Chapter Text
It starts simply - Anthony doesn't even notice until the 3rd new mug is wedged in Asa's cupboard. Asa had always been a traditional mug owner:
A single set of 4 matching natural, plain mugs.[1]
(As well as one overly large Sports Direct mug that neither man knows where it came from).[2]
Asa spots the first new mug[3] as he walks to work. He's been having a terrible morning: firstly, Asa recounts as he walks out the tube station towards the bookshop, Anthony had to work early this morning and therefore couldn't stay over last night. Asa is loathed to admit it but he seems to have developed a fondness - a reliance, a traitorous part of his mind counters - for sharing a bed with his boyfriend and falling asleep with Anthony curled around him like a skinny weighted blanket.
Secondly, his morning tube journey ritual of reading through the cryptic crossword clues ready to mull over them on the walk, then complete them on arrival to work, was utterly ruined by forgetting the paper (he'd meant to grab it off the side in the kitchen as he left this morning but had become distracted at the domestic sight of two pairs of shoes by the front door and then he spent most of his morning thinking about all the other ways he hoped Anthony would continue to integrate himself in Asa's life).
Thirdly, he stepped in a puddle thirty seconds ago and is genuinely considering calling in sick with wet sock related illnesses. He steps to one side to try and shake off the water as much as possible, wringing his hands and tutting so loudly that people are actually giving him a wide berth, when out of the corner of his eye he spots the mug. Books and tea - his two most loved things, prior to knowing Anthony, of course. His mind screeches to a halt as he stares at the mug and replays his thoughts from the last 7 seconds.
He loves books. Yes, he nods to himself with a small smile. He loves tea. Also true. He allows himself to get temporarily distracted by deciding what tea he'll have when he finally gets to the bookshop before dragging his thoughts back on track. He loves…Anthony? He furrows his brow, he…loves Anthony?
He thinks of the tiny tip of Anthony's tongue that gets poked out the side of his mouth when he's concentrating. He remembers the MOUNTAIN of biscuits in Anthony's arms when he'd opened the door for him last week simply because Asa had described a biscuit he'd once had as a child that he'd loved but couldn't remember the name of anymore. He thinks of tonight, this weekend, next month. Of Christmases and birthdays. Of sharing joyful news and grieving losses. And throughout it all, it's Anthony by his side. He loves Anthony.
And just like that, the worst morning becomes the best. He smiles, a broad grin that starts to hurt his cheeks with the force of it, and marches into the shop to buy the mug (leaving a neat line of singular soggy footprints as he goes).
It's cute.[4] He keeps telling himself this as he puts it in the cupboard and quickly shuts the door. He turns away, pauses, scrunching his nose up and running a hand through his hair. He rolls his shoulders back, pulling together the courage needed to face the mug again then turns back to the cupboard and opens the door slowly, 1 cm at a time.
He winces at the 7 eyed mug staring back at him, carefully pushing it to the back of the shelf, then pulling the Sports Direct mug forward to hide himself from the horrifying ordeal of being observed.
(Author's note: unlike Asa, I love this mug and his opinions here are not a statement on the mug or the person who made it!)
The first thing Anthony notices as he sleepily stumbles his way towards the kettle one early morning 4 months into their relationship, is that the cupboard door won't shut. He lazily pushes at it a few times as he potters about but it's still slightly ajar and is putting the whole kitchen out of whack. Ignoring it isn't going to work so, sighing, he opens the door and immediately has to drop the strawberry jam he was lovingly cradling in order to catch the mug that seemed to launch itself out of the cupboard.
“I- what the fuck is this?!”[5]
“It's tartan!”[6]
“Why do I feel like our statements have different meanings here, Asa?”
“Well, it's a good size, nice handle shape, and of course tartan is very stylish. You should know dear, you're very stylish too, you know”
Anthony looks down at himself to check he hasn't spontaneously started wearing tartan. “Tartan. Is. Not. Stylish. Why'd you even need a new mug anyway, you have 100s now”
“I have 8”
“Like I said, hundreds”
“None of them feel…right. Of course I love them all…” he trails off, grimacing as he thinks of eyeballs.
“You're thinking about the coff-eye mug, aren't ya?”
Anthony receives an eye roll for the pun. “But none of them are the right mug. It's fine, I'm being silly. I'm sure this one will feel right! Although-” Asa starts to sound wistful “-if not, I saw an advertisement in the window of the shop I bought the others from that they're having a closing down sale so perhaps I can try my luck there next week.”
