and sat him down in a comfortable armchair. His trembling hands had absentmindedly reached back for Aziraphale’s warm grasp as soon as he sat, and only let go when the heater had been placed in front of him.

They now waited in silence, Aziraphale leaning in the doorway and watching the man intently.

Crowley let out a huff of annoyance. “So the door is locked from the inside-”

“-I gathered that.”

“I’ll um… call later and get it fixed.”

There was a short pause as Crowley brought his hands up to each side of his face, a look of bliss crossing his face as the warmth engulfed his cheeks.

“How are your hands feeling?” Aziraphale asked as he crossed the room and stood in front of Crowley. He stretched his own hands out tentatively, almost asking permission, and Crowley raised his palms in response. Aziraphale took his (now slightly warmer) hands and slowly felt each fingertip with his thumb, inspecting for any signs of a change in colour. He was so focused that he didn’t notice how Crowley’s face had softened, or how his eyes had not left the man in front of him for a second.

“Much better,” Aziraphale concluded, letting Crowley’s hands drop back to their hovering position. “Oh, but your lips are still-”

He hadn’t been thinking, and before he knew it, he had stepped closer to the man sitting before him and cupped his face with one soft palm. He gently brushed his thumb over the purple skin of his mouth, looking down at the frozen man. Crowley’s lips had parted slightly in shock, and his head had automatically tilted upwards to fit perfectly in Aziraphale’s hand. It was as if it belonged there.

Aziraphale’s heart jumped when he realised what he was doing, and even more so when he thought about what the scene would look like if anyone were to walk in. What was he thinking? Crowley was not his friend, as he had made abundantly clear, and would obviously not appreciate this kind of touch from him.

So… why didn’t he pull away?

A part of Aziraphale wanted to keep his touch there, perhaps move closer. See how far Crowley would let him go, really push his limits. Would he melt into the touch, let Aziraphale remove his glasses? Would he let himself be taken care of, and finally show the amber eyes that Aziraphale longed to glimpse again?

Or would he fight back, be stubborn? Would he perhaps need to be gently restrained, pinned back by another body to get the warmth back into his own? If Aziraphale had warmed the other man's hands with his own, then perhaps he could warm his lips-

No. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t even let himself think it. What was he doing?

He slowly let go of Crowley, thumb lightly tugging at his bottom lip before his touch vanished entirely. Crowley huffed out a sharp breath, as if he had been holding it the entire time, and hurriedly looked down, hands fumbling in his lap. Aziraphale quickly stepped back to an appropriate distance and wiped his hands on his trousers.

“Should come right in no time.” He said breathily, looking anywhere in the room but him.

Crowley coughed. “Uh, yeah, I think so.”

The words lingered in the air for a few seconds.

Aziraphale laughed awkwardly, pointing at the door. “I should-”

“Yep, and I should probably, you know,” Crowley gestured at the heater.

Aziraphale turned on his heels and left before Crowley had finished his sentence.

He internally kicked himself for being so out of line. They were barely even colleagues, certainly not friends, and he had let his hands think for themselves in that entire situation. He was mortified at what Crowley must think of him, and instantly banished the thought as his cheeks began to heat.

In those last few moments, Aziraphale was far too flustered to notice the pillow that had moved to cover Crowley’s lap.

~

Aziraphale made an effort to avoid Crowley for the rest of the day, which proved to be harder than he thought, as they were well and truly partners now. Crowley had long completed his training, and the two were now getting used to working together as equals. It was difficult at first, to share something that had been his for 10 years, but after about the 3-month mark they could both swing around the kitchen freely.

Through the corner of his eye, Aziraphale spotted two women stroll in, arm in arm. He gasped, face instantly lighting up at the sight of everyone's favourite customers, known to every staff member as "our couple". They all knew their orders off by heart, and often reserved a table for them on a Saturday morning.

He was ecstatic to see them, of course, but he was also grateful for the opportunity to escape the kitchen. He squealed in glee, earning a confused glance from Crowley, who was working beside him. Aziraphale ignored this, and swiftly exited the kitchen.

“Nina! Maggie! Oh, it is absolutely wonderful to see you. How was your holiday?” He beamed at Maggie and slipped a questioning glance in Nina’s direction.

The blonde woman started on a rant about their travels to Australia and New Zealand, stopping multiple times to add in an important detail that she forgot. “Oh, and the food was to die for! Nothing against this place of course, but have you tasted the chocolate in New Zealand? I don’t think I can go back to-” Maggie was cut off by Nina’s hand on her shoulder.

“Love. Haven’t you forgotten something?”

If Maggie’s face had lit up when she was talking about chocolate, it was just about on fire now. The woman lifted her left hand and wiggled her manicured fingers over the counter - showing off a sparkling diamond ring.

Aziraphale clapped his hands and rushed around the counter to pull both women into an embrace. “Oh, congratulations! I am incredibly happy for you both.”

Nina had let slip her plan to propose a few weeks before they left, and Aziraphale had wholeheartedly encouraged her. They had been together for as long as they had been regulars at the cafe, which had been about 6 years. Aziraphale had watched their love grow over time, and it was plain for anyone to see that they were simply made for each other.

He pulled back and looked between the two women, heart bursting with pure happiness for them, the smile on his face almost big enough to demonstrate it. They grinned back at him. "Love the new uniform by the way. Really working for you," Maggie added with a playful wink. He blushed.

Nina’s eyes suddenly caught on something behind him, and she raised a brow at Aziraphale. “Who’s this now?”

Aziraphale whirled around to find Crowley standing behind him, one hand in his pocket while the other held a spatula. “Oh! Right, you haven’t met yet. Maggie, Nina, this is my partner, Crowley.”

Nina and Maggie looked at Aziraphale in surprise, before they both started speaking at once.

“Oh isn’t he pretty,” Maggie gushed.

“Where on earth have you been hiding him?”

“You two look like the most perfect pair!”

“How long have you been together?” Nina finished, leaning forward eagerly.

It took Aziraphale a second to realise what was being implied. He blinked and looked back at Crowley, whose cheeks were red and his mouth agape, searching for words.

Oh. Oh.

“Oh! Oh no. No, no, no, no, no.” Aziraphale waved his hands around, nervously glancing back and forth between the man behind him and the women in front of him. “It’s not like that! I mean it is like that, but not what you’re thinking.”

He was making it worse, wasn’t he?

“Work,” Crowley helpfully coughed out from behind him.

“Yes, work partners. Only for work.” Aziraphale was flustered, and completely aware that he was making a fool of himself. He clamped his mouth shut, letting Crowley step forward and tell the rest of the story.

Maggie and Nina didn’t look convinced in the slightest, thanks to Aziraphale’s very poor choice of words.

A bell at the door dinged as more customers entered, and he saw his escape.

“I’m terribly sorry, but we must be getting back to work. I do look forward to catching up properly later!” He hurriedly smiled and started to back away.

Nina began to guide her fiance by her hand to their favourite table by the window, and shot a knowing look at Aziraphale. “Oh believe me, we certainly will be catching up later.”

~

They didn’t catch up.

Aziraphale didn’t want to talk about whatever had happened back there, and proceeded to act very busy whenever Nina and Maggie came in. He also didn’t talk to Crowley about it, and after that day they fell back into their usual habits of bickering and unpleasantries. They never talked about the intimate position they found themselves in after the freezer incident, or how red both their cheeks were when Nina and Maggie had assumed they were together. Aziraphale assumed Crowley wanted to forget about it all, and that was perfectly fine with him.

During a quiet period on a Monday a couple of weeks later, Aziraphale was too content making an omelet and humming along to the radio that he didn't notice Crowley nip out of the kitchen, and towards the front of the café.

A minute later, he heard voices and peered out of the small window to his right. He spotted Crowley by the coffee machine, chatting to Anathema. Aziraphale furrowed his brows slightly. He backed up so his head was out of sight, but remained in earshot. He wasn’t eavesdropping, as such. Simply... overhearing.

Anathema laughed. “How on earth do you drink that?”

Crowley hummed. “Wakes me up.”

“Do you ever drink milky coffee?”

“Mm, not really. I enjoy making them though. Like doing the little drawings on top.”

Anathema gasped. “I’ve been trying to teach Pepper how to use the coffee machine, in case I’m ever sick. The thing is, I’m rubbish at teaching and she doesn’t understand a thing I try to tell her.” She giggled quietly.

It was a subtle invitation, Aziraphale knew this. An invitation to get closer to the younger ones, to spend more time with them, and get to know them.

Crowley wouldn’t take it. Surely he wouldn’t. He had been so adamant that there needn’t be any relationship between him and Aziraphale, so why would he want to form one with Pepper? Aziraphale was so sure of what the answer would be, that he almost stopped listening. But something inside him kept his feet glued to the ground.

There was a pause before Crowley slowly began to speak. “I could... try to teach her, if you like?”

Aziraphale quietly gasped. He felt a pang low in his stomach, and finally backed away from the window.

He wasn’t sure exactly why he was hurt by Crowley’s willingness to help. He supposed he should be glad that Crowley was getting involved with the children, and was being friendly towards Anathema.

But… Why not towards Aziraphale?

Previous to a few weeks ago, he was under the impression that Crowley was simply unkind and cold to everyone. But then he had stumbled upon him sharing a cigarette with Beez out the back during his break, chatting away with ease, a light smirk on his face. Now, Crowley was talking about coffee with Anathema, and offering to help out by teaching Pepper?

What about Aziraphale made him so unbearable to be around?

Why was he the only one that Crowley had to tolerate?

“Uh. You alright?”

Crowley had come back into the room and was standing near the door, the large shelf separating the two men. He had an unreadable look on his face. At first glance he looked uncomfortable, but after a second look, his expression was almost worried.

“Tickety-boo.” Aziraphale said through gritted teeth.

"Right..."

There was a pause.

Aziraphale couldn't help himself. "So, you're teaching Pepper to use the coffee machine?"

"Yup." Crowley shuffled awkwardly.

"Great! Great, great. That's great. It's just..." He trailed off, letting the words linger in the air purposefully.

Crowley frowned. "Just what?"

Aziraphale pursed his lips. "Nevermind. I'll just quickly pop out back, I wouldn't want to inconvenience you. I know you find it so dreadful to tolerate me all day, so my sincerest apologies.

Aziraphale swiftly walked past Crowley, and out of the room.

“What’s up your ass?” Crowley mumbled from behind him.

Aziraphale spun around, a furious expression on his face. He opened his mouth and then closed it. The absolute nerve of the man was astounding.

“What is wrong with you?” Aziraphale hissed, looking around to make sure they didn’t cause a scene in front of the children.

Crowley must have caught onto this, because he followed Aziraphale out of the kitchen, and softly clicked the door behind him. They were staring at each other, backs pressed against the dark and narrow hallway that led to the break room and staff car park.

“What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you?” Crowley whispered harshly, shaking his head in confusion.

"Nothing!"

"Where on earth is this coming from?"

“I don’t know what you could be talking about.”

“Bullshit.”

There was a pause as they looked at each other from across the hall.

Okay, perhaps Aziraphale had overreacted a touch. Why couldn't he just keep his frustration to himself just this once?

He breathed out, trying to compose himself. 2 months, he reminded himself. 2 months and it'll all be over. 

“Look, it doesn't matter. I'm being silly. Let's just go back and pretend nothing happened-” Aziraphale began to move but was immediately pushed back against the wall by a hand on his chest.

“No, you obviously have something to say to me, so say it. Go on, get it all out now before we go back in there.” Crowley was all of a sudden breathless, crowding forward into Aziraphale's space, his hand pressing firmly into his warm chest.

A beat passed.

They were definitely too close. Aziraphale’s eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but the face of the man in front of him.

Crowley used his free hand to press two fingers to the side of Aziraphale’s jawline, steadying his face, and locking his gaze on him. 

“Go on, get it out,” Crowley repeated, his voice a low hiss. “Tell me you hate me."

Aziraphale took a sharp breath in, looking between Crowley’s glasses and his mouth, open in a snarl.

There was no denying the deliberate closeness, the pulsing heat where their skin touched. Was Crowley doing this on purpose, just to get a reaction? Was it to get back at him for that day in the breakroom? Or was it simply just to toy with him?

He was partially succeeding, getting a very obvious reaction from Aziraphale’s body. He was sure the man could feel how fast his heart was beating in his chest. But Aziraphale couldn’t let him win. Even if he only had one tiny shred of dignity left, he would hold onto it until the very end. He wouldn't give in.

Aziraphale slid one of his hands up his body until it collided with Crowley’s, still pressed hard into his chest. He could hear the other man’s breath catch in his throat, and see his face slightly soften. His toothy snarl was replaced by red lips parted in shock.

He wanted to see Crowley's face when he did this, and he moved his free hand to gently lift his sunglasses to rest on his auburn hair. A finger trailed down the edge of the man's face as it made its way back to his side, resulting in Crowley pressing even more of his body against Aziraphale, pinning him further to the wall.

Aziraphale's other hand moved agonizingly slowly until it completely covered Crowley's, the bony things still as warm and inviting as they had been in the breakroom, or back at Crowley's flat.

He shifted slightly under him, now close enough to feel the man's hot breath against his mouth, causing his own lips to drop open involuntarily.

The tips of their noses touched briefly, sending a tingle through his entire body.

So close now, close enough to...

He couldn't help but selfishly tilt his head as he leaned forward even more, slotting their faces together close enough so he could whisper against Crowley's mouth.

“I hate you.”

Their lips brushed, ever so slightly, as Aziraphale closed his grip over Crowley’s hand and tore it - and him - away from his body.

Crowley looked like he’d been slapped in the face. He took another step back, and Aziraphale took the opportunity to push past the man and dart out of the door.

He took big strides to put as much distance between them as possible before Crowley started to follow him back into the kitchen.

What the fuck was that?

Aziraphale let out a shaky breath and used the back of his hand to wipe the side of his jaw - where Crowley’s fingers had been just seconds ago.

Don’t look at him.

Don’t look at him.

Aziraphale’s eyes betrayed him, as they darted to where Crowley stood.

It had been too dark in the corridor to tell, but in the bright light of the kitchen, it was clear to see: Crowley was very red in the face.

Chapter Text

Crowley had pushed too hard this time, he knew it.

He was a dick like that, always wanting to test the limits. He didn’t know what possessed him to do… that in the hallway, not really. Something beneath his skin longed to feel the man, and his body had acted on instinct.

Now everything was ruined. Aziraphale wouldn’t even look at him anymore. No more witty banter. No more… whatever that was in the break room.

It’s for the better, he reminded himself. Less hurt, that way.

He had gotten too close. But, it turned out that Crowley didn’t need some tragic accident to push Aziraphale away. He was doing a fine job of it himself.

Fuck, he was an idiot. He longed to run to the man, to beg on his knees for forgiveness. Not just for the hallway, but for everything. For his cruelty on that very first day, and everyday in between. Even more for when he wasn’t being cruel, as his sweetness would leave as much of a bitter taste in his mouth. For having his guard up, but even more for letting it down.

His cold front had worked on countless people, countless workplaces, but Aziraphale had seen through it. Seen through it, and didn’t run away. It terrified Crowley more than anything.

But would an apology do more harm than good? If Aziraphale got any closer than he had been, he was bound to get hurt.

It’s for the better.

And it was. Weeks of nothing, no hurt, no arguments, just… nothing.

“Can you pass the salt”, and “Could you put fries down”, were the only things they said to each other.

Everyone knew that something was going on between them, you could cut the tension in the kitchen with a knife, but they never dared to ask. Adam was too scared to even say Crowley’s name in Aziraphale’s presence.

Once, Crowley had rounded the corner to the coffee station to find all of the servers huddled in a whispered discussion.

“No, I don’t know. Anathema said he won’t talk to her about it,” Pepper said, voice barely audible.

“Do you think we should do something?” Adam asked.

“It’s seriously worrying me, I’ve never seen Aziraphale so quiet!” Brian remarked.

They all went silent as soon as they saw Crowley standing there, and quickly hurried off to their stations.

He took a deep breath.

It’s for the better.

~

The icy air and golden glow of the morning sun flooded through the café windows on the day Aziraphale was late.

Crowley furrowed his brows, glancing at the large clock on the wall of the kitchen. 8:02. 32 minutes later than he usually arrived.

Aziraphale hated being late.

Crowley thought back to that one morning weeks ago, after they fell asleep on the couch. Aziraphale had been terrified at the thought of not being on time. “I’m never late,” he had said. So why today?

“Anathema?” Crowley called out, face still scrunched in deep thought.

The woman’s head popped into view through the little kitchen window. “Yeah?” She replied.

“Aziraphale coming to work today?”

“I’d assume so…” She trailed off, checking a small watch on her wrist. “Huh. He’s never late.” She paused. “Then again, there was that one time the other week when you were both-”

“-okay! Very helpful, thank you Anathema.” Crowley gave her a charming smile and shooed her away, not wanting to talk about ‘that one time’.

It was almost an hour later when Aziraphale finally arrived, 40 minutes after he texted Anathema saying he was “almost there”.

Crowley couldn’t help but quietly scoff when the man walked in, looking almost… roughed up, certainly very stunned and a bit pink in the cheeks.

Realisation settled in after a moment of staring. Oh. So that was why he had been late.

A sharp knot of something unfamiliar twisted in Crowley’s stomach, as his expression turned sour. The knot was soon replaced with an easily recognisable rage, because who the fuck did he think he was showing up at work 90 minutes late because he was busy getting laid-

“I didn’t realise our starting times were optional, Aziraphale, otherwise I would’ve been sleeping in much more over these past few months,” He drawled. It was the first full sentence he’d spoken to him
in weeks, and the venom in his voice had clearly been built up from such a long time of not being able to release it.

