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If you ever spoke to someone who has taken Mr Anthony J Crowley’s photography class, you’d soon find out that the tall man with his weird little scarf thing, wasn’t as intimidating as he seemed. He may look as if he was going to scold you any second for having a quick snack during one of his lectures, but in fact, he was more likely to notice you eating, and suggest that if anyone else were hungry, that it was a fantastic idea that they eat during his class.
If there was anything that Anthony Crowley’s students would say to you, if you asked them if he was really actually nice, and it wasn’t just a rumour, they’d simply sit you down, and tell you that once he cried in his class because he remembered that his husband had made him a cake and he forgot to bring it to uni in the morning, and he didn’t want to disappoint his loving husband. Crowley wasn’t a scary person at all, only the people who had never had him before, or had been plain disrespectful during his classes, would tell you that he was, the glare (which was actually just his resting face) was not the nicest thing to be on the receiving end of. It was, to put it nicely, absolutely fucking terrifying. Especially if you hadn’t know that the worst thing he’d probably ever done in his teaching career was stick a dollar to the classroom floor and watch as each student tried to pick it up, failing miserably, and getting a laugh in return from the professor.
It wasn’t uncommon for a class to start off with Crowley’s students coming in early, seated as close to the front as possible, the occasional “Hi Anthony! How’s your husband?” as he told the students about the lovely things his husband Zira had done throughout the week. On one notable week, after Crowley had cut his long curls off, he came in laughing about Zira, the infamous husband had apparently complained for days that he wouldn’t be able to braid Crowley’s hair anymore, and that was, quite possibly, the most tragic thing in the world.
Crowley’s anecdotes were fun, for sure, but what was even more fun than that, was that Crowley was basically everyone’s cool uncle, and if you said just the right thing, while you were talking to your classmate? Well, you’d have the tall redhead bitching about his old job as a pizza maker in a run down old Dominos in the south of London, and that was exactly what Anthony J Crowley’s students adored. Intimidating photography teacher? More like, absolute dork of the century, with the tastes of last century (and being a school, there were definitely rumours that Crowley and Mr Aziraphale of the English department were from last century, thanks to the way they dressed, and spoke, and well, most things about them.)
Mr Aziraphale (first name unknown to everyone but maybe Crowley), was by far one of the best rated teachers in the English department, and for a good reason, at that. Firstly, there was absolutely no one else who could keep an entire class paying attention to Shakespeare’s plays for an entire 3 hour class, only Mr Aziraphale himself, mostly because he practically glowed when he got excited about a particular spelling quirk, or the differences in the first draft and the play we know today.
It’s safe to say that everyone who took his class, loved Mr Aziraphale to bits, and he was the go to if you were particularly stressed over an assignment, there was something about him that was just nurturing, even if it was a little bit supernatural. He was bound to sit a student down for a cup of tea, and offer tidbits of advice as they word-vomited their stresses, and without fail, you’d be calm before you left his office, or classroom, or wherever you happened to find the short man with the head of blonde curls (which Newt swears are dyed, but absolutely no one has ever seen roots of a different colour on the teacher’s head).
If you spoke to any of Aziraphale’s more recent students, who had managed to get into his normal routine of tea catch-ups, you would soon find out that absolutely everyone, had zero clue about his life. There was not any mention of his life in his classes or his chats, everyone only knew that he had a husband, name unknown (except to Anathema, one of his favourite students, who also happened to take Crowley’s photography class, and knew everything). He was, to put it quite simply, as mysterious as you can get.
Everyone did end up figuring out that Mr Aziraphale fucking adored one specific instagram page, dedicated to an iridescent python called Adam, and if anyone ever showed him the latest post (which everyone made a habit of each morning), he was bound to practically glow, and start jabbering about how much he adored Adam, the beautiful python.
Somehow no one figured out that Aziraphale loved the snake so much, because he had bought it as a gift for Crowley, and if he knew just a little bit too much about snake care, and the care of Adam in particular, no one mentioned it. Amazingly, Crowley somehow kept it secret, despite his habits, that he was the one posting about Adam, and Aziraphale was often watching his husband with mild delight, as he posed the python and took photos with it, cooing about how beautiful the snake was the whole time. A small miracle, if you ask me, because Crowley absolutely adored telling his students about his life, because what better way to connect with the people you had to spend half a bloody week with, than to relate to them in every way possible? Humans are, contrary to some people’s beliefs (looking at you, Gabriel), more likely to listen to you, if you also calm them down by telling them a story or five about you, so they see you as a friend and a professor.
It was widely agreed, that whoever Mr Anthony J Crowley’s husband was, he was an absolute legend. Because what else would he be, for Crowley to waltz into his classroom, hips swaying like a pendulum, grin plastered on his face right before he goes on his normal rant about just how amazing Zira is.
It also just happens to be widely agreed that Mr Aziraphale was everyone in the English department’s favourite teacher, by far, and he was definitely everyone’s favourite person to go to for a chat. There is literally no one else in the world that radiates such kind energy all the time, and also no one who manages to rock a tartan bow tie and still pull off the fashion of someone who would probably run an obscure little bookshop somewhere in the South in the 40s.
Here’s something we can all collectively agree on: Mr Aziraphale is absolutely wonderful, and if you crossed him, you would have thousands of angry students, and his husband, ready to murder you as soon as he gave the all clear. (He wouldn’t do that, or would he? You can never be too careful Gabriel.)
Mr Aziraphale was phenomenal, in his teaching life, advice giving and, in Crowley’s very well informed opinion, just about every single thing he did. The stout blonde was absolutely intelligent, brightened up every room he entered, and even with his little quirks, the man was exactly what Crowley needed in his life to contradict his wild anxiety, and the intrusive thoughts that used to plague his thoughts.
So when it came to buying a wedding anniversary gift for his treasured angel Aziraphale, Crowley made sure to watch his husband just a little closer than usual, and made sure that the gift for his sun was absolutely perfect.
It took Anthony J Crowley precisely 8 months, 23 days, and 82 minutes to find the perfect gift for his husband. The redhead went along with their usual schedule, following the bright English professor to the vintage book auctions he so loved, making sure to schedule a dinner for the two of them at least once a week, staring lovingly and soaking in every single aspect of Aziraphale as he excitedly recounted the day, baby blue eyes lighting up as he got to a particularly exciting part of his story. Occasionally, Crowley would fish out his camera and take a photo or two of Aziraphale as he went about his daily routine. And by occasionally I mean every single day, at every single opportunity that Crowley could get his little claws on, pretending like he was just taking a photo of Adam, posed at just the right angle so that Aziraphale was in the background.