For the sake of his sanity, Anthony makes it his life's mission to find Asa the Perfect Mug.
It[7] arrives 2 days later, presented to Asa with a little blue bow wrapped around the wings.
Asa's eyes go heart shaped, mouth opening around a little “oh” as he carefully unwinds the ribbon and strokes a finger along the edge of the wings. He looks at Anthony with such love and gratefulness that Anthony actually gets a little choked up, having to clear his throat and pretending to study the doorframe rather intensely until the moment has passed.
The plain mugs get relegated to guest usage only, Asa preferring to (god forbid) go without tea rather than use something other than his angel mug.
Anthony solely uses the book mug. Asa hasn't quite worked up the courage to tell him what the mug helped him realise, but he likes to think that every drink Anthony has from that mug tastes just a little better because it's infused with love.
(Anthony doesn't know what happened to the rest of the mugs, they vanished that same day. He has a suspicion the coff-eye mug was buried in the garden in some sort of decursing ritual but feels it's better not to know.)
—
Anthony's conference starts tomorrow at 9am. Working backwards from that, taking into account the travel time to London, the flight to Dublin, sleeping, speech preparation, and time allocating to panicking, he is already 5 minutes behind schedule and really should be leaving now. Unfortunately, the goodbye kisses had progressed further than either man anticipated and he's now having to explain the plant care required for 57 plants to a novice gardener in under a minute.
“And this one, ohhh this one, he's dramatic.” Anthony says gesturing at a prayer plant with a sneer across his face. “bottom water only AND make sure it's the filtered stuff. Did you get that, Asa, did you- write that down.”
Anthony taps the side of the notepad several times as Asa furiously scribbles it all down. “And these two-” he points across the room where 6 different plants are sat, Asa looks back and forth between the plants and his boyfriend but it's unclear which he is referring to. “you gotta rotate them 45 degrees a day, CLOCKWISE, clockwise! Else they'll grow all lopsided” Anthony has slouched even further sideways as if to demonstrate the issue he's trying to avoid. “Clockwise, got that? Ok and this section here-” he's already walked off down the hallway towards ‘Cacti Corner', Asa trailing after him, trying to finish his notes on the prayer plant, as well as remembering to write down to turn the other two…5 degrees anticlockwise? He thinks?
He hears a muffled “So, the cacti like to think they're tough but really, they're sensitive” the last word is said in a whisper meaning neither Asa nor the cacti could hear it and both the human and plants have started to shake with the stress.
Asa has just made it through the doorway when he realises Anthony has already moved on from Cacti Corners care instructions and is, for some inexplicable reason, holding two sofa cushions towards a large snake plant and looking expectantly at Asa. Anthony nods slowly, first at Asa, then towards the snake plant as if waiting for input. Asa is panicked. He's out of breath and his notes have started to become more question marks than instructions. He notices Anthony unsubtly looking at his watch before he waggles the cushions in impatience.
“Anthony slow down-”
“We don't have time, I have to goooo go go, you got it all, right? Lemme run through super quick from the start. The prayer plant is picky, ficus is fickle, the cacti are concerned, the snake plant needs-”
“You go too FAST FOR ME, ANTHONY!” Asa cracks, notepad launched at the floor and tears forming at the corners of his eyes.
It's like the world holds its breath. Anthony certainly isn't breathing as he starts to wilt (much like the Wisteria that has been watching this conversation through the cottage window). His arms droop in resignation, cushions falling to the floor. Anthony mutters out some half formed apologies before starting to walk out the room. Asa can feel the tension, but more than that, he can feel how much he's hurt Anthony. It's disproportionate; the words he said should not hold this much weight but he feels Anthony's sorrow, he knows that if left alone, this wound will fester and grow and it would be the end of them.
“I was wrong.” Asa puts a hand around Anthony's wrist, both to get his attention and hopefully convince him to stay, to at least hear him out. “You do not go too fast. You are so passionate and loving, you care and you shine. Oh how you shine, my love. You are perfect and I wouldn't change you, or tone you down, or slow you down at all. I'm so sorry, I've been so so slow. I was just so very scared. I wanted to keep you safe and slow is the only way I knew how to do that.”
Anthony has paused, eyes closed as he takes in what Asa is saying. He lets the words wash over him, feeling the love and regret infused with Asa's declaration. He makes the choice then to believe it. It would be so easy to cling to the past, the hurt, the many, MANY rejections but that was then, in that lifetime, and this is now.
Here and now, he is loved, he is cherished, he doesn't push too much. He isn't starving, desperately clinging to breadcrumbs of affection left for him to stop him from demanding the whole loaf.
