Work Text:
Anthony J. Crowley nearly tripped over air when he saw him enter the shop.
He was a man roughly Anthony’s age – mid-forties – and decked out in creams and blues, with white-blonde curls over soft, green eyes. He carried what seemed to be a homemade bookbag of sorts, the kind you avoid at craft fairs in high school gymnasiums, and wore Oxfords that must’ve been very nice new but still looked well-cared for. He was all soft edges and pressed trouser creases.
The moment he appeared, hovering at the counter and studying the case of pastries with a furrowed brow, Anthony was sure he forgot how to breathe.
The man was adorable.
However, because Anthony was a professional, he tried to control his pounding heart and addressed the man as he neared the counter, smoothing back his dyed dark-red hair and adjusting the straps of his green apron, bright against an all-black ensemble.
“Hey, what can I get for you?” Anthony said in an impressively steady voice, all things considered.
The man jolted before looking up at Anthony with a bright smile, all white teeth in perfect rows, the kind of guy who didn’t have to lie when his dentist asked if he flossed every day. Anthony might’ve gone blind at the sight. “Ah, yes,” he replied with fluttering fingers, scanned the case once more. “I’ll be taking a Mocha Frappuccino with one of those blueberry muffins, please. Oh, and an orange scone.”
“Got it. Anything else for you?”
“No, that’ll be all. Thank you.”
Anthony rang up the total with trembling fingers. “Alright, and what’s your name?”
“Aziraphale,” he answered brightly.
Anthony raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. It sounded like one of those angel names from the Bible he’d heard growing up before he left the faith – Gabriel, Raphael, Michael. Perhaps the man’s parents were religious. Glancing at the rainbow and ace pins on his bag, Anthony couldn’t help but wonder about the man’s upbringing.
Within minutes, the man’s order was done. “Aziraphale,” Anthony called from the counter. The man had engaged in a discussion with another patron but turned at the sound of his name. He gathered his thing gratefully, pausing slightly at the name on the cup: Azerafael.
Anthony noticed, of course. He’d been trying very hard not to stare but was mostly failing. “Did I spell it wrong?”
Aziraphale shrugged, offering him another grin. “It’s no matter; most do. Not exactly an easy name to spell, is it? It’s actually A-Z-I-R-A-P-H-A-L-E.”
“Right.” Anthony nodded, already forgetting it as the man spoke.
“Anyway, thank you, dear!” he called, giving a megawatt smile again like he was being paid for it, before hustling off to disappear into the folds of the busy city streets.
Anthony couldn’t help but think, cast against the early morning sun peeking through the double glass windows, that this stranger looked very much like an angel.
~
He kept coming back.
Anthony had to assume Aziraphale must’ve been a regular for a while. Anthony either had managed to always miss him at the register when he did, or his irregular shifts just made it so he was never on the clock when the man came. That, or the man had only just started coming to this nondescript chain on the corner with a random mermaid logo.
Much as the memory of Aziraphale’s bright expression caused his chest to flutter at inopportune times, Anthony did his best to shove the man from his memory. It wouldn’t do, after all, to randomly pine over some complete rando – and a customer, at that.
It all would’ve been easy enough if he didn’t keep showing up, of course.
The first time he reappeared, Anthony once again suffered from a lack of physical mobility and actually managed to drop the coffee he’d been making. He uttered curse words under his breath as he cleaned it up, ignoring the teases from his coworkers Dagon and Ligur, who generally made his life hell.
Aziraphale ordered the same drink and Anthony rushed to fill the order. He had no idea how to spell the name, but couldn’t be bothered about it – really, with a name like that, he must be used to it by now – and settle for a scribbled Azraphell.
Aziraphale took it in stride. “It’s closer!” he said encouragingly, apparently entirely unaffected by Anthony’s minor failure. He spelled it out again, and Anthony was so busy staring at his old-fashioned waistcoat and the adorable way it stretched over his stomach that he didn’t catch it.
~
Asirfale.
Aziraphale chuckled. “You’ve taken a step back, my dear.”
Anthony tried not to faint at the endearment and managed something resembling a smirk. “Didn’t realize we were dancing. My bad.”
He shook his head at him with a cluck of his tongue. “I’ll have to take the lead next time, I think.”