In the end, Crowley managed to track down a set of 4 first editions of Aziraphale’s favourite series, one that had gone out of print, well, straight after the first print, and there were only about 10 complete sets of the dusty, old series on the globe, as far as collectors knew. Aziraphale had taken one redhead (who was pretending to be grumpy about it) with him to the book auction after their shifts had finished on one Tuesday evening, down to a little RSL hall, filled to the brim with other collectors (a few which Aziraphale had butted heads with over previous collections) and one of the other English teachers, who gave Aziraphale a quick wave before turning their attention back to the auction.
Aziraphale had decided, once the series passed the $100 mark per book, that he wasn’t going to get the series, and it seems that everyone else in the room had a similar idea. Some poor lady who had been betting on the books for fun ending up folding, and left the books at the auction house.
What Aziraphale didn’t know, however, was that while Crowley had tasked the blonde to pick a restaurant and call up to book in for dinner, while he “said hi to an old friend”, Mr Anthony J Crowley strutted back into the auction house, and thanked the lady for betting high enough that no one was willing to buy the books at all ( a little trick beforehand, knowing how eager his husband was for the series.) Waiting in a very inconspicuous green reusable shopping bag, were the 4 books inside a cardboard box, simply labeled with sharpie across the tape, waiting for Crowley. The auctioneer was more than happy when he saw a familiar face come back inside, and even more happy when Crowley handed over the $200 for the books, taking them back outside to the Bentley.
Aziraphale didn’t even question it when Crowley popped a green shopping bag into the footwell behind his seat, before walking around the car to get into the driver’s seat, more occupied with chatting to his favourite waitress at the restaurant near their college. The blonde gave Crowley a massive eye smile, his dimples popping out, his eyes crinkling at the pure, never ending joy at seeing his husband. Crowley found himself smiling back, just as bright, even making the effort to take off his glasses, knowing just how much joy it bought his husband to see his amber eyes. Sure, a lot of light gave him migraines, but seeing Aziraphale’s smile grow was worth it, one hundred percent. The two husbands shared a fond smile as Aziraphale hung up the phone, Crowley switched the old car into gear, and started their journey back home, where they knew there was their favourite ravioli waiting for them in the fridge.
It takes Aziraphale approximately 10 minutes to decide upon his perfect anniversary gift for Crowley, and it is exactly what he has spent his entire life dedicated to doing, spoiling the hell, sorry, spoiling the heck out of the lanky bastard. He makes sure to book in for a lovely dinner at the Ritz, Crowley’s favourite restaurant, and rents a few DVDs from the Blockbuster, which he’s pretty sure that only he’s keeping in business at this point. He plans it meticulously, making sure to keep Crowley as happy as he possibly can, not even thinking of the gifts that he may receive.
Because if there’s anything that you should know about Aziraphale, it’s that he’s a giver. In small ways, sure, but he gives just the right about to make sure that his husband is content in his life (And Crowley definitely tries, albeit aggressively sometimes, to make sure that his husband is constantly bursting with his love).
Once Aziraphale has his plan down, he smiles to himself, sitting at the kitchen table, one hand intertwined with his husband’s (which is bloody cold, why is he always cold?), and the other hand wrapped around a mug of cocoa.
“What’s up, angel? What’s got you happy today?” Crowley asks, raising an eyebrow so that it peeks up above his round sunglasses
“Nothing, dear,” Aziraphale rubs his thumb across the back of his husband’s long hands “I was simply just thinking about how happy I am that I have you, and Adam, and this life that we have together”
A love proclamation wasn’t really out of the ordinary for Aziraphale, after realising many years ago, just how much he needed Crowley as a pillar in his life, but it still took Crowley off guard. The tall man became almost as red as his hair, looking straight out the window across the kitchen, attempting to hide his smile with a scowl.
“Sap,” Crowley whispers, while still holding Aziraphale’s hand, rubbing patterns into his soft skin, matching his husband’s movements “I’m glad I have you too, Zira. I love you”
“Who’s the sap now, you big softy?” Aziraphale laughs, sounding like chimes to Crowley’s ears, his face lighting up as soon as his husband jokes with him
“That would be you, I do believe, since you started this all”
--
Mr Anthony J Crowley’s preferred method of making sure that one Mr Aziraphale didn’t find out about the books that he had bought at the auction, was to keep them in the back of the Bentley, where he was (reasonably) sure that his husband wouldn’t notice the odd bag. Somehow, the plan did actually work, but just to be safe, on the day of their anniversary, Crowley waited in his car for all of 3 minutes after his husband got out of the car to go to the English department, scrolling through his phone until he knew he wouldn’t be questioned.
Once the blonde was definitely not coming back to the car, Crowley moved with all the energy he could muster, hips swinging as he carried his normal briefcase, as well as 4, very weighty books. Once he was safely inside the arts department, the tall redhead waltzed his way to the photography classroom, waving hello to the half asleep Anathema, who had started to make a habit of coming in way too early. With as much care as a lanky person such as Crowley could possibly have, he placed the books, still in the green shopping bag, onto his desk, next to the abundance of cameras that students could borrow.
All that he could hope for now, is that Zira wouldn’t come into his classroom and spot the books, because, well, that could cause some complications in Crowley’s plan. The only part of the plan that he knew would be just fine, was neatly tucked inside the folded dress shirt that the redhead reserved for special occasions only (a special occasion being anything that Aziraphale was particularly eager to go to, plays included). Stowed away in Crowley’s shelf of the wardrobe, was the second part to his fantastic plan, a collection of their time together.
Class begins without a hitch for both of the men. Mr Aziraphale spends the better half of an hour chatting very excitedly about Romeo and Juliet with a few of his students, preparing for their adaptation analysis. It definitely sets his teaching day off just right, just as he had hoped it would be on his wedding anniversary, and he hopes, ever so much, that the day will go just to plan.
Mr Crowley, as per usual, spends the start of his lesson discussing just how excited he is that it’s his anniversary and that he gets to give his husband special gifts instead of just their usual gifts.
If the class encouraged Crowley to talk about his long spanning history with Aziraphale, well, he definitely didn’t mention it later, because besides his photography work, his next favourite thing was his husband, and everyone knew it.
After Aziraphale’s first class, the blond remembers that he didn’t see Crowley grab any food to take to work with him, despite the reminder that he always gave his lover to make sure he didn’t end up sick again. So, just to make sure he wasn’t correct with that memory, Aziraphale grabs his phone and his coffee, and begins the walk from one side of the campus to the other to see Crowley.
Crowley ended his class with the studio lights heating up the room, past the point that the AC couldn’t do anything anymore, Queen’s Greatest Hits playing from the classroom computer in the back corner, and his students sitting in various places, chatting with their cameras still hanging around their necks. At some point, someone gets Crowley going on the topics of gifts for his husband, so he shows a group of 4 or 5 stray students (probably not finished their task for the class, but whatever), the books, with their much loved covers, their old and yellowing pages.
