Chapter Text
Aziraphale felt his heart race when he glanced at Crowley, before he zoned out and didn’t quite register what was going on anymore. He didn’t have any specific thoughts, but he felt a bit like his head was filled with cotton and he was watching himself walking with Crowley as if they were in a movie. He grinned. That would be a nice movie; a romantic comedy, he hoped. Aziraphale blinked, understanding that even in his dazed state, he should be thinking about the competition. He hummed softly. Aziraphale already knew what the prompt was in advance, of course; a biscuit that reflects their personality. It was a very odd prompt that, when he found out, brought him a lot of anxiety, as he hadn’t been mentally prepared for something as deep as that on the second week. It took him a lot of self-reflection, which he struggled with for weeks before finally figuring out the perfect biscuit to reflect himself. Aziraphale truly was curious to see (and hopefully taste) what Crowley’s biscuit would be; that was a lovely way for him to understand the other man better without having to embarrass himself with small talk. He barely listened as he adjusted his bow tie and the hosts introduced the challenge to the cameras, as his thoughts fixated on Crowley.
Aziraphale took a deep breath as he began the challenge. Baking his choice of biscuit was like second nature to him after all his practice. After retiring from wrestling, he had both money and time to throw away. However, neither money nor time took away from the fact that he was still a very anxious person, so he was able to spend a good amount of the time during the challenge worrying about Crowley. He wondered if they could still spend time together after the show, or if it was weird for them to be around each other if they didn’t have to, or if Crowley would even like to go out with a soft and silly man like him. He blinked as he realised that he’d just put his biscuits in the oven; he’d been baking on autopilot and couldn’t even remember what he’d done. He just hoped he hadn’t done something stupid, like swapping the sugar for salt.
As he prepared his three different types of jam, he glanced back at Crowley. The taller man’s tongue was stuck out in concentration, and his red hair was pulled up in a messy bun. He was currently making a complete mess of what seemed to be chocolate filling, though quite a bit of it was splattered across his pinny. There were even a few specks of chocolate filling splattered across his face. Aziraphale briefly abandoned his jams to turn around and stand near Crowley’s station, directly across from him.
“Wha’s up, angel?” Crowley smiled, beginning to zest a large orange.
“You’ve got- uh-” Aziraphale gestured to his own face as an attempt to show Crowley where chocolate was speckled across his face, directly contrasting to his smaller, lighter freckles.
Crowley touched his cheeks, missing almost all of the chocolate splatter and just smearing the bits he did touch. “Eh? Got it?”
Aziraphale’s lips tightened into a thin line, feeling his heart rate quicken as he walked around the counter to indulge himself. “I’m afraid not. Allow me.”
He pulled a clean handkerchief from his pocket, smiling shyly up at Crowley. He took the other man’s pointed chin in his free hand, using it to stabilise himself, be able to tilt Crowley’s head where he needed it to, and best of all, was able to touch Crowley without having to feel too embarrassed about it. He took his time cleaning the chocolate off of Crowley’s face (well, as much time as one could when in a competition with a time constraint), eyes glancing between the spots he was cleaning and Crowley’s lips, which called to him silently and he felt impulsively drawn to. The thought flickered across his mind that they were in the perfect position to kiss, if they weren’t on television or Aziraphale didn’t have all his qualms about the impossibility of Crowley being attracted to him, despite his comments the night before.
Aziraphale’s oven beeped, and he snapped out of the state he was in, shooting Crowley a sheepish, apologetic look as he rushed back over to his own workstation. He pulled out his biscuits to cool, going back to messing with his jams and starting his buttercream. It was odd, sometimes he thought he could feel Crowley’s eyes on him from behind, but that would be ridiculous; he had his own things to focus on. Aziraphale held his biscuits up to his eye level as he piped the filling, barely even hearing the time warnings. He finished just in time, barely comprehending the amount of time that had passed.
“Time’s up. Hands off, bakers!” Mel called out, and Aziraphale turned to see Crowley.