Aziraphale ignored him, only narrowing his eyes in the man’s direction.

Anathema came to lean in the doorway, having to do a double take at the state of the man. “Are you alright? You look a bit… rough.”

“Oh hush. I’m perfectly fine. I just got caught up with something.” He waved dismissively.

Crowley scoffed again, louder this time, and Anathema raised her brows curiously, seeming to catch onto what he was implying.

Aziraphale, still completely oblivious to this, huffed and placed his hands on his hips. He looked up at the ceiling. “Well. If you must know, I was in a… small car accident on the way to work. I had to drop off my car to get repairs, and walk from the mechanic.”

Car accident?

Well, Crowley supposed that could explain why he looked roughed up. And why he was a bit out of breath. And why he seemed to be in shock, oh-

His heart dropped to his stomach.

Anathema gasped, hand coming to cover her mouth. “Oh God, what happened? Is-”

“-Are you hurt?” Crowley interrupted frantically, striding forward to stand in front of the man. His thoughts raced back to Hastur and Ligur, almost lifeless on hospital beds, the blood, the tubes, the machines-

No, no, no, this couldn’t be happening yet, he’d only been here 4 months…

Aziraphale looked oddly at the man. “No, I'm quite alright. As I said, very minor-”

“-are you certain? Have you been checked by a doctor?” Crowley could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his breaths becoming short and panicked. “There could be internal bleeding, or-”

“-Crowley stop it! I’m fine, really.”

“Are you sure you didn’t hit your head?” Crowley’s hands acted on instinct, reaching up and brushing the sides of the man’s forehead. “Or, or-”

Aziraphale’s warm hands jolted to catch Crowley’s, stopping the man mid sentence. He clutched their fingers together hard, and held the bundle of skin and bones close to his chest, drawing Crowley in further.

Aziraphale’s expression was full of confusion and concern, the man’s eyes darting helplessly across Crowley’s face, trying to read him.

Blood. Broken glass. Hospital beds.

“Breathe.”

Crowley swallowed and closed his eyes, trying to regain composure. Gentle as ever, one of Aziraphale’s hands slipped out of his grasp and carefully pressed itself over Crowley’s chest. The weight over his heart was as steady as a boat on a rough sea, staying afloat through the rapid rise and fall of Crowley’s breathing.

“I’m okay,” Aziraphale whispered, voice low and delicate. “Just a scratch to the side of my car. No harm done. Just a bit of a fright, that’s all.”

Crowley clung to his words like they were a lifeboat. Just a scratch. No harm. He’s okay.

Crowley’s ragged breathing slowly evened, and eventually the hands on him retreated.

He opened his eyes.

Aziraphale lingered in front of him, holding his breath.

Crowley was almost certain that there were no tears in his eyes, but he was ever so grateful for his glasses at that moment.

“Oh,” Anathema breathed.

Crowley abruptly turned, having forgotten about the woman’s presence, to see her now standing alert in the doorway. Her eyes were wide and her brows slightly raised, gaze fixed on the men in front of her. She looked to be… calculating. Her hand hadn’t left her face, still pressed to the bottom of her now slightly open mouth.

“Oh,” She repeated, blinking hard.

“A- Anathema, why don’t you put some tea on,” Aziraphale stammered, stepping away. “I think we’re just going to sit down somewhere.”

Crowley didn’t know he was being gently dragged out of the room until he was halfway out the door.

No, he didn’t want to sit down, he wanted to get out. Fuck, he hadn’t meant for that to happen. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get all… I don’t need to-”

“-Shh. Just come.”

Aziraphale pulled him into the break room by his forearm, and clicked the door shut behind him.

He had that look on his face again, the one he did when he was trying to figure Crowley out. The little crease on the edges of his eyes, and that soft, sympathetic smile that played on his lips, Christ Crowley was weak at the knees.

“I, um, I don’t know what happened back there. It’s- I’m fine, it’s not like…” He trailed off. He hadn’t planned what he was saying, the words were just sort of falling out of his mouth. He took a breath and swallowed hard. “I, uh.” How was he going to say this? “Lost some coworkers, friends, a few months back. In uh, a car wreck.”

It was painful to choke the words out, admitting to himself out loud that though they weren’t dead, he had well and truly lost them. He wasn’t the type to stalk people on social media, or text them to check up on them, so as far as he was concerned, Hastur and Ligur could be gone.

He had tried so hard to stay away, he really had, but he couldn’t help but risk one visit. They looked so scary, unconscious on those hospital beds, so lifeless, and Crowley had almost been sick. At the thought of that gnawing, heavy guilt, his stomach churned threateningly.

Aziraphale’s face crumpled. “I- I’m so sorry. That’s horrible.”

Crowley winced. “It’s fine, really. Just brought up a few memories, that’s all. Didn’t know I’d get all scared like that after all this time.”

“From what I understand, it’s a perfectly normal response.” He paused. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

Crowley could do nothing but watch and breathe and try to stop himself from sinking to the ground.

Aziraphale looked away, biting his bottom lip. “Is that why you left then? Your old work.”

“I suppose.” He shrugged dismissively. “Among other reasons. I’ve, uh, never been good at staying in one place for long.”

“I see.” Aziraphale sank down into a large arm chair. “Well, I mean not really. I've always stayed at my workplaces for years, I mean I’ve already been here 10 already. It’s just so familiar, now. Feels like home. I couldn’t imagine moving on after only 6 months.”

“Mm, well it does have that effect on people,” Crowley muttered.

“What does?”

“The place. I mean it’s no wonder you have so many regular customers, and we’re getting more and more popular everyday.” Crowley slid down the wall he was leaning on to sit cross legged on the ground. “I thought it was a bit old fashioned at first, sort of worn out, but then I realised that it’s just… loved.”

Aziraphale smiled his warm, lovely smile, and Crowley’s chest fluttered dangerously.

“It is. Loved.”

“I-” Crowley started to speak, but was cut off.

“-Why don’t you stay?”

“Stay?”

“Here.”

Crowley blinked, heartbeat stuttering.

“I- I can’t.”

“You’re good here. You fit. You’re friendly with Beez, with Anathema. Pepper adores you, especially since you’ve been teaching her to use the coffee machine. Adam, Brian, and Wensleydale want to come to work just to talk about your car-”

“-I can’t stay.”

Pause.

“Is it because of me?”

Crowley looked away. The man hated him, yet he was practically begging him to stay- What was he playing at?

“I- No. No it’s not you, it’s just…” He trailed off, letting out a frustrated noise from the back of his throat. He hoisted himself to his feet, having a nagging feeling that he would be wanting to flee the room at any second. “It never ends well. Staying.”

He finally looked back to Aziraphale, who had risen to his feet as well. He had that sad expression on his face.

“No, stop that!” Crowley hissed.

“I’m not doing anything!”

“No, that look. You know I hate that look.”

“If you would just let your guard down, you would realise that settling down somewhere wouldn’t be so horrible!”

Crowley let out a sort of pained laugh. “Let’s not do that again. Remember the last time you assumed I was doing something for no real reason?”

“And do you remember what happened after that?” Aziraphale looked at him desperately. “How you were scared, but you did it anyway, and it was fine! It was more than that, it was beautif-”

“-Don’t.” Crowley choked painfully, shaking his head.

Aziraphale stepped closer. “I can tell that somewhere under all that, you’re a good person-”

“-I’m not good.”

“You are! I’ve seen how nice you are to the-”

Crowley grabbed him by the front of his shirt with so much force that they both went crashing into the nearest wall. “I am not. Nice.”

Heavy breathing echoed throughout the room, joined only by the pounding coming from where the two men had their chests pressed together.

They always seemed to find themselves exactly like this, but it never ceased to make Crowley’s cheeks heat. He could just about map out by now, the few dark spots on Aziraphale’s face, and the soft lines where his skin creased around his eyes. If he looked down he knew he would see his red lips parted how they did when he was surprised, ever so inviting and surely intoxicating if he were ever to get a ta-

The door handle clicked and the door swung open, causing them to leap to opposite sides of the room in a millisecond.

“Oh my God I’m sorry I didn’t- I didn’t mean to interrupt. Uhm. Anything… Tea! I have tea! I’ll just-” Anathema, for the first time since Crowley met her, was stumbling over her words. She placed a tray of about 8 teacups down on the desk. “I didn’t know what kind. I just made it all. I’m sorry, I’ll go.”

Aziraphale sighed and walked over to where the tea sat. He brought a cup to his lips and let the soothing nature of sipping boiling water wash over him. A second later, a cup was being extended to Crowley.

He didn’t want to take it, but he did anyway.

He cleared his throat. “Let’s, um… I mean we’re open soon, and-”

“-you go ahead,” Aziraphale said, gesturing to the door. “I think I'll stay and sit for a while. I’m still a bit shaken up.”

“Of course. Of course.” Crowley fought the urge to lean forward and softly touch his hand, because he wasn’t nice.

~

“Loaded Wedges up!” Aziraphale called, beckoning Adam to run the food. He frowned a bit at the ticket. “There’s no table number on the docket?”

“It’s for Crazy!” Pepper called from her station at the counter, which sent Adam on his way at once.

“Hush! I don’t mind if you make up nicknames for the regulars, but do refrain from shouting them to the whole café!”

Crowley couldn’t help but smile. “He is crazy though. I’ve only been here 4 months and he’s accused Anathema of being a witch about 12 times, and he thinks I’m some sort of demonic cult leader!”

“I believe his exact words were ‘foul Satan worshiping demon’,” Aziraphale said in his best impression of Sergeant Shadwell, which caused Crowley to bark out a surprised laugh.

Aziraphale turned away, face lost in thought. “If you’re a demon and Anathema’s a witch, what does that make the rest of us?”

“Adam’s a werewolf, because he’s so hairy,” Pepper teased as she walked into the kitchen with a small armful of dishes.

“Hey! I am not!” Adam exclaimed, trailing close behind with an even larger stack. “Well you’re a banshee then, with how bloody loud you scream.”

Pepper cackled in delight, placing her dishes on the bench and flicking a bubble at Adam from the soapy water in the sink. He placed his own down next to hers and gave her the middle finger, but he had an enormous grin on his face.

Crowley and Aziraphale bit back laughs and looked fondly at the teenagers.

Brian snorted. “Wensleydale’s a gnome because he’s short.”

“I am only an inch and a half shorter than you Brian!” The boy shot back defensively.

Pepper gasped, turning to face the men in the kitchen. “Aziraphale’s a vampire.”

“Pfft!” He almost dropped his spatula. “I am not a vampire! How on Earth am I a vampire?!”

“Nah, he’s bigfoot,” Adam said.

Aziraphale looked even more offended. “My feet aren’t big!”

Brian looked at him with a raised brow, then down to his feet.

He looked around to the others, utterly bewildered. “Are they? Do I have obnoxiously big feet? Is that really what you all think?”

The room erupted into laughter and more guesses as to what mythical creature Aziraphale suited best.

An angel, Crowley thought, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. He’s an angel.

~

Everyone was long ready to leave at 2:00, but a large group deciding to come in for a late lunch made that tricky.

“Go, really,” Crowley urged Anathema. “If they order coffee, I’ve got it sorted.”

“Besides,” Aziraphale added, a hint of playfulness in his voice. “Don’t you have a date to get ready for?”

Anathema blushed furiously, looking at her feet.

Crowley raised his brows in interest, looking between the two of them. “Oh? Is this the young chap with the glasses that always comes in on his lunch break? I was wondering when he’d work up the courage to ask you out.”

Anathema brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Oh, he didn’t. I did.”

Aziraphale grinned and shooed her out of the door.

They sent the rest of the staff home soon after the tables had been cleared and the last of the dishes washed, leaving Crowley and Aziraphale to wait for the group of gossiping ladies to leave.

It was only after they’d locked up and were standing in the back car park that Crowley realised Aziraphale was still without a car. The sky darkened ominously, threatening to pour at any second.

“Need a ride?”

Aziraphale looked cautiously at the Bentley, and back at Crowley.

“I think I’ll just walk,” He replied, swiftly turning and beginning to stroll away.

Crowley made a noise of surprise, and jogged to catch up with his long strides. “Aziraphale, it took you an hour to walk to work today, and that was just from the mechanic! Just let me drive you.”

“No, I’m quite alright. I could probably do with the exercise.”

“What? Don’t be ridiculous, just let me give you a ride.”

Aziraphale stopped in his tracks, turning to look at Crowley. “I don’t want a ride!” He huffed. “I’m perfectly capable of-”

The clouds above them gave way, and droplets of water tumbled to the ground. There was no easing into it, the pavement beneath them becoming instantly saturated and puddles beginning to form.

Crowley stood there, looking at the stubborn man expectantly.

“Fine.”

Crowley sighed and began to walk back towards his car. “Thank you! Now where abouts-”

A wet hand caught his wrist, and he whirled back around.

“Just… promise me you won’t go too fast.” The words wavered as they left his mouth, vulnerability plain in his eyes.

Crowley softened. “Of course, Angel.”

~

“This is me on the left.”

Crowley pulled over. They sat in the car for a while, not saying anything.

“There’s an umbrella in the back, if you-”

“-oh, it’s alright, I’ll just…” He pointed at the door.

Another pause. Crowley gripped the steering wheel.

“Would you like to come in?” Aziraphale blurted. “For a drink, or uh, something.”

Crowley winced, an unfamiliar ache blooming in his chest. He pictured what would happen if he did, what the inside of Aziraphale’s house would look like. If he meant a drink of tea, or perhaps something stronger. He thought of the last time they drank together, wondering if they would end up in a similar position the next morning. He almost said yes, almost let himself slip, but caught it at the very last moment.

He swallowed hard. “Better not. Wouldn’t want a repeat of last time.”

It was like Aziraphale snapped out of a haze, instantly straightening up and looking away. “No, of course not.” He hurriedly opened the door and got out of the car. “Thank you. For uh, the ride,” He added, leaning down to speak into the half open window.

Crowley half smiled. “Anytime, Aziraphale. I mean it. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning?”

He hesitated.

“7:20?” Crowley added, cheekily suggesting a time much too late for Aziraphale’s liking.

“7:10!” Aziraphale snapped.

Crowley grinned. “Goodnight, Angel.”

Chapter Text

The next day, Crowley was waiting outside Aziraphale’s place at 7:10 sharp.

The door swung open as the blonde man stepped out, two reusable coffee cups in hand. He didn’t say a word, just handed one to Crowley and turned back around to lock his door.

“You… made me a coffee?”

Aziraphale turned around and gave the man a small smile as he pulled the key out of the keyhole and gave the doorknob a shake, ensuring it was locked properly. He shoved his keys back into the pocket of his pants and began to walk towards the Bentley.

He tried to remain as cool and collected as possible, pretending his stomach didn’t do a somersault when he saw Crowley. And when he had called him Angel for the first time, his heart had completely leapt from him.

A part of him still believed that he had been hallucinating, still shaken up from the accident, and was hearing things. But then he said it a second time, like it was absolutely nothing at all. Angel, angel, angel. The endearment had sounded so pretty on his tongue.

“Is this- how do you know how I like it?” Crowley called from behind him, still standing dumbstruck on the doorstep.

Aziraphale breathed out a laugh. “It’s not hard to remember that coffee order.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Crowley caught up to him and unlocked the Bentley. They slid into the slick leather seats and settled into polite conversation as they made their way to work. Crowley drove with more care this time, and only slightly pushed at the speed limit.

For this, Aziraphale was very grateful. His accident yesterday had by no means been serious, but it had left him quite on edge nonetheless. A stupid teenager had run a red light and slammed on the brakes in the middle of the road - not before ramming Aziraphale’s little car right on the driver door. He had been jolted a bit on impact, but the vehicle took the brunt of it.

“So…” Crowley started carefully from beside him. “You’re, uh, definitely feeling alright?”

The question was inevitable. Aziraphale peered out of the corner of his eye, not turning his head. The man was staring intently at him, leaning back into his seat and gently resting one hand on the steering wheel.

An angry honk sounded from somewhere ahead of them and the car swerved slightly. Aziraphale’s hand instinctively flew out and latched onto Crowley’s thigh.

“I’d be feeling better if you watched the road!” He yelped. Another honk. “Watch the- WATCH THE ROAD!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley rolled his eyes, turning his attention back to the road ahead of him.

Aziraphale noted that he had pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head - something that was slowly becoming a more frequent habit of his. Something which he also only did when they were alone.

He was suddenly aware of the hand still grasping the fabric of Crowley’s trousers, and he quickly pulled it away, turning so the man couldn’t see the pink rising in his cheeks.

~

They arrived at work exactly on time, and stood in the kitchen sipping at their drinks until Anathema appeared a few minutes later.

“My dear!” Aziraphale exclaimed when she entered the kitchen, standing upright from where he was leaning against one of the benches. “How was last night? What was the young man’s name again, Ned?”

“Newt,” She corrected, giving a shy smile. “And, it was good. Very good.”

Crowley hummed, coming to stand next to Aziraphale. “Is that yesterday's makeup?” He teased.

Anathema swatted at him and he leapt back, a playful grin on his face.

The woman looked at Aziraphale and rolled her eyes, probably expecting to be met with a similar expression. Instead, Aziraphale put on his most innocent face and lightly tapped the side of his neck. “I think you have a little something my dear, just here-”

“-Oh shut up, not you too!” She huffed and turned away, but he could see her struggling to bite back a smile.

Crowley was doubled over and cackling beside him, and Aziraphale felt very proud of himself for thinking of that in the moment.