He shows them, and then leaves them sitting on top of the bag, thinking that he’d deal with it later.
The class clears off slowly, one of Zira’s students, Newt, if Crowley remembers correctly, coming in to hang around with Anathema, who often went with Newt to some of his other classes, distracting teachers with prophecy books, as she did. There’s a small murmur of conversation in the room, when a familiar head of blonde curls steps into the room, the warm presence making his way over to Crowley, who has his back turned, and is deep in conversation with someone who was complaining about their old job at a dodgy pizza joint in Bristol.
To say it was a nice surprise to see Aziraphale come into his classroom was only a half-truth, in this case. Of course Crowley’s day was lit up by his angelic husband, and he treasured every moment together. But, at this particular point in time, Crowley was fuelled by adrenaline as he realised that his gift for Aziraphale was on the table. Directly behind him. Right in Aziraphale’s line of view.
So as any anxious person does, trying to avoid spoiling their significant other’s anniversary gift, Crowley walks around Aziraphale, and turns his husband so that he cannot possibly see the books, unless he grows eyes out of the back of his head, which was completely impossible (or was it? Crowley didn’t know at this point in time). And Aziraphale, being the wonderful person he is, is definitely confused about being rotated, but doesn’t mention it, he just smiles at his husband for a single millisecond, before switching into his Mild Concern Mode.
“Crowley, dear, have you eaten?” Aziraphale inspects the taller man’s tan face, for any sign that he had eaten, if that was even a possible thing to show on your face
“Dear, did you leave the food in the fridge at home again?” Aziraphale’s voice is soft as Crowley meets his eyes, giving him a small smile, then a tiny shake of the head
“I left it on the bench, I think. Further than the fridge though!” Crowley’s voice is a little shakier than usual, probably due to fatigue, and you know, not eating for 5 hours, Aziraphale decides, so he gives his husband an exasperated smile.
“Dear, Crowley, you should come to my office and we can have lunch” The blonde analyses his husband’s face, looking for any more signs of exhaustion, or even of illness, while he speaks in the clear voice he knows gets through to Crowley, even if he’s disassociated.
Crowley, all while Aziraphale is trying to get him to eat like a normal human being, is paying half attention, and with the other half, is frantically looking to literally any of his students, trying to convey with his eyes alone to cover the books with the bag they came in. But, of course, no one is looking his way, and he just looks incredibly stressed, which is exactly what Aziraphale had been looking out for.
“Anthony J Crowley, if you are getting sick, I’m never going to let you leave the house until you’re better” The shorter glares at his lover, baby blue eyes icy cold and commanding, hitting Crowley right in the emotions
“But angel,” Crowley whines, looking up to the roof, as if God Herself could save him from this situation. But as in all other situations of Crowley and Aziraphale, God simply watched, because She already had Her “finally” moment, about 15 years ago, when the two finally got married.
“No, I’m serious” Aziraphale uses his soft hand to angle Crowley’s face back down to look at his own
“If you’re feeling unwell, we’ll just go home, even if you’ve just got the shakes from forgetting to eat” Aziraphale gives him the ‘I’m concerned, you bastard’ Look, and Crowley knows right then and there, that there’s no way of getting out of this.
“Az, I still have another class to teach later, I can’t just go home early” Crowley tries to put literally anything that sounds like a protest, as he whines. Surely he hadn’t been wanting to spend the whole day at home with his husband in the first place? Right?
“And? Young man if you think I will not cart you home right now because you’re feeling unwell, you know that I will” The threats were definitely intended to be half-hearted, and by hell they were, but Crowley definitely was not going to fuck with his husband if he was determined to take him home, so instead he gives a defeated smile, reaching out to hold his husband’s hand
“Darling, Angel, you still have two more classes to teach today” Crowley softens his voice, hoping to make Aziraphale at least stay at uni, even though he knows full well that the other will want to make sure that Crowley is getting better with all the force he can muster.
“Nope, not working mister, get your books, we are going home. You will be better by dinner tonight, you lanky bastard” Aziraphale starts to turn around to the desk, where he knows that Crowley’s shit will be absolutely scattered across the tabletops in ‘neat’ piles
“But after we sit down and eat that lunch in my office, okay?” He adds on, light and cheery as he normally is
It would be nice to say that Crowley didn’t panic like a madman, but that would be lying, because if his heart was going a hundred miles a minute, well it was well past a thousand now, and he could hear it pumping the blood around his body, very clearly, in his eardrums. Crowley didn’t doubt it that he was also, most definitely, paler than he had been, and sweatier, as he tried to divert his husband from looking at the books. He even took one long stride to cover them with his whole body, deciding against laying on them when he remembered the price tag on each of the novels.
So his surprise wasn’t going to plan, thought Crowley, but you never know what fate has in store for you, because Aziraphale turns to look at the redhead and his eyes lock onto the pile of books. Then the blonde can feel the tears welling up behind his eyes
“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale starts, his voice soft and wobbly, looking like a deer at the amber eyed man before him
“Oh Crowley, you didn’t have to” the shorter man is definitely crying now, as he steps forward and engulfs his taller husband in a bone-crushing hug, staining the front of his wine red shirt with tears.
Crowley gives his husband, what is widely known as the Softest Smile In Existence, as he pulls the blond closer to his chest, tracing patterns on the shorter man’s back. Sure, the surprise hadn’t gone as he’d planned, he hadn’t been able to hand the books to his husband as they got into the car at the end of the day, making sure their evening was going to start off on the right foot. But the way it was going, well, their evening started prematurely, by about 4 hours, and the gift was not given, rather it was found. Aziraphale received the gift well either way, and if the general guess was correct, if the plan had gone accordingly, they wouldn’t have left the parking lot for a while either, so no big loss, because now they had the whole afternoon together.
“These were expensive, Crowley, that’s why I didn’t get them! Why would you go and spend all your money on me like this?!” Aziraphale pulls back from the hug for a solid 3 seconds, just to glare at his husband for buying him an expensive gift, head tilted with a pout decorating his feature, and hit his husband lightly on the arm, to which Crowley frowns, before Aziraphale returns to his post with his face smooshed in Crowley’s chest.
“Angel, it’s a gift, plus, I’ve been planning this for months, it’s fine!” Crowley presses a soft kiss to the Aziraphale’s forehead, smiling into the blonde curls, muffling his words a little
“Don’t cry, I save up money for it each year, you should know this by now” Crowley laughs a little as Aziraphale tries to hide his face further into his husband’s chest, to no avail.
