Work Text:
Anthony Crowley had two beliefs that never swayed: being nice is overrated and nothing mattered more to him than his vintage Bentley.
Both of these beliefs were put to the test when one dull Monday afternoon on his way back to his apartment complex, Anthony (Crowley to his friends [or, it would be if he had any]) found a small, beige Honda parked in his parking spot.
It wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill parking spot. He had specifically curated The Best Parking Spot on the entire block after weeks of tracking weather patterns, mapping out tree locations and bird migration, researching accident reports, and so much more.
And now some half-wit was parked there.
Crowley scowled at his steering wheel and looked around for another available spot. There was one a few feet away. Under a tree. Probably ripe full of the flying rats that love to smear their desecration all over the Bentley.
If there was a God, She had abandoned Crowley a long time ago.
He whipped into the spot and sighed, pushing his sunglasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose. After checking his watch and reviewing his schedule, he put in his “Queen’s Greatest Hits” CD and reclined.
He had all day.
Now, logically, Crowley knew that he technically had no official claim on this spot. He didn’t pay for it and it didn’t have his name on it. But he had been parking there consistently for two years. And that meant something.
After about 20 minutes, Crowley spotted what looked like the owner of the beige Honda approach. He was an older man, probably somewhere around Crowley’s age if not slightly older, wearing an argyle sweater vest and brown corduroys.
A walking fashion nightmare, this one is, Crowley thought to himself. But he’s definitely the owner.
Just as Crowley had predicted, the man opened the driver side door and began putting his satchel and thermos inside.
Crowley lowered his sunglasses back into his eyes and squared his shoulders before getting out of his car and walking up to the man.
“Hey!” Crowley called out in the Honda’s direction.
The older man looked up, startled. He had a puff of white-blond hair on top of his head and the most shockingly cherubic face Crowley had ever seen. The apples of his cheeks were pink from the summer sun, highlighting his clear blue-grey eyes.
Crowley stopped in his tracks a few feet away.
“Er…” Crowley cleared his throat. “Just wanted to… erm... you see…”
The man smiled kindly up at Crowley.
“Is there something I can help you with, dear boy?” the man said as Crowley stood there, spluttering like an imbecile.
“Yyeah… See, my parking spot… it’s… well… you’re sort of… in it,” Crowley finally spat out.
The man frowned.
“In your spot?”
Crowley planted his feet and lifted his chin. He had a mission - adorable man be damned.
“Yeah, see I’ve parked in this spot every day for the last two years or so,” Crowley answered. “I have a vintage car and it requires some pretty intense care. This is the best spot for it to stay in top condition.”
Crowley gestured to the Bentley and he watched as the man’s eyes found it. He usually got a few compliments from people after they saw it, so he waited for the impressed comment.
“Ah, I see,” the man replied, turning back to Crowley and giving him a once-over. “And that means what?”
Crowley blanched. The man’s tone had gone from light and friendly to cold in a mere few seconds.
“S’just, you know,” Crowley made a vague gesture with his hands. “Figured I’d let you know in case you were new to the apartment complex.”
The man turned his nose up.
“Yes, well, I just moved here last week.”
“I’m Anthony Crowley, by the way,” Crowley awkwardly put his hand out. The man just stared at it.
“Aziraphale Fell.”
The cold front the man, Aziraphale, had begun putting up was turning icier by the minute. Crowley attempted to smooth things over.
“Weird name,” is what came out.
Aziraphale squinted at him.
“Yes, well, this has been lovely, Anthony, but I’m afraid I must be off to work,” Aziraphale said, turning back to his car and putting his foot in. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again soon.”
Crowley blinked at him for a second before coughing and muttering, “Right. Cheers, mate,” and walking back to his car to retrieve his stuff.
As he gathered his backpack and laptop case, he couldn’t help but feel like he had just made a wrong move. He just wasn’t sure what the consequences of said wrong move were, yet.
What he did know was that, regardless, it involved seeing Aziraphale and his almost angelic scowl again.
And that didn’t sound so bad.
*************
The next day, Crowley was on his way home from work and spotted the beige Honda again. Parked in his spot.
Crowley took a deep breath. Maybe that was the only spot available. He could excuse that.