Anathema whipped back around, a bright blush scattered across her cheeks, and a mischievous look on her face. “Crowley,” She started, clearing her throat. “Do you mind just taking a look at the till? Pepper mentioned it was playing up yesterday and I’d like to get it sorted before we open.”

Crowley recovered from his laughing fit and stood up straight. He ran a bony hand through his loose hair, which had grown significantly over the past few months, and now reached past his chin. He slipped a rubber band off of his wrist and pulled the front bits back into a sort of half up half down. Aziraphale tried and failed to ignore the fluttering in his chest, and quickly looked away before the man could realise he was staring.

“Yeah, no worries,” He replied, swinging his hips as he sauntered out of the door, not at all helping the heat growing on Aziraphale’s face as his mind wandered to places in which it definitely should not be wandering to.

Crowley had always been attractive. It was one of the first things that Aziraphale noticed about him, after his awful manners. But he was never one to dwindle on that sort of thing, and after deciding that he didn’t at all like Crowley, it wasn’t something that he paid any particular attention to. Sure, he had found himself admiring from time to time, but that was only because it was hard not to.

Today though, there was a shift between them - on Azirphale’s end, at least. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about yesterday; the precious worry that had appeared in Crowley’s expression when he’d found out about the accident, and the soft brush of his fingertips against his face. He was shocked at how a simple touch of the man’s hands could send a shiver down his spine, and he tried so hard to shove the feeling deep down, like he had done so many other times.

But he had completely lost control of himself when Crowley had slammed him against the wall in the break room, feeling the throbbing in his chest shoot dangerously low in his trousers. They had been close like that so many times before, but there was something so different about knowing Crowley didn’t really want him to be hurt. It brought Aziraphale to life, sending shockwaves of need through his entire body. He tried desperately to convince himself that it was purely a physical reaction, but the butterflies in his stomach said otherwise.

“Ahem.” Anathema cleared her throat and snapped Aziraphale out of his thoughts, which was probably (definitely) for the better. He took a long sip of his coffee, trying to savor it while it was still warm. When he met the woman’s eyes, the look on her face was unmistakably unimpressed. Aziraphale felt as if he was a child and he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to, but he quickly shook off the idea, for there was absolutely no way for the woman to know what he was thinking.

“When were you going to tell me that you were sleeping with Crowley?”

Aziraphale’s coffee abruptly sprayed out of his mouth and onto the floor in front of them as the man went into a fit of coughs.

“Wh- What?!”

Anathema cocked a brow, seeming almost pleased with his reaction.

“I said, when were you going to-”

“-I, um, no I heard you, I just- what?”

“I was confused at first, you know, about why you hated him so deeply. I mean, I get that he was insufferable at the beginning, but he’s settled in now, and barely anything’s changed between you two.”

“My dear girl, I’m afraid you’ve got it terribly wro-”

“-It all finally made sense to me yesterday. God with the way you looked at each other in the kitchen, I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner!”

“Wha- What? See what?”

“This entire time,” Anathema breathed, looking Aziraphale in the eye. “It was never hate, was it?”

He was horrified, at an absolute loss for words. “I…”

“I’m not an idiot, Aziraphale! I can see it in your eyes, the lo-”

“THAT’S NOT-“ He hurriedly cut her off before the word could leave her lips, knowing exactly what it would be. “That’s not what it was. I was just… worried yesterday. That’s all. We are absolutely not sleeping together.”

Anathema sucked the inside of her cheek as a light smirk played on her lips. “How do you explain the break room then?”

“That wasn’t what it looked like!” Aziraphale hissed strongly, stomach jumping again at the memory.

“And when you arrived late to work together in Crowley’s car?”

“There’s an explanation!” He cried desperately.

Anathema snorted. “Sure there is,” She teased.

“He- he called me in the middle of the night! To help with the cat!” He tried. “ And then we, uh, accidentally fell asleep, and I didn’t have my alarm set-”

Anathema cut him off with a sharp laugh. “So what you’re telling me is that you answered a booty call, and woke up together the next morning-”

“-IT WASN’T A BOOTY CALL!!”

“What was a booty call?” Crowley called curiously as he strolled back into the kitchen.

Aziraphale went bright red and hid his face in his hands, leaning back against the bench. “Not a booty call,” He mumbled.

“Right...” He said, and Aziraphale could see the exact look on his face without even uncovering his eyes. “So, uh, the till looks fine? I don’t think there’s anything wrong with it, maybe it fixed itself yesterday?”

“Mm,” Anathema hummed. “Yes, perhaps it did.”

The back door swung open as Adam and Pepper stumbled in, crying with laughter. “Why the fuck did we just hear Aziraphale yell BOOTY CALL?!”

~

“Hey, uh, Nina and Maggie just came in,” Pepper said, leaning in the doorway of the kitchen.

It was almost 1:00, and the lunch rush was dying down. From his view out of the small window to his right, Aziraphale could see Newt leaning over the counter and softly talking to Anathema while she poured coffee. Further behind them, Adam was wiping a table while Wensleydale swept underneath it, both chatting and laughing while they worked. Aziraphale loved that they could do that, be comfortable enough to be themselves at work. They always got everything done that needed to be done, and unlike some other managers, he always encouraged them to have some fun where possible.

“Oh! How lovely, let me just finish this and I’ll come out-” Aziraphale started, hurriedly tossing some fries in a bowl.

“-They’re actually already gone. They, uh, left this?” Pepper held up a large maroon envelope, then slid it across the shelf that stood between them.

Aziraphale picked it up and inspected it - the smooth paper glided under his fingertips while he turned it around in his hands. Small gold letters in the top left corner read: ‘To Aziraphale, and the staff of Eden Street Café’.

“Brian, would you run these to Table 27 quickly?” Crowley asked, sliding a dish of Caesar Salad and a bowl of Chips onto the shelf in front of him. Shuffling closer to peer over Aziraphale’s shoulder, he asked; “What’s this now?”

“I’m not sure,” Aziraphale admitted. “Nina and Maggie left it.”

“Go on, open it!” Pepper encouraged eagerly.

Aziraphale carefully tugged the envelope open and tugged out its contents - a large card reading “Save The Date - Maggie & Nina”, and in smaller print below it, details of the wedding.

“Oh! Oh my goodness!” He exclaimed, face lighting up with pure joy. “Look!” Pepper bounded around the shelf so she could stand next to Crowley and read the card.

A small slip of paper still rested in the bottom of the envelope, and Aziraphale pulled it out and unfolded it so that they could all read.

Is it strange to invite the staff of your favourite café to your wedding? We’re not sure, but we’re going to do it anyway. We know it’s a lot to ask, seeing as there won’t be anyone to run the place for the weekend, but it would mean the absolute world to us if you could be there.

Lots of love,
Your couple <3

“Oh, that’s just gorgeous,” Aziraphale said through a grin. “How absolutely lovely of them? I can't believe they would- I mean, I'm just so! Oh, I'm just so happy!”

“It’s… quite soon.” Crowley winced. “What would the Boss think?”

Aziraphale deflated. “Oh. Yes. I doubt she’d shut the place for a weekend so we could all go to a wedding.”

“Well that’s just rubbish!” Pepper said. “I want to go! The only wedding I’ve ever been to was when my aunt married a rich man 30 years older than her.”

Aziraphale was still visibly disheartened, face fallen in a sorrowful pout. He adored Nina and Maggie, never in a million years did he think he would get an invite to their wedding! And now he couldn’t even go - it seemed so unfair.

“What if we catered?” Crowley suddenly suggested.

Aziraphale gasped. “Would that work? We don’t cater.”

“We… could? I mean, just this once. For Nina and Maggie.”

“Please!” Pepper pleaded. “At least ask the Boss!”

Aziraphale locked eyes with Crowley, who gave him a shrug and a small nod.

“I suppose it’s worth a shot?”

“Yes!” Pepper exclaimed, jumping up and down. “Guys! Guess what?” She shouted happily, running out of the kitchen with a smile on her face.

Aziraphale was just as hopeful and excited as the young girl. He turned to the man next to him, an inspired look on his face. “Oh, this could work! You don’t understand- It would mean so much to me if I could be there, I can’t- Oh Crowley, I could-”

-kiss you, he finished in his head, and he was startled at the realisation that he very much wanted to.

He coughed and looked away as Crowley turned the shade of a ripe tomato.

~

It was a week later when Maggie and Nina finally came back into the café.

Aziraphale immediately dropped what he was doing to rush out and meet them. They’d sorted everything out as soon as possible, Crowley and him sitting over a laptop to carefully draft an email to the Boss. He’d made Anathema proofread it 7 times before eventually pressing send with a trembling finger.

“Maggie! Nina!” He cried, approaching them. He had so much to say that it all just fell out of his mouth with no real order or sense. “I think we can- I’m so incredibly happy that you invited us! But, well, no- See the thing is that-”

Crowley interrupted Aziraphale’s spew of words quickly, hand briefly touching the small of his back as he approached them from behind. “The Boss will let us close the shop for the weekend, but only if we cater,” He said plainly.

“Yes, that,” Aziraphale said, pointing at the man beside him and grinning.

“Cater?” Maggie asked.

“Oh, I never even thought of it!” Nina said.

“Do we have enough in our budget? I was just going to get my mum to cook,” Maggie thought out loud.

Nina laughed. “Of course we have enough in our budget,” She said, touching her fiancé gently on the shoulder. “We’re spending next to nothing on the venue, remember?”

“Right! Oh my goodness, I can have my favourite pasta dish on my wedding day!” Maggie exclaimed with glee, reaching up and clutching Nina’s hand on her shoulder.

Nina smiled fondly and turned to the two men in front of her. “Maggie’s family owns a beautiful estate just out of London,” She explained. “Massive house, beautiful garden where we can have the ceremony. There’ll be a gorgeous kitchen too, I bet.”

“How charming!” Aziraphale commented. He adored weddings, the public celebration of love never failed to warm his heart. He’d been to nowhere near enough of them lately, and he’d honestly been waiting for one of his friends to get engaged.

“There’s plenty of spare rooms in the house, you could stay along with the others who are traveling from out of town?” Nina proposed.

Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Oh that sounds wonderful!” He let out a squeal of delight and turned to Crowley, who looked nowhere near as excited as him. “I can't wait! Actually, I can't wait!”

Crowley snorted, amused. “You won’t have to wait long, it’s only in a few weeks.”

“I can’t remember the last time I had a whole weekend off work!”

“Well, technically, you’ll still be working-”

“-A whole weekend!! This is just delightful, I’m absolutely-” Aziraphale was sent into a flurry of lovely words that almost described how excited he was, as Maggie, Nina, and Crowley politely listened until he couldn’t think of any more.

The two women said their farewells after sitting down for breakfast and a hot drink, presumably talking about the wedding. Aziraphale thought back to the first few times they had come into the café, all nervous smiles and shy touches. They had been so young back then, so adorably head over heels for each other. Watching their love grow over the years was one of Aziraphale’s greatest privileges, and he had a sneaky feeling that he would be doing the very same with Newt and Anathema.

The day came to an end quickly, and Aziraphale drove himself home in his newly fixed car. He didn’t want to admit to himself that he enjoyed being picked up and dropped off by Crowley everyday - so he didn’t.

He was, however, very grateful to finally be traveling at the speed limit - Crowley had taken care to drive carefully in the first few days, but had unknowingly returned to his usual habits after that. Aziraphale noticed that Crowley slowed slightly whenever a worried hand flew out to clutch his thigh, and he had kept that in mind for whenever the man drove a little too recklessly for his liking.

His mind stayed on that as he let himself into the house; the feel of Crowley’s body under his hand. Though he knew that he would find some way to feel it again tomorrow - an accidental brush of fingertips when handing a plate over, or a discreet nudge as they walked past each other - that didn’t stop him from craving it regardless.

How he longed to feel the soft skin of his face again, cup his sharp jaw in his plush hand and keep it there this time. Feel the hot press of his chest against his, the thrum of his heartbeat, the full weight of him. What he wouldn’t do to have those red lips on him, eager and open.

His face flushed red as his eyes flew open, not realising he had closed them in the first place. Shit. He could not keep doing that!

He needed to put a damn leash on his thoughts, if they wandered in that direction while Crowley was there, God he might just-

He threw his head back in frustration and tried to think of something - anything - to get his mind off Crowley.

Some minutes later on his couch, with his hand shoved down his pants, he realised just how badly he was failing at that.

Oh, he was fucked.

Chapter Text

Crowley had never been one for weddings. The big and elaborate celebrations had always been a bit much for him, and he only ever participated if there was the promise of alcohol. (He’d made sure to check this detail with Nina and Maggie before sending in his RSVP).

But he had a private thought - one he only ever allowed himself in secret, one he never told anybody of. And he thought it now, mindlessly washing dishes in his kitchen sink.

Someday, if he ever found the right guy, they would have a wedding. Just a small one, 10-15 people at most. At a nice vineyard probably, with a lot of nice wine. They’d be surrounded by plants, much like the room in Crowley’s flat, and the pictures would turn out lovely. No little snotty toddlers running down the aisle carrying flower petals or expensive rings - perhaps he could train Annie to do that.

He’d never before pictured the person he would marry. He’d always just seen a blanked out man-shape-thing in his head - standing with him at the altar, slow dancing with him, cutting the cake with him. No specific details of his imaginary husband, nothing to give away who it would be. Now, for some reason, it was clear to Crowley that he would wear black and his partner would wear white. Somehow obvious that he would wear a silver wedding band, but his other half would wear gold. He had no clue why, he just knew.

Soft peaks of blonde hair entered his memory. He liked blondes. Had he always liked blondes? He liked blondes very much. He was quite sure that he wanted to marry a blonde at his wedding.

It was a sort of bittersweet thought though, his imaginary wedding. Crowley doubted he would find anyone to settle down with at his age, and even if there was someone, he doubted he could. There had been plenty of someone’s over the years, but Crowley never trusted himself to commit to a relationship, what with the disasters he tended to bring to the table. Like his jobs - it never worked out to stay in one place for long. At the first sign of any pain, any hurt, he ran. It was to protect them, he told himself so he could sleep at night. If his workmates could be so badly affected by being around him, would a lover be safe?

He couldn’t live with himself if another person close to him lost their life. The blood would be on his hands. He didn’t know if he could handle it if that person was someone he loved.

Crowley wasn’t familiar with that kind of grief - losing a loved one - as he was only an infant when his mother was killed- died. Died. Died, died, died.

He internally kicked himself. He hadn’t slipped up like that in a while. His stomach panged with a guilt so sickly it churned all of his insides, and the threat of tears pooled behind his eyes. He had to squeeze them shut and press a wet hand to his forehead to keep them from spilling. Crowley was familiar with the feeling of guilt, but this specific gut wrenching kind that punched him low in the stomach was something he only felt when he thought of his mother. It hurt. And that was why he tried not to.

It wasn’t your fault. Shut up. It was all your fault.

Deep breath. Try again.

Crowley wasn’t familiar with that kind of grief - losing a loved one - as he was only an infant when his mother died.

Only 16 minutes old, to be exact.

But he did see what it did to his father. How it ripped him apart, slowly tore pieces off of him over years and years, like a lion feeding on the flesh of an already dead gazelle.

Spitting image of his father, he was, or so he had been told. By the time Crowley had reached 18, his dear old dad was barely recognisable - down to skin and bones, barely able to speak two words without breaking out into a fit of coughs. His skin tinged more and more yellow as his liver failed, eventually taking him 10 years ago.

On his birthday, too. Not that Crowley would’ve been doing anything to celebrate, but he would’ve perhaps appreciated a phone call saying “have a nice day”, and not, “your dad’s dead”. His funeral was dark and cold, just like him. Few showed up, and those who did were the ones who knew him from before Lilith’s death - back when he was kind, fun, loving. It was impossible for Crowley to imagine his father ever being loving.

He wondered if his life would have been different if his mum had been around. She had soft eyes, he knew that from the photos. He wondered if the rest of her was soft, if she could’ve dulled the sharpness of dad, even just a touch. Maybe if he hadn’t grown up with a man who hated him for killing his wife, he would know how to not run. Maybe he could’ve had his vineyard wedding.

But he didn’t. And he couldn’t. The hot water now scalded his hands, dirty plates forgotten under the soap suds as Crowley leaned onto his elbows and blew out a helpless breath.

~

The next day, back at work, Aziraphale was weird.

Like, properly weird. He was all… flustered? Panicky and nervous, just like that morning before the Boss - well, The Metatron - came in. His eyes were darting all around the room, hands constantly fiddling with something at the collar of his shirt. Crowley wondered if he should be worried.

Perhaps the man had something on - an event, or a visitor arriving that he was stressed about. Perhaps meeting someone for the first time, a date? A date.
Surely that was it. Truthfully, Crowley had been surprised months ago when he learned that Aziraphale wasn’t married. Looking at him, one would surely think that he was, what with his face being all - uh, and his arms strong and… Oh and his eyes so- what was the word? Not pretty, they were more than that. Captivating. Enchanting. Lord, and his smile-

He had been studying the man for too long now, long enough for him to notice and begin to go red in the face, turning away from Crowley’s gaze so sharply that a stack of pots were knocked to the ground by his elbow. They both startled and rushed to begin picking them up, Aziraphale muttering a string of apologies and excuses that Crowley could barely understand. They lingered for a moment, knelt on the kitchen floor and hands steadying the stack of pots they had re-assembled in front of them. Crowley was suddenly very aware of where their fingers overlapped on the rim of the pot, and he tried to casually move away (he failed at this: instead yanking his entire arm away and leaping to his feet in an instant.)

The moment broke as Aziraphale’s weird mood seemed to slot back into place as he too stood, hands finding their way back to fiddle with his collar.