The redhead audibly sighed, nearly collapsing down onto the stool in exhaustion. Aziraphale frowned, realising he probably couldn’t check on him as he was on camera – they were meant to be shooting b-roll of the contestants being nervous about the judging. He turned back to the front, when, with a jolt of worry, he suddenly realised that they wouldn’t just be judged on the technicality of the biscuits. It was all going to be about how they represented the bakers’ personalities.
Bakers were called up one at a time, and Aziraphale found himself getting increasingly more anxious as he registered that the judges were more harsh than they had been in the past challenges. He felt his stomach churn as Crowley was called up to the judges, and as he watched the other man, his anxiety peaked. Crowley looked just as casual as ever, leaning on his cane and looking down at the judges from behind his sunglasses.
“So, Crowley, what have you made for us today?”
“Uh. They’re chocolate and orange biscuits. They’ve got bourbon in ‘em and er, chopped nuts coating the outside.” It seemed that only Aziraphale noted the anxious twinge in his voice.
Paul nudged Mary, a teasing grin across his face. “Oh, bourbon, Mary.”
“Very exciting.” She smiled, taking a biscuit from the plate, and waiting for Paul before they both took a bite.
Their expressions were very hard to read, but they both took second bites.
“That’s quite good. I like the orange and chocolate and bourbon all paired together. And the bourbon flavour is well expressed.” Mary smiled at him fondly.
“Not sure that I like the biscuit flavour all that much, though the nuts help that. I think I would rather just have the filling.”
Crowley’s head tilted down, and though Aziraphale couldn’t tell what his expression was from behind, he felt a radiating wave of disappointment from the other man. Aziraphale frowned, feeling an intense desire to protect him from anything negative forever.
He was startled out of his thoughts by Mel calling him up to the front, so he carried the plate of biscuits up to the table. He passed Crowley on his way, and they locked eyes for a brief moment. He thought Crowley might have winked at him, but he couldn’t quite tell from behind the sunglasses. Aziraphale forced a wide smile, standing awkwardly with his hands tucked behind his back as the judges studied his biscuits.
“Well, they’re very pretty.” Mary broke the silence, looking at Aziraphale with a small smile.
“Oh, of course!” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Well, they’re viennese whirls – there are three different jams: apricot, raspberry, and grape. I- uh, I hope you enjoy them!”
They both took bites of the biscuits, taking what felt like aeons to Aziraphale to say anything.
“Well, Aziraphale, they’re technically good and very tasty. I absolutely adore the jam and buttercream.”
Paul nodded. “I actually like the biscuits better. They’ve got a perfect buttery flavour, and the texture is just wonderful.”
Mary looked back down at the biscuits. “But this isn’t really what we were hoping for from a showstopper. They’re very good, but there’s nothing spectacular about them.”
“Right, Mary. These aren’t anything special, and we really wanted to see your personality shine through.”
Aziraphale felt suddenly as if he couldn’t hear anything anymore, feeling the colour drain from his face and a numbness start to take over his body. “Right. Thank you.”
He walked back to his station slowly, forcing himself to keep his posture straight and normal so as to not give himself away. He felt his face aching to frown, eyes nearly betraying him by filling with tears. Aziraphale stood in a baffled silence as the judging wrapped up, and finally, Mary and Paul walked off to discuss the results and the cameras were shut off. He couldn’t help but feel hurt that they found the biscuits that he thought expressed himself were not very good, and he found himself leaning on the counter, warm tears spilling out of his eyes and dripping onto the surface of his workstation.
Crowley looked up to see Aziraphale hunched over in front of him, and he grabbed his cane and rushed around his table to comfort the man. “Aziraphale?”
He looked up, and Crowley’s heart nearly broke. His eyes were red and puffy, and he looked absolutely devastated.
“Oh, angel.” Crowley opened up his arms – for the second time in two days – and allowed Aziraphale to collapse into him.
He hugged him more comfortably than he had the day before, feeling less ashamed about touching him as he’d literally woken up cuddling Aziraphale that morning. Crowley raked his fingers through Aziraphale’s soft white curls, gently scratching his scalp comfortingly.
“‘S okay, angel. They liked ‘em!” Crowley mumbled, ensuring that only he and Aziraphale could hear.