He takes a deep breath, forcing down the panic that makes his exhale shake. He takes another breath in. And out. Then another. And another. Each is more stable than the last until he feels ready to open his eyes, turn towards Asa and pull him into a hug that feels like it's been building for thousands of years.
(They end up both going to Dublin for the conference. Asa gets the week off work for his “family emergency”, and Anthony asks Evelyn from next door to look after his plants. She takes one look at Asa's hastily scrawled notes before tossing them to one side, then leans over towards a particularly cocky fern and states in an emotionless tone “if you behave, we'll have no problems. But if you put ONE FROND out of line well…” she points at the fern whilst pulling her secateurs from her dungarees pocket and cocking an eyebrow.)
—
He's pacing. Hiding across the street from Hortus, the new restaurant he has a table at in 15 minutes, trying not to sweat through the shirt he'd already changed 5 times before admitting defeat and putting the first one back on. (To the untrained eye, they were 5 identical black shirts. (To the trained eye, they were still 5 identical black shirts))
Time must have slowed down, Anthony deduces as he continues pacing. He's been pacing for hours, but somehow it's only been 2 minutes since he last checked his watch. 13 minutes early. That's ok, that's acceptable. It's not too eager, right?
He turns to face the shop front he's been pacing in front of, making eye contact with himself in the window's reflection. “Right. That's it. You're Anthony Fucking Crowley” he jabs his finger at his reflection, misjudging the distance and lets out a yelp of pain as it makes contact with the glass. Clutching his hand to his chest he continues his pep talk “- the restaurant is perfect. He is perfect. This date will be perfect. So get your shit together…” he trails off as he spots the dog groomer, owner and judgemental looking pug staring at him.
He spins back round to face the restaurant he'd spent days deliberating over. He takes a deep breath, straightens his posture and marches across the street.
Anthony is approaching the restaurant at a rapid pace, muttering “you're Anthony Fucking Crowley. Anthony FUCKING Crowley. Anthony. Fucking. Crowley” as he wrenches open the door, turns the corner and walks straight into the back of the chair where Asa is already seated.
Asa, who had actually arrived 25 minutes early and had been fretting up until the moment he saw Anthony across the street, pointing at a pug and growling. After that, Asa had felt much better.
The date is going well, Anthony is pretty certain of that. He's been suave, funny AND made sure to compliment Asa on his cardigan. He mentally gives himself a pat on the back, as he lets a slightly smug smirk appear on his face.
Asa is having a great time. When he first met Anthony he had felt old insecurities trying to rear their ugly heads. But after Anthony managed to spill his wine over himself not once but TWICE on the first date, trip over the chair as he pulled it out for Asa so that he was sat it in instead on the second date, and now he has seemingly forgotten the word ‘cardigan’ as he stammers out “-yeh, nice that. The- it's green. Good green that. Blue eyes, green…shirtjumper. Yeh”. Asa is pretty sure that “Anthony Fucking Crowley” (as he's almost certain he heard Anthony referring to himself as earlier) might be just as smitten with Asa as Asa is with him. And what a lovely feeling that is.
The wine arrives and Asa makes a grab for it before Anthony can. “Maybe let me pour this time, my dear?” he says, barely hiding his smile.
Anthony starts to raise his glass (extremely carefully), looks Asa eye and falters. What could possibly sum up everything he feels for him without being “too much”, “too quick”, “too eager”?
He tentatively says “To us?” and is proud of the way his voice barely cracks and his hand is barely shaking.
Asa bravely prompts “To our future?” unable to believe quite how forward he has been. His eyes dart around Anthony's face, refusing to make eye contact while a sweet pink blush starts rising over his cheeks.
But Anthony smiles, a true, radiant smile. They lock eyes and in unison:
“To the world”
And without knowing it, both men share the same beautiful thought in that beautiful moment: “That's the man I'm going to marry.”
—
The plaques both arrived on the same day. Wrapped in brown paper and hand delivered by Joseph, the nice carpenter from down the road, Anthony knew immediately that they'd both decided to name the cottage and have it made official by notarising it before the other could disagree with their choice. Anthony grumbled to himself, equal parts annoyed at Asa's deceit and thrilled at having met his match.
He strode into the sitting room, arms outstretched with a sign in each hand.
“Right. Pick one.” Asa puts down his book and turns to give Anthony his full attention. “Joseph dropped these off, I know what you did, because I did the same thing sooo I suggest instead of both of us getting mad at the other, you pick one at random and that's the name. Deal?”