“I can’t believe you, dear” Aziraphale mumbles into Crowley’s chest, before tilting his face so that their noses almost touch
“You’re so lovely, even if you say you aren’t” The smile that Aziraphale gives Crowley is one of his favourite things about his husband, because the utterly certainty of his love shines through his eyes, strong and clear, just as Crowley hopes is visible in his own.
“Alright, you sap” The taller gives a soft laugh, releasing his husband from his embrace, before turning to put the books carefully back into their shopping bag
“Let’s get this show on the road then, and we should definitely eat before we go” Crowley gives a little laugh as he shows Aziraphale his shaky hand, avoiding his husband’s disapproving looks by starting to file everything back into his briefcase.
The two work quickly, collecting papers, logging out of the computer, and making sure every camera was accounted for, before heading on their way to Aziraphale’s office. And of course, as they should have expected, as they make their way out of the classroom, they hear a few students utter a quick “I told you that Zira was Mr Aziraphale!” and the odd “dang, I want to be like that when I’m married”, making Crowley blush like crazy, despite being the one who constantly gushes about his husband to his class. Aziraphale of course, was a little flustered, but being on the mission of My Husband Needs To Get Home Right Now, he hides it well, holding the redhead’s hand, while leading him down the halls along the familiar path to his office.
The husbands are quickly seated in Aziraphale’s office, tucked away in the back of the English department, conveniently next to the little kitchenette with the microwave, where Aziraphale had heated up his container of pasta for his gangly husband. Crowley sits, well, sprawls himself across the desk chair that Aziraphale had given him, while inhaling the pasta from the little stained yellow container, quietly looking over the details of the office that were so, well, Aziraphale. From the warn copies of Shakespeare plays and poetry collections on the shelf above the desk, to the mugs and sachets of his favourite cocoa, the room was so very Aziraphale, but not the Aziraphale like at their home, with his piles upon piles of half read novels in every corner, on their nightstand, and even stacked up neatly next to the couch in the lounge room. Aziraphale really bought his cozy, homely feel with his everywhere that he stayed for more than a minute, and quite frankly, everyone adored him for it. Who couldn’t love his little face and his charming bow tie, and his little tartan coat?
“My dear, have you eaten enough? You good to drive home now?” Aziraphale asks, hitting send on the emails to both his and Crowley’s classes, letting them know that the rest of the afternoon’s classes were cancelled, probably a relief to the few that Aziraphale knew hadn’t finished their readings of Hamlet. The blonde looks over the rim of his little glasses, (which were only blue light blocking, nothing else) and meets the eye of Crowley, who is in the middle of eagerly shoving the last mouthful of pasta into his mouth, smiling at his husband as he closes his mouth around the fork.
“Yeah, I’m done now” Crowley mumbles, fork still half in his mouth, before he puts it inside the container and snaps the lid closed
“You finished sending emails now, angel? Because let’s get a move on, I want to lay on the couch and have a solid nap if I can” The taller stands up from his post at the desk chair, his back popping when he stretches, side effects of years of editing photographs, and walks over to Az, helping him put his laptop into his backpack, and collect up all the folders he was inevitably going to have to work on during the next few days, even though he wasn’t coming into uni.
“Alright, love” Aziraphale walks around his husband, running his hands over the tall man’s shoulders, making Crowley smile softly as he stands up, turning to catch Aziraphale in his embrace again, taking the blonde a little off guard, but it wasn’t unwelcome.
“We gonna leave now?” Aziraphale breathes into Crowley’s shirt, welcoming the soft fabric against his cheek, and when he feels Crowley nod, leaning his head against the side of the blonde’s curls, Aziraphale pulls back from the hug, grabbing his stuff and cueing for Crowley to do the same.
“Off we go then, Angel, to Alpha Centauri” Crowley laughs a little as he picks up his bags in a little twirl, making his way to the door in a full spin of his lanky form.
The redhead had always had quite the affinity for the star, no one was really sure why, but after one particular evening where he had gotten, well, quite intoxicated and insisted that they could run away from their lives on Earth by moving to Alpha Centauri, Aziraphale had insisted that they name their cottage after it. Because they couldn’t go to the stars to run from their problems, but they certainly could lock themselves in their cottage and pretend the problems didn’t exist, all while watching a rental movie, cozy on the couch. The name had stuck, and now whenever either of the men wanted to get away from their day to day life, they made sure to use the name, and that was their little signal to lock the world out.
Because of the whole, being a teacher so you have at least 1 bag to carry, thing, the two wander to the parking lot side by side, as much as Crowley is itching to hold his hands, and as much as Aziraphale is wanting to be home already so that he can make sure that Crowley will not be sick for their dinner date later in the evening. Crowley dramatically steps in front of Aziraphale to open the passenger door to the Bentley when they approach the car, fumbling with his keys for a second as he tries to unlock the door and keep hold of all his bags.
“Put your briefcase down, dear, you’ll only drop something if you keep that up” Aziraphale says softly, his voice bubbly with a barely contained laugh.
“Oh, yeah, you’re right” Crowley mutters, leaning down to place his briefcase up against his leg, before unlocking the car door and dramatically swinging it open for his husband, who flashes his classic smile and places a quick peck on Crowley’s cheek before placing both himself and his bags into the car
“Thank you Crowley” Aziraphale sing-songs, adjusting the position of his bags at his feet, while Crowley leans into the back of the car to put his gifts and his normal briefcase into the back seat of the car. The blonde leaving a soft touch on the arm of his husband as he stands up to walk to his side of the car, making the redhead smile, albeit a small smile, it was one nonetheless.
Crowley gets into the driver’s seat and starts the old Bentley, his prized possession, and pops on his favourite mixtape of some Queen and Velvet Underground, something that Aziraphale had gotten a friend to help him make for their 2 year anniversary, and something that had been played hundreds of times. Sure, the traffic was a little slow despite being before the school rush, but Crowley and Aziraphale were both thinking of how lovely it was that they’re able to go home early on their anniversary, even if they just spend the whole time sleeping, and somehow, traffic was bearable for once.
Once the Bentley is parked safely in their garage, the husbands make their way inside their little cottage, leaving their work in the study, and making their way to their lounge room, Aziraphale immediately filling up the kettle and flicking it on, all the while Crowley makes his way to the bedroom, putting the bag of books on top of their dresser for Aziraphale to sort out later. Crowley quickly changes out of his jeans, into his soft track pants and slips on some bed socks, because if he was going to be home until they were going to dinner, he might as well be comfy.
The redhead wanders through the warm yellow painted hallway to the open area kitchen and lounge space, padding his way over to Aziraphale, who is preoccupied with making a cup of tea for the both of them, half a sugar for Crowley, two for himself, staring idly out the window into their back garden as he waits for the tea to be ready. Crowley sneaks his way up behind his husband, wrapping his arms around the shorter’s middle, pulling himself into the warmth of Aziraphale’s body, amazing in contrast to his always cool hands (that Aziraphale loves, especially basically being a human heater).