~
Azeeraphale.
The angel of a man outright laughed at this one. “Oh, you’re definitely doing this on purpose!” he declared with faux indignance.
“You can’t prove anything,” Anthony replied with a wink because he couldn’t seem to help himself.
~
Azrfail.
“Before you say anything,” Anthony said as he placed the cup on the counter, “you should know my coworker did this one.”
Aziraphale took the cup with a perched eyebrow and broke out into an amused grin. “Anthony, I watched you write it.”
“Ah-“
“Guess that was a bit of a ‘fail,’ huh?” he said proudly, as though he’d made a very clever quip. Anthony tried, as usual, not find this endearing, and only mostly succeeded.
~
Asirafale.
“Oh, I just feel terribly,” Aziraphale said as he read the name of the day. The glint in his eyes was too teasing for him to seem innocent. “I simply hadn’t realized you were illiterate. I should’ve guessed.”
Anthony barked out a surprised laugh and couldn’t even come up with a good response to that. “Or maybe your name is just too hard for anyone to spell, Aziraphale,” he commented after a moment.
The man’s eyes crinkled with laughter. He had crow’s feet. That shouldn’t have been nearly as attractive as it was, but that was between Anthony and the crows, he supposed.
~
Aziraphael.
“My name is biblical enough as it is,” Aziraphale bemoaned, pointing to the last few letters. “This makes me look properly angelic.”
You’re already properly angelic, Anthony did not say.
~
Weeks went by. Aziraphale showed up for his drink nearly daily at seemingly random hours, occasionally catching Anthony a few times a week. Anthony nearly looked forward to his shifts, wondering if his definitely-not-though-maybe-a-little-bit-of-a-crush would be coming by. They developed a rapport of sorts, growing friendlier with time.
Anthony continued to spell his name wrong and tease him for the long moniker. Aziraphale continued to be unbothered by it and teased Anthony for his poor spelling skills. They settled into a banter so easily, it was as though they’d been at it for years.
From the first moment Anthony saw Aziraphale, he’d wanted to know this man more. To talk to him, to see those bright eyes focused on him, to ask his opinion on everything, and take him to see terrible movies just to laugh at them together. He wanted to know what made this man tick, what made him happy and what he was afraid of and everything else.
But he did nothing about it. They were maybe friends if Anthony stretched his imagination, but he couldn’t see it going over well if he asked the man out or tried to push their relationship beyond the professional. Sure, they flirted a bit, but Anthony couldn’t conceive of a world where this sweater vest, cream-toned dandy would ever have a genuine interest in the random barista whose name he didn’t have to remember, since it was clipped on Anthony’s apron.
He continued to wonder at this angel of a man from afar, knowing it simply couldn’t be.
~
It was a busy evening. Anthony was on the closing shift, which would’ve been fine, normally. However, two of his coworkers had called in sick – it was flu season, after all – and it was just him and Bee serving the strange influx of patrons that flooded the establishment as the sun set outside.
Anthony’s crush showed up, naturally, but he had no time or energy to give to more than the usual, cursory spiel with a quick apology. Without thinking, he scribbled the name, called out, “Aziraphale!” and moved back to his work when the man in question approached the counter for his goods.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aziraphale still standing at the counter a couple of minutes later. “Everything okay?” he asked, ducking aside for a second, much to the obvious annoyance of Bee, who shot him a withering glare Anthony ignored.
“Hmm?” Aziraphale looked up, face a little red and bewildered. “Oh, ah, yes. Sorry. Just…lost in thought.” He gave a reassuring smile – did the man ever stop smiling? – and quickly bustled off. Strangely, rather than leaving right away, he settled into one of the armchairs by the fire and pulled out a book.
Anthony would’ve normally used this opportunity to stare at him like a creep – Aziraphale only ever seemed to get his drinks to-go – but he was so busy with the throng of customers that he had no time to spare him more than cursory glances now and again to affirm he was still there.
It was over an hour before the rush died down. Another hour and it was its more usual trickle. By then, Anthony’s shift was over, and the shop was closing, night now fallen out of doors. Bee made a run for it, leaving the closing to Anthony without even a small apology. Typical.
