Chapter Text
Warlock Thaddeus Dowling was having a good day. He was at a boy’s house, his name was Avery and he had stick and poke tattoos and really pretty brown eyes. They were supposed to be studying, that’s what both of their parents thought.
Truly, they were sitting too close together on Avery’s bed, whatever it was on Netflix just background noise for the heartbeat in Warlock’s ears, or the hand crawling up his own, or lips on his.
“Aver-” that was Avery’s mother, the teenage boys jumped away from each other, Warlock’s face bright red.
Warlock was not having a good day anymore.
Warlock was out of Avery’s house, no time to pull his platform boots on, fumbling for the keys to his shitty old Beetle in his big black jacket, a car both his parents hated but he always secretly thought it a good place to stay the night after a quarrel with them.
She’s gonna tell my dad, she’s gonna tell my dad, she’s gonna tell my dad .
He turned the key in the ignition with shaking hands, thinking about places to go, the address of the homeless shelter for queer youth popped into his mind, he’d be found there, surely, and he didn’t want to be found. If his parents knew where he was they’d never stop harassing him about it, its easier for an ambassador to have an unhappy child under their roof than to have a happy child running about.
So he just drove, drove and drove, the way Nanny would drive him around, the way he drove that would get him in trouble were he driving the expensive car his parents bought him. His go-bag slid around the back seat when he made a sharp turn.
Warlock made the safe choice and slowed to the speed limit before picking up his phone to call John, trying to keep the panic out of his voice, “Can I stay at your place tonight? I’m out past curfew and ma would fuckin’ kill me if I came home late,” this was true, he was out past curfew, he was supposed to sleep over at Avery’s, but he was pretty sure his parents weren’t home.
Mr. and Mrs.Dowling had never hit Warlock, that would imply that they were around enough to ever be angry at the boy, Nanny had done a majority of the parenting while Mr. and Mrs.Dowling ran off to wherever they were going. Wherever it was, Warlock hadn’t been allowed since the incident with Dr. La Vista when he was eleven.
“I’ve got Beth over tonight, sorry man,” John said, “Just sleep in your car.” He had done this once or twice before, but he was running low on gas, and he’d left his wallet at home and the money in his go-bag was for food, if he slept in the car he’d probably freeze to death, it was way too cold for early September.
Warlock groaned into the phone, parking in front of a run-down strip club, it’s sign’s letters only lit to read S T RI P -TE AS E . For a late Friday night in Soho, it was strangely quiet. Unbeknownst to Warlock, this street was often quiet, and when it was, there were often somber meetings in cars parked just where he was.
“Heard there’s an old bookshop run by some-” John cut himself off after what Warlock had told him last week, “Some guy and his husband, ‘s got funny hours but I think they could show you where to go.”
***
Aziraphale curled his strong arms around the demon in his bed, who had just woken up and made a strange noise, “What is it, my dear?” the angel kissed his partner’s snake tattoo gently.
“Somethin’ feels off, I dunno,” Crowley grumbled, “I need some alcohol,” the demon rolled out of the bed.
“Crowley, put some pants on at least, I have windows in the shop, you know.”
“It’s eleven o’clock,” Crowley complained, pulling some decent clothes on anyway, “Who’s walking past a bookshop at eleven o’clock?”
“I don’t know ,” Aziraphale joined him, pulling the striped pajamas he had folded on his dresser over his head, “But now I’ve woken up I can’t go back to bed.”
“Sorry, angel,” Crowley sauntered down the stairs, followed by Aziraphale. The angel slumped into the couch in his backroom while Crowley picked whatever alcohol he was going to chose.
For the past few years, Crowley had made it a habit to coil around Aziraphale on the couch and leave alcohol moderately forgotten on the table as he pressed kisses all over his angel. Tonight was no different.
“Did you know that I love you?” the demon asked, from Aziraphale’s neck where he was planting soft kisses.
“I certainly hope so,” the angel replied, and the demon slithered up to kiss his lips, “I love you, too.”
There was a knock at the door, “Ngk,” Crowley complained, “Cock-block.”
“Crowley!”
“Alright, sorry, I’ll get the door,” Crowley put up his hands defensively and left the room to answer the door.
“Button your shirt, dear,” called Aziraphale, even though he had been the one unbuttoning.