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There were lots of classes that Aziraphale disliked. She didn't care much for upper-level mathematics, for example. There was no part of her that desired to know how to calculate the hypotenuse of a triangle. She didn't mind too much, though, as Crowley would often pass her notes with little drawings on them, or jokes, or even sweets on occasion. She counted herself lucky that she had yet to have to take a health or physical education class, as those had always ended poorly in previous years. She even found herself dreading her additional literature course, where she found herself exposed to rather strongly-worded notes from Gabriel. She made sure to throw those out before Crowley could see them and cause a fuss.
One class that never failed to leave Aziraphale feeling refreshed and full of energy, however, was the English class she shared with Crowley. Sure, Gabriel and his friends occasionally threw the pair glares from across the room, but Aziraphale hardly noticed between Crowley's presence and the discussion of literature.
"Your assignment is a two to three page paper on any of Shakespeare's sonnets. You may choose more than one to compare or contrast, or you may simply analyze what you've read. I expect these to be typed, printed, and on my desk by the time class begins on Wednesday," the professor explained, erasing the writing on the whiteboard. The class took that as a dismissal, and the room erupted with noise.
Amid the screeches of chairs being pushed back, the rustles of paper being shoved into backpacks, and the general chatter of the students, Aziraphale's quiet noise of excitement was audible only to Crowley, who rolled her eyes good-naturedly.
"Really, angel? You're excited about homework?"
"Oh, it's hardly work, Crowley," Aziraphale insisted, offering her a hand up. She smiled as her hand was accepted, bringing the usual rush of relief that she hadn't overstepped any boundaries. "Shakespeare's sonnets are utterly fascinating, and there are so many things to write about them."
"If you say so," Crowley grumbled, wrinkling her nose. "I'm guessing that I can't convince you to write this one for me?"
"Heavens, no! Really, Crowley, there is no need to plagiarize. All you need to do is write on what you read…" Aziraphale pondered for a moment before sighing. "I suppose it wouldn't really be cheating if I suggested a few sonnets that are related for you to analyze, as long as you do the analysis yourself…"
"You're the best, you know that?" Crowley kissed her cheek. "C'mon, then. I've smuggled some things that I know will get even you through trigonometry."
"Oh?" Aziraphale's eyes lit up as Crowley exposed the bag of gummy bears she'd hidden in an inside-pocket of her jacket.
"Well, then, what are we waiting for?"
~~
Aziraphale was pleased to see that Crowley had managed a decent two and a half pages for her paper. Her own had ended up spilling just a tad into a fourth page, but she doubted that the professor would mind.
Secretly, she was just a little bit pleased to see that Gabriel's was barely two pages long. She placed her paper on top of his before adding Crowley's to the stack as well.
She gave a smug look in Gabriel's general direction before heading to her seat.
This was one thing that she knew she did right.
~~
Nevertheless, by the time the papers were due to be returned, Aziraphale felt the faintest butterflies in her stomach. She was confident in her writing, yes, but it was always a bit nerve-wracking to get any grades back.
When the professor entered the room, he did not look pleased. He looked an odd combination of amused and annoyed, and Aziraphale's stomach flipped as his gaze paused on her.
"Well, class, this round of papers was… interesting, to say the least." The professor placed the stack of graded papers on the desk. "The majority of you did very well. You really captured what Shakespeare was really trying to say with his sonnets, and several of you even drew connections to his patrons. One of you, however, decided to stray away from fact and into your own speculation."
The entire class watched as the professor dropped Aziraphale's paper on her desk, but only a handful could see the large red F on the front.
"During the lecture, did we mention Shakespeare's wife?" The professor's question was met with tentative nods by everyone but Crowley, who was trying desperately to catch Aziraphale's eye, and Aziraphale, who was trying desperately to melt through the floor. "Yes? Right. Because Shakespeare wasn't gay. It is frankly ridiculous for someone to conclude that one of the greatest authors of all time was homosexual. Projection onto a historic figure doesn't make a good paper, especially when it's a full page over the maximum length."
"I--" Aziraphale squeaked, not entirely sure what she wanted to say.
"Then again," the professor continued, pointedly looking Aziraphale up and down, "I should have expected overindulgence from you."
"That'sss enough," Crowley snapped, standing fast enough to knock her seat over with a loud clang. "That is not how you speak to a ssstudent. C'mon, angel."
Aziraphale didn't react, even after Crowley had pulled her through the halls and out into the cold air. Her hands shook, and it was clear that the snow on the ground was not the culprit.
"Angel. Angel, can you hear me?" Crowley asked softly, her hands cupping Aziraphale's cheeks. "Aziraphale, angel. Look at me, yeah?"
Aziraphale lifted her gaze to meet Crowley's before squeezing them shut. Despite her best efforts, tears had begun to escape.
"Okay, dove, let's go," Crowley murmured, gently pulling her towards the library. It wasn't ideal, but it was closer than either dorm and it had private study rooms that they could use, along with free use of a Keurig. Crowley led her into one of the small rooms before dumping her in a beanbag. She bit her lip to ignore the noise of despair as she left Aziraphale for just long enough to make a nice cup of tea.
When she returned to the study room, Aziraphale had curled up in the beanbag, her sobs muffled by her forearms as her hands clutched at her hair. Crowley gently pushed her back into a sitting position before sitting on her lap. She held the tea up to Aziraphale's nose. "Come now, that's a good angel. Gotta stop pulling your hair if you want the nice tea."
Aziraphale whimpered, but she did untangle her fingers from her hair before taking the warm cardboard cup. She took a tentative sip before downing the contents of the cup. She let the burning of her tongue distract from the churning of her stomach and ignored Crowley's scolding for doing so.
Crowley sighed, tossing the empty cup into the wastebasket before taking Aziraphale's hands in her own. "Hey. Hey. Talk to me."
"I… I wasn't trying to c-cause trouble," Aziraphale mumbled, pressing her face into Crowley's chest. She didn't care if it was too forward, and Crowley knew better than to think it was.
"I know, angel. He had no right to go off on you like that. I'm pretty sure he broke like a dozen of rules just by singling you out." Crowley ran her fingers through Aziraphale's hair, letting her black-painted fingernails gently scratch her scalp. "Maybe a gay Shakespeare killed his family. Or maybe he was bitten by a radioactive gay Shakespeare as a kid. I mean, come on, even I've heard that theory before."
Aziraphale giggled a little, relaxing under her rhythmic petting. "I didn't just make it up… I used evidence, and several sonnets, a-and--"
"Angel," Crowley interrupted, feeling Aziraphale working herself back into a panic. "We need to report it when you feel up to it. You didn't do anything wrong."
"Y-you're certain?" Aziraphale asked softly. "And they won't… they won't think I'm overreacting?"
"No, angel. He singled you out, he revealed your grade in front of the class, he attacked your sexuality, and he insulted your appearance. You're not overreacting at all." Crowley's grip tightened around Aziraphale's hands. "I had half a mind to kick that bastard's ass."
"Language," Aziraphale scolded lightly, letting out a shuddery breath. "Could you just… Hold me?"
"Oh, Aziraphale," Crowley breathed. She wrapped her arms around Aziraphale's soft waist, gently pushing her against the beanbag. She nuzzled her face into Aziraphale's neck. "Pretty angel. Smart angel. My angel."
"My Crowley," Aziraphale whispered, kissing her head. "Let's play the skip game."
"Hooky, angel," Crowley laughed, squeezing her tighter. "I'd love to play Hooky with you."