Aziraphale was still reading by the now-empty fireplace, apparently not having noticed he was the only customer remaining. It was strangely intimate, just them two in the darkening shop in the middle of the city. A tiny, secluded getaway in the chaos.
His pulse quickening, Anthony approached him and forced nonchalance into his slight swagger. “Hey,” he heard himself saying, trying not to appear nervous about talking to him without an apron or counter between them. “We’re closing up.”
Aziraphale blinked as he looked away from his book to Anthony’s face, seemingly pulling himself out of his story mentally as he took in his barista hovering by his chair, a bag over Anthony’s shoulder.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Anthony!” he exclaimed, standing to rise. “I completely lost track of time.”
Anthony shrugged. “No problem. Good book, I take it?”
“Ah, yes!” Aziraphale replied, smiling that grin of his, bright and gorgeous, as he returned the book carefully to his bag. “It’s a magnificent novel. About the apocalypse, actually.”
“The apocalypse? Sounds intense.”
“It’s actually quite humorous,” Aziraphale admitted. “Though there are definitely some very gripping scenes.”
“Cool,” Anthony commented, shifting from one foot to the other. “Look, I-“
Before he could finish, Aziraphale interrupted in a rush. “I actually wanted to talk to you.”
Anthony paused. “Oh?”
“Yes. That’s, um. Why I was waiting here.”
Anthony tried not to freak out, having no clue where this was going. “Er, okay, what is it?”
Sheepishly, Aziraphale reached for his cup from the small table by the chair, clearly empty by the weightlessness. “It’s – I’m sure it’s nothing, only I noticed that…” He glanced down at the space where Anthony had written his name.
“Oh.” Anthony swallowed. Aziraphale seemed upset and even anxious, and Anthony suddenly felt like a horrible person. “I’m sorry.”
Aziraphale looked up at him then, confused. “You’re…sorry?”
Anthony nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “For always misspelling your name. I know how to spell it, is the thing. I just thought it was funny, but I’ll stop if it bothers you that much. Sorry. Already said that, but. Yeah.”
Aziraphale took this in silently, expression unchangingly curious as he studied Anthony’s face throughout his babbling. Anthony wanted to sink into the floor, feeling much too old for everything that was happening.
And suddenly, Aziraphale’s mouth was curving gleefully again, only a bit shy. “Oh, I know that,” Aziraphale said, tone fond. He held up the cup to Anthony. “Only, I couldn’t help but notice that…”
Anthony blinked at the cup, then to where his own awful handwriting had scrawled out Aziraphale’s na-
Oh.
Instead of a misspelled – or, hell, even a proper spelling – of Aziraphale’s name, the cup instead read: Angel.
The barista’s face burned.
“A-Ah,” he stuttered, taking a step back as he blinked rapidly. “Right.”
Aziraphale just seemed bemused, if still a touch nervous. “I take it that was an accident, then?”
Anthony nodded reluctantly. “Just – we were so busy, and I wasn’t thinking, so I just wrote…that, I guess…” he gestured at the cup before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
“Why?” Aziraphale asked patiently. “Why would ‘angel’ be your default for me?”
Anthony let out a frustrated noise. “’Cause that’s…what I think of you as.”
Lifting his eyebrows, Aziraphale asked, “Because of my name?”
It was an easy out, but Anthony, self-destructive bastard that he was, didn’t take it. “Er, uh.” He coughed, embarrassed. “’S ‘cause you look like one.”
Anthony dared a glance at Aziraphale’s face, and, while a bit red, he was positively beaming. Anthony’s heart caught in his throat.
“Oh, oh I’d hoped-“ Aziraphale cut himself off with a shake of the head, stepping forward to suddenly grab at one of Anthony’s dangling hands with both of his. “Anthony, would you like to get a drink with me?”
Dumbfounded, Anthony stared at him, mouth hanging open in shock. Clearing his throat, he gathered what remained of his wits and croaked out, “Not coffee.”
Aziraphale’s chuckle would power his soul for the next decade. “No, not coffee,” he agreed. “I know a place nearby with excellent cocktails.”
Definitely blushing a bit, Anthony smiled wide in return, something he didn’t find himself doing much outside of customer service demands. He felt like a teenager, his heart light with possibility and hope.
“Lead the way, angel,” he murmured, and his angel led him out by the hand, still smiling.