“Are you, uh,” Crowley started to say. Don’t ask him if he’s okay. Stop it. Stop talking. Don’t be nice- “Are you okay?” Imbecile!

“Great. Good. Fine! Perfectly fine. Not that it’s any of your business.” Aziraphale scowled and turned away.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. He hadn’t seen Aziraphale scowl since his very first day, almost 6 months ago. Scowl? Crowley knew Aziraphale - shut up no he didn’t - and the man didn’t scowl. What on earth was wrong with him? If Crowley wasn’t worried before, he certainly was now. Scowl?!

~

In the weeks leading up to the wedding, Aziraphale remained weird.

Not a date then, Crowley noted, and there was absolutely not a wave of relief that crashed over his body at the thought. Maybe it was the wedding itself making him nervous? No, that couldn’t be it, Aziraphale was so happy about the wedding. He still was, perking up whenever he got to speak about it. His hands stayed fidgety though, always busy doing something. It was almost like he was scared for them to not be occupied, but the reason for it was far beyond Crowley.

He also noticed that when in this mood the man was particularly… irritable. Irritable? That was putting it lightly. Aziraphale was being a bitch.

He’d snapped at Adam, actually snapped, and as soon as he caught himself he looked positively horrified. Adam looked equally so, and had asked him if he was alright.

“Fine. Perfectly fine, why wouldn’t I be?” Aziraphale shot back, busying his hands with chopping herbs.

Adam seemed skeptical, but didn’t dare say anything more. He exchanged a look with Crowley, who shrugged, then swiftly exited the room.

The day before the wedding seemed to go on for years. Were they usually that busy on a Friday? Since when did so many people want Fish and Chips right before closing? There was just a constant stream of people all day, and it was insufferable.

Shadwell had come in with Tracy and they’d practically created three of their own menu items, even bringing in their own turnips for Aziraphale to cook up and use in one of the dishes. Crowley decided it would be quicker to oblige than to argue, so they just sighed and cooked the damn turnips.

Now it was finally past 3:00. The kitchen had closed, all the customers had been subtly shooed out by Adam and Pepper who had begun to vacuum right under their seats, and the place was finally shut. The kitchen hadn’t been cleared yet, as they still had a lot of work to do.

Crowley and Aziraphale had been staying late all week, trying to prepare as much of the food for the catering as possible. The fridges, freezer and all the benchtops were stacked with preparations for almost the entire menu, along with items that they didn’t even sell. Crowley had told Aziraphale that it all might be a bit much, and that it was supposedly only a small wedding.

“Oh that’s- Oh you think so? Is it really- But…” He had started, before looking up into Crowley’s eyes and all of a sudden switching. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t need you criticizing every little thing I do. It’s- It’s not necessary.”

Fuck if Crowley knew what that was.

The whole week had been uncomfortable, if he was being completely honest. It had never been uncomfortable before with Aziraphale. Even in those first few weeks he was never uncomfortable. An absolute arsehole, maybe, but not uncomfortable. Their conversations now seemed so forced, nothing like the witty banter he had grown accustomed to. He hadn’t realised just how much he enjoyed it until it was gone.

There were times before when he thought that Aziraphale- Oh Christ, he didn’t know, but there was that look he got in his eyes sometimes, and the- The way he got so close and… Fuck. What he was trying to say was there were times when Crowley didn’t really think Aziraphale hated him. But they weren’t- Argh! They couldn’t be friends. They couldn’t ever be friends. Or anything more. Shut up!

But even so, it was so different now. Everything had changed- Was it something he did wrong? He shouldn’t have opened up about the car crash. It scared him off, it must’ve. Oh God, and the nickname? Angel? What had he been thinking? It had just slipped out of his mouth, he hadn’t even realised he’d said it out loud until he was driving away. Not that he didn’t mean it. To think it, at least. Aziraphale was an angel, the more and more he looked, Crowley couldn’t get over the fact that he-

Oh God, what was he doing? He couldn’t be thinking like this, not at all. He was leaving. After the wedding he would be done for good, the 6 month time limit he’d given himself would come to an end. He shouldn’t be worrying so heavily about Aziraphale, especially not about what the man thought of him. He couldn’t just… He couldn’t.

He told himself again, it’s for the better, just like so many weeks ago. What he’d felt when Aziraphale had been in the car accident was unbearable, he couldn’t risk anything like that again. Wedding. Two more days. Finished.

They wouldn’t do anything to send him off, would they? Please God no. Crowley cringed at the thought of it.

Would Aziraphale say goodbye? Crowley selfishly wondered. Surely he would say something. Anything. Was Aziraphale a hugger? He looked like one. Would he try to- No, no. Crowley didn’t even want… Oh, but he did. How he longed to be wrapped in those strong arms, pressed against that soft body. Would he be able to feel the peaks of the blonde curls atop his head, breathe in his scent? Would he be able to hear his steady heartbeat thumping in his chest?

Crowley could deny anything and everything as much as he wanted (and he would!), but there was no hiding the fact that he wanted to be close to Aziraphale. It was a subconscious thing - their bodies were magnets, polar opposites attracting each other. They both tried to fight it, hold back, but eventually they would always snap together. A few times, it had almost broken them.

Crowley was jolted out of his thoughts as Aziraphale joined him in the kitchen, placing a large box of muffins down in a small opening in the endless clutter of the bench.

“All set?” He asked the man, folding his glasses into his breast pocket and wiping sweat from his forehead.

“Hm? Oh, yes, mostly.” The reply was short and simple.

Crowley stepped forwards slightly, and Aziraphale immediately looked panicked, stepping back.

Obviously making him uncomfortable, Crowley froze where he was. “Let’s, uh, load up the chiller van then?”

“Mm.” Aziraphale nodded. “I called the hire company, they said they can drive the load over tonight if we have it ready by 5:00.”

“Okay.” Crowley blew out a breath, putting his hands on his hips, and staring around at the mess of the kitchen. “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.”

They started carrying large tupperware containers, wrapped up bowls, boxes of anything and everything, until the kitchen was almost bare. Both men only brushed shoulders on their way past each other in the hallway, nothing more was said. The radio played softly in the background, though Crowley didn’t think either of them were really listening to it.

Crowley loaded the last box into the van finally, and stayed outside chatting to the bloke who was driving it to London for them while Aziraphale gave the kitchen a wipe down. He stood out back for a few minutes longer than he had to, checking his phone and basking in the golden light of the sunset.

When he started to make his way inside, he heard a soft sound from the kitchen and had to stop in his tracks. He easily recognised the piano melody of Queen’s “Love Of My Life” playing over the radio, but there was something else.

Aziraphale’s sweet humming drifted down the hallway and met Crowley’s ears, giving his heart a pleasant leap. He stayed, feet glued to the floor until the song came to a finish, enjoying every second of the man’s lovely voice.

He cautiously entered the room, earning a jump from Aziraphale. He shouldn’t have said anything, should've just pretended he hadn’t heard anything. But it was Queen! Crowley couldn’t help himself.

“I didn’t know you were a fan of Queen, ‘Ziraphale. Didn’t take you for being into the… you know-”

“-Beebop? It’s not my particular taste, no, but I can certainly appreciate good music when I hear it.” Aziraphale looked at Crowley from the corner of his eye. “It’s a beautiful song.”

“It is.” An almost conversation! It was more than they’d had in weeks, and Crowley would take what he could get.

He didn’t want to push too far, but continuing on the same topic seemed safe. “What do you usually listen to then?”

Aziraphale looked unsure for a second, but he replied. “Oh, you know. Oldies. I have an old-fashioned record player in my flat, and my father left me all of his 50s CD’s.”

The atmosphere between them shifted slightly, some of the uncomfortable tension washing away.

Crowley persisted with careful, incredibly careful conversation for a while, remaining on the topic of music.

He began to help with cleaning the kitchen too, using the opportunity of having the shelves so empty to properly wipe them down. Aziraphale fell into his mindless humming again, to Crowley’s great surprise, and at times he hummed in harmony with the song.

“Where did you learn to do that?” He inquired.

“Do what?”

“You know, the high bits without sounding awful and out of tune.” He gestured upwards with his hand.

This earned a half smile from Aziraphale, and Crowley internally pumped his fist and jumped up and down. He didn’t think too hard about why he liked making the man smile so much, as he suspected he wouldn’t like the answer.

“I was in a church choir for many years growing up.”

Crowley raised his brow. “I didn’t know you were religious.” Uh oh, sensitive territory. Why did he say that? Retreat, retreat!

“Oh, I’m not,” Aziraphale very quickly corrected. “Not anymore, at least. My parents very much were, though. Had hopes of me becoming a religious education teacher, like my father. Imagine what they said when I told them I was going to culinary school.”

Crowley chuckled. This felt good. This felt safe. This felt right.

They fell back into a comfortable silence, (comfortable!), as they finished their work on the room. Once it was spotless, they re-shelved everything and stood back to admire their hard work.

Crowley spotted something blue poking out of a large bowl perched on the overhead shelf. He did a small jump to retrieve it, pulling the bowl to sit slightly hanging over the edge of the shelf.

“What the fuck is this?” Crowley said, failing to hold back a wheeze as he held up an oversized packet of sour gummy worms. “Wait, are these for the wedding? You’re not- You're not going to serve these at the wedding are you? Sour gummy worms? At a bloody wedding-”

“-Obviously not!” Aziraphale snapped defensively, snatching the packet from Crowley. “It’s for the Christmas staff party! Do you seriously think I would serve sour gummy worms at Nina and Maggie’s wedding?”

The way Aziraphale pronounced “sour gummy worms” made Crowley burst out laughing, earning a swat from the blonde man.

“Oh hush!”

“I’m sorry you just- HA-”

“Do you not approve of the sour gummy worms?” Him saying it again made Crowley laugh harder, doubling over. Aziraphale finally cracked a smile. “What?”

“You- Why are you saying it like tha-” Crowley cut himself off with a long throaty wheeze. “You’re going like- PAHAH- ‘suur gommy wahms’- HA!” There were tears in his eyes at this point.

Aziraphale struggled while trying to hold back his own laughter. “I- What do you expect me to do? That’s just how I talk!”

Crowley wiped his eyes with his knuckles. “No, don’t change the way you talk, Angel. Love the way you talk.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as his mouth opened and shut like a goldfish. Crowley cursed his stupid misbehaved mouth and tried to casually pretend like nothing happened.

“Ahem,” Aziraphale cleared his throat awkwardly. “I, uh. Well, if you disapprove of my sour gummy worms so much, would you like to make a snack request? I’m already bringing nice wine for us adults, and perhaps some cheese.”

Now it was Crowley’s turn to stare blankly at the man. He had a feeling Aziraphale realised what he’d said just as quickly as Crowley, but didn’t want to say it out loud. God, did they really have to do this right now?

“You-” Crowley started, scrunching his eyebrows for a second. “You know I won’t be here for Christmas.”

“Ah. Right.” Aziraphale said, after a pause. His gaze was still fixed on Crowley, a sadness in his eyes appearing that hadn’t been there before.

The previous lighthearted feel of their conversation fizzled out. Just as they had once again reached friendliness and fun, the uncomfortable silence washed over the room like a sheet being laid over a freshly made bed. Crowley looked away, not being able to bear the slight disappointment on his face for a second longer. He suddenly wished he had his glasses on.

“You-” Aziraphale started carefully and softly. “You wouldn’t reconsider? Staying?”

Crowley jolted in surprise at the small crack in his voice on the last word. Aziraphale looked down, continuing.

“I- I know we talked about it before, and you said-”

“-And I stand by that,” He butted in. God, this was going to sting. “You know I can’t stay.”

Something seemed to switch in Aziraphale, and the sadness in his expression flickered into frustration.

“No, Crowley, I don’t! Because you never told me why! I don’t know what you think will happen if you stay, but just know that-”

“-Aziraphale!” Crowley’s voice raised to a warning roar. “I can’t.” It hurt to choke out the words, but what came next would hurt even more.

“I don’t want to,” He lied.

It took every ounce of strength in his body to look Aziraphale in the eye, and act like he meant it. He kept his face as neutral as possible, strongly holding his gaze and praying that the man would look away before he broke.

Aziraphale didn’t.

“I don’t believe you.” A fraction of a step closer.

“Oh, you’d better believe me,” Crowley spat out. “I’ve been wanting out of this place since I arrived, you know that.”

“Liar. You love it here. I know that.”

“You don’t know anything about me!” Crowley surged forward, towering over Aziraphale. “Don’t fucking pretend to know me.” He jammed a finger into the man’s chest weakly, courage faltering when he registered how close they were standing.

Aziraphale scoffed at him. “You’re a right idiot if you think I don’t know you. Every day for almost six months I’ve spent with you, and I see you-”

“-Don’t see me! I don’t fucking want you to see me! What I fucking want is for me to leave and to never set foot in this place again!”

Deep. Make the words cut deep. It’s for the better.

“I hate it here!” He yelled, throwing up his arms and backing away. “I hate the stupid oven, and the stupid cupboards, and the stupid… everything! And most of all, I hate every god-awful moment that I’ve had to spend in it with you.”

He was breathless now, having to pause for a moment.

Aziraphale’s expression switched in an instant. “Fine. Be like that then.”

“I’m not being like anything.” Crowley countered, for some stupid reason not ending the conversation there and then. “This is the same as I’ve always been-”

“-No, this is you having an immature and childish-”

“-Childish?!-”

“-tantrum for God knows what reason, instead of just being nice and civil so we can enjoy the wedding.”

Crowley couldn’t help his mouth from hanging open in a confused gape. “Wha- You’re the one who’s been fucking childish lately! You’ve barely even spoken to me Aziraphale, I thought we were past this!”

“We are past it. We’re speaking right now.”

“It’s like you’ve been avoiding me!” Crowley stood for a moment, holding his gaze, before his eyes dropped to the ground. “And I don’t fucking know what I did wrong.” The words spilled out without Crowley thinking about it, and he instantly cringed when he realised what he said.

Aziraphale softened, obvious regret and realisation crossing his face. “Oh Crowley. I-” He stepped forward, unconsciously reaching his hands out. As soon as he saw what he was doing, he froze in his tracks. His face looked almost pained. Eventually he dropped his hands to his sides and sighed. “I just-”

“-No, honestly forget it. Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it.” Crowley stood, tapping his foot. His hands clenched into fists as he tried to stop himself from saying what he really wanted to. Shutup, shutup, don’t say anything more-

“I’m just sick and fucking tired of the back and forth, Aziraphale!” Fuckkk, shut the fuck up-. “One second you hate me, the next you’re at my doorstep in the middle of the night. You can’t- God, you can’t fall asleep on my couch and then come to work the next day like nothing happened!”

“I…” Aziraphale breathed helplessly.

“And it was shit at the start, I know, I was shit. And I’m… sorry, I really am. But, you know, it got better, and we were okay! Or, I don’t know, at least we were getting there.”

His words had completely escaped from his grasp, and he was so sick of holding them back, so he let them pour out without restraint.

“But the second-” Crowley held up a finger, and he was shocked to realise that it was shaking. “The second I show a sliver of emotion, open up the tiniest bit, you shut me out completely! Don’t you understand that it was a really fucking hard thing for me to do, and for you to just- To just…”

He tried so hard to keep his composure, but it was slipping with every word that passed from his lips.

Aziraphale looked mortified, shaking his head and failing to form sentences. “You- Please, I-”

“-Just make up your fucking mind Aziraphale, because it’s not fucking fair-”

Crowley couldn’t finish his sentence, because Aziraphale was kissing him. Aziraphale was kissing him.

Oh. Oh.

There was a hand gripping the front of his shirt, reeling him in, and another fisted in his hair. Every sensible thought in Crowley’s mind was catapulted away as soon as he felt the lightest tug at his scalp, and he collapsed into the kiss.

He surged forward, hands flying to cup Aziraphale’s face, sending them both crashing against the nearest vertical thing. Oh. So this was- This was the- Oh. All the times Aziraphale had left the room as soon as Crowley entered. Every time he had seemed cold, or angry, or wound up. Every little twitch of his fingers, every tiny thread or speck of fucking dust he fiddled with when he was around him, it was all…

Aziraphale gasped at the intensity of Crowley suddenly kissing back, and he used the opportunity to retreat slightly and come back in even harder. Everything on the bench shook dangerously as it bore their weight. Crowley kissed him desperately, hard and fast and over and over, like he had been starving for months. In a way, he had. It was only in the moment their lips met that he realised that he had been craving this since the day he met the man, and if he had any control over his thoughts, he would have wondered how he had survived so long without it.

God, it was so good. It felt so fucking good, and so fucking right, and he never ever wanted to let go of him ever-

The feel of Aziraphale’s tongue swiping along his bottom lip made Crowley’s knees go weak, a small whimper sounded at the back of his throat. He needed more, more Aziraphale, Aziraphale closer- He eagerly opened his mouth to let the man explore further inside.
His eyes rolled back in his head and a shiver passed through his entire body when he felt the soft sweet nip of a tongue caressing his own. Oh- Oh fuck-

And it was like this was it, everything that had happened since the first moment they laid eyes on each other had led up to this very moment, and it was- Oh God, it was so-

And he tasted so much like… Aziraphale. Crowley wanted to bottle the intoxicating feel of the man’s mouth against his own, digest it in a way that would leave him dizzy and drunk. He feared that now that he’d gotten a taste he would never be able to stop, and he was already breathless but it was too good, and he just had to keep going and going-

Crowley pressed the blonde man further into the bench top as he licked into his mouth, practically bending him over it. Panting and soft moaning filled the room, and Crowley was appalled to discover that the crude noises were mostly coming from him. Both men gripped frantically at each other, getting fistfuls of fabric and hair and hot skin, each trying to hold the other as close as possible. Aziraphale’s hand found Crowley’s ass and squeezed, and Crowley made a noise he didn’t even know he could make.