A quick glance around the block, however, showed Crowley that there were several other available parking spaces. There was even one that was, technically speaking, closer to the apartment complex’s front doors. Crowley pulled in and rubbed his temples.
Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a bright cloud of white attached to a brown cardigan.
With a growl, Crowley got out of his car. He walked right up to Aziraphale, who had turned to face him calmly.
“Good afternoon, Antho-“
“You parked in my spot again.”
Aziraphale glanced over at his car and then back to Crowley.
“It seems I did.”
The silence stretched on for a few uncomfortable seconds.
“And?” Crowley prompted.
“And what, dear boy?” Aziraphale replied in a grandfatherly tone. “It is a public street, you know.”
That is when something clicked in Crowley’s brain. He hadn’t thought of this possibility at first because Aziraphale seemed to be a polite little man, but it was clear from that answer that...
“You-“ he pointed an accusing finger at Aziraphale. “You did it on purpose!”
Aziraphale scoffed and rolled his eyes while Crowley continued sputtering at him.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Aziraphale responded. “I merely forgot which one was yours. There are plenty of spots, you know. How was I supposed to remember the one with the exact sun beam trajectory to make your leather seats the right amount of warm and cool?”
Crowley squinted at him behind his sunglasses. He knew Aziraphale was being sarcastic, but that was actually one of the factors of the spot. He wouldn’t give Aziraphale that satisfaction, though.
“So you just so happened to park in the spot that I specifically approached you about not 24 hours ago? With all these other spots available?”
Crowley gestured around the area where they were standing vaguely. Aziraphale pursed his lips and glanced around, as if just now realizing they were standing on the sidewalk. He rocked back on his feet and then met Crowley’s eyes.
“It appears so.”
Crowley stood with his mouth open for a moment before Aziraphale began gathering his things up. He closed the car door gingerly and took a step back.
“Well, as lovely as this little interaction was,” he started, backing away more. “I do have to be going.”
“You’re not… driving?” Crowley asked, picking his jaw up off the ground. He had some dignity.
“No, I don’t think I will,” Aziraphale responded, smiling. It didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s such a lovely day, wouldn’t you say? I think I’ll walk.”
With that, he spun on his heels and began walking leisurely down the road, whistling a jaunty tune. Crowley stared after him until he turned the corner, prompting his mind to boot up. What had just happened?
He went over the entire situation in his head. Yesterday he saw a car parked in his spot belonging to a very cute-ahem- a very blond man who seemed to only dress in varieties of creams and browns. He approached said man and told him about the spot in a very kind (for Crowley) manner. Man took note of said spot. Man parks in spot anyways the next day. Crowley approaches him again, still fairly kind (for Crowley), and man ignores him, claims he has no idea what Crowley is talking about, and then pointedly doesn’t take his car to his destination, forcing Crowley to remain parked in a less than prime spot.
Crowley grumbled all the way back to the Bentley. It looks like Aziraphale Fell would be more of a nuisance than he had originally anticipated.
Odd.
He had taken the man for some sort of pushover.
As he gathered up his bag, he tried to forget the second impression Aziraphale had made, which was that he was undeniably attractive. Maybe not conventionally, but in his own bookish way. Crowley didn’t necessarily have a type, but if he did, adorable little blonds with rosey cheeks might just be it.
He shook his head. No. This man was the enemy.
And Crowley was officially declaring war.
*************
Crowley spent the rest of the week keeping an eye on the spot from his apartment window. He wanted to be sure that the minute Aziraphale took his car somewhere, Crowley would be there to swoop in and take back what was rightfully his.
The only downfall was that he couldn’t keep an eye on the spot while at work. To combat this, he paid the neighbor kid, Adam, to watch the spot for him. Adam did school virtually, and his desk sat at the window facing the street. Crowley gave Adam’s number a specific ringtone so he’d know when a text from him came through.
By Friday, Crowley started to think that maybe this was all a bit ridiculous. It was just a parking spot, after all, and as Aziraphale had pointed out - it was a public street.
No, Crowley thought to himself. That’s just him getting in your head. This spot is perfect and he has plenty of other spots to pick from.
Crowley was chopping veggies for dinner on Saturday when he saw Aziraphale walk out to his car. He grabbed his keys and shot out the door, moving so quickly that a stray cucumber rolled onto the floor.