Asa pauses, weighing up the benefits of getting to be mad at Anthony vs the negatives of Anthony getting to be mad at him. Net neutral. “That seems fair, my dear. Ok, I choose…” he looked at the packaging in Anthony's left hand, then the right, then back to the left narrowing his eyes and tapping a finger against his lips, desperate to pick HIS choice.
“Come ooonnn Asa, these are heavy y'know”
“Ok, ok, mmhm left!”
“...my left or your left?”
Asa tuts, grabbing the package out of Anthony's right hand and tearing it open.
“Our cottage is called…Eden!”
Both men turn away, Asa does a smug little wiggle whilst subduing a grin, Anthony full on punches the air in excitement (he has to style it out into a weird stretch as Asa turns back around mid punch).
“Aaaah ohh sorry, just ah, yawning there. Ok that's fair and…and, y'know, if it ever breaks or anything, we can always put the other one up? Yeah?”
Asa takes pity on what he assumes is Anthony being a gracious loser and agrees, knowing that with Joseph's workmanship, it'll be a long, long time before he has to deal with whatever abomination Anthony came up with.
For 17 years, the cottage proudly displayed its name, while the other plaque remained in the garage, wrapped in brown paper, waiting. Both men tended to the sign with love, small smiles as they cleared off any cobwebs, refreshed the varnish. Not knowing why it felt RIGHT to be in Eden, but basking in the serenity their cottage provided.
They were leaving for the farmers market, hand in hand, when they spotted the plaque on the ground, split jaggedly down one side so the screws could no longer hold it up. They tightened their grip on one another, a feeling of melancholy at ‘leaving Eden’.
Retrieving the sign from the garage felt momentous, Anthony caressing its edge as he started to unwrap it.
Pausing to reassure Asa: “Whatever this is, the sign, the name, the cottage. It'll be perfect, I don't think you could choose the wrong thing. So. Don't worry. Okay?”
He missed the confused glance on Asa face as he pushed aside the paper, turning the sign round to reveal
“Eden”
—
Anthony excitedly lays his Halloween outfit out on the bed; a black and red snakeskin jumpsuit, snakeskin boots with a slight heel and yellow contacts. He's planning on a little eye makeup to really highlight the contacts as well as slicking back his hair for maximum snakeness. With 1 hour before guests arrive, he starts to get ready, clothing first then hair and makeup with contacts last as the finishing touch.
He turns to the mirror, casting a critical eye over his costume starting from his boots, up over his jumpsuit and he's just sticking out his tongue, hissing, when he makes eye contact with himself in the mirror and bites his tongue in shock.
He immediately jolts his head away, horrified by what he saw. How wrong his eyes looked. He's filled with disgust, almost nauseated by the self hatred. He can't hide himself like this. Everyone will look at him and just know - evil, cast aside, a lowly, crawling snake.
He forces himself to look again, he squints at himself as if that might make it easier to accept. Leaning forward, so close his breath is fogging up the mirror, he studies himself. How can something feel so correct whilst also feeling so wrong? How can he feel so proud and yet so undeniably ashamed. He cannot make sense of his desire to hide his eyes away but simultaneously the desperation for them to be seen and acknowledged.
He lets out a tiny hiss, turning his head left then right, starting to feel at peace with his eyes, even if he's not happy with them. He takes a step back, trying to decide if he's satisfied with the overall look - but something's missing.
Asa finds him in the bathroom 5 minutes later, putting the finishing touches to his makeup which, alongside the expected eyeliner and burgundy lipstick, now also includes a dark swirling snake design just above his left jawline.
“Oh, my darling, yes. This is so…so you. And what a beautiful snake you are!”
Anthony's breath gets caught in his throat, tears filling his eyes. “Ple - ahem - please say that again?”
Asa's expression softens. “My beautiful, wonderful, loving snake. How stunning you are. Your eyes, just magnificent. The loveliest yellow I've ever seen. You know, I've always said yellow was my favourite colour, and now I know why.”
—
Ever since that fateful Halloween, 5 years ago, Anthony's costume has been consistently revolving around one thing: the contacts. He's been a snake, a demon, a cat, a werewolf and a fox.
At first, he would spend hours just wearing those yellow contacts and staring at himself in the mirror, desperate to understand the conflicting feelings of disgust and yet a sense of familiarity. He finally agreed with Asa that the habit was bordering obsession and the way it left him feeling bereft and not quite whole for days after wasn't healthy, and they came to the decision that Halloween would be his time to explore those feelings safely, within the context of a costume.