The blonde man finally broke the kiss for a breath, leaning them forwards and burying his face in Crowley’s neck. He pressed his hot mouth against it repeatedly, trailing up towards his jawline. Crowley moaned louder now, throwing his head back and digging his fingers into where they were clutching the man’s back.

“You torturous, torturous man,” Aziraphale whispered against his skin, low and breathy. Coming back up to Crowley’s mouth, he kissed it, slow and deliberate. “Don’t you know what you do to me?”

The tone of Aziraphale’s voice shot straight down into Crowley’s pants. He kissed him harder.

In a flurry of movement, Crowley found himself suddenly the one being pressed into the bench top, a pair of hands holding him sternly down by his hips. Aziraphale rocked into him, letting out a low groan into his mouth.

“Mh- We can’t-” Crowley tried to say, breathless.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” Aziraphale warned, the hands on his hips loosening their grasp.

Crowley’s hands flew to Aziraphale’s waist desperately, pulling him closer to press his hardness against him once more. “Oh, God- Fuck- Don’t you dare stop.”

Aziraphale smiled and kissed him, sharp and hungry. Crowley began to back them into another bench top, frantically untucking the other man’s shirt and dipping his fingertips under his waistband, up the back of his shirt, feeling hot skin under them. He felt hands fiddling with his own jeans, and the unzipping of them brought sweet relief to the rock hard tent in his boxers.

Suddenly, a deafening crash echoed throughout the room, jolting both men from their kiss-drunk haze.

Aziraphale leapt away, hands flying to his head, and looked over his shoulder.

The large overhead shelf had collapsed on one side, sending large metal bowls and stored cutlery tumbling down over Aziraphale’s head, only barely missing him. He looked to have gotten an enormous fright, but Crowley couldn’t help but take a second to admire how Aziraphale looked - so undone, well kissed, desperately hard and beautiful. His hair was roughed up in a way that Crowley had never seen before, and all he could think was that he did that.

Aziraphale slowly pulled his hand from the back of his head, and Crowley saw that his fingers were covered in thick red blood.

His heart sank.

This had to be a sign. A warning. Aziraphale wasn’t safe with him. 

Good lord, he couldn’t sleep with Aziraphale, what the fuck had he been thinking? He obviously hadn’t been. How could he have been so stupid and selfish to allow himself to think that even for a second he could do anything like that with Aziraphale. No matter how good it felt. No matter how perfectly their lips fit together, or hips moved together, or how they balanced each other so well, or how much he wanted to rip the man’s clothes off and have him against the kitchen wall-

Fuck, fuck, fuck! Curse the fucking world! As soon as he found one damn thing that made him happy, it just had to take it away!

Crowley wanted to shout, to fucking scream at the sky, demand answers from a God he didn’t even believe in. How could the world be so cruel? What did he do to deserve this? What did all of those innocent people do to deserve their fate?

For fucks sakes, Crowley actually wanted to fight for this. For Aziraphale, for his own happiness. For the first time in his miserable life, he could see a fucking future here, at this place, with these people! He could see morning coffee with Anathema, a prank war with Adam, taking everyone out for a ride in the Bentley one day. He could see himself laughing with them all, sharing stories and drinks, being a real part of their team. Going to their stupid Christmas party, eating the stupid sour gummy worms. 

But most of all, he could see a future with Aziraphale. He could see them falling in love - as if he wasn’t already head over fucking heels - he could see them waking up together, going to bed together, cuddling Annie. God, he could see him at his fantasy fucking vineyard wedding, grinning like an idiot with tears streaming down his face, offering out a silver ring to match his own gold one.

He wanted it. He wanted it so fucking bad, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.

But as he stood there, lip trembling and tears welling in his eyes, he was reminded just how small he was. Just how powerless. There was nothing he could do. He would always lose.

“I’m sorry. This was a mistake.” His voice broke, and he fled from the room.

He ran. Of course he ran, because it was all he knew how to do.

Chapter Text

He left. He left. Crowley left.

Aziraphale was abandoned to stand in total disbelief in the middle of the kitchen. He was so confused. Like a child who had lost his favourite toy, and didn’t understand why he couldn’t just have it back.

Crowley had wanted it too, hadn’t he? Had Aziraphale been too forward? Was he wrong for assuming?

‘Oh, God- Fuck- Don’t you dare stop-’

The way he had kissed back so passionately, pushed the proof of just how much he wanted Aziraphale against his thigh- He had to have wanted it, wanted him, surely…

‘I’m sorry. This was a mistake.’

It was fine. It was okay. It wasn’t like Aziraphale couldn’t handle rejection, especially when he had done something so thoughtless and reckless like that- It was fine. They would just… not talk about it. How were they not supposed to talk about it? They would just… have to pretend it didn’t happen. For the weekend. After that, Crowley would be gone. It was fine.

Something about the thought twisted Aziraphale’s stomach, and he had to take a deep breath to regain his composure. He was suddenly very aware of the mess that he was surrounded in, and the utterly wrecked state he was in. A ghost of arousal still lingered in his trousers, beads of cooling sweat on his forehead from previously being so out of breath, and a sticky red wetness was pooling in his hair. He reached up once again and gently pressed two fingers to the wound, wincing as he felt a throbbing sensation shoot down his spine.

He walked, almost in a trance, to the staff bathroom to clean himself up. The gash on the top of his head wasn’t deep, and after simply clearing the maroon blood in his hair away, he found that pressing some frozen peas to it helped greatly. He tried desperately to push down the memories of everything that had happened, and even more so the feelings they brought with them. Aziraphale shouldn’t be feeling these feelings. But they wouldn’t go away.

~

He didn’t sleep.

He tossed and turned in his bed till the early hours of the morning, where he might have shut his eyes for a second or an hour before his blaring alarm startled him awake.

He didn’t allow himself to think while he finished packing his things, brushing his teeth, and drinking his tea. He didn’t allow himself to think while he paced around the kitchen, waiting for the text that the van was here to pick him up. He didn’t allow himself to think when he threw his luggage in the trunk and stepped into said van, though his betraying heart skipped a beat when he saw Crowley sitting, leaning against the window.

He looked just as messy as Aziraphale felt; hair tied back in a messy half bun, sweatpants and a zip up hoodie hanging loosely off his limbs, and headphones dangling in each ear. His position in the seat could only barely be described as sitting, and if Aziraphale was allowing himself to think, he would have thought that he must’ve been missing some bones in order to bend in such a way.

Adam, Wensleydale, Pepper, and Brian sat in the four seats at the very back of the van. They had a large blanket stretched across their laps, and armfuls of packeted chips and chocolates, despite it only being a 4 hour car trip. They all waved and smiled at Aziraphale when they saw him, mouths full, and looking much too lively for how early in the morning it was.

Crowley was in the middle row, which had three seats, and was shuffled as close to the window as possible. His backpack was shoved on the seat next to him, a coffee cup in his hand. He didn’t look up when Aziraphale entered the van, but his body slightly jolted, almost flinching.

Anathema stretched across the two seats closest to the front, clutching a silk pillow to her chest and scrolling through her phone. She gave a brief smile, but made no effort to move over and make room for Aziraphale. Which meant that the only seat was next to… Of course it was.

The driver, a balding man who looked to be in his late thirties turned to give a friendly wave, before driving off once everyone was seated. He tried to make small talk at first, but once he realised that all the adults were much too tired to answer politely, and the teenagers were too engrossed in their phones and snacks, he quickly stopped. Aziraphale felt bad for him, but not enough to try and strike up a conversation. He looked the type to try convince you of some strange conspiracy theory.

Aziraphale tried to ignore the man beside him, focusing instead on a book he had brought to pass the time. He soon felt a bit ill, and had to keep his eyes forward while driving. The countryside was beautiful, and the more they drove, the more the sun peered out from behind the clouds, illuminating the fields in a bright green glow.

Crowley’s side had a much nicer view, but Aziraphale refused to look in that direction.

~

They ended up arriving around 30 minutes later than expected - only because no one timed their liquid consumption right, and they all had to use the restroom at different times. Crowley, in particular, had needed to stop multiple times to use the loo, buy a snack from the petrol station, or grab something from his bag.

When they eventually made it to their destination, the van went silent as the driver approached the address, glimpses of the most beautiful house Aziraphale had ever seen poking out from behind a tall and well kept hedge. Large metal gates swung open and allowed them to enter the grounds, finally providing a full and unobstructed view of the house.

It was well and truly an estate, there was simply no other way to describe it. The off-white brick walls looked to be almost brand new, and if it weren’t for the miles of ivy climbing up them, Aziraphale would have thought they were freshly painted. The greenery surrounding the building was impeccably kept, and the lawns luscious and bright. It looked to be three, even four stories high, and Aziraphale couldn’t even count how many windows were at the front of the house.

The garden was something else entirely, and Aziraphale instantly understood why Nina and Maggie wanted to have their ceremony there. Bursts of fluorescent colour covered almost the entire surface area of the place, in a way that could never be overpowering, only gorgeous. Every type of flower he could imagine must’ve been in that garden, and he hoped he would have time for a stroll in it later.

The Them were absolutely beside themselves, and lost it even more when a butler came out to greet them and take their bags. He mentally noted that everyone had brought only a small duffel bag or suitcase - this seemed appropriate for the two nights they were staying - except for Crowley, who had for some reason brought a backpack and an incredibly large suitcase, absolutely plastered with “FRAGILE” tape.

What a ridiculous man, he thought, and then scolded himself, for he was not meant to be thinking of Crowley

They all trailed in awe behind the butler - Kevin - as they were led through the house to their rooms. The inside looked like something straight out of a Jane Austen novel, and Aziraphale could’ve been in heaven. All he needed was some 18th century style clothing and he could have well and truly lived every fantasy of his in that house.

“The estate was a hotel in the late 19th century. Every room has its own ensuite and kitchenette, along with a laundry chute,” Kevin said matter of factly, hints of a Welsh accent coming through. Aziraphale raised his eyebrows excitedly and wanted to look at Crowley, whom he was sure would be equally as impressed with the news of individual ensuites. But he couldn’t, so instead he directed his attention to the floor, and kept walking.

When they arrived to the other side of the house on the second floor, the adults stood and peered down a long hallway while Pepper and Adam bustled past them to run down it, trying to peek into every room. They eventually found a door with all of their names on it, and beckoned Wensleydale and Brian to come. They were promptly followed by a man wheeling a small trolley of their bags.

Anathema was across the hall from them, in a dainty room with a plush looking double bed. She happily plopped her bags on the bed and instantly turned the shower on, kicking the bathroom door shut behind her.

There were still a couple of hours until the beginning of the wedding, and they all looked to be in need of a long shower and rest - Anathema definitely had the right idea. Crowley trailed behind Aziraphale and Kevin to the very end of the corridor, where they had been assigned the last two rooms that happened to be across the hall from each other. Crowley went into his without another word, dragging his abnormally large suitcase behind him, but Aziraphale noticed he left his door open a crack.

When he lay down on his own bed, he found that he could see directly into the other man’s room - right where his suitcase was set on the foot of the queen bed. He shouldn’t have been watching, but he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away as Crowley carefully unzipped it, pulling out something that looked oddly like a… like a…

The next thing Aziraphale knew, Crowley was cradling a slim black cat - bigger than when he’d last seen it, but still unmistakably Annie.

He let his mouth drop open as the man pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and the tip of her nose, then fed her a treat from between his thumb and forefinger.

Aziraphale was on his feet in a second, across the hall before he could even think about what he was doing.

The man and the animal in his arms both startled as the door swung open abruptly, and God did they look alike-

“Tell me you didn’t.” Aziraphale said warningly.

Crowley leapt to his feet. “Not. Another. Word.”

“Tell me you did not bring your cat to Nina and Maggie’s wedding.”

Crowley turned his head slightly, but kept his eye trained on Aziraphale. “I didn’t bring my cat to Nina and Maggie’s wedding.”

Aziraphale’s breath escaped him and his mouth opened and shut like a goldfish as he helplessly gestured to the cat - who was clearly at Nina and Maggie’s wedding.

“What did you want me to do? I can’t leave her alone for a whole weekend, who would feed her?”

“You ask someone to do that! Or hire them!”

“She’s very high maintenance.”

Aziraphale bit his lip hard and blinked slowly. He considered fighting - remembered how that ended last time - then promptly decided that he couldn’t be bothered even a little bit.

“I am not getting involved with this. I never saw that cat here,” He pointed at Annie. “In fact, I’ve never seen that cat in my life!”

He swiftly turned away, crossed the corridor, slammed his door, and face planted onto his bed.

~

The afternoon sun lit up the sweetly decorated room that Aziraphale was assigned to. After a brief shower and getting ready, he checked himself over once more in the mirror, smoothing out his black suit and bow tie, and running a hand through his untamed hair. Whatever he did to it seemed to just mess it up further, so he eventually let his fluffy curls blow freely in the breeze.

He didn’t tend to wear black - it wasn’t really his colour - but he could admit that he did pull it off quite well on a special occasion. It contrasted his pale skin, blue eyes and light hair - making all of those features stand out stunningly. Anathema had combed a bit of clear mascara through his fine lashes, defining them slightly more. She had said that he looked lovely, and he’d blushed slightly. He did look quite lovely.

After a final check around the room to see if he had everything he needed for the day, Aziraphale opened the door. Across the hall, at the exact same time, Crowley’s door swung open as well.

Aziraphale’s heart dropped. Or leaped. Or stopped. He couldn’t tell.

Crowley looked devastatingly handsome, that was something he could tell. Aziraphale couldn’t stop his eyes from raking over the man standing in front of him - his jet black suit and shirt clung to his body in all the right places, cinching his waist perfectly. His hair flowed almost to his shoulders now, very obviously having been styled to curl in some places and look silky smooth in the others. A single strand fell across his face, and all Aziraphale wanted to do was reach out and tuck it behind his ear.

When he looked closer, he could see a smudge of eyeliner in the corner of Crowley’s waterline, accentuating his gorgeous eyes - gorgeous eyes which were out, visible, uncovered by glasses! Those gorgeous eyes went very wide when he registered who was standing before him, and he quickly turned away (revealing an ear full of piercings that had not been filled before with more than simple studs). Aziraphale noticed Crowley flex his ring decorated hand at his side.

At this, Aziraphale too was snapped out of his trance. He hurriedly shut his door behind him, embarrassed that he had been staring so openly. To be fair, Crowley had been staring right back.

When he turned back around, Crowley was two steps closer. He had his mouth open, like he was about to say something. His amber eyes flickered down to Aziraphale’s lips, and lingered there for a beat. Aziraphale’s chest went tight, overwhelmingly aware that he knew exactly what Crowley was thinking.

He hadn’t realised that they had been slowly moving closer together until he could feel Crowley’s breath on him. The other man seemed to realise at the same moment, and they both abruptly took a step back, looking anywhere in the hall but each other.

“Y’ look nice.” Crowley’s voice was a croaky whisper.

Aziraphale’s eyebrows pinched together for a second in a pained wince, face turned away so Crowley couldn’t see. “Don’t.”

Oh. He hadn’t realised quite how mad he was at Crowley. He supposed he hadn’t allowed himself to think about it. The hostile tone of his words certainly gave away more than Aziraphale knew he felt.

“Right- I’m sorry. I…” Crowley trailed off.

Aziraphale walked away, really not wanting to hear anything more.

~

Thanks to Crowley’s planning ahead, they had all of the catering prepared and simply waiting to be heated and served at the wedding reception - buffet style. Everything was designed so that the staff could enjoy as much of the wedding as possible with minimal working. Aziraphale was ecstatic, and often forgot that he was supposed to be on the clock. The rest of the staff were well aware of this, and took care of everything where they could, leaving Aziraphale to bask in the “happy wedding feeling”, as he’d described it.

The ceremony was held in that gorgeous garden, with Nina and Maggie both looking as beautiful as ever. The brides were polar opposites in almost every way - yet somehow they fit together perfectly. Sometimes, Aziraphale wondered if that was where he went wrong; all of his past relationships were with men so similar to him. He remembered one - Gabriel, who he shared the same values with, the same profession, wore the same kinds of clothes, did the same kinds of things. At first, Aziraphale thought that having so many things in common was a good thing, but after a while it just felt like he was dating himself. Plus, Gabriel had been awful in the sack.

But with someone so different to himself, perhaps it wouldn’t have been like that. None of his relationships had ever made it as far as even talking of a wedding, but that didn’t stop Aziraphale from thinking about it. He would imagine all of the people he loved being in one room, and how full his heart would feel. He would imagine it being miles away from any church - maybe outdoors somewhere; a beach or a vineyard perhaps. He never could picture any of his ex-boyfriends in this scenario (that probably could tell a lot about the relationships), but he held out hope that someday he could have it.

That hope had been stamped on, kicked out, burnt to hang precariously by its very last thread but somehow a tiny spark of it still flickered, somewhere deep in Aziraphale. If he really thought about it, it had gotten a little stronger around 6 months ago.

Aziraphale had to wipe his tears multiple times during the heartfelt ceremony: when the flower girl walked down the aisle, when Nina and Maggie said their vows, when they both sobbed through “I do’s”, when they finally kissed, and when he saw Nina’s father holding back tears himself. Pepper snickered at him from a few seats over, and Aziraphale tried to poke his tongue out at her playfully - instead earning an offended look from the lady beside him, and making Pepper laugh even harder.