Aziraphale un-buried his face from Crowley’s chest and looked up at him, tears still running down his face. “They think my personality is boring. I’m not showstopper worthy.”
Crowley rubbed his back slowly as Aziraphale buried his face back into his chest, softly sobbing again. “Your personality is very nice, angel. They worded it badly, I think they just wanted more stuff for the showstopper. But I think your biscuits look amazing and very tasty and you should be proud of them regardless.”
Crowley was really unsure what to do in this situation – he thought of everything from smacking Aziraphale across the face, to shock him out of it, to kissing him passionately (also to shock him out of it, no other reason) – but he just stood there, holding him tightly. Crowley’s eyes widened as he realised what he’d just thought – he’d have to revisit that kissing idea in therapy, later, or in bed, right before he fell asleep. He resigned himself to tracing shapes on Aziraphale’s back absentmindedly, hoping to distract him or at least relax him a bit. Aziraphale’s wracking sobs eventually turned to soft sniffles, and he shifted so his head was turned to the side and his ear was pressed right over Crowley’s heart. Crowley couldn’t quite tell if he was listening to his heartbeat – hopefully not, as he felt it quicken once he had that thought. He could excuse it with his POTS, sure, but he didn’t want to worry Aziraphale even more.
He let out a soft sigh as he felt Aziraphale stop crying, taking slow deep breaths, but not leaving Crowley’s embrace. “Feelin’ better, angel?”
Aziraphale looked at him, eyes still red and a little watery, and he smiled shakily. “Much better.”
Crowley glanced towards movement that caught his eye, noticing Mary and Paul walking back to the tent and getting closer. “Right, I’m glad. Listen, ‘m happy to do that whenever you need. Can text me when we’re at home, too.”
He felt very suddenly bold as he pulled away from the hug to head back to his workstation, moving his hand to gently rest against the side of Aziraphale’s jaw. Crowley leaned in and pressed a chaste, soft kiss to Aziraphale’s swiftly reddening cheeks, before walking away as quickly as he could with his cane.
Aziraphale thought he might have had the most incredible dream ever, and pinched himself on the arm, hard. He touched his fingertips to his cheek where Crowley had kissed him, feeling his face and ears burn red in embarrassment. He felt a tug in his chest when he imagined what the lips that had just pressed against his cheek would feel against his own, covering his mouth as he looked shyly to the front of the tent, where the producers were setting up to start up again. Aziraphale frantically tried to compose himself – feeling a bit like a schoolboy with a silly crush – as he attempted to look relatively normal for the camera.
All the contestants went up to stools, where they awaited the results of the first week, and Aziraphale noticed that Crowley actively followed him and sat next to him. Crowley sat to his right, and Aziraphale’s hand stayed firmly placed to his left cheek, where he still felt the brief kiss he’d received only moments earlier. As Mary, Paul, and the hosts stood in front of them all, Aziraphale looked down to realise that Crowley’s hand was open on his own leg, almost awaiting similar hand-holding to what they’d had before. Aziraphale took a deep breath and looked up to the front, inching his hand over to rest on Crowley’s leg, taking hold of his hand gently. He thought he heard the other man’s breath hitch, and hid a smile.
Mel began. “Hello bakers, now, this is the moment where Paul and Mary will award this week's star baker and also announce who will be leaving us. Let's start with the good news, yeah? This week’s star baker produced flavourful biscuits, near technically perfect and crisp snickerdoodles,”
Aziraphale caught Crowley frowning from out of the corner of his eye.
“, and a biscuit modelling her love for coffee that was truly show stopping. Well done, Maggie, congratulations.”
Everyone clapped for her, but Aziraphale and Crowley’s hands remained connected. He felt the red haired man next to him tense up, but kept his eyes facing forward.
Sue nodded. “Now, sadly, I’m the bearer of not such joyful tidings. I’m afraid we can’t take all of you along with us, and there’s one person who won’t be joining us next week. Mary and Paul have decided that person is… Eric.”
Aziraphale felt his muscles relax, not realising that they’d been tensed. He was in a daze as they went through the motions of hugging the young person and telling them to continue baking; he couldn’t get his mind off of the fact that he and Crowley wouldn’t see each other for at least another week.
