Chapter Text
Anthony had always had poor eyes, ever since he was a child. A strong sensitivity to bright lights that increased the likelihood of migraine, the doctor had said before he had prescribed him glasses that would allegedly fix the problem.
Being an optometrist wasn't an exact science, especially when it came to something as fickle as the human body. Even though his glasses were supposed to reduce his occurrences of migraine to almost non-existence, Anthony still had them more often than he wanted to, resulting in long days of lying alone in the dark, nursing a bottle of water and trying not to throw it back up in the process.
Asa had never been anything other than sympathetic to his pains, especially since he had pains of his own. Even on his worst days, Asa sat beside him, nursing a cup of tea and a novel, only ever speaking when Anthony indicated he needed something. His hand always rested on the top of his head, petting his hair soothingly until it lulled him into a state of restfulness.
Today was one of those days.
Except this pain didn't feel like an ordinary migraine.
“Can I have more of my medicine?”
There’d been a man in the room before.
A man who had been there but was gone, flickering in and out of existence like the wings and the glowing lights that had been adorning Asa’s form more frequently since his nightmare the week prior. The one that had him standing over Anthony late into the night, sobbing and apologizing, but for what, he never said.
The man had red hair, short and styled in a way that Anthony himself would have done once if he’d had such an edge. He wore all black in clothing that was too tight, but it didn’t seem to bother him, and he wore a pair of dark sunglasses that obscured his eyes.
He was familiar, but Anthony didn’t know why.
“You’re not due yet, darling,” Asa murmured, smoothing his hand over his sweaty forehead. “A few more hours, I’m afraid.”
The man spoke, but only inside Anthony’s head, his words rattling around in his aching head like a mantra. He would talk of the weather, the garden, any other thing that he could think of, but when Asa would enter the room, everything would soften. His eyes, his grimace, his stance; all would soften, and he would gravitate toward Asa like a moth to a flame.
My fault. The brain is trying to remember.
The man was there again, peering down at Anthony from behind Asa’s shoulder.
“My head is just…splitting,” Anthony told him, squinting up at him in the darkness and just barely making out the shape of Asa’s form, trying to focus on what was real and not simply a hallucination. “Darkness doesn't help, the medicine doesn't help, and now I'm seeing things that aren't there.”
“Poor thing,” Asa whispered sympathetically. “Is there anything I can do for you? Maybe a little something to nibble?”
Don’t let him go.
“I don't know, dove,” Anthony closed his eyes. “Would you mind just sitting with me for a bit longer?”
His head throbbed again, and he groaned miserably, his palm coming up to shove at the center of his forehead as if to push the pain out. The strange man once again flickered out of existence, leaving the two of them together again, but if only it could be peaceful.
“Perhaps a cup of cocoa would do you some good,” Asa suggested, patting his hand before standing. “Maybe I’ll give your doctor a ring too. See if he can offer any remedies.”
No, angel, stay!
“No, I-I'm fine,” Anthony protested, longing for the touch that left him. His heart ached, the heat rose behind his eyes, and he felt like he was about to start the waterworks all over again. “Asa, please, just sit with me.”
“It'll only be for a moment. You'll hardly even miss me.”
Don’t go, please, don't go!
The voice in his head was not his own.
I looked everywhere, but I found you!
The ache in his heart, the sorrow behind his eyes, and the break in his words were also not his.
Say his name! Angel, I'm here!
And a name, familiar yet not, forming on the tip of his tongue, pushed forward by a voice that was somehow his own, but also wasn't.
A name that had him shooting up in bed, reaching out toward the figure of his husband in desperation.
“Azira–!”
Asa paused mid-step, hand hovering over the knob, and the remainder of the name caught in Anthony's throat, choking him. When his partner turned to look at him, blue eyes wide with surprise, Anthony could have sworn someone else was looking at him instead.
Someone ancient, someone to be feared.
Oh, but not his Asa; he could never fear him.
He's beautiful…Always been so damn beautiful.
They stared at each other for a long time. Long enough that Anthony's eyes began to burn and his vision blurred anew. He'd either said something wrong or said something completely right. He wasn't sure, and it frightened him.
