Chapter Text
“Sir, this is a public place.”
The voice was masculine and shocked. Stern and condemning.
Crowley opened lazy eyes, wondering what was happening. At the offended tone, he was hoping for a flasher, even if the chances were slim in the bookshop. Their usual biome was usually parks, but a man (demon) could hope (demons shouldn’t be able to hope, but Crowley never cared about the rules). That would be really funny to watch. Flashers always had Aziraphale shake his head, sigh in annoyance and look so utterly bored that the poor guy ended up crying like a child every single time and never came back.
Which was a good thing, because Crowley didn’t want any flashers in St James Park. Innocents ducklings were not supposed to see that kind of things.
He looked around, yawning and stretching. He’d selected a chair near the window, to take advantage of the first rays of sun, and had a good vision of the shop.
The condemning customer was… looking at him.
He turned. Nobody behind him. That was weird. Was the guy offended by the mere vision of him ? It was of course pleasing to know he was still considered an offence, but he usually had to work a little to earn that praise. He rarely was rewarded while sleeping*.
“Public place ?” he asked while yawning a second time, just to annoy the guy a little more (it worked).
“You can not do that in here !” snapped the human.
Crowley was very proud to know he was apparently doing something forbidden. Still, he wanted to know what the something in question was, if only to recreate it willingly in the future.
“Do what ?”
The man curled his lips in contempt.
“This is a respectable place. If you intend to stalk a defenceless woman, be warned that I will thwart you !
Oh. All right, that was what it was about. Indeed, a group of young women was chatting a little way away, right in front of Crowley’s seat. With his glasses hiding the fact that he was sleeping, he could have passed for a creepy pervert.
Well that wouldn’t do. He was of course a demon, but he did have standards.
Mr Morley was a respectable man. He prided himself of being one of the last real concerned citizen of England. They were few, but they were unwavering, and men like them were the ones that made a difference.
He glared at the red haired figure whose limbs were sprawled haphazardly on the chair. This was the real menace. The young generation was rotten. He was certain none of the four university girl currently browsing one of the shelves knew how to cook or take care of a household. Thank God, people like himself were here to step up in front of that kind of depravation.
“How can I help you ?” asked a soft voice behind him, and Mr Morley certainly didn’t start before turning to meet honest, kind eyes.
“Sir, are you the owner of this shop ? I am sorry to have to tell you that this young man here is up to no good ! He has been sitting here for more than half an hour !”
The fair man looked questioningly at the depraved ginger, who shrugged. No education, thought Mr Morley, certain that the bookshop keeper would certainly see his point now. But the owner (was it Mr Fall ? Fell ? Yes, Fell ! That was the name on the establishment) didn’t seem very upset by the deplorable manners.
“My chairs are very comfortable.” he answered slowly, like this was enough of a reason to sit half an hour in a bookshop without even something to read.
“But look at him !” pointed Mr Morley in outrage.
Mr Fell looked. Scratched his head. Then looked back at Mr Morley in confusion.
“Yes ?”
Mr Morley huffed. That man seemed nice and educated enough, but was obviously a little slow.
“He is trying to tempt these young people into sin ! Look at…” he waved up and down “at how disgusting he is ! All in black with those tight clothes, and hiding his eyes behind those glasses like some kind of filthy rock star !”
Mr Fell smiled serenely. “My dear Sir, I can assure you he is not tempting anyone today.”
Mr Morley, by his own appreciation, was a very smart man. One of the brightest in the whole Commonwealth, even. But the implication of Mr Fell’s words escaped him for some obscure reason, and he didn’t realise that the ginger menace was familiar to the bookshop’s keeper.
“He is a threat to public security, ogling these young women like that ! Undressing them with his stare ! Even if their skirts are indeed indecently short, it is still our duty to protect them. You should throw out that kind of malicious people !”
Mr Fell looked at him with half lidded eyes.
“I am beginning to think I shall, actually.” he murmured with some steel in his tone.