He didn’t want Aziraphale to see him, lest he decide that he actually could walk to wherever it was he was going, so Crowley hid behind some shrubbery just outside the apartment complex’s front doors. He watched as Aziraphale opened the passenger side door and rifle around. Was he just getting something from the car and not moving it?
Suddenly, his phone started playing the Bond theme. Loudly. Loud enough for a certain enemy to hear. Adam must have texted Crowley about Aziraphale going to his car.
Aziraphale lifted his head and glanced around. He spotted Crowley fumbling with his phone behind the bushes. Crowley briefly thought about the merit of running away and pretending he wasn’t spying on Aziraphale, but it was far too late for that.
With a sigh, he texted Adam back a “thanks, kid” and pocketed his phone.
“Spying on me, then?” Aziraphale asked, causing Crowley to jump out of his skin. “Really, Anthony, is this truly necessary?”
Crowley poked Aziraphale in the chest.
“Listen, it wasn’t me who started this,” Crowley practically hissed. “I was doing just fine, minding my own business, parking in the spot that is best for my, very expensive might I add, car. And then you had to come along and- and ruin it!”
Aziraphale was giving Crowley a look that thousands of teachers and parents across the globe adopt the moment they hear the beginnings of a tantrum. It made Crowley even more annoyed.
“And it’s Crowley .”
Aziraphale blinked at him, his face and eyes softening.
God, I want to kiss him, Crowley stopped breathing. Where had that thought come from?
“Pardon?”
Crowley chastised himself inwardly for getting caught up in the heat of the moment.
“My name, you can call me Crowley,” he mumbled. “S’what my friends call me.”
Aziraphale tilted his head.
“You have a very odd idea of friendship,” Aziraphale replied. His voice had changed back to the gentle lilt he had used on their first meeting. Before Crowley mucked it all up.
“Yeah, well, I mean- sorta what we are? Right?” Crowley shoved his hands in his pocket and kicked the grass.
Aziraphale smirked at him. It had a tint of pity to it. Crowley found he didn’t mind.
“You know, I’ve been terribly rude,” Aziraphale started. Crowley looked up at him through his sunglasses. “I just- it’s-” he sighed, “I just broke up with my partner and he was quite infatuated with cars. Almost too much. And so when you approached me and you appeared to be of the same sort, I, well, might have overreacted. A tad.”
Crowley’s brain had stopped processing words after “he.”
Of course, most people who looked at and spoke to Aziraphale could make all sorts of assumptions about his preferences. But Crowley knew all too well that assuming only resulted in confusion for everyone. His traitorous heart tinged at the knowledge that Aziraphale, at the very least, liked men.
And? You’ve been a twat to him and you’re very obviously not his type, even if that does include men AND he clearly just went through a breakup, Crowley screamed at himself.
“Dear boy?” Aziraphale touched Crowley’s arm and he flinched. “Are you alright? You seem to have gone somewhere just now.”
“Ngh, uh yeah, sorry,” Crowley stuttered. “I’m sorry to hear about your, uh, partner. Ex! Ex-partner. I promise I’m not like that, it’s just my grandfather helped me work on this car and so it’s sort of like my own living memorial to him. S’why I do so much to make sure it stays in top condition.”
Aziraphale stared at him for a moment before nodding his head toward the apartment complex.
“Would you… would you like to come up?” Aziraphale asked, the tips of his ears turning a light pink. “I know we had a rough start, but it seems there’s more to both of us than meets the eye, wouldn’t you say?”
Crowley felt his heart take flight. Don’t get excited. He’s just being friendly.
“Well, I was actually in the middle of making dinner when I, er, saw you.” Now it was Crowley’s turn to blush. “I have enough for two if you wanted to-“
“Yes!” Aziraphale blurted. “I- I mean, of course. If that’s alright with you.”
Crowley smiled at him and opened the door.
“After you.”
**************
A couple of hours later found them at Crowley’s kitchen table, in the middle of a very long and drawn out debate about the merit of putting ketchup on steak.
“It’s reprehensible, Crowley, I cannot even believe you would defend such a thing!” Aziraphale exclaimed, taking an angry sip of his wine. “You must be kidding.”
Crowley leaned back in his chair and swirled the wine around.