Crowley rests his head on the blonde man’s shoulder, looking down at Aziraphale’s hands, which search for his own without any particular direction. He fits his long fingers in Aziraphale’s own, finding comfort in the softness of his partner’s hands, the touch that keeps him grounded.
“Tea’s almost ready, dear, then we’ll go and sit down at the couch. Do you want to get the big blanket out?” Aziraphale says softly, looking over to his husband, admiring the little snake tattoo that swirled around just in front of his ear, Aziraphale’s first gift for his husband, taking him to the tattoo parlour, keeping him distracted as the tattoo artist worked her magic.
Crowley shuts his eyes as if he won’t have to move from his spot if he pretends to be asleep on Aziraphale’s shoulder, and in any other situation, it probably would have worked, but their tea was ready, and Aziraphale had to pop the tea bags in the bin, and grab the milk out of the fridge. Crowley knows when he feels Aziraphale shift to squeeze the teabags, that he should probably move, so with a quick peck to his husband’s cheek, the tall man makes his way over to the couch, getting the giant blanket from the storage ottoman, and carefully arranges it over the cushions.
Not even a minute later, Aziraphale walks over with two steaming cups of tea, placing them down on the coffee table, and joining Crowley on the couch
“We should get Adam out for a bit of a stretch later, he’ll be wanting out after being inside his house all day” Crowley mutters absently as he scoops his mug into his hands, watching the steam rise in the sunlight. Aziraphale makes a grunt of agreement as he sits down, pulling the blanket so it covers his shoulders, leaning into his husband’s side
“You know, so many of my students adore Adam, it’s so lovely when they come up to me before class to show me what you’ve posted” Aziraphale looks over to Adam’s enclosure against the far wall, the python napping under the heat lamp, coiled over his favourite tree branch.
“Really?” Crowley always manages to be a little taken aback whenever people genuinely enjoy seeing pictures of his python, despite having quite the following on the account.
“Hmm,” The blonde hums, taking a sip from his tea, cupping the warm mug in his hands “it’s all that photographic talent you have, and that photogenic snake son of ours”
“Nah, it’s all Adam, everyone loves him, I mean, just look at him” Aziraphale follows with his eyes as Crowley gestures to the sleeping snake, who is slowly sliding off the branch he’s situated on, bound to fall with a thump any minute now. “See! He’s lovely! Funky little man!”
“Yes, you have a good point, my dear,” Aziraphale smiles, still watching Adam as he slips off the branch “he is lovely”
Adam ends up waking up half-way through falling, managing to squirm so that he sped up his falling process in the efforts to save himself, the pale python unravels himself as he sits on the bottom of his tank, almost glaring at the branch above him, flicking his tongue at it before looking at his dads and returning to his post curled up on a branch. Crowley can’t help but laugh at the snake, making little snort noises as he tries to contain himself, feeling bad for Adam. Aziraphale gives Crowley a little whack because that’s their son, but not even a second later, he finds himself barely containing a giggle at the reptile’s behavior.
“Okay, once we have finish this tea and have a nap, we’re getting Adam out for a bit, alright?” Aziraphale smiles, taking a big mouthful of his tea, and waiting for Crowley’s reply
“Yeah, sounds good Zira”
The two finish their cups of tea and end up with limbs intertwined on the couch, Aziraphale cuddled into Crowley, head resting just under his husband’s chin, arms wrapped around the lanky man’s middle, and legs intertwined. The two relish in the silence of the household, the dull hum of the fridge and Adam’s lamp creating a familiar background noise. Crowley breathes in the sweet smell of Aziraphale’s shampoo, the curls tickling his chin a little, but the feeling is familiar and comfortable, so he just lets himself relax into his husband’s hold, warmth enveloping him.
It doesn’t take long, in the silence and comfort of their household, for Aziraphale to fall asleep, head tucked under Crowley’s, his arms in a vice grip cuddle, unwilling to let his husband leave him even in sleep, even if that meant that Crowley really needed to pee and he couldn’t escape. That was the only real trouble, because if Crowley knew anything, it was that his husband definitely needed a good sleep, so he was going to do absolutely nothing to possibly stop that from happening.
Crowley brings his hand up to thread through Aziraphale’s blonde curls, twisting his fingers to gently untangle a few knots before gently massaging his husband’s scalp, which the man leans into, humming in contentment in his sleep. Crowley finds himself smiling at his husband, the angel who he had happened upon in the Beginning, and the angel he couldn’t bear to part with ever again, and he feels in that moment, what he feels every single night, the almost bursting feeling in his chest of love for the man in his arms.
“Crowley” Aziraphale mumbles softly into the taller man’s chest, and he almost misses it, too caught up in the thoughts about their past together, and how much he loved the man
“Hmm?” Crowley hums in response, looking down at his husband over the tip of his nose. The hum resonates through his chest, making Aziraphale feel it in his face, to which the blonde just snuggles closer into his lover’s chest
“Keep playing with my hair, it feels nice” Aziraphale practically whispers to his husband while trying to slowly articulate the words, still half asleep, not really wanting to wake up. So Crowley starts to run his fingers through the blonde curls once more, making sure to be gentle in just the right spots to make Aziraphale fall back asleep.
Somehow, Crowley goes the full hour without napping, rather he just enjoys laying on the couch with his Aziraphale tucked under his chin and cuddled into his chest. The pros to being sick, Crowley decides, are coming home early, and exactly this, having cuddle time with Aziraphale.
When Aziraphale does eventually wake up from his nap, Crowley is glad, only because he really needs to pee, and he can finally be released, but that doesn’t stop Aziraphale whining when the redhead gets up from the couch.
“I’m going to cuddle Adam instead, just you watch me, mister I’ll leave my husband to be cold when he just woke up” Aziraphale winges, while getting up and stretching, before he pads his way over to Adam’s tank, where the python has started to recognise its exploring time, and makes his way up his branches to the top of the tank. Aziraphale opens up the tank, picking up the very excited python and draping him across his shoulders, sitting Adam so he can see everything and enjoy hanging out while Crowley and Aziraphale do their work.
Aziraphale makes himself comfortable back on the couch once he has Adam, and the lamp is turned off in the tank. The python holds a particular fondness for Aziraphale, particularly for twisting himself around the blonde man’s hand so that he can’t do any work, and instead is forced to give Adam pats. Not that Aziraphale really minds, because if he was that big of an issue, he can always just put the python over Crowley’s shoulders and let the two cold-blooded gems hang out for a bit. This is an especially good idea, because if you do this, Crowley gets out his camera and turns it into a little photoshoot, one time even making the snake a little flower crown to wear and taking photos of him in artfully arranged cherry blossoms, which made Adam sneeze, and Crowley just about cried.