“Poor Eric.” Aziraphale mumbled quietly to Crowley, only now realising that they were no longer holding hands.
Crowley peered at him from through his dark glasses. “Who’s Eric?”
Aziraphale stifled a giggle, pressing his lips into a thin line so as to not be caught on camera laughing while something very sad was going on. “The person who was just voted- nevermind, dear.”
“Well. Better them than you.” Crowley leaned on his cane, and Aziraphale thought he could sense the increasing amounts of exhaustion radiating off the man.
Once the production had wrapped up that day, Aziraphale found himself becoming rather sad. He ached to hold Crowley again, or to feel his soft lips against his cheek again. He couldn’t fathom how he’d handle five days without him. He’d have to spend lots of time drinking wine with his dear cat. Aziraphale wondered again, like he probably would for the rest of that incredibly lonely week, what it would feel like to properly kiss him. Crowley cleared his throat as they walked together out of the hotel, having collected all their things in silence.
“So, where are you headed off to?”
Aziraphale smiled sadly. “My place. In Soho.”
Crowley hummed. “There’s no direct train, is there?”
He shook his head slowly, eyebrows raised. “Why? I’m perfectly happy taking the train.”
The taller man looked away, sunglasses glinting in the waning daylight. “It’d be a straight shot from the train station near my place in Bracknell.”
“What?” He blinked, nearly dropping the bag he was holding. “Are you- you- you want to drive me?”
Crowley’s face turned a bit pink, and he looked back at Aziraphale. “‘F you wanted. Less expensive, ya know? ‘M gonna go there anyway.”
It would only be about half an hour to get to the train station, but that would be 30 minutes longer that he could spend with Crowley. Aziraphale hummed, pretending to be thinking about it for longer than he needed. He ran his fingers through his hair, a shy smile appearing on his face.
“Alright. Are you sure?”
Crowley nodded, quickly. “Yeah, ‘s no problem. Headed there anyway, you might as well- er, save money.”
It was the perfect excuse.
Aziraphale beamed, clapping giddily. “Oh, lovely. That sounds perfect.”
He felt his stomach churn with excited butterflies as Crowley picked up his bags and headed off, grabbing his own, catching up easily to the other’s slow saunter. Crowley glanced at him, a small smile flickering across his face. Aziraphale found himself swooning, yet again, as he remembered the touches they’d shared and the notable kiss on the cheek that he would never stop thinking about.
Crowley popped the trunk of the Bentley, straining to toss his backpack in. Aziraphale frowned, nudging his hand off his suitcase.
“Allow me.” He easily placed Crowley’s suitcase into the trunk and put his own in, grinning at him.
Aziraphale noticed that Crowley looked rather pale as he watched him put the things in the trunk, and Aziraphale opened his mouth in an attempt to suggest that they both get in the car, before he heard:
“Ngk. Right.” Crowley sounded a bit choked, sidling to the drivers’ seat and getting in, tossing his cane into the back seat. “Hop in, angel.”
Aziraphale settled into the passenger seat, humming softly. He barely had time to fasten his seatbelt before Crowley put the car into drive, pulled out of the lot, and drove at exactly the speed limit into the setting sun.
Aziraphale hummed softly, somehow feeling comfortable in the silence between them, though he craved to continue talking to the man before they were separated for nearly a week. He looked up as Crowley slipped off his sunglasses, tossed them into the centre console, and shamelessly stared at him, memorising the lines of his face and those lovely brown eyes. Aziraphale didn’t want to forget exactly what he looked like, and he wished he was a better artist so he could immortalise the other man’s gorgeous face. He gasped with excitement as he remembered that phones could take pictures, and he quickly pulled his phone out to snap a photograph of the light shining behind Crowley’s face in the most beautiful way.
It may have been the best photograph he’d ever taken – though it was also the only picture he’d ever taken of anyone other than his dear cat. Crowley looked away from the road briefly.
“What’s up?”
Aziraphale turned a bit pink, stammering. “Oh- well, one of my dear friends- well, really she’s just a waitress I talk to sometimes- told me about using photographs for your contact information in your phone!”