He sat on the opposite end of the row to Crowley - separated by Pepper, Adam, Wensleydale, Brian, Anathema, an old couple and their lap dog, and a snobby looking woman in her 20’s. There had been a seat next to Crowley, with the rest of the staff, and Anathema had given him a curious look when he had chosen not to take it.

During the reception, however, they were assigned to sit next to each other, so he couldn’t avoid that. He couldn’t avoid the way their knees brushed occasionally under the table. He definitely couldn’t avoid the way his stomach fluttered at the small touch. Couldn’t avoid the way his cheeks heated when he felt Crowley's gaze on his lips, closing around a mouthful of pasta. He couldn’t help but drag the fork out extra slowly, letting out a muffled moan of appreciation and letting his eyelids flutter shut.

It was only a little bit on purpose - Aziraphale was very much enjoying being able to sit down and savour his cooking. Anathema had shooed Crowley and Aziraphale off when they’d tried to help with tending to the buffet, telling them “you two have done your bit; go enjoy the bloody wedding!”

They now sat in silence, except for the occasional time Aziraphale attempted to make small talk with his neighbour. He tried not to look over at Crowley, but the few times his eyes betrayed him, the man was already staring intently at him. He would go red at being caught and hastily look away, but he would be doing the exact same thing the next time.

Aziraphale scanned the room, decorated with greenery and flowers abundantly. The brides were occupied chatting to another couple - and Aziraphale silently noted that this was much more than a small wedding. He wanted to tell Crowley this, just so he could point out to the man that they were right in preparing so much food (and that it’d been Aziraphale’s idea), but he didn’t.

He had mostly succeeded in not thinking about the incident (should he call it that? There must be a better word for it), but it was hard not to. Not when every glimpse of Crowley made his heart soar, then plummet to the ground. He needed to distance himself.

Alcohol. Alcohol will help.

He promptly stood up and rushed over to the bar, where he spent a long while.

~

“Anthony Crowley? Is that you?”

Aziraphale watched from afar as Crowley whirled around upon hearing his name. An older man with a scraggly beard approached, grinning widely and drunkenly at him. Aziraphale was far too curious not to listen in to the conversation, and far too tipsy to think better of it. He stepped slightly to the side, so he could get a better view of Crowley and the man who had called out to him, but also look occupied with the cake table in front of him.

“Christ, spitting image of your father, you are,” Aziraphale heard the older man say in a cheerful voice. “I saw you at the funeral, but you were so much younger then. Now you’re a proper clone of ‘im.”

Crowley let out a dry and empty chuckle. “So I’m told. Did you, ah, know him well?”

“Oh, I went way back with your father,” He said, making a big hand gesture with both arms, clutching a wine glass in each. “And you, in a way, I suppose. Looked after you right after you was born!”

Aziraphale could see Crowley’s face twist into almost a wince, the polite smile he was previously wearing vanished. He looked like he was… bracing himself for something, an impact?

The older man continued to speak loudly, but Aziraphale couldn’t take his eyes off Crowley. “Was there for him when your mum died. Grief really fucked ‘im up, didn’t it? He wouldn’t even hold you, even though you was just a newborn. I changed your nappies for about a year before he hired a sitter.” Crowley was staring straight through him, expression completely unreadable. Aziraphale wondered vaguely what on Earth he was talking about.

The man took a long drink from his glass. “He thought it was all your fault, you know, Lilith’s death. Stupid man. I don’t think he ever stopped blaming you for it.”
There it was. The impact Crowley had been waiting for. He could see the pained grimace rip through Crowley’s expression, as though the man had poked a sore wound. Aziraphale wished he had braced himself for it too, because he was not at all prepared for the way that his heart dropped to his feet upon hearing the words.

Oh, Crowley, he thought.

“Uh, I suppose not really…” Crowley was looking down at his feet, and rubbing desperately next to his eyebrow in an effort to cover some of his face. The oblivious man kept yapping away, and Aziraphale couldn’t even fathom why he had just said all of that to Crowley. Was he stupid?

“He just went around throwing all the blame on you, didn’t he!” The man laughed, though nothing was funny. “He told me about all your jobs, too. That one that burned down, and the next one that went bankrupt. Oh, oh! And all those bosses of yours that died suddenly! God, I hope you’re not superstitious, because if I were you, I’d think I was the one that-”

Crowley had stopped looking down all of a sudden, and was now staring straight at Aziraphale. He looked terrified. Time seemed to stop around them. There were at least 15 people between them, moving and bustling about, but they all disappeared as soon as the man looked at him. The look in his eyes was something so raw and vulnerable, and it felt almost too much for Aziraphale to bare.

Before he knew what he was doing, Aziraphale raced forward to where the two men were standing. Crowley’s mouth dropped open, and he looked like he was trying to speak, but no words could come out. His lower lip trembled slightly, and he quickly bit it, the tiniest well of tears forming in the corner of his eye.

Aziraphale’s heart broke for him in that very moment, and all he could think was that he needed to get Crowley out of there, fast.

“Darling?” He interrupted, voice slightly wavering, but he reached out to Crowley with confidence. “It’s our song! We simply must dance, come along.” Aziraphale had never heard the song in his life, but it had only just started playing, and he said the first thing that came to his mind.

He didn’t have to say a single word more, Crowley instantly reached out and clutched Aziraphale’s outstretched hands. He let himself be hastily led to the dance floor, and practically collapsed into Aziraphale when he arranged them into a gentle, swaying, slow dance.

Aziraphale just held his hand tightly, rocking them side to side in time with the song. He didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to push Crowley away, so he just held on. And Crowley held back.

That certain night,

The night we met,

There was magic abroad in the air…

“How much of that did you hear?” Crowley’s voice came out in a small whisper, right into Aziraphale’s ear.

“…Most of it,” Aziraphale said after a pause, and that told Crowley everything he needed to know. He felt the man breathe deeply, in and out, and settle ever so slightly further into Aziraphale. “I’m so sorry, Crowley.”

Crowley shook his head, and Aziraphale could feel it rustle the hair on the side of his own head. “It’s fine. Long time ago now.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, pained. How could he help? He could finally see now, how broken the man in his arms was. He had hidden it so well for all this time. The back of Aziraphale’s mind was piecing it all together like a puzzle, everything about Crowley that he didn’t understand before finally making sense.

“Have you been checked by a doctor? There could be internal bleeding, or-”

“I’m not good.”

“I can’t stay. You know I can’t stay.”

“I am not nice!”

“You don’t know anything about me!”

“The second I show a sliver of emotion you shut me out completely! Don’t you understand that it was a really fucking hard thing for me to do-”

Oh, Crowley.

“It’s not your fault.” Aziraphale’s voice was soft, but sure. When Crowley still didn’t reply after four long beats, he repeated it, firmer this time. “It’s not your fault.”

He felt Crowley grow still under him. Aziraphale cautiously pulled back, keeping a hand on his back and the other still tightly clutching Crowley’s. The pain in his eyes made Aziraphale melt, and he had to fight the tears that were coming to his own.

“Has anyone ever told you that, Crowley? It’s not your fault. None of it was your fault.”

Crowley took a shaky breath. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t stop looking at Aziraphale.

“What your father said, what he blamed you for, he was wrong. He was so wrong.”

“I- I know.”

“Do you?”

“Maybe.” His gorgeous, sad eyes darted all across Aziraphale’s face. “Not really,” He said, and he sounded so broken.

Crowley leaned back into Aziraphale with almost his full body weight. They were barely dancing now, just ever so slightly swaying and tightly clutching each other in the middle of the dance floor.

When you turned and smiled at me,

A nightingale sang in Berkeley Square…

“Do you think I’m crazy?” Crowley eventually said.

“Never,” Aziraphale replied quickly. “You’re not crazy.”

“But all the people that-”

“-You can’t blame yourself. Please, you can’t blame yourself, it’s not your fault. It’s cruel, and utterly tragic, but nothing more than a coincidence.”

Crowley paused. “I can’t just… I can’t just stop blaming myself after all these years. It doesn’t work like that.”

Aziraphale hesitated, unsure what to do. “I need some fresh air. Do you want to come outside?” He asked. There was a moment of silence before Crowley answered. “Yeah, okay.”

They found themselves sitting on the ledge of a water fountain deep in the garden, far enough away so that the music was a whisper of a beat.

“Do you want to- Would it help to talk about it?” Aziraphale tried, voice just above a whisper.

“I don’t know.” Crowley admitted. “I’ve never told anyone before. No one- No one knows it all.”

“You don’t have to. But you can try with me. If you want.” He looked over to where Crowley seemed to be contemplating the offer, brows furrowed in thought.

“Turn around,” He said after a beat.

Aziraphale complied, twisting so he was sitting on the ledge facing away from Crowley, pulling his legs up to balance cross-legged. He heard Crowley move behind him into what he assumed would be a similar position. For a few seconds they both sat in the silence and stillness of it, until a shuffle came from behind Aziraphale and he felt a warm back press against his own. He leaned back into it slightly, and his heart warmed at the deliberate touch.

They both basked in the comfort of it for a while, more than a minute, until Crowley found his voice.

“It, uh, it started with mum, I guess.” It was clear that the words were painful for him to say, and Aziraphale waited patiently through each hesitation and pause, each break and crack in his voice.

“There were complications with the birth, I think. On my end, I was being stubborn and not wanting to come out.” Crowley let out a dry breath that could have almost been a laugh. “She ended up losing too much blood and, uh, passing.” He swallowed. “Dad went absolutely mental. Just totally shut down, shut everyone out. He must’ve been properly depressed, and I suppose he never got any help for it. He just drank and drank. Wouldn’t go near me, even as a kid, cause I was the one that killed his wife.”

Aziraphale wound his hands tightly together in his lap, and pressed against Crowley’s back ever so slightly more to let him know that he was listening.

“Everything was always my fault. I just accepted it eventually, learned to take the blame and the belt that came with it. I was working as soon as I could, needed to make my own money for school books and what not. Usually had 2 or 3 different gigs at the same time, which was alright, cause it meant I could get out of the house. And then I guess because of dad, whenever something went wrong at the jobs I just assumed it was my fault.” Crowley said it all so casually, just like how he usually spoke, but there was an extra layer to it - something else painful and raw under the surface.

“And then as I kept working all these horrible things started to happen. One of my managers died in this freak accident, another of my jobs burned down in a fire out of the blue. Stuff like that. Then I made friends with co-workers once - Hastur and Ligur. We went out for drinks one time and they were hit by a drunk driver on the way home.” There was a break in Crowley’s voice, and he had to take a deep breath before continuing.

“It’s just all this stuff was happening, this terrible stuff, and the only thing it had in common was me.” His voice was all wobbly now, and Aziraphale had a feeling he had given up on holding back the tears. “And then I came to Eden Street, and I knew I couldn’t stay long. But I was a fucking idiot and I got attached anyways and-” He paused, sniffing a bit. “There was a while where I thought it might be alright. I might’ve been able to stay and it would be fine. But then you got in that car crash and I just- And then last night, as soon as we… You know, you got hurt. I never wanted you to get hurt.”

Aziraphale felt his own hot tears flowing down his cheek. He didn’t even know he was crying until the first tear struck his face. He reached a hand back to make some kind of contact with Crowley, anything, just to say what he couldn’t with words. He found the man’s shoulder, then his arm, then his hand. Interlocking their fingers, he gave two firm squeezes, and leaned his head back to rest against Crowley’s. “You didn’t hurt me.”

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, but was probably no longer than a few minutes. The sun had fully set now, the air was getting colder, but they both stayed miraculously warm. A gentle breeze washed over them, rustling the flowers in the garden and slowly drying the tears from their eyes.

“That was- That was okay.” Crowley said, after a long while. “It felt good. To talk.”

“Oh, I’m- that’s really good.” Aziraphale paused, then spoke again, quietly. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you- you felt you could trust me with all of this.”

”I think I might trust you more than anyone.”

Aziraphale didn’t reply, just held tighter onto Crowley’s hand. He felt something warm blossom in his chest that hadn’t been there before. Something he hadn’t truly felt in a long time. It was beautiful, and aching, and overwhelming in all of his senses.

He hoped, for a dangerous fleeting second, that Crowley might feel it too.

Chapter Text

Crowley basked in the quiet of the night for a while longer, and Aziraphale went back inside. His brain had gone blank; he didn’t know at all what to think of what had just happened.

Aziraphale was- Oh, Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was probably, most likely, almost definitely a real life angel. He was Crowley’s guardian, he had saved him when he needed him most. Even when he was still sour from harsh rejection, most likely furious with him, (and rightfully so), he had been there.

He had been there, with understanding and patience as Crowley had let his darkest secrets pour out, his most shameful tears flow. He hadn’t called him crazy. He hadn’t told him it was all his fault. He’d sat, and listened, and held his goddamn hand, and just been there.

Crowley realised, all of a sudden, that was all he wanted. For someone to be there. For Aziraphale to be there.

He sat with that thought for a while. It was heavy, the realisation, but the acceptance of it made him feel as light as a feather. Eventually he had to think how long it was appropriate to stay outside for, and how long he had until someone would come looking. He even calculated the quickest route back to his room via the bar, but eventually decided that he would get stuck talking to someone, and it was no use getting his hopes up.

Crowley was perfectly right in this assumption, because as soon as he walked in the door, his stride was interrupted by a bouncy Pepper and Adam, both with wide eyes.

“Crowley, Crowley! Can you get us a drink from the bar?” Pepper pleaded.

He could help but laugh out loud. “If by drink you mean a lovely glass of ice cold lemonade, then by all means, follow me!”

She groaned. “No! Like a beer or something. Or anything alcoholic really, we’re not fussy.”

“You’re funny. No.” Crowley smiled sweetly at them.

“Please!” Adam said. “I’ll give you 20 bucks!”

“You’re seventeen! Aziraphale would kill me," Crowley muttered, scanning the room for the man.

“Come on! My mum lets me drink sometimes at home!” Pepper reasoned.

“Do I look like your mother?” He deadpanned.

Pepper’s face folded into genuine thought as she looked Crowley up and down. The man scoffed, not unkindly. “Actually, don’t answer that.”

“Ugh fine,” Adam said, poking his tongue out at Crowley and grabbing Pepper's arm. “Let’s go ask that bloke over there,” was the final whisper Crowley heard before the two teenagers disappeared into the crowd.

“Good luck!” Crowley called sarcastically after them, knowing that there was no chance in hell of them finding someone to buy them a drink. He felt a warmness in his chest - he really did adore those idiots.

He all of a sudden felt a bit awkward, standing there by himself. Everyone else in the room was dancing with a partner, or talking with a group, and Crowley seemed to be the only one on his own. Huffing, he shoved his hands in his pockets and began to stalk around the room, trying not to be too obvious as he searched desperately for someone he knew - preferably Aziraphale.

“Hey! Crowley, over here!” Maggie’s voice rang loud over all the background noise, and he turned to see her standing next to her wife and Aziraphale, waving vigorously at him. Her lopsided smile screamed drunk in every way possible.

Crowley’s face cracked into his own tipsy smile at the sight, and he wandered over. He instantly took his place next to Aziraphale, just as Nina stood by Maggie’s side across from them. He was quickly engulfed by Maggie, and his hands went up and hovered awkwardly in the air before he realised what was happening.

Hug. It’s just a hug. Crowley never really got hugged by anyone.

It was nice. He wrapped his arms around Maggie and patted her back in a friendly manner. She pulled back, beaming, and planted a big kiss on his cheek.

Oh. Okay then!

“Oh, we’re just so happy you could make it, aren’t we love?” She half yelled, nodding at Nina.

Nina snorted when she looked at Crowley. “Mags, love of my life, please stop leaving big smooch marks on the guests. This is the fifth one tonight!”

“What?!” Crowley squawked, horrified.

He looked desperately to Aziraphale with wide eyes, and the man had to bring a hand up to muffle his laughter. “Oh dear, HA- Here, let me.” He stepped forward, still smiling while licking a thumb, and gently swiped at Crowley’s cheek.

Crowley forgot how to breathe. His body went immediately still, and he rapidly blinked in surprise at the sudden closeness between them. Aziraphale glanced up at him for a second, but Crowley couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the man, holding his stare with a burning intensity. He thought he saw the corners of Aziraphale’s mouth quirk up at this, but he couldn’t quite tell.

The man’s face soon changed to one of extreme concentration as he tried harder and harder to wipe the lipstick off - to no avail. He ended up having to hold Crowley’s face still with one hand - causing him to go furiously red - and use the back of the other to even get close to cleaning it completely off.

Crowley used every bone in his body to try not lean pathetically into the soft touch, but he really didn’t do a very good job of it. His limbs got the better of him, and one hand reached up to hold the wrist near his chin gently. Aziraphale’s movement slowed, and he tilted his head up slightly, staring into Crowley’s eyes. For a single moment, they forgot they had company, and everyone else in the room fizzled away. His lips, once twisted into a concentration grimace, softened into something so tempting, so kissable, Crowley almost couldn’t help himself. He knew he was staring at them, and he didn’t care one bit.

The grip on his chin didn’t loosen, the eyes on his own didn’t waver, even as he flickered them up and down. He felt a pool of desire curling in his stomach, something that he suspected had been there all along, but only now, in this moment, he allowed himself to fully feel. Crowley wanted to melt, to dissolve into a sticky puddle of goo and attach himself to Aziraphale, never letting go. He wanted to lean in and kiss his lips, make them part and move and sing for him.

Oh, he wanted. He wanted badly.

His gaze finally settled on Aziraphale’s eyes again, and he swallowed. He had that look on his face that he only did when he was trying not to smile. The man licked his lips slowly, and raised a single brow.