They stared. They said nothing.
And then…
“You…What was that you said, dearest?” Asa asked, fully turning his attention towards him. His hands were clapped in front of him, turning his wedding ring round and round in a nervous sort of habit that he had never seen Asa use. “Afraid I didn't quite hear.”
“I--I don't…?”
Aziraphale…!
Asa looked almost disappointed, offering what Anthony was sure was a smile meant to be comforting but that came off as sadder. “I see,” he said softly. “Must have misheard.”
Anthony blinked, and something slid down his face, down the length of his cheek, and off his jaw. Its appearance seemed to startle Asa into moving forward to cup his face, thumbs brushing away the moisture that had fallen.
“Oh, my love,” Asa crooned sadly. “Whatever is the matter?”
The pain, as suddenly as it’d spiked, dulled considerably the moment Asa’s hands cupped his face.
Get me out of here, angel, please!
“Asa,” he croaked. “I think something is wrong with me.”
“Never,” Asa whispered fiercely, and for a moment, he looked like someone else. The hair was brighter, golden, and wild. “Nothing could ever be wrong with you, my love.”
“Might be out of my bloody mind then,” Anthony replied, still staring up at him. “I keep…seeing things that aren't there. Hearing a voice, a name.”
“A name?”
Anthony choked out a laugh. “Something…long and non-human sounding,” he said. “I don’t know.”
“Will you tell me what it was?” Asa pressed. “My love, please.”
Anthony looked up, and his eyes widened a fraction when he focused on his husband. He stood there, in their bedroom, illuminated in a beautiful, almost ethereal glow that couldn't be explained.
I want to come home...
He blinked, and there they were again: the wings.
He could see them.
Asa's eyes were a stunning shade of blue, speckled with flecks of color that reminded him of the cosmos.
And suddenly, like a light coming on with the flick of a switch, he knew.
He knew, and the pain was gone.
“Aziraphale?”
“Oh,” Aziraphale whispered, somehow looking so happy while being so close to tears. His hands were still so gentle, cradling his face with a familiar tenderness as he bent to touch their foreheads together. “There you are.”
Crowley laughed shakily and tightened his hold on Aziraphale's wrists. “I'm back.”
“You’re back,” Aziraphale repeated, laughing breathlessly. “Welcome home, my love.”
In a cottage in the South Downs lived Mr. Asa Fell, a retired bookseller, and Mr. Anthony Crowley, a professor of astrophysics.
They were a quiet couple, wedded only a year after they met, but shared a love that most people wait their entire lives to find. Their home wasn’t large, but it seemed much bigger on the inside for those who were lucky enough to peek inside. Many books lined the walls, while many plants sprouted in the garden, and late at night, open windows released the slow, scratchy notes of a record player into the air.
In the months after they'd moved in, South Downs residents had begun to notice some changes, not only in the town, but in the two of them.
Mr. Crowley became a bit more relaxed, a little less sophisticated, walking at Mr. Fell's side with a swagger that would make anyone swoon. Mr. Fell, on the other hand, was a bit more animated and had developed a newfound love of sleight-of-hand magic.
However, the one thing that hadn't changed was the obvious love they felt for one another. They always touched in one way or another, whether with linked arms while out walking in the town, or with intertwined fingers firmly locked together.
Several residents had noticed that Mr. Crowley had begun calling Mr. Fell ‘angel’, commenting that it felt less like a pet name and more like an official name or title.
South Downs had taken on a new energy itself. Businesses on the brink of closure suddenly found themselves without debt, people who had experienced misfortune found themselves on the receiving end of a mysterious blessing that erased their worries, and the weather was always perfect: not too hot, not too cold, and never too humid.
Some called it a blessing, while others claimed that it was nothing short of a miracle.
Mr. Crowley and Mr. Fell would always share a look when they overheard those comments, a smile even, as if they were remembering a private joke.
Life in the South Downs wasn’t anything spectacular.
Sometimes that’s just how life is.
Sometimes, a simple life can be just as extraordinary.