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Alfriston; May 1st, 2023
Aziraphale signed contentedly as he began to put the finishing touches on his angel food cake. The dessert would be perfectly fine on its own, fluffy in a way that only whipped egg whites could achieve, but the added tartness of fresh strawberries from the garden would certainly add to the overall taste. Perhaps he would add some cream or powdered sugar to it later as well, knowing his companion to have quite the sweet tooth.
The angel quite liked having a larger kitchen, even if he was only making one dessert. He reminisced, without much fondness, to around the same time three years ago; where he was making dozens of cakes in the small kitchen in the back of the bookshop. Oh, the mess! Oh, the lack of space! Oh, the--well no need to get caught up on that now.
A year after that debacle, he and Crowley had decided to move out of the hustle and bustle of London and own a small cottage in a quaint village in the South Downs. After, of course, two drawn out confessions, quite a few emotional moments, and a lot of catching up. They settled on the village of Alfriston; close enough to the coast to enjoy it for an occasional beach outing, but not too close so as to not have to deal with the tourist crowds of Portsmouth and Brighton. Aziraphale had jokingly suggested that they live in Crawley, but his counterpart was less than amused at the thought. It wasn’t close enough to the Downs anyway.
The demon in question was outside in the garden working. As much as Crowley enjoyed having plants in his flat, there was nothing quite like having a large yard of his own to work with. Not to say that London was severely lacking in green, but it was rather nice not having to share it with the masses here. He could enjoy his solitude, grow some fresh produce, and terrorize the begonias without Sheryl downstairs banging a broom on her ceiling yelling at him to ‘stop with that racket.’
Through the bay window in the kitchen Aziraphale could watch him work, as the last strawberry had been cut and now his best friend had his full attention. He began to run water in the sink while he observed, finding that there was an odd catharsis to washing dishes manually. There was still a part of him that was slightly sheepish, ogling the demon so, but he’d rarely ever been caught. And even on days that he was, he was usually met with an equally sheepish wave and not with teasing. Today Crowley was focused on his vegetables, tending and weeding with the utmost care. Aziraphale’s gaze towards him was warm, but betrayed a hint of nerves. After all...he was in trouble.
Two weeks prior, the angel had to leave for London. Having owned a shop for over two hundred years now, he was loath to give it up. Most of his absolute favorites managed to make their way to the cottage, but he felt the slightest bit of guilt bringing all of his books. He didn’t want to overtake the space, so to speak, as it was to be both of theirs (even so he probably took about 579 with him). Plus, there was something about the Soho community he had become rather fond of, even if he did want to get away to settle down.
Aziraphale had always kept odd hours anyway, so perhaps he could just pop in every few weeks for a day. Say hello to the locals. Maintain his status as the “local cryptid” as Adam and his friends tended to call him. Maybe on days he was feeling particularly charitable he could even sell one book from his collection (that thought was usually dashed away the minute it popped into his head).
Though in his haste, he had completely forgotten the date. April 18th.
The Aziraphale in the present winced slightly at his past self’s indiscretion and carelessness. How could he have forgotten about April 18th?? The date that he and Crowley, one thousand and three years earlier, had set up their arrangement. The two hadn’t really brought the date up to each other before, letting it pass without consequence for a millennium plus two. However Aziraphale had been thinking, a dangerous pastime, about it quite a bit in the last few months, since the wedding of dear Anathema and Newton.
In a way...the date was almost like an anniversary for the two of them, wasn’t it? They were not married in the mortal sense, but in 1020 they had committed to each other in a way. Offered to lend a hand, despite great personal risk. A sort of “in sickness and in health” promise. And judging by how Crowley kept uncharacteristically eyeing the calendar after the ceremony, he was thinking the same thing.
But of course Aziraphale had left, and of course Crowley had noticed, and of course the angel was in trouble now because of it.
Crowley had been acting odd since Aziraphale returned from his trip, and now he knew why. The demon must have been so put off by his own thoughtlessness, of course! Thankfully, Crowley wasn’t acting coldly or anything of that sort...but goodness he must have upset his companion greatly.
Hence the reason for a cooling angel food cake, a record of Crowley’s playing in the background, and a very apologetic angel.
Having been lost in thoughts for so long, the squeak of the back door startled him enough to almost drop the knife he was washing. Wonderful, the last thing he needed was to discorporate on top of this. “Finished out there?” he called out.
“Yup,” came the response, emphasis on the ‘p’. As Crowley came into the kitchen, he placed a few zucchinis on the table before going to the vase on the dining room table with a fresh batch of flowers. Forget-me-nots. Aziraphale tried not to overthink their meaning.
Crowley looked a mess, but the endearing sort of mess that one couldn’t help but adore. His hands were caked in dirt, which he would fix once he set the flowers in the vase, and his long-again hair was struggling to stay tied up. He was beautiful, really, even like this. But he still looked odd...and the fact that Aziraphale couldn’t place the emotion was really starting to get to him.
“Could I, uh,” Crowley started, showing his messy hands.
“O-oh! Yes, of course.” Aziraphale moved out of the way for his washing up, but not before getting hip-checked by Crowley when the demon determined he wasn’t moving fast enough for him. “Are the zucchinis for us?”
“Half are for dinner,” said Crowley. “The other half are for the farmers market. That hag Phyllis won’t know what hit her when I show these off.” Even in his nervous state, Aziraphale couldn’t help but sigh exasperated at the statement. Crowley had somehow managed to procure a rival in seventy six year old Phyllis Holton when her pumpkins sold more than his. She had been dreadfully smug about it, but it didn’t excuse Crowley’s childish behavior towards her.
Wait...dinner! He hadn’t thought about dinner! He had only made the dessert, dinner was never even close to the forefront of his mind. Crowley seemed to notice that as well, regarding the cake cooling on the counter.
“Dessert before dinner, eh?” he joked. “I mean I’m not the one to judge the moral fabric of ruining one’s pallet, but it does seem a bit out of character for you.”
“Oh, do forgive me, I wasn’t thinking. Now I’ve gone and soiled the whole thing, haven’t I? Oh….” he restrained himself from swearing. He had done it before, but there was a limit.
Crowley placed a gentle hand on the angel’s shoulder, before turning him around to look at him. “Aziraphale, what’s going on? You’ve been acting really….flitty, lately.”
“You’re one to talk! You’ve been avoiding me for all of two weeks now!” Aziraphale took a few deep breaths to calm himself. “And I know why, and I am so terribly sorry.” Crowley cocked his head to the side in confusion.
“I mean...I admit I’ve been a little,” Crowley made a vaguely “flitty” hand gesture. “For um...reasons that we’ll get to later. But I’m not angry about...whatever it is you think you’ve done, if you need to hear that?”
“But it was so important!”
“What was important???”
“Our anniversary !” Aziraphale covered his mouth in shock. He had thought of it like that for the past few months now, but had never said it out loud before. Now that the word had left his tongue it felt so real, and he flushed in response. Crowley wasn’t much better himself, but still looked a great deal more level.
“And um,” Crowley cleared his throat. “When did you think that was? Exactly?”
“April 18th. The day I left for London. It was so careless of me, I can’t believe I wasn’t thinking-- ”
“Angel,” Crowley interrupted him, a small smile starting to grace his face. What was that there for? “What calendar do we use nowadays?”
Aziraphale had to think for a moment, even if he wasn’t sure what relevance this had to the situation. There had been so many calendars through the ages, but he was certain that this was the correct one. “The Gregorian? Since about 1582 I believe.”
“Right, right. And what calendar were we using in 1020?” Crowley asked, with a lilt in his voice. Almost as if he was teasing, but he couldn’t possibly be! Not now!
“I believe it was...the Julian calendar,” Aziraphale groaned, frustrated. “Though I don’t see what my knowledge of calendars has anything to do with the present situation!.”
“Think about it Aziraphale,” Crowley started. “The Julian calendar? Slightly off from the modern Gregorian. By about thirteen days exactly.”
“Yes, and your point is?”
“Well by your logic that we made our Arrangement, our anniversary as you so aptly put--” Aziraphale sputtered at the casualness of Crowley’s tone. “On April 18th of 1020. And we were operating on the Julian calendar, which has been proven to be thirteen days behind, April 18th on a modern calendar would be…?”
“May 1st.” Aziraphale paused. May 1st. Why that was...today! “B-but dates don’t really work like that, surely??”
“Eh, I’m willing to make an exception. Gotta get with the times and all that,” Crowley smiled. “And there you were, fretting about when you’re right on time.” Aziraphale let out a breathy laugh before rubbing his face with his hands. He was on time, there was nothing to worry about. “Meanwhile,” Crowley continued. “I was the tosser that was worried he was coming on too strong for two weeks.” Ah, so that’s why he was acting strangely. There was another pause as the two of them processed how incompetent they both were when it came to this sort of thing, before Aziraphale finally broke the silence.
“Cake! I...I made cake.” he said uselessly. Crowley chuckled.
“Yeah I saw that,” he stated. “But how about we make dinner first, shall we?”
“That sounds lovely.”