Nina cleared her throat loudly, snapping the moment in two. Aziraphale quickly stepped back, releasing his grip on Crowley’s face, and began scanning it to double check that the lipstick was all gone. He did it so casually, as if he hadn’t just made Crowley’s insides do somersaults. Bastard.

“Well, um- Goodness me Maggie, that seems to be some stubborn cosmetics!” He exclaimed, faking a laugh, then turning back to Crowley. He leaned in to whisper in his ear, speaking in a lower tone - something meant only for him. “You’re still a bit pink dear, but don’t worry, it just looks like you’re blushing.”

That’s probably because I am blushing, you fool, Crowley didn’t say.

“Ngk.” He did say.

He nodded as well, in case the indescribable noise that had just slipped from his mouth didn’t indicate his understanding enough to Aziraphale.

The looks on Nina and Maggie’s faces when he turned back to them were unmistakably knowing. Maggie turned to Nina wearing a triumphant expression, and Nina groaned. From the back of her phone case she pulled a £20 note, and smacked it into Maggie’s waiting hand.

“Thank you!” She said in a sing-song voice, and tucked the note into her bra.

Crowley had to pick his jaw up off the floor, and quickly think of something to say to change the subject. “Euuughmmm- Wedding! Happy, yeah, happy wedding. Like, congratulations, I mean,” He stumbled.

“Yes, we are so happy for you both,” Aziraphale added, with perfect composure. “I know I’ve said so many times already, but we are simply honored to be invited. Thank you.”

“Oh, thank you! We’ve seen you every week for almost 7 years, Aziraphale, of course you had to be here.” Nina smiled. “And the food is just- oh, even better than it usually is.”

“Mm,” Crowley said, “It’s not often we get to sit down and enjoy it ourselves. Not bad, eh?” Turning to Aziraphale, he nudged him a little. “Lucky we went a bit overboard with how much we made though. Good call.”

Aziraphale beamed, and Crowley didn’t completely understand why. “How do you feel then, newlyweds?”

“Happiest I’ve ever felt,” Maggie said, reaching for Nina’s hand. “Everything was so worth it, all the difficulties and pain. What I feel right now outweighs it all, a million times.” She wasn’t even talking to the men anymore, her eyes only set on her wife.

Nina squeezed Maggie’s hand back. “I feel the same, my love. Things with us were hard at first, real hard,” She began to explain. “There was all this shit going on with my ex partner, Lindsay, for ages. Mags was there for me through all of it, before we were even together. When I was with her, all that shit seemed to go away.”

“It’s hard, getting into a relationship after being in a toxic one for so long. But we chose to fight for us, and we fought with everything we had.” Maggie practically had hearts in her eyes. “Now I get to spend the rest of my life with her.”

Crowley glanced sideways at Aziraphale, who was smiling sweetly, and holding both hands over his heart.

He couldn’t help but smile too.

~

As the late hours of the night crept into the early hours of the morning, people started to duck out one by one, saying their goodbyes and leaving with drunken hugs and kisses. It eventually got too quiet to even be called a party, and Crowley subconsciously headed for the door.

Well, it was more like a tipsy stumble, but luckily there was an angel by his side to keep him on his feet.

They made their way to the hallway by their rooms, Aziraphale’s hand wound around Crowley’s waist the whole way there. It was wholly unnecessary to keep it there after the stairs, but Crowley liked having him there for the support. Literally and figuratively.

He hadn’t realised just how much shit he’d been carrying until now. His whole life he’d had it, weighing him down, always there and ready to ruin anything good that came Crowley’s way. All that time he thought he had to keep it to himself, hide it, hide behind it.

And now Aziraphale knew, Aziraphale knew everything and it terrified him. It terrified him not in a way that made him want to run away from it, no. It terrified him in a way that made him think he might die if he lost it, because it was so good. It was a true treasure, one he had to hold onto tight.

The weight on his shoulders hadn’t disappeared - not at all. Only now it had been shared, distributed over two bodies, and Crowley felt like he could fly.

The men stopped briefly outside the room assigned to the teenagers - the door was slightly ajar. Crowley opened it a smidge more, causing it to creek quietly. A crack of light shone into the room, and he smiled when he saw Adam, Wensleydale, and Brian squished into one of the double beds, while Pepper stretched into a starfish position across the other one.

Crowley looked over and shared the smile with Aziraphale, who’s eyes were literally twinkling. His lips curved up into a smile so soft it almost melted Crowley.

He closed the door with a soft click, and wandered alongside Aziraphale to stand outside their rooms.

“Thanks again, for uh-”

Crowley stopped in his tracks when he turned to face the man, and all of a sudden realised how close they were. Had they been that close the whole time? Did Aziraphale step closer or was it him? Could Aziraphale hold his waist again? Because that was quite lovely.

One second, two, three - where there was nothing but heavy breathing between them. Blue eyes flickered down to his lips, and Crowley’s heart fluttered. Mm, fluttered wasn’t the word to describe it. It was more like if a butterfly morphed into a dragon, and the dragon started to beat its wings, sending a wind strong enough to shake a whole forest. Yeah. That was it.

His mind went into a mad spin.

Aziraphale stood there, looking as angelic as ever, like an anchor as the room started to spiral. Crowley vaguely thought that he wasn’t quite shitfaced enough to make the room spin, and it must’ve been something else doing it entirely.

Sober Crowley was sensible. If he did unsensible things, that was only ever because he’d thought about them first. In fact, he thought about things a lot. Overthought, more like. He’d never been sure if it was a good trait or not.

Drunk Crowley was not sensible. He didn’t want to think about things, he just wanted to do. And make it a problem for Sober Crowley to deal with later. This probably wasn’t such a good trait.

Lovedrunk Crowley- Well, he was something entirely different. Something entirely new, really, as no one had ever made Crowley feel this way before. From what he could gather so far, Lovedrunk Crowley was a complete and utter moron in the best way possible. He probably had no real control over his limbs, absolutely no hold on the expressions his face made, and, evidently, mushed all the words that were meant to come out of his mouth into a simple “Ngk”.

Crowley was in between all of these right now, and his internal dialogue was going something like this:

I want to kiss him.

FUCK yes. Do it. Do it now!

Oh, he has such a pretty smile…

What if he doesn’t want it anymore?

For fucks sakes! Just kiss the man!

Look at his dreamy eyes…

What if he’s drunk, and regrets it tomorrow morning?

Kiss him, and find out!

Ngk.

Crowley had been still for too long.

Hesitation crossed Aziraphale’s features, and he quickly stepped back. “My apologies- I shouldn’t- I mean, we should get some sleep.”

Crowley wanted to slap himself in the face. Fucking idiot!

But he just licked his lips and nodded slowly, head still reeling wildly. He told his brain to kindly shut the fuck up, and he took a step back as well. “Uh, yeah. Probably. Night, ‘Ziraphale.” He managed the smallest smile, and retreated into his room, shutting the door behind him. A beat passed, and he heart the soft click of the other man’s door shutting too.

Crowley lingered right where he was, fingers loosely on the handle. His head all of a sudden felt heavy, and he dropped it forward to rest on the door. Crowley didn’t want to just go to sleep and pretend that nothing happened. He was sick of pretending.

It took so much willpower to rip himself from that doorway, and stumbling across the room, he began to unbuckle his belt. He didn’t even finish taking it off, because some 7 seconds later he found himself standing at the door again, after having no conscious thought to walk there.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot!” He groaned at himself, gripping his hair in his hands. He stared at the door handle, half expecting it to speak back to him.

His lips pursed, and for a moment, he contemplated doing something stupid.

Like, really stupid.

He looked over to the bed. Annie blinked up at him with wide amber eyes from where she was stretched. Crowley blinked back.

Sober Crowley didn’t even have time to overthink it, because Drunk Crowley and Lovedrunk Crowley took over the reins in seconds.

Okay. Fuck it, Sober Crowley said, and buckled in for the ride.

His hands were on the handle before he could think anything better of it, and it barely took 2 strides to be looming right outside of Aziraphale’s room.

Just as he was outstretching his arm to knock (or just open the door, he hadn’t really thought that far ahead), it swung open.

A shocked Aziraphale looked him up and down - eyes searching his expression, before falling to his reaching hand.

Crowley’s lips dropped open, and he gave Aziraphale a once over. Something curled low in his stomach when he saw that Aziraphale’s bow tie had been taken off and the top of his shirt unbuttoned, exposing cloud like tufts of white blonde hair.

“Oh, Crowley! I was just going to-”

Aziraphale trailed off as Crowley took a step forward, coming completely into his space, never taking his eyes off the man for a second.

“Shut up, angel.”

He grabbed the man’s face and was kissing Aziraphale before he could even react.

~

It was just as desperate and needy as the last one, only this time he was so much more… sure. He kissed firmly, but there was a hint of tenderness to it all, that hadn’t been there last night. Aziraphale gasped into his mouth, and grabbed onto the first part of Crowley his arms could reach, which happened to be his elbows. He had to go on his tiptoes to press his mouth harder onto Crowley’s, as the man’s platform boots had given him a few more inches than usual.

There wasn’t a second of hesitation from either of them as Aziraphale began to pull Crowley backwards into his room. They stepped in time, as if it was a rehearsed dance, and Crowley roughly slammed the door shut behind them. He opened his mouth into the kiss, dragging his tongue along Aziraphale’s bottom lip. The man let him in eagerly, slipping his hands down to fist the fabric at the base of Crowley’s shirt.

He grabbed at him, pulled and held tightly, and Crowley grabbed back. Aziraphale eventually decided that it wasn’t enough, and began hurriedly pulling the shirt out from where it was tucked into Crowley’s trousers. Crowley let out a moan muffled by Aziraphale’s mouth when he felt the man’s fingers gliding across his skin, strong arms winding around his bare waist and dragging him in further.

Aziraphale broke away in a hurry. “You’re not just doing this because you’re drunk, are you?”

“Nope.” Crowley kissed him again.

“Mmph- Are you sure? Because I-”

“-I’ve wanted to do this for months, angel.” Crowley held his face, looking in his eyes. “The alcohol doesn’t make any of this less real. It just gave me a bit of courage, ‘s all.” He looked at Aziraphale for a moment as he contemplated, face furrowing into thought.

A second later, his lips curled up. “Months, you say?”

Crowley felt his blush at the tip of his nose. “Shutup.”

“Make me.”

Aziraphale was already leaning in, and Crowley met him greedily in the middle. The intensity in which Aziraphale kissed him almost made him tip over, and he had to grip onto his shoulders to stay balanced, letting a small laugh bubble out of his lips.

Crowley pulled - and Aziraphale pushed - and all of a sudden they were against the door. Both men took full advantage of this, and pressed their bodies as close as they could get.

Lips caressed lips over and over, making both of their faces start to go numb. What was once precise and deliberate kisses turned to sloppy and open-mouthed snogging, but the desperation in which they inhaled each other never faltered.

Aziraphale tasted of red wine, smelled of salty skin, and felt impossibly soft. Crowley lapped up his taste like an animal, and grabbed fistfuls of flesh, squeezing hard. For a moment, he wished he was a being with many more limbs, so that he could touch the man all over, all at once.

Crowley let his hands wander to hold the back of Aziraphale’s head and play with the dainty curls at the back of his neck. They felt like clouds, and he began to rake his fingertips through them. When he heard the soft noise it elicited from the man, he realised with a start that they were wearing far too many clothes for his liking.

Okay. Let’s do something about that.

His bony fingers left Aziraphale’s hair and found the next button of his shirt, and when Aziraphale groaned into his mouth again, it was all Crowley could do not to jump on top of him. He just kissed him harder, tugging on his bottom lip slightly with sharp teeth, throwing his head back in pleasure as Aziraphale began to kiss and suck his neck. His fingers went slack on the shirt button, and he had to grip desperately onto the fabric as Aziraphale began to suck and nip and bite one particular spot under his jaw.

“Mmph- Mm, that’s so nice,” He murmured with swollen lips.

“You’re so nice.”

“Shutup. ‘m not nice,” Crowley mumbled, but he was grinning like an idiot while rubbing gentle circles on Aziraphale’s back.

Aziraphale kissed his mouth again with a smile, and pulled him forward by his half undone belt. Their hips crashed together and if that wasn’t utter and absolute perfection, Crowley didn’t know what was.

He frantically tugged on Aziraphale’s blazer with one hand, breathlessly whispering against his lips.

“Off, off, off.” His voice was hoarse and unmistakably full of lust.

Aziraphale instantly let go, stretching his arms back and letting Crowley slip the thing off his shoulders to fall on the floor behind them. He snapped back into place instantly, and kept their foreheads pressed together as he began to attack the buttons on Crowley’s shirt.
He quickly got distracted by the temptation of the man’s lovely chest being right there… And Aziraphale was only human, he couldn’t help but press a long, sucking kiss to the skin there.

“Ah- Oh God,” Crowley whined, coming completely and irrevocably undone, getting utterly lost in the feeling of it, wishing he could feel the man’s lips like that on his very soul. He couldn’t possibly be more turned on- He needed… Oh, he just needed-

He leaned down without thinking and captured Aziraphale’s lips with his own, reveling in the surprised but pleased sound he made at the sudden movement. Aziraphale let himself be pushed back further into the room by a needy Crowley, and they found themselves against the kitchen table. It rattled dangerously as it bore both the weight of Aziraphale leaning back onto it, as well as Crowley, who was leaning into Aziraphale.

He began to unbuckle Aziraphale’s belt, while the man finished taking off Crowley’s half undone one.

“Is this okay?” The question was inevitable from Aziraphale, and Crowley didn’t falter in his answer for a second.

“Mmph- Yes. Need this. Need you.” He looked the man in the eyes, nodding slightly, before drawing him in by a finger under his chin to a slow and gentle kiss. He pulled back with a quiet smack as their lips parted, and pressed a soft peck to Aziraphale’s forehead. It was a sort of way to remind him that it wasn’t just a drunk fuck after a wedding - it was real, it came from a place of longing, of desire, of lo-

Mm, let’s not think that word just yet. If Crowley thought that word, he’d probably end up saying it, and he would never, ever, live it down.

Aziraphale’s smile was blinding when Crowley pulled away. He was almost sorry when he kissed his mouth so hard that it vanished in a second, but not quite.

Aziraphale bucked his hips up into Crowley, sending shivers of pleasure down his spine when he felt something hard brush against his own growing erection. Crowley gasped and let his body move of its own accord, chasing pleasure from Aziraphale’s thigh. It got to a point where he was more or less on top of the man, so Aziraphale took this as a cue to reach down, hold the backs of Crowley’s thighs, and simply lift him up.

“Oh!” The noise of surprise escaped him, but was quickly swallowed by Aziraphale’s mouth again. The man flipped them around and had Crowley on the kitchen table now, still keeping his fingers grasped in his ass. They couldn’t seem to keep their hands off each other, or step apart for even a second - which made taking their clothes off very hard.

Crowley let out a needy whine at the second hot press of a hard cock against his own, and he really, really needed for them to take their clothes off right now.

“Mm- I need this off, off,” Crowley breathed, grabbing at Aziraphale’s shirt.

“Very needy tonight, aren’t we?”

“I’m about two seconds away from ripping your buttons, so unless you want that, I kindly suggest that you get on with- Mmph!” He was interrupted by a pair of lips smashing onto his own, and the feel of Aziraphale lifting him off the kitchen table. His arms instantly moved to wrap around the man’s neck, and his legs to curl around his hips as Aziraphale stumbled blindly backwards.

With a shove, Crowley was deposited roughly onto the bed, mourning the loss of the body he was ever so comfortable clinging to like a koala. He scrambled to lean back against his elbows and watch as Aziraphale stood at the edge of the bed, taking great care to slowly unbutton his shirt and unzip his pants.

Crowley on the other hand, was racing to undress - kicking his shoes off, his blazer, shirt, trousers. His outfit was thrown across the room in an unorganized fashion, and he crawled forward to assist Aziraphale as soon as he was able.

He swung his lanky legs around to sit on the edge of the bed, parting his knees wide to make room for Aziraphale to stand between them. His shirt had been placed neatly on the edge of the bed, and his full chest and rounded belly exposed. The back of Crowley’s mind confirmed - yep, definitely a real life angel.

He slowly pulled the man forward by his hips, stopping the fingers that were hovering over the button on his trousers.

“Can I?” Crowley asked softly.

Aziraphale swallowed, nodded, and that was all Crowley needed.

He slid off the bed, and dropped to his knees.

He leaned forward, unbuttoning the top of the man’s pants, and pressed a kiss to the tempting skin that lay above. His nose was tickled by a trail of hair, but he nuzzled further into the soft and pale flesh, sucking and nibbling his way down. He cheekily cupped Aziraphale through his pants and gave a squeeze, looking up with a satisfied smirk as the man threw his head back and moaned.

It took some effort not to make some noises himself just at the feel of Aziraphale, but he allowed himself a shaky gasp when he started to massage the length of him, revelling in how thick and heavy he felt.

He hastily unzipped the rest of the bottoms and tugged them down, ogling at the tent in Aziraphale’s boxers. He didn’t so much kiss as he did drag his lips across it, feeling him out through the fabric. This earned a lower, breathier moan from the man, and Crowley felt a hand rest softly atop his head.

Still determined to unwind the man, thread by thread, Crowley began to tease. He licked his length through soft fabric - bottom to top - with a tongue wet enough it left a streak up Aziraphale’s boxers. He took the head in his mouth, cotton and all, and let the tip of his tongue lightly press on the slit. Aziraphale jerked, hips bucking and back arching, and Crowley sucked harder. The man began to moan, and groan, and even let a whispered curse slip out. Letting go with a sudden “pop”, Crowley decided that was enough teasing.