“Hey angel, come here a minute!” Crowley yells from what Aziraphale assumes to be the bedroom, so, with snake in hand, the blonde man makes his way down the hallway to the cozy bedroom, where the curtains are pulled back and the warm light fills the room, making it feel just as much like home as Aziraphale had hoped when they’d first got the apartment.
“Where are you Crowley?” Aziraphale asks, poking his head around each door in hall on his way to the bedroom
“Wardrobe!” The taller responds quickly, which Aziraphale is glad for, being able to just go direct to the other man.
Aziraphale wanders into the wardrobe, only to see Crowley standing proudly next to his stack of dress shirts, smiling to himself before he sees his husband, holding Adam, walk into the room
“Oh hello, handsome!” Crowley coos, reaching a hand out to pat Adam’s head, making Aziraphale pout a little
“And hello to you too, my love” Crowley looks up from Adam and leans forward, placing a quick kiss to Aziraphale’s nose “I have a gift for you”
Aziraphale raises his eyebrow with a soft smile, waiting for his husband to elaborate further, to no avail, Crowley just stands next to his dress shirts, looking like he’s just done the most impressive thing in his whole life
“Come on, have a look” Crowley pats the stack of shirts and meets Aziraphale’s baby blue eyes “I’ll take Adam, hang on a second” Aziraphale walks over to Crowley, extending his arm so that the python can be transferred with ease. Once the snake was in Crowley’s arms (and he was cooing at the python, patting his head, and smiling as Adam flicked his tongue at him)
Crowley nods his head toward the stack of shirts, so the blonde man walks over to the pile, running his hands over the shirts. On the top of the stack is the wine red dress shirt with little snakes embroidered around the collar, the shirt that Crowley had worn to their wedding, perfectly extra and perfectly Crowley. Aziraphale picks it up in his soft hands, running his fingers across the embroidery, and moving it aside, placing it down on the shelf next to the others, revealing a parcel wrapped in white and gold wrapping paper, hand painted with little angel wings. In the centre of the paper, in Crowley’s chicken scratch of handwriting, was a small “angel” written with glittery blue pen.
Aziraphale holds the parcel gently in his hands, running his fingers across the paper, one of his favourite feelings, and he looks up to Crowley’s amber eyes
“Dear? What’s this? you already bought me enough gifts!” With the influx of gifts from his husband, Aziraphale starts to feel a little like his gift wasn’t going to be enough, and he’s not really sure if he wants to open up the parcel, so he hesitantly runs his fingers over the paper
“Don’t worry about it angel,” Crowley assures the shorter, while wrangling Adam so he won’t make himself at home in the pile of dress shirts
“This gift is for the both of us, I just want you to be the first one to see it. I haven’t even seen the finished product yet, just the outside of it” The redhead gives his husband a soft smile, tilting his head to indicate to open the damn present.
Aziraphale turns the parcel over, and with the utmost delicacy he can muster, he slides his finger under the tape and opens up the packaging, avoiding tearing the paper (something he’d keep for as long as he could). When the paper comes away from the package, the first thing that Aziraphale lays his eyes on is a soft, pink, cotton cover. He peels the paper away with such accuracy that Crowley is almost transfixed on the movements of the worn hands, revealing a square book, easily 200 pages, with a hard cover of cotton covering.
Aziraphale runs his fingers across what he assumes to be the back cover, Crowley beaming over his shoulder the whole time, taking it all in, when he notices a little embossed heart of black in the bottom right corner. Aziraphale grins a little, not mentioning it, but understanding that it was his husband’s way of saying that he was giving his heart to him. A tradition that had existed between the two for almost as long as they’d known each other, matching hearts of black and white, Heaven and Hell, Literature and Photography, Aziraphale and Crowley.
He turns the book over in his hands, revealing the embossed front cover, Aziraphale recognises the scrawl in his own handwriting decorating the front, something he had written thousands of times before.
“It’s ineffable”
And it was ineffable, their time together, they’d defied odds but made it more than amazing. Their marriage was something else entirely. Something truly Aziraphale, something truly Crowley, something truly ineffable.
“Open it, Love” Crowley spoke, barely above a whisper, voice rough with the soft volume. So Aziraphale did.
The first page holds a small photograph, a scan of an old and worn Polaroid, one that Aziraphale was all too familiar with, a photograph that Crowley had snuck of Aziraphale when he first saw him in a little bookshop, working behind the desk. The blonde’s curls almost defy gravity, somehow the curls are just fluffy enough that they needed no help standing up, even though they should be contained by the black beret that the young man wears. He has soft red lipstick and well defined eyebrows, something so lovely and so Aziraphale, especially behind the stack of books he was cataloguing for the store.
Aziraphale can feel tears building behind his eyes at the memory, a young Crowley, long ringlets and a loose black shirt and jeans wandered into his shop, the man making every single aspect of his life fall into place from then on. So he flips the page over, taking in each memory of their lives together, and somewhere in his consciousness, Aziraphale registers Crowley sniffling a little. Sure, the redhead had arranged the gift, and he knew the basic outline of the photo book, but absolutely nothing had him prepared for the page with his first real letter from Aziraphale, scanned perfectly next to a picture from their second date.
‘Dearest Crowley,
I don’t know if we can do this, my family won’t approve of us being together, not at all. But don’t be upset.
I know you said we can run away together, Alpha Centauri, you said, but here’s the thing:
Crowley, I like it here, with you. Sure, my parents don’t approve, nor do my siblings, but they can, (excuse my language) get fucked. I love our little meetups, our stolen kisses, your little smile when you see me at college. I love the bookshop and I love your mischief, and I adore your plants.
Crowley, I may not be able to say what I want to say just yet, but know this: you and I are ineffable. I’m sure of it.
Yours,
Aziraphale’
After the letter there is a small piece of film, 35mm cut from the strip that Crowley had used for his second proper exhibition. Even though there’s no light behind the film, Aziraphale can make out the shape of his young face, grinning back at him, remembering the burn of his cheeks as he grinned at his boyfriend. Crowley had been calling Aziraphale all matters of things as he was taking portraits of the blonde, and by the time that Crowley took the infamous frame, Aziraphale had been beetroot red, grinning like an idiot, and heart basically exploding at how much love he felt for the redhead before him.
The waterworks didn’t stop after that, Aziraphale was making sure to take in every candid photo that Crowley had snuck of him, every shot they had together, every god awful selfie that Crowley had from his past. Aziraphale was convinced at the sheer volume of photos, that the book would end with their wedding, but it didn’t.