Finally, thought Mr Morley, the fair man was seeing some sense.
“How’m I suppose to undress people with my eyes ?” asked the red haired man with a delighted smile.
“I’ve seen how you looked at them” assured Mr Morley, so full of self-righteousness he didn’t catch the confuse stare of the owner of the shop.
“Did you take your glasses off ?” chided the white-haired man, frowning slightly at the lanky figure still lounging on the chair.
“Yes, right, I took them off, then started ogling the ladies,” answered the ginger with no small amount of sarcasm.
“Right, sorry I asked.”
The bell chimed as the uni girls headed out, chatting merrily, and the stout shopkeeper smiled as he watched them walk away without having bought anything.
“Bless the dears girls” he murmured fondly.
Mr Morley wondered how that poor man was making a living. In the half hour he had spend here, observing the dangerous dark figure on the chair, not a single book had been sold.
“You have to do something about this situation, Mr Fell !” he snapped.
“Well that’s obvious,” interjected the offending party. “Threats to public security must be treated very seriously.” he was grinning like it was his birthday and Christmas at the same time.
“Would you be so kind as to not worsen the situation, Crowley ?” murmured Mr Fell distractedly, tilting his head and walking nearer the window to look at one of the young lady, eyeing her attentively from head to toes.
“Oh, angel, come ooooon ! I haven’t been called a threat in three years ! Warms my heart, honest.”
Mr Fell looked back at the man named Crowley and shook his head. “Oh, you...” he sighed fondly,
Mr Morley gasped, connecting the dots. The bookseller was no better. That look he’d just gave the departing girls was proof of his depravation.
“You two know each other ! You are… in cahoots ! I knew it ! You are working together to turn young and frail women from the right path !”
“Whot ?” asked the Crowley guy, flabbergasted.
“Frail women ?” asked the shop’s owner with distaste.
“I will write to the Bodleian Libraries ! You, Mr Fell, will be shamed everywhere you dare show your face !”
“Oy, listen to me, you little shit !” yelled the man named Crowley, jumping on his feet and snatching his glasses off.
Mr Morley looked at him and pursued his lips in disdain.
“Of course. I imagine this lenses are supposed to attract young, influencable girls with a fascination for morbid and gore. You disgust me, the two of you. I will be back ! I will make sure no one enters that shop ever again ! Mark my words !”
Both supernatural entities watched as the human got out, back ramrod straight in his smugness.
“Well, that’s good news…” started Crowley, putting his glasses back on with a slightly trembling hand.
Aziraphale snatched them with a deadly glare.
“Don’t you dare cover them ! Don’t let bad people get under your skin ! Your eyes are lovely, Crowley. I always thought that.”
The demon shuffled his feet and looked down, and his friend sighed before giving him the glasses back, ashamed.
“Sorry about that... I know you feel more comfortable with them.”
An awkward moment passed as Crowley, glasses firmly back on his face, and Aziraphale, fussing desperately with his jacket’s pockets, looked everywhere but at each other. The demon broke the silence first, unable to stand the vision of a fretting angel for very long.
“I’m alright, angel. Honest.”
Aziraphale nodded.
“Good. That is… good. I think I will close the shop. Call it a day. I almost sold something this morning, after all.”
“Yeah” approved the demon as seriously as he could. “That’s more than enough business for a day.”
The angel walked to the door, locked it and sighed with satisfaction.
“Now, I think some light reading and perhaps a cocoa would be just what we need.”
“Do I really have to read, or was it figurative speech ?” drawled the demon. “You know I’ll never be into light reading, right ? Don’t want to come too close to perfection.” he joked.
Aziraphale beamed at him. “I am afraid it is a little too late, my dear. You are already perfect, in my opinion.”
If Crowley spent the next two days in his serpent form, it was entirely the angel’s fault.
A demon could only stand so much praises, after all.
*A blatant lie. He’d often been rewarded while sleeping, usually for something he'd never heard of before.