He pulled down the cotton boxers, allowing Aziraphale’s cock to spring free. It was just as thick as it had felt through his pants, achingly hard and already leaking a bit for him.

Every shred of cool and collected in Crowley vanished as he just ogled at the lovely cock, letting his mind run wild with all the things he wanted to do with it.
“Oh God- Am I right in assuming that you don’t have condoms and lube? Because you need to solemnly swear to fuck me with this thing at your soonest possible convenience-”

Aziraphale let out a surprised bark of laughter. “At the earliest opportunity, darling, I swear.” His other hand came to cup Crowley’s face, pulling on his bottom lip, as he stood there with a look of pure admiration on his face.

Crowley tried, and failed, not to blush furiously at the use of darling. To distract from his red cheeks, he leaned forwards out of nowhere, taking Aziraphale in his mouth. This earned a “Mm!” from Aziraphale, and Crowley had to hold his hips tightly to stop them from jerking too much. He lapped slowly at the tip, keeping an eye trained on the man above him, determined to watch him fall apart.

And fall apart he did - mouth dropping open and eyes widening at the contact, cock ever so slightly jumping. Aziraphale’s fingers tightened in Crowley’s hair, and all he could think was oh, yes.

Crowley groaned and let his eyes roll back, hoping Aziraphale would take the hint that he could do that again as much as he liked.

Aziraphale jerked his head down, looking at Crowley with a brow slightly raised. An experimental tug - and Crowley made the same noise, this time nodding his head slightly.

The man smirked, making an amused noise. “Interesting,” he mused, and Crowley wanted to tell him to shut up. Unfortunately, his mouth was rather occupied with sucking his cock, so he decided to focus on that for the moment.

He took him further into his mouth, swirling his tongue with precision as he began to bob his head in a steady rhythm. With every sharp breath and tightening of fingers in his hair, Crowley slowly learnt just how Aziraphale liked it. He had to bring a hand up to jerk from base to tip as he took a long breath, and kept it there, stroking and twisting the bottom while he worked at the top.

Aziraphale liked tongue, Crowley found, tongue just about everywhere. When Crowley licked slowly at the sensitive spot under the head, he moaned so loudly he had to put a hand across his mouth to muffle it.
Don’t, he wanted to say. Let me hear your gorgeous noises. But, again, his mouth was very occupied.

Crowley started to work quicker, increasing pace and pressure ever so slightly as he felt Aziraphale get closer and closer. Everytime the man squeezed his hair a little tighter, Crowley couldn’t hold back his own moans, and he was becoming overwhelmingly aware of how hard he still was in his boxers. His body was screaming to be touched, and he was sure even just the lightest stroke from Aziraphale would be it for him.

He lapped, and sucked, and devoured the man, stroking him desperately as he writhed and moaned from above.
“Oh- Oh I’m so close-“

Crowley hollowed out his cheeks, took the man as far as he could, and held him there until tears pricked in his eyes. He did so over and over, Aziraphale tugging on his hair and jolting his hips uncontrollably, and he didn’t even care. Crowley was so lost in the feeling, the knowing that he was the one who was making Aziraphale come apart like this, he almost forgot that he had a task to finish.

“Please, please!”

Crowley gripped the man’s hips hard enough to bruise and pushed him to the very back of his throat once more, and that was it for Aziraphale.

He cried out, having no desire or energy to fight his noises now, and let his head fall back. His fingers dug hard into Crowley’s scalp, making him whimper. He came hard, with Crowley’s nose buried in his skin, and his cock buried deep in his throat. Hot, salty liquid poured straight into Crowley, and he swallowed around Aziraphale until he had nothing left to give.

When the hands in his hair loosened, and the only sound filling the room was heavy breathing, Crowley slowly pulled back, a string of saliva still connecting them for a second before it snapped. He looked up, straightening his back and deliberately licking his lips while making eye contact with Aziraphale.

He pulled himself up to sit back on the edge of the bed, pulling Aziraphale’s hips with him. The movement made his aching cock slide against the fabric of his boxers, and he grimaced at the contact, reminding him just how painfully hard he was.

The sound of Aziraphale coming, the feel of him doing it in his mouth made Crowley desperately squirm on the bed, trying to get what little friction he could. Barely even touched and he was this close to finishing just from sucking the man’s cock? God, how far gone was he? He needed- He just needed some relief from something, anything-

Aziraphale noticed his helpless squirming, and stepped forward slightly more so he could press a knee into Crowley’s crotch. Crowley could only moan loudly and thrust into the thing, brimming with pleasure at the contact.

Aziraphale released the grip on Crowley’s hair, and let one of his hands drop to his side, bringing the other to cup the harsh line of Crowley’s jaw, making him look up. “So good. So good for me.” He rubbed the knee harder into Crowley, the pressure so good and right that he felt his body sing with the feeling of it all.

He leaned down to kiss Crowley’s open mouth, and began to clamber onto the bed. Crowley scrambled back, letting the man in instantly.

“Are you close?” Aziraphale whispered against Crowley’s lips.

Crowley squirmed from under him, trying to rub himself on Aziraphale a bit. “Can’t you- Mm- Tell?”

“Hm, so patient,” Aziraphale murmured, kissing him again. He trailed his fingertips, ever so lightly, down the length of Crowley’s stomach, making him shiver. He dipped below his waistband and grabbed his aching cock with no hesitation, making Crowley thrust his hips forwards desperately into the grip.

“Ah!” He couldn’t help the noise that escaped him at the skin on skin contact, his body singing in sweet relief. Pleasure shuddered through him, clambering its way forward at an alarming rate. His cock was instantly slick with precum after being pumped up and down the length, and Aziraphale’s hand created a tight little tunnel for him to thrust into. Crowley couldn’t help the whimpers that escaped him, the little whispers of “God”, and “Fuck”. He threw one of his arms around the man’s neck and pulled him down, attacking his mouth with sloppy kisses.

He could feel each place Aziraphale was pressed against him, each molecule of the hand that was pumping him hard, working him closer and closer to the edge. His hips still jerked forward raggedly into Aziraphale’s grasp, and the man wonderfully matched his pace with enthusiasm. He kissed Crowley back hard, with tongue and teeth and borderline pornographic sounds.

“Angel- God, fuck- I really won’t last long-”

“It’s okay, come. I want you to come.”

Aziraphale twisted his hand, causing Crowley to keen and arch his back. “Fuck!” He kissed him harder, biting his lip enough to bruise. He tried to kiss again and again, until he couldn’t anymore, and just held his forehead hard against Aziraphale’s as he moaned into the man’s mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, that’s it-”

Another of the twisting hand movements and Crowley was gone, coming so hard his vision turned blurry. His orgasm washed over him in waves, intense and pulsing, almost like a reward for waiting so long. He thrust into Aziraphale’s grasp until his spend had all been pumped out of him, and laid his head back, breathing heavily.

~

Aziraphale slumped down beside him, and lay facing the ceiling, breathing just as deeply. He rested one hand across his stomach, and the other by his side, in the gap between their two bodies. Crowley looked over, took in the perfectly sculpted side profile of the angel who lay beside him, and grabbed his hand.

They just lay like that for a while, neither moving nor speaking. In the end, it was Aziraphale who broke the silence.

“Crowley?”

“Mm?”

“I’m all in.”

Crowley blinked. He turned his head to look at Aziraphale, almost in disbelief.

“I’m all in,” Aziraphale continued, still facing the ceiling. “Even if it’s hard. Even if you don’t come back to the café. Even if you nearly kill me with your driving skills.”

Crowley breathed out a laugh. Then he let silence fill the room for a moment. In a small voice, he spoke, barely a whisper. “Even if I don’t deserve you?”

Aziraphale squeezed his hand once. “You deserve everything, darling. And I’d like to give it to you. If you’ll let me.”

Crowley smiled, letting a single tear slide down his cheek as his eyes shut. He’d never been religious, but in this moment he thanked God, (Or Satan, or someone), for his guardian angel. He marveled at the impossibility of actually finding a person like this, a person so kind, so beautiful, so loving. But they fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, and the goodness of it all could only be described as ineffable.

“Angel?”

“Mm?”

“I’m all in.”

~

In the early hours of the morning, Pepper awoke to the sound of shuffling, doors opening, and soft giggling.

Curious, she got up from bed, and padded over to the door of her room. She twisted the handle and pulled slightly, peeking out of the small gap it made.

“Pep?” Came a croaky voice from behind her, and then a stirring noise as the boys all twisted and turned in bed.

Pepper whipped her head around and loudly shushed Adam, before sticking her head back out the door. Her eyes widened at what she saw, and she immediately pulled her head back into the room.

“Adam! Quick, look!”

“Mmhhh- I’m going back to sleep…”

Pepper yanked him out of bed, and pulled him to the door, staring intently towards the end of the hallway. It took Adam’s eyes a moment to adjust to what he was seeing, but his jaw dropped open as soon as he registered what he was looking at.

A few rooms down, one messy-haired Aziraphale was leaning casually out of his door, wearing nothing but a robe. He had a playful smile on his face as he stared into the room across from his - where seconds later, an equally roughed up looking Crowley emerged from. He was wearing only his boxers, and carrying a small… Was that a cat?

Adam glanced sideways at Pepper, who was muffling her laughter with a hand. The two watched as Crowley crossed the hallway and deposited the - yep, definitely a cat - into Aziraphale’s waiting arms. The red haired man bent down and gently kissed the forehead of the animal, then straightened up and not so gently kissed the lips of the man holding it.

Adam gasped and grabbed Pepper’s arm. The two men backed into Aziraphale’s room with their lips still interlocked, and roughly slammed the door behind them.

With his free hand, Adam fished around in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled £20 note, and slapped it into Pepper’s hand.

“Told you so. I think I’ll put my headphones in tonight, and I recommend you do too…” She warned with a playful eyebrow raise.

It took Adam a minute to work out what she was implying.

“Oh, EW Pepper!”

Chapter Text

Waking up next to Crowley was exactly as Aziraphale had imagined - the man had latched onto him with every limb that extended from his body like a koala. His head was snuggled soundly on his chest, long red hair sprawled out in all directions.

One thing that he hadn’t expected however, was the small cat that was also nestled closely between them. Annie had found a gap between their bodies somehow, and squeezed herself snugly in.

Aziraphale smiled.

It felt like home.

~

“I’m all in,” They’d said.

And they kept that promise.

They kept it on the drive home, when they stretched a blanket across their laps and held each other's hand the whole way. Adam and Pepper had giggled and given each other knowing looks, Wensleydale and Brian were whispering something while pointing, but neither man seemed to notice. They especially didn’t notice in the last hour of the drive when Crowley fell asleep on Aziraphale’s shoulder, and Pepper snapped no less than 40 photos of them.

Crowley did, however, get the picture sent to him the following night by Anathema. He was eternally grateful that Aziraphale’s brick phone couldn’t show photos.

They kept it when Adam first referred to them as “boyfriends” and they spent the next week bickering about labels - Aziraphale insistent that it was juvenile and “didn’t sound right coming from an old man’s mouth”, while Crowley adored it, saying it made him feel like a teenager again.

“Honestly Angel, I feel like I’m back in high school,” Crowley had said one night from the stove in Aziraphale’s cozy flat, cooking them risotto for dinner.

Aziraphale leaned against the island, sipping a glass of red wine. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult darling, I hated high school.” He chuckled into his glass.

Crowley stopped stirring to turn around and face him. “Really? Would’ve thought you’d have loved it, with how smart you are.”

Aziraphale hummed, stepping forward slightly. “And how am I smart? Remind me.”

Crowley closed the distance between them, taking Aziraphale’s face in his hands and kissing him sweetly.

“You’re incredibly perceptive,” He murmured, kissing the tip of his nose. “You’re observant, empathetic, making you wonderful at reading comprehension.” A kiss on his right cheek.

He pulled away slightly, looking him dead in the eye. “Frightfully good at doing math in your head. I couldn’t even tell you what 6 + 7 is without thinking about it.”

Aziraphale wheezed, setting his wine glass down on the bench to wrap his arms around Crowley’s shoulders, while the red head’s lay lazily at the small of his back. He frowned at him.

“You’re trying to change the subject.”

“No I’m not.” Crowley tried to play innocent.

“Yes you are.” Aziraphale narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like boyfriend.” He spoke like the word left a bad taste on his tongue.

“Angel!” Crowley whined. “It makes me feel young again!”

“You are young, love. Younger than me, anyway.”

“What about… Lover?”

Aziraphale snorted. “We’re not in the 1850’s.”

Crowley pouted. “I thought you liked the 1850’s. You read books about it,” He said, matter of factly.

“What about just… partner?” Aziraphale cautiously suggested.

Crowley paused. “Partner,” He repeated. He raised his brows and cocked his head. “Hello everyone, this is my partner Aziraphale. Have you met my partner? Aziraphale, my partner.”

Aziraphale raised an amused eyebrow. “We can develop it,” He said, backing away from Crowley’s embrace to stir the pot on the stove again.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Aziraphale hummed. “Give it a few years, you’ll see.”

They kept their promise when Crowley went back to work, after a couple of months of living off his savings and going to therapy. His therapist, Aubrey Thyme (Herb, as he liked to call her), told him that it wouldn’t be easy.

It wasn’t.

Learning to forgive himself was the hardest bit, even though Herb told him he really didn’t have anything to be sorry for. It was hard to talk about his feelings with a complete stranger, and it took an embarrassing number of sessions to coax some improvement out of stubborn Crowley.

Aziraphale was there the whole way. He’d never been one to trust freely, but trusting his Angel felt like the most natural thing in the world. He was there to fall back on after a hard day, there at work to hold him up if he was falling. Never being too hard or soft on him, he always knew just what Crowley needed.

And if that was a blowjob in the break room after closing, Aziraphale was more than happy to comply.

They kept their promise when they fought for the very first time, screaming at each other like they had when they’d first met. Neither of them even knew what the fight was about - and Aziraphale suspected that Crowley missed their battles sometimes, and would pick a fight on purpose.

Crowley had stormed out of Aziraphale’s apartment that night in a mad frenzy, and only when Aziraphale woke did he discover that he never actually left - just dozed off in the parked Bentley.

Aziraphale left him be, and Crowley came knocking on his door an hour later with pastries and apologies. The make-up sex was brilliant, by the way.

They’d kept it when Crowley told Aziraphale he loved him accidentally, while the man was fucking him harshly from behind. Aziraphale stuttered and came, seeing stars, then said it back - very deliberately.

It was often frantic and desperate with them, coming home and clawing at each other's clothes after not being able to touch each other all day. They were so desperate in fact, that the wall in the entryway to Crowley’s flat had been christened far too many times.

But it was also slow - half asleep sex first thing in the morning, limbs still sore from the night before. Lazy kisses over breakfast, stolen pecks during breaks at work. Aziraphale couldn’t decide which he preferred (though Crowley definitely had a favourite. It was probably a kinky wall thing).

They kept their promise when after a year of being together, their belongings were so mixed up between the two apartments that Crowley was having to drive over in the middle of the night to pick up his favourite pair of jeans that he’d left in Aziraphale’s dryer. It got to the point where they were sleeping over at each other’s places more often than not, and one day Crowley had just had enough.

“Why don’t you just stay?” He asked one night, legs in Aziraphale’s lap as the other man read on the couch.

“Hm?” Aziraphale said, not taking his eyes off the book. “Oh, I am staying the night. It’s far too late to drive home, and I’ve had a bit too much wine.”

“No, Angel, why don’t you stay for good? Move in with me?”

This made Aziraphale put his book down.

“Really? You’d want me to?”

Crowley began to swing his legs down so he could nuzzle into Aziraphale’s side. “Yes. More than anything, actually. Means I could keep you all to myself.”

“You have me all to yourself,” Aziraphale murmured, putting an arm around him fondly.

“Want you all the time.” Crowley’s voice was muffled by Aziraphale’s shirt, in which he was burying his face into.

“Okay.”

Crowley looked up. “Okay?”

“The rug in the bedroom has to go, but I’d be willing to discuss further once it’s burning in a dumpster.”

Crowley almost died laughing, and Aziraphale moved in the next week. The rug was donated to a thrift shop.

They kept their promise when standing over a basket of squirming black and white kittens - 3 of them plus Annie.

“Did you know she was pregnant?” Aziraphale asked, gaping slightly.

“No! Did you?”

“Not at all! She’s so tiny, surely we would’ve seen her gaining all that weight.”

Crowley frowned. “Who the fuck knocked up my precious child?! If it was that tuxedo mother fucker down the hall, I’m going to lose my shit.”

“What do we do with them?” Aziraphale asked, ignoring Crowley.

Crowley shrugged. “Bring them up, I suppose. Sell them when they’re old enough - I think they’ve got to be 8 weeks?”

Aziraphale nodded. “Absolutely. There’s no way this house can take any more crazy cat antics.” He smiled fondly at the kittens.

“…They are rather cute though, don’t you think?”

They kept all 3.

They kept their promise when at a little vineyard by the beach, they said their vows.

Aziraphale wore a creamy white suit, Crowley wore a black 3 piece. Their rings were gold and silver.

They smiled while they danced to a familiar tune, one that had become a favourite of theirs since Nina and Maggie’s wedding. Unbeknownst to them, a nightingale really was singing in Berkeley Square while they swayed on the coast. No one could hear it over the traffic, but it was there.

“Do you think we would’ve found each other even if you hadn’t come to work at the cafe?” Aziraphale whispered in his ear on their wedding night.

Crowley looked at him with such love in his eyes that he might’ve burst. “I don’t think there’s a universe out there where I don’t fall in love with you, Angel.”

“Hm. I like that thought.”

To have and to hold, through sickness and health, till death do us part.

In the end, not even death could part them.