“Nope, completely serious,” Crowley replied. “People should be allowed to use whatever condiments they want, in whatever setting they want. They could douse Kobe beef with ranch for all I care, as long as they enjoy it.”
Aziraphale gaped at him.
“Close your mouth, angel face, or you’ll catch flies,” Crowley said with a smirk that was meant to hide his panic at his little pet name slip-up. Did he mean it? Yes. Did he mean to say it out loud? Nope. “Besides, what harm does it do to you, hm?”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes and took another sip of wine. Was he blushing? Crowley couldn’t quite tell through the dark haze of his sunglasses, but it looked like Aziraphale’s cheeks were a touch red. Was it the “angel face” remark or was it the wine they were drinking? How much did they have to drink, anyways-
“While I will concede that people can do whatever they want,” Aziraphale finally replied. “I still do not agree with it. And I am allowed.”
Crowley shrugged his agreeance and they let the topic drop. It was fun talking to Aziraphale. He wasn’t so bad after getting to know him, and Crowley secretly hoped he could say the same of Crowley. They hadn’t broached the topic of the parking spot all night, but Crowley sort of wanted to know where they stood on that before parting.
“So,” Crowley began, wiping his hands on his jeans. “About the parking…”
Aziraphale looked up at him. Bless it, if he didn’t have such striking eyes.
“Right,” he dabbed his mouth with a napkin from dinner. “I suppose I do owe you an apology. I will move my car in the morning.”
Crowley felt something twist inside him. While he had originally thought that Aziraphale had been overreacting, he recognized that being so uptight about a simple parking spot wasn’t exactly the moral high ground.
“I’m sorry, too,” Crowley mumbled.
Aziraphale beamed at him and Crowley felt lost to the little rush it gave him.
“Yes, well, you’re forgiven,” Aziraphale replied. “And I am sorry, but I must be going. It’s getting quite late and I’ve already taken up so much of your time.”
“S’not a problem, angel ,” Crowley said with a wink, remembering how flustered Aziraphale had gotten earlier. “You can bother me any time.”
Aziraphale laughed loudly and then quickly covered his mouth and looked away. He muttered something along the lines of “incorrigible flirt” and stood to get his cardigan, discarded a while ago as the warmth of the wine had settled in.
Crowley followed him to the door and leaned against it as Aziraphale stepped into the hallway and checked to make sure he had everything. After a few satisfactory pats to his pockets, he turned back to Crowley and put out his hand.
Crowley looked at it with a smile and took it. It was warm and soft, just like it looked. They shook twice.
“Well, Anthony Crowley, I’d like to think that this has been the beginning of a very odd friendship,” Aziraphale said, releasing his hand.
“Hm, likewise. And I was being serious, please do bother me again. Every night if you want. It’s dreadfully boring just sitting around watching TV and talking to the plants. You’re much better company.”
Aziraphale chuckled.
“Will do, dear boy,” he responded. “I shall see you around then?”
“God, I hope so.”
With that, Aziraphale turned to leave, waving at Crowley until he turned the corner to the elevators. Crowley shut the door and slid down against it, feeling his heart pound just a little faster.
This may be a problem.
***********
The months passed by pretty quickly, and Crowley found that he was, overall, much happier than he had been before. It might have had something to do with his new friend. Alright, it had everything to do with his new friend.
What had started out as a rocky-at-best meeting had bloomed into a friendship like Crowley had never had before. He felt a little more complete with Aziraphale. They argued just enough and agreed just enough, creating a balance of sorts.
And if Crowley had a little crush, what harm was there in that?
A lot of harm, apparently. There wasn’t a moment that passed by while hanging out with Aziraphale that Crowley didn’t feel himself growing more and more besotted. However, he had made a silent pact with himself to not pursue it, even if he felt like Aziraphale felt the same. After their initial dinner together, Crowley learned that the breakup Aziraphale had gone through was more intense than he had originally let on.
They had been dating for almost a decade.
The break up was messy, emotional, and a little bit traumatizing if Aziraphale’s stories were anything to go by. Crowley understood that, no matter how much he felt like he cared about Aziraphale, he was going to need some recovery time. The only problem was that Crowley didn’t know how long that was.
He was currently sitting on a bench, watching Aziