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Elijah is weak
He knows this, Sarah knows this, Tommy- Well, the whole department knows this and he’s really given up on denying it. He only feels a bit pitiful as he buttons up one of his latest pastry-related shirts and combs his unruly hair into a respectable side part. It’s a good thing, really, that Mr. Crowley has yet to cotton on to his embarrassing little pash.
“To be frank-” his roommate Frankie takes a brief pause to snicker at her own unfortunate joke.
“No,” he says.
“ To be frank ,” she repeats, stretching in his bed in just a loose shirt and knickers, “I’m surprised he hasn’t sacked you yet. You’re not exactly subtle about it.”
“ You’re not subtle,” he mumbles miserably under his breath as he adjusts his webcam so she’s successfully hidden from view. Frankie’s not… decent in the morning.
“What was that?”
“Nothing,” he sings out, fixing his hair one more time before he opens his email to access the link to their team meeting.
Frankie scrutinises him with her big, green squinted eyes. “I haven’t the foggiest why you primp yourself like this,” she says. “He’s hardly there.”
“Well, sometimes he is,” Elijah replies as he fits his headphones ‘round his ears, “sometimes he’s there the entire meeting.”
“It’s not like he’d see you-” her eyes widen. “Does he even know you exist?”
“No, but-”
“Eli, you thirsty slut!”
Sometimes, Elijah wonders why she’s still his best friend -- Frankie can be a bit too much. Clicking the Zoom meeting link irritably, he turns around to face her with a stern frown. “Look, someday, he has to look over-”
“And see what, you in your poncey cupcake shirt- which, by the way, you sly little twink!” She blinks at him meaningfully.
“Was that- was that supposed to be a wink?”
“Yea- no- whatever! Did you think he’s gonna see you, leave his hot boyfriend, and DM you for a shag?”
Elijah scowls. “You haven’t got a heart for romance-”
“Thank you, Mr. James,” Mr. Crowley’s sharp voice drawls from the screen. Elijah whips around so fast, he swears his neck creaks. “Good of you to join us. As discussed in a prior email, I’d prefer it if all of your mics are on mute. Now-”
Elijah only hopes his face isn’t as red as it usually is when he’s embarrassed. He mutes himself, trying to focus as best as he can on Mr. Crowley.
His mobile pings. Sliding it open he reads:
Tommy: hes in a bit of a strop today int he
Tommy: this client is a wanker, it aint you
Tommy: nice shirt btw
He scowls, tucking his mobile away. Through the screen, Tommy gives him a proper wink.
He’s not overly fond of Mr. Crowley, Elijah. He’s stern and blunt, and his face seems perpetually stuck in what Elijah can only describe as a scowly pout. He wears sunglasses 'round the office, sauntering in that arrogant way he always does.
Like a particularly smug bedbug.
And really, there should be absolutely no reason at all why Elijah so looks forward to his meetings. Sure, Mr. Crowley can be…charming when he wants to be, and he's quite good at holding his teams' attentions with his sharp, cutting wit. He takes apart complicated cases, only to piece them back easily, making sure that every single person understands every single nuance in every single clause. It's just that, well…
Elijah once saw a video listing annoying types of Zoom callers. Mr. Crowley is 80% of those.
For starters, he is excessively fond of the galaxy background. It isn’t really a bother, but Elijah knows that Mr. Crowley knows that it’s quite painful to look at after a half hour or so. Still Mr. Crowley keeps it up, sometimes humming the Dr. Who theme whilst he looks over his papers.
Secondly, Mr. Crowley can’t sit still. He gestures heavily with his hands, pointy elbows flying everywhere, and if that weren’t enough, he sometimes gets up, paces back and forth as he pontificates, his screen displaying only his narrow hips as he traverses the galaxies. Once, in a fit of furious passion, he’d gotten up only to remember that he’d only had his pants on. That had been hilariously humiliating and Sarah had been beside herself. Everyone knows, as much as they know of Elijah’s little inconsequential pash, of Sarah’s (and half their department, really) crush on their scowly boss.
It’s even worse when Mr. Crowley decides to go on a walk, laptop in hand, in the middle of a meeting . Elijah gets carsick down the motorway; Mr. Crowley going on a jaunt down the stairs to hold a meeting outside or to his window to brag but also shame his own plants into becoming better, often has Elijah reeling. He has to lie down after, pitifully begging Frankie to pet his hair.
Ugh, and the drinking . No, not booze, never that. Mr. Crowley is a lot of things, but he’s a very respectable and responsible boss. He demands professionalism, and he in return grants them the same respect (except for the Pants Incident , but an accident's an accident and their team had been too delighted over it anyway). Mr. Crowley just drinks too much tea much too loudly. It's really quite distracting.
Frankie says this is his petty jealousy talking, but he learned a long time ago how to tune her out when she says things he doesn't want to hear.
A door creaks open from Mr. Crowley’s mic, and the stern curve of his brows clear, a smile lifting the edges of his mouth. His tense shoulders loosen and he leans back, easy and pleased. Elijah perks up, smoothing his hair back. It’s like a Pavlovian response, Frankie had said once amusingly, he hears a door and he starts primping. He’s only slightly disgusted at himself.
“Angel,” Mr. Crowley greets warmly as a well manicured hand places a cup of tea in front of him. He takes that hand and kisses it gently. To the team, he says, “Right, you’ve all met Aziraphale.”
Elijah remembers when he first met Mr. Fell, the day seared deep into his skin.
He’d been a lowly intern (not that’s it’s any different now, what with him still making copies and handling coffees. Sometimes, he thinks Mr. Crowley forgets he’s not an intern anymore), plain and uninteresting. Terrified to make the wrong impression, he kept his mouth shut on all matters of things, content with agreeing even if whoever deigned to give him their attentions were confidently wrong (Sarah, for example, was wrong about the colour of Mr. Crowley’s tie that day, but Elijah reckoned that was just an excuse for her to ogle him further). No one really noticed him, no one really talked to him, and Elijah had been quite satisfied in thinking that this was just another job he could up and leave and forget about in a couple of months. He had ambitions, and his ambitions did not lie in working for a surly boss in a grey floor-to-ceiling windowed office.
He’d been thinking of giving up the corporate office life for something more artistic and romantic, like a plant covered apartment with just enough space for his paints and easel, when he bumped into someone soft, and in his dumb, daydreamy state, he’d suddenly forgotten how to keep his balance. It was like a scene from a rom-com; everything seemed to slow down as his arms pinwheeled, papers he meant to make copies of flying everywhere. He clenched his eyes closed, fully expecting to hit the ground only to be caught by a pair of arms. There’d stirred a smell of warmth and books in his nose, and when he opened his eyes again, a beautiful man with a halo of blonde curls and blue, blue eyes stared at him fretfully, papers Elijah’d tossed up in the air falling over him like feathers of a wing. This is a meet-cute , Elijah remembered thinking, even then trying to memorise every second of the encounter.
Mr. Fell was gallant, charming even in his nervous state. He helped Elijah gather his papers, taking the time to put them all in proper order, and Elijah was already imagining how Mr. Fell would fit in his lovely artistic apartment, with his endearing old-fashioned clothes and soft, comforting ways.
And it was on the tip of his tongue really, a hand already out to offer Mr. Fell coffee in return, maybe ask him out to a spot of dinner. Maybe go out dancing after, even though Mr. Fell didn't seem the type. But before he could even ask, Mr. Crowley sauntered up, curled an arm ‘round Mr. Fell’s waist, and pulled him into a sweet little peck -- the sort of kiss couples exchange in well-worn relationships, as if love were nothing but a comfortable, cherished ever-present idea they’d long confessed to each other. Elijah had never felt heartbreak as strongly before as that very moment.
Frankie suddenly sits up from her sprawl, eyes squinted. “Something’s different.”
“Sure,” Elijah says distractedly, eyes glued on the screen. He types, “hullo, Mr. Fell” on the chatbox, and a flurry of enthusiastic hi ’s, hullo ’s, and a wotcher from Tommy (ugh) pop up in their Zoom chatbox.
Mr. Crowley rolls his eyes even as he tugs Mr. Fell down, gesturing at his screen. “My minions are greeting you. Very presumptuous of them really.”
Mr. Fell’s round face drops into view, and Elijah sits up straighter, waving at him earnestly. One of these days, he has got to notice him and his sweets shirt.
“Oh, aren’t you all lovely!” Mr. Fell says beaming so widely it makes Elijah’s heart hurt. His hair is extra wild and curly today, as if he’s run a hand roughly through them, and oh, it should make him look like a right mess like Elijah’s hair does to him, but it’s just so adorably charming on Mr. Fell.
Sarah had once confided to Elijah that she could never understand how someone who looks like Mr. Crowley ( like a posh rockstar , she’d said, a posh rockstar that could be a model but he’d really rather just make music for the art of it ) would ever go for someone who looks like a frumpy, fuddy duddy librarian like Mr. Fell. She got it wrong on all counts of course -- Mr. Crowley, in Elijah’s truest, most honest opinion, is lucky he’s got Mr. Fell.
Once, when Tommy’d forgotten his lunch at home, Mr. Fell had given him all of his. Mr. Crowley, Elijah’s convinced, would have never have done that (to be fair, he’s got a theory that Mr. Crowley is a work vampire fueled by coffee and the tears of his subordinates). Not even if Tommy were some poor, helpless orphan. Mr. Fell is the loveliest man Elijah has ever met.
Tommy: well fit today mrfell
Tommy: polka bowtie n all
Elijah rolls his eyes at the texts, knowing Tommy can see him through the screen.
He sighs dreamily as Mr. Fell tilts his head, urging Mr. Crowley to reply to every single message on his behalf. “They can hear you, angel,” Mr. Crowley says fondly, taking Mr. Fell’s hand.
“Jolly good!” Mr. Fell cheers. “Well, I’ll best be going, my dear. Those stories aren’t going to edit themselves.”
“No, staaay,” Mr. Crowley whines in an uncharacteristic show of petulance, “come sit with me, these meetings are so boring !” Somewhere out there, Elijah knows Sarah is probably fanning herself.
Mr. Fell laughs. “You’re running the meeting!”
“I’m well aware!” He tugs Mr. Fell’s hand, bottom lip thrust out in a pout. “Stay and entertain the troops, will you? You know they adore you. Not like me. Terrifying, me.” This is true -- not the terrifying part. A very, very small part of Elijah might be terrified of Mr. Crowley, but everyone in their team knows Mr. Crowley has a spot for them somewhere in his heart. Mr. Crowley, Ms. Dagon from Accounting had said, protects his own.
The truer part of it is that their team, while half envious of Mr. Fell, quite liked him. He comes ‘round the office often, and he’s always got candy or bakes to share. He’s soft-spoken and polite, if not always a bit anxious, and he’s so lovely to talk to.
He's charming, Mr. Fell, with the sort of smile that makes people like Elijah weak at the knees.
“You’re not terrifying.” Mr. Fell kisses Mr. Crowley’s forehead. “I’ll see you after your meeting.”
Mr. Crowley sighs heavily. “Quite right.” He kisses the hand he’s holding.
“Hold on!” Frankie scrambles off the bed, banging her knees against the floor. “Get a bloody rug, will you, Elijah?”
Elijah rolls his eyes. “I don’t even know why I bother with you,” he mumbles under his breath.
She pops up beside his elbow, eyes intent on the screen. “Zoom in and enhance.”
“What?”
She taps at his screen impatiently, where Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley are still holding hands. “Zoom in and enhance .”
“What, did you think I was SOCO or summat?” She tosses him an annoyed look over her shoulder. “It’s a Zoom call, not a fancy- fancy copper… laboratory!” Elijah isn’t one for crime dramas.
She turns back to the screen, eyes squinting. In the lull, Elijah’s mobile pings, and he’s not at all surprised that it’s Tommy yet again:
Tommy: i dunno if you’ve noticed but you’ve a bird on your elbow
Tommy: ginger green eyes, people are lookin
Tommy: not me yeah?
Tommy: gf?
Elijah: I’m gay
“Elijah, petal,” Frankie starts, turning to Elijah with a commiserating look on her face. “I’ve bad news for you.”
“What, that I’m not nearly as good-looking as Mr. Fell’s hot boyfriend ?” Elijah’s heard it all before.
“I don’t think you’ve got that to worry about anymore.” She taps the screen again. “So sorry, love, but I think Mr. Crowley’s popped the question.”
“What question?”
On cue, Sarah’s message pops up on screen, sir, is that an engagement ring on Mr. Fell’s finger? .
Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley exchange looks on the screen, Mr. Fell’s significantly more confused. “You haven’t told them?” he asks Mr. Crowley.
The taller man’s face reddens into a deep blush. “It… hasn’t come up.” He sighs at Mr. Fell’s unimpressed stare. “Look, I just- I just wanted to keep this between a few of us for longer. It’s… it’s precious to me.”
Mr. Fell’s face softens, a gentle smile on his face. “And here I was, a bit cross that no one in your team has congratulated us yet.”
A whole host of congratulations and <3 's fly in like buzzing bees, a few inviting themselves to the wedding (probably from Sarah and friendly little Irene who loves to be invited everywhere), and an even smaller few (Tommy, for sure) sending the chat a link to, undoubtedly, a Chris Brown song. Tommy is a huge The Office fan.
"You all right, love?" Frankie asks Elijah carefully, eyebrows knit in concern.
Elijah's always thought that if Mr. Fell were to reject him or die or, god forbid, run away to South Downs with Mr. Crowley where Elijah will never hope to talk to him ever again that Elijah would be completely destroyed. Not the kind of destroyed where he spends a week or three bingeing trash like My Strange Obsessions or Botched whilst eating ice cream. No, this would be the sort of destroyed where he finds his heart broken in a thousand tiny pieces, and every time he thinks he's gathered them all, there’s always a small but important part of his heart missing.
But now, seeing the elation in Mr. Fell's face, the utter love and affection shining in his eyes as he beams at Mr. Crowley, Elijah thinks, how can he possibly be broken up over this?
"Eli? You all right?" Frankie asks again hesitantly.
Elijah shrugs at her, even as he smiles softly. You both look well happy , he types.
Mr. Crowley reads the message first. His eyes dart down, then up, then down again. Mouth stretching into the widest grin he’s ever worn, he tugs Mr. Fell down, gesturing at the screen.
The corners of Mr. Fell’s eyes crinkle delightedly. “Who-”
Mr. Crowley points at the screen again. “That one. The one with the shirts you like.”
“Oh! Yes, of course!” With a smile so bright it almost blinds Elijah, Mr. Fell says, “Elijah James, yes?” Mr. Crowley nods approvingly. “Thank you, Elijah. We are very happy indeed.”
“Indeed,” Mr. Crowley agrees, eyes only for his fiance. “Indeed.”
“Well, he’s not- he’s not married yet, in’t he?” Frankie ventures as
Kitchen Nightmares
play on the telly. It’s the only show they can both watch without sentencing one of them to a night of misery -- reality programs for Elijah and Chef Ramsay for Frankie. She fancies grumpy older men.
He ponders this over a spoonful of vanilla ice cream. “That’s terrible advice.”
“I know!” she exclaims, waving her spoon about. “I know! I just thought it’d be something you’d like to hear or summat.”
He shrugs. “Can’t go off chasing engaged men, me,” he says. Not that he was chasing Mr. Fell when he only had a boyfriend.
“I suppose.”
His mobile buzzes -- Frankie hates it when he leaves it making noise when they’re watching something.
Tommy: ive bowties too
Tommy: not tartan soz
Elijah: i guess it’ll do
Tommy: ill wear it for you tom. ;)
Elijah chuckles as he tucks his mobile back in his pocket. He’ll reply tomorrow, let Tommy awkwardly speculate.
“Who was that?”
“Tommy.”
Her eyebrows climb up her forehead. “ Tommy .” He hums, licking around his spoon. “Round clever Tommy? With the green eyes and greener ties? Tommy who likes your jokes and your,” she wrinkles her nose, “your shirts?”
“That’s insulting.” And after a brief pause he says, “You know too much about him already.”
She grins mischievously, as if there’s a new plan forming in her head. Flopping back down against the cushions, she says, “Well!”
On the telly, Chef Ramsay fixes a photo of his wife on the table as he grimaces through a whole meal. Someday, Elijah thinks as Frankie guffaws obnoxiously next to him, maybe he’ll have a photo of a loved one on his desk too. Maybe he would have someone who would look at him like Mr. Crowley looks at Mr. Fell.
For now.
“I’m sorry, darling,” Chef Ramsay tells the photo, turning her away as he continues to eat, Frankie falling over on his side, as she gasps, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe , between bouts of laughter.
For now, Elijah has this.
Taking his phone out he texts:
Elijah: that would be lovely