This year, he's a zombie. Makeup marring his features, making him look gaunt and rotting. His bright yellow eyes are made even more prominent by the greying skin tone. Asa has never felt more conflicted - finding an undead ghoul beautiful was not something he had anticipated wrestling with but he perseveres.
Asa, on the other hand, likes punny costumes. This year, he's wearing a t-shirt. Or, rather, a tea-shirt. He's fashioned a large tea bag out of fabric, cut arm holes and is proudly swanning around their cottage, laughing to himself whenever he catches a glimpse of his reflection.
Other notable years have seen him as a bookworm (dressed as a large worm holding a book, including a 4 foot tail that knocked over everything in its path all evening. CatAnthony spent the majority of his time picking up after an unaware Asa), and as a fairytail (a beautiful fairy costume, wings and all, combined with the biggest squirrel tail you've ever seen. This had the same issue as the bookworm but FoxAnthony was prepared and had preemptively moved all items of waist height and lower to the other rooms).
It's technically Anthony's turn to answer the door but, as he does every time, Asa tags along. He enjoys seeing the local children's costumes, hoping they'll understand his and secretly enjoys the fond eye rolls he gets from the parents when they work out this year's pun.
Crowley opens the door with a low groan of “braaaiinnnss” as the kids yell “trick or treatttt!”
“Oh how scary you are! Spooky skeleton, wonderful. And what a…unique…costume you have, you're a pirate dinosaur? Well. Yes. And ahh, a Warlock. How delightful” Asa is handing sweets and chocolates to each child in turn, oblivious to how still Anthony has gone. How he's turned to look at the Warlock with both confusion and care.
Anthony doesn't know this child. Maybe he's seen him around the village at some point but there's no reason as to why there's an ache in his soul when he thinks of Warlock. No need for his arms to feel empty, like they're meant to be holding something but lost it long ago. He uncrosses his arms, but feels the emptiness even more keenly and has to wrap them around himself in an attempt to dull the ache.
He cannot possibly fathom where the desire to comfort, care for and teach this child has come from. Why does he feel such guilt over never having had children, and yet there's guilt for abandoning them too, for not being a good enough parental figure for them. His chest feels hollow, carved out. It's not the loss of something, not really, but the absence of it in the first place. How can you miss what you never had?
“-Anthony?” He realises Asa must have been speaking to him for a while, based on the gentleness of his voice and concern etched on his face. “I am here. I am safe. The cottage is safe. We are safe. The bookshop is safe. I am here. I am safe. The cottage is safe. We are safe. The bookshop is safe. Take all the time you need.”
Anthony blinks, they're alone on the front step and while his initial reaction is gratefulness that no one is around to have witnessed his…moment…it's followed by a gut wrenching realisation that Warlock is gone and once again he was too selfish and caught up in his own life to look out for him.
He turns to Asa, tears rolling down his face. Whispers “I’m sorr-” before he catches himself, he doesn't ever want to apologise for loving his…? His Warlock. “Thank you. If I can ‘splain this later I will, but-” he shrugs “thank you”.
—
Their wedding had been wonderful, the perfect mix of traditional and modern with a smattering of quirky aspects that made it uniquely them. (Asa stating that “I, Asa Zerah Fell, take you, Anthony Fucking Crowley” had earnt him gasps and laughs in equal amounts from their guests but the undignified guffaw from his husband (HUSBAND!) had made Asa so gleeful and giddy he could barely contain his giggles.)
They had danced and hugged and laughed and cried with their family and friends until the early hours of the morning. Neither wanting to go to bed lest they lose the magical feeling of the day but both secretly excited to wake up tomorrow morning knowing they awaken as someone's husband, someone's first choice, someone's everything.
They were sitting together, on a bench under the stars, when the first boom of thunder startled them both. They instinctively clung to each other, laughing off their reactions as the heavens opened. Anthony braced himself for the downpour, moving ever so slightly closer to Asa, when he heard the whoossshh of a large, white umbrella springing open above him.
Turning to look at his husband (HUSBAND!) he was struck by just how stunning Asa was. He stumbled over his words, desperate to connect with Asa, to keep the conversation going, not knowing why he felt unworthy of even looking upon his beauty let alone talking to him.
Asa took pity on him, raising a hand to his cheek, thumb resting lightly on the side of his mouth to gently quieten his stammers. With a kiss placed softly at Anthony's temple, Asa's head came to rest against his and he whispered his truth into the night: “I loved you even way back then, you know, my dear? It's always been you.”
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