That was not a lie, she had told him, he just also wanted to frame the picture and look at it every day for the rest of his life.
“Oh, alright. You’re gonna text me during the week, then?” Crowley grinned, and Aziraphale felt his stomach flutter.
“Of- of course! If you’d like that, my dear.” Aziraphale looked down shyly.
“Course I would. The fuck else ‘m I supposed to do?”
Aziraphale sputtered indignantly. “Practise your bakes! For next week!”
Crowley snorted. “I can’t do both? You should see me multitask, angel. I'll text you at all hours of the day.”
“Really?” Aziraphale’s eyes widened.
“Don’t get too cocky. Simply keeping eyes on my competition. Will sabotage you when the time is right.”
Aziraphale snorted. “Right, you fiend. Simply evil, aren’t you?”
“Course. Top tier evil, me. Demonic, really.”
Aziraphale hadn’t looked at the road since the start of the drive, and he looked back up, his eyes now locked onto Crowley. “Well, if I’m the ‘angel’, you must balance it out!”
Crowley glanced off the road for a second, making eye contact with Aziraphale as he grinned. “I’m the demon, then? Less of a cute nickname, though, isn’t it?”
Aziraphale grinned. So it was meant to be a nickname, a pet name, like one would give a romantic partner. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, a shy smile creeping upon his lips.
“You very well might be. I can stick to ‘foul fiend’ if you’d prefer.” Aziraphale smiled even wider, somehow.
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, before Aziraphale noticed Crowley’s arm suddenly moving from his periphery. Crowley took one of his hands off the wheel and placed it on top of Aziraphale’s hand gently. Aziraphale gasped, feeling his heart beat quicker, and saw Crowley glance at him.
“Crowley!”
Crowley looked back at the road, not moving his hand. “Yeah?”
His brain short-circuited for a moment, but luckily, he was still able to think of something. “Two hands on the wheel! We can hold hands later.”
Crowley tugged his hand away, and Aziraphale instantly regretted saying anything, as his hand was now on its own.
“Right. Almost there.” Crowley frowned, and Aziraphale thought he seemed to be focusing more intently on the road than he had been before.
“Oh.” Aziraphale mumbled, staring down at his lap sadly.
Crowley pulled into the train station slowly, though Aziraphale didn’t take his eyes off him. Aziraphale stayed seated even after Crowley parked, making no move to leave. Crowley seemed to have an awkward expression across his face, or that’s how it appeared to Aziraphale.
“Er. Did you want me to drop you here or…?”
Aziraphale gasped softly, sitting up. “Right. I’ll get my things, then.”
He stepped out of the Bentley, grabbing his bags from the trunk and frowning, wishing they could stay together for just a little while longer. He stepped around towards the drivers’ side of the car, which was next to the sidewalk and where he had to go, smiling awkwardly. Crowley rolled the window down, bony elbow lounging out of it, feigning a relaxed state.
“So,” Aziraphale mumbled.
“I’ll see you next week, angel. Text you when I get home.”
Aziraphale took that as his hint to leave, turning away and taking a few steps before turning back to look at Crowley. “See you next week, my dear boy.”
He turned away again, walking quickly into the station without looking back. He felt tears welling in his eyes before he blinked them away, and he choked back a sob as he fiddled with the machine to purchase a ticket. Aziraphale made his way onto the train within a few minutes, tucking his things away and sitting down with a book. He didn’t open it up to read it, though; he looked at the seat beside him and wished Crowley was sitting with him.
Crowley pulled off from the station, only making it a few blocks before he had to pull over and park, dropping his head into his hands. He had really enjoyed the time he’d spent with the other man, and already missed him from the bottom of his heart, stronger than he’d felt anything in a long time. When he’d composed himself, he pulled back onto the road and made it home quickly, barely making it through bringing his things inside before he collapsed onto his sofa. Crowley let out a long sigh before pulling his phone out from his pocket, sending a simple: ‘home safe’ to Aziraphale. He dragged himself up from the couch, leaning heavily on his cane and making his way to the kitchen. His knees ached after days upright, and he leaned most of his weight onto his cane and the kitchen counters as he glanced at the open pantry with a frown.