The photo book comes to an end with a photo of Aziraphale, his ridiculously annotated teaching copy of Hamlet in his hands, fast asleep on the couch, and in his lap, is Adam, curled up and poking his head into Aziraphale’s arm.
There’s a short letter (if you could even call it that) written carefully in Crowley’s chicken scratch on the inside of the back cover, something the taller man had been working on tirelessly for months, coming to a nice end of the collection of their time together
‘Aziraphale,
Hopefully this book becomes one of many, my angel.
We’re ineffable, you’re right, and I am infinitely glad I walked into the bookshop that day and found you.
I know I don’t often say it, but I love you, my Aziraphale
Your favourite demon,
AJ Crowley
PS i hope you like the name Warlock
PPS I’m getting Adam a brother’
If I were to say that Aziraphale wasn’t feeling every single ounce of love he had ever held for Crowley in his entire life, in that moment, making his chest feel like it was about to explode, then I would be lying. Aziraphale looks up from the photobook, carefully closing it and putting it aside, and closes the few inches between him and his husband, engulfing the taller in his arms. Crowley returns the hug without a single second of hesitation, wrapping his arms around the soft man he had come to love with his entire being, and presses a kiss into his blonde curls.
“Did you like it?” Crowley whispers, afraid to break the mood of happiness that surrounds the couple (and their snake, who is very much enjoying hanging out on Crowley’s shoulders).
He had spent so much time compiling the photographs, checking their old albums to scan pictures, digging through folders and folders of film negatives for just the right pictures. Sure, it was guaranteed that Crowley would have the pictures, he kept every photo he’s taken in a collection of journals, but it made every single moment more special. They had something like this book now, and that meant the entire world to the both of them.
Aziraphale hums into his husband’s chest, before looking up to meet his eyes, still glistening with tears.
“You gave me our world, and it means the world” The blonde uses his hand to softly tilt Crowley’s head so that he has easy access, before standing on his tip toes and placing a tender kiss upon the redhead’s lips “Thank you so much, Crowley, I love you for eternity”
Crowley nods, placing a soft kiss to his short husband’s head (I say short, but Crowley is just ridiculously tall)
“We’re ineffable, angel, you say it enough and I know you mean it” Adam starts to squirm in Crowley’s arm, getting a little restless and trying to move to become Aziraphale’s new scarf
“How about we pop little mister here into his tank, and go for dinner now?”
Aziraphale nods, taking Adam in his hands and walking out of the bedroom
“Good plan, but how did you know I booked dinner?”
“You book it every year, my love, and I look forward to it every time”
--
Aziraphale tries to look as relaxed as he can as Crowley drives the Bentley to the small restaurant where he had booked a table for the two of them, just on the outskirts of London, a place that Anathema and Newt had recommended not even a month ago. The redhead drives at a ridiculous speed through the city, and even though Aziraphale loves the man to bits, he is definitely still just a little scared when he drives. They reach the restaurant easily enough, tucked away in a side street, where the little cottages start to spread into the hillsides and the green begins to emerge in the form of gardens and the suburbs, and Aziraphale is practically buzzing. Sure, he had booked this particular restaurant because he wanted to try their carbonara, but he knew that his husband would enjoy it if he was too.
The couple get escorted by a short waitress-in-training, to a lovely table tucked away in a corner, a white tablecloth making it stand out from the rest of the (uncovered) tables, definitely and edition requested by Aziraphale. Crowley, as per usual, being well trained in etiquette, pulls out the chair for the blonde, giving his husband a quick peck as he sits down, before making his way to his own seat. The two scan the quaint restaurant, watching the other patrons go about their business, before the waitress, Pepper, brings them their menus with a smile, before walking over to a group of other staff, immediately chatting like she’s familiar with every patron in the place.
Crowley skims the menu before looking up to watch his husband, who looks at the menu with utmost care, even though he knows what he wants well before they arrive there.
“Oh! They have a really nice spinach and feta pastry roll here, according to Newt,” Aziraphale looks up, taking in his husband’s loving stare with a soft smile “You might like it, dear” Crowley nods, none the less, knowing that he will probably just get a schnitzel, but considering the pastry, since his husband knows how much he enjoys spinach and feta in literally anything.
“We’ll see if anything else catches my interest, but I’ll probably get that then, love” his voice is soft, just as his whole body floats in the mere presence of his angelic husband, emotions overwhelming him, but simultaneously welcoming him home.
In the end, Aziraphale orders for the both of them, knowing Crowley’s order before he even manages to decide upon anything himself, what feel like thousands of years knowing each other, they know each other better than they know themselves. And not even half an hour later, a plate of delicate pastries sits in front of Anthony J. Crowley, a glass of red in his hand, matching that of his husband, who has a plate of carbonara before him.
It takes Crowley all of about 10 minutes to finish his meal, hungry and enjoying the taste of the pastries as he practically inhales them, leaving him able to watch as his husband savours every single bite, making sure to enjoy it as thoroughly as he can. Sure, it took a bloody long time for Aziraphale to eat a meal when they went out to a restaurant, but by hell did he enjoy each morsel he ate, and by hell, did Crowley take pleasure in watching the blonde savour his food.
“Anthony, I swear, this is my favourite carbonara I’ve gotten from here, I must let them know that the chef is fantastic tonight!” Aziraphale grins, looking at his husband to check he’s acknowledging the comment, which of course he is, the redhead watching him with a familiar intensity, nodding lightly at the comment
“I’m glad to hear it, my love, I’ll make sure to let them know when we pay” the taller smiles, reaching over the table to wipe a stray splash of sauce off his lover’s face with his thumb, licking the sauce off his finger instead of wiping it on a napkin.
“Hmm, it is quite nice, I can see why you like it”
The two stay at the table for a little more than half an hour longer, Aziraphale enjoying the pasta, making small comments about how well done the bacon was, or how nice the sauce complimented the chicken bits, how he could tell the pasta was homemade by the specific taste. By the time that the blonde finished his pasta, Crowley noticed the kitchen staff making quick comments to the chef each time Aziraphale had made a comment, receiving a few excited yells from the back of the little kitchen, so he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, to which his husband just nods, making sure to take in every last morsel of his dinner, it was expensive after all.
The tall redhead makes his way over to the kitchen staff, who are still chatting without taking notice of the approaching customer, with what would seem to some as a very intimidating glare, but to those who knew him, it was his ‘I’m trying to find just the right words to tell you that you did a good job’ face. By the time the staff notice him, the poor waitress in training has a mild look of fear on her face, and the others pretend to do literally anything in their immediate area.
“Hi,” the girl shifts her feet as she shifts into customer service mode, “is there something wrong, sir?”
Crowley realises after a second, that he probably looked quite mad, so he tries to soften his expression and puts on a smile, shaking his head quickly
“Oh no! Quite the opposite!” He tries to put on, what he hopes, is the nicest sounding voice he can manage, the one he used with Adam when he was looking after the big bugger, or with Warlock, the black python he had been looking at for Aziraphale, and luckily, the girl visible relaxes
“My husband was saying, nearly the whole meal, that he really enjoyed his carbonara, and he wanted to send his compliments to the chef, that’s all!”
“Oh?” The girl looks genuinely shocked, but she pokes her head into the window to the kitchen
“Wensleydale! Someone likes your cooking! Come and hear what he has to say”
To Crowley’s surprise, a young boy, who couldn’t have been more than 20, comes to the window with a smile, his cute patterned bow tie poking out from his shirt collar, hair slicked back behind the hair net, looking curiously at Crowley
“I’m guessing you’re the cook?” Crowley questions, giving the boy a once-over, and when the boy gives a shy nod, he continues “My husband wanted to tell you that you did a fantastic job with the carbonara. The sauce was amazing, the bacon was done really well, and so was the chicken, it was an absolutely fantastic meal, so props to you”
The young man practically beams with pride as Crowley compliments his work, leaning his body against the counter and nodding at each thing that Crowley mentions, taking mental notes
“You’ll go far, Wensleydale, was it?” The chef and the waitress both nod “You’ll do great, just keep it up and my husband and I will be back more often, I assure you” Crowley leaves just as swiftly as he had come, satisfied that he had done his job letting the chef know just how amazing Aziraphale thought he was.
The blonde is finished with his meal when Crowley returns, placing a soft kiss to the man’s lips before sitting down in his seat across the table. Aziraphale is in the midst of tidying the table, stacking the plates and glasses for the kitchen staff, even making sure to wipe the little splatter of sauce off the table, giving his husband a soft smile as he goes. When he’s completely satisfied that he’s cleaned enough, he places his hands on the table in front of him, where Crowley can easily take his hands in his own, which he does without a second’s hesitation.
“What’s your review of the pastries, dear?” Aziraphale tilts his head, making sure to show his husband that he has his full attention, something that Aziraphale often made sure to show him, something incredibly comforting for Crowley’s anxiety ridden brain.
“They were fantastic, so well done, you’ll have to let the chef know how much I liked it when you go up to pay for it” Crowley smiles as if he definitely hadn’t already given all the compliments he wanted to the chef, knowing that the young man would feel much better about his cooking if the both of them told him just how much they enjoyed it.
“We should come back here more often, I think, I’d love to come back and try their quiches, and surely they’ll be just as good as tonight’s dinner.” Aziraphale nods eagerly, thinking of suggesting the same thing, having enjoyed all of the meal thoroughly.
“Of course my dear. let's sort out the cheque” Aziraphale stands up, pulling Crowley with him, pulling the taller close, slipping an arm around his middle, Crowley doing the same to the shorter, giving him a soft smile as he pushes his chair in quickly before they make their way back to the bar area to pay.
Crowley gives the waitress a cheeky smile as the couple walk up to pay, Aziraphale unaware of the compliments given to the staff earlier while he was occupied with cleaning up his food, so the blonde just goes along with his normal routine of paying for the meal while complimenting everything he can think of, Crowley smiling down at his husband the whole time, his love practically radiating off his body.
“Oh and I must say, absolutely everything about the meals was fantastic, I must say, please send my compliments to the chef, the presentation and all aspects of the taste of the meal were perfect, I loved everything about it, and I’m just Anthony here adored those pastries, they looked fantastic.” Aziraphale radiates his soft pride at the chef’s accomplishments, and Crowley can tell that it’s making the waitress happier than she already was, something that Az had always been good at, his aura of comfort follows him everywhere (once his fun month of teen angst was over when he was 13).
Crowley grins at the waitress as Aziraphale lists of his favourite aspects of the carbonara, while handing over his credit card to the young lady, Crowley watching with amusement as the girl nods while trying to process the payment and get Aziraphale to take the card back.
“Keep it up and we’ll be back quite often” Crowley says, and then realises it sounded a little like a threat, and then attempts to save it
“All your staff and your chef are lovely, thank you for tonight, it made a lovely dinner”
Somehow Crowley manages to convince Aziraphale that he’s complimented the food enough, and the two walk hand in hand out to the Bentley, the car rumbling softly with Queen playing on the crackly radio all the way home, completing their dinner in such a typical way for their relationship.
And true to Mr AJ Crowley’s word, they were back much more often, making it a fortnightly event, and soon they came to know the whole kitchen crew, and even the locals who came by nightly, Mr Shadwell and his partner Madame Tracey, a lovely woman, who neither Aziraphale nor Crowley understand why they’re a thing, but whatever.
Their anniversary night ends in typical fashion for the two, cuddled on the bed, wrapped in a blanket despite the heat, flipping through Aziraphale’s journal. The journal was something that Aziraphale kept religiously, one for each year, each note that the two left for each other on busy mornings or late nights, sometimes even scraps of paper left on each other’s desks, folded neatly and pasted into the journal, with little notes from Aziraphale of what he found nicest about the day. Crowley’s favourite page is one where Aziraphale had been unwell with a cold, so Crowley had left little sticky notes everywhere around the house with well wishes and sappy little notes about how much he loved Aziraphale’s curls, his soft pudge, the way he savoured every moment.
It was a lovely day, despite Crowley later also becoming sick because he had decided that it would be a fantastic idea to make out with his unwell husband later that evening, and Aziraphale’s notes for the day showed that, mentioning how even though he was alone in the house, he had never felt so comforted and blanketed by Crowley’s presence despite his absence. The night ends for the two, when Crowley slowly nods off, his head falling and hitting the bedhead as he drifts off, still trying to read all of Aziraphale’s notes, leaving the blonde laughing softly as he puts the book aside. He encourages the taller into the bed and leaves quickly to brush his teeth, returning and cuddling up with his husband, gently guiding the head of soft red hair to rest against his chest, Crowley’s favourite sleeping position, where he could hear Aziraphale’s heartbeat, assuring him even in his sleep, that the man he loved was close by.
Aziraphale follows Crowley to sleep not even minutes later, reflecting on how much he loves the man as he drifts off, the feeling of love and the gentle memories following him through sleep. It would be a lie to say that they didn’t dream of each other, as cheesy as that may be, but falling asleep while reflecting on such love, while being physically close to your lifelong partner, you’re bound to have more than just a physical connection in sleep.
They drift off together, happy and safe in each other’s arms, ready for the whole weekend ahead of them, ready for the life before them, and ready for some well earned sleep, because being a teacher is bloody rough, so good job to the both of them.