It wasn’t too childish to make beans on toast, was it? If so, Crowley didn’t care. He was tired after days of baking and craved the simplicity and ease of something stupid like that. He thought, as he popped the bread in the toaster, that if Aziraphale was here, he’d make him the most delicious meals. He’d make him anything he wanted.
Crowley had never been a patient man, so he ended up pulling his phone out. His face lit up in a smile when he realised that he’d received a response from Aziraphale, and he opened up the messaging app quickly. Crowley clapped a hand over his mouth as he tried to stifle an excited noise, which surely would have embarrassed him in front of, well, his plants.
The rest of Crowley’s night was fairly unremarkable. Aziraphale didn’t respond for a while; either he was too into his book, had gotten off his train, or simply could not think of a response. Crowley ate his dinner as Queen’s A Night At the Opera record blasted from his player in the corner, and he didn’t think about all that much. It was only after his shower and changing in his pyjamas that he sunk into bed and felt distinctly alone. Crowley craved the warmth of Aziraphale, who might as well have been a space heater in a plush and adorable form.
Aziraphale had to actively force himself to stop smiling as he got off the train; his texts with Crowley just made him feel incredibly relieved, especially after their interaction during his departure. He managed to lug all his things off the train and home rather quickly (public transport was miraculous), and carried all his things up to his apartment over the bookshop as he thought about his future dinner and, of course, Crowley. He boiled some water to make his pasta, and began steeping some tea at the same time. Aziraphale became rather invested in his book – he was always easily distractible, and he wanted to distract himself on purpose so as to not be overbearing towards Crowley.
The first time he pulled out his phone after he had gotten off the train was as he was changing into his pyjamas, and he mostly did it so it wouldn’t fall out of his pocket. It was only after he’d buttoned up his tartan-patterned sleep shirt that he realised he hadn’t responded to Crowley’s text from earlier. He opened up his phone to the message: ‘miss you too, angel’, and Aziraphale felt his heart swell with love. He sat on the edge of his bed, smiling as he typed out a new message.
Crowley pulled his blankets up, sighing loudly. It would be so much better if he was listening to Aziraphale read to him or ‘accidentally’ cuddling with him. As stressful as the competition was, he was comforted by the presence of that lovely man who somehow, after mere days, understood his intricacies and how to handle him when he was stressed.
The rest of the week was fairly unremarkable. They texted regularly, though both of them were pretending to be a bit busier than they were so they wouldn’t come off as overbearing. Aziraphale’s bookshop rarely had any customers (and he rarely sold a book, anyway), and Crowley’s job was ridiculously easy and not time consuming in the slightest, but he managed to find things to preoccupy himself with.
He hadn’t even realised he was thinking about Aziraphale, at first. He would just think about a person holding him, or being with him, or kissing him, though over time it became more and more clear who it was that he was picturing. It eventually became more specific – one night, he stayed up for hours thinking about running his fingers through Aziraphale’s blond hair, and how nice that would be – and he found himself daydreaming whenever he wasn’t baking. When he was watering his plants, he’d sometimes stand out there for much longer than he had to, thinking about Aziraphale. Even when he was working, he’d find himself staring blankly at a spreadsheet or getting distracted during meetings.
The texts were very welcome highlights throughout the week, but Crowley craved Aziraphale’s sweet remarks and responses constantly. He found himself wondering how it would be if they could live closer together; he quite missed their breakfast date from the past weekend, and they could have spent more time together.
Crowley's mind was filled with angel-shaped thoughts as he was getting ready for sleep the night before they were travelling back to the filming location. The plan was for him to take the Bentley and pick Aziraphale up the next morning and he was feeling all sorts of ways. It was making it rather difficult to even sleep. Luckily, he'd come up with a new method to combat his sleeplessness, as thinking about Aziraphale before he slept tended to make him wake up happy, for some reason. Tonight his mind wandered towards Aziraphale’s arms and his tattoos, and especially that undershirt he slept in. Crowley wanted to chew on him, he thought. As his mind wandered, he felt his body relaxing until he drifted off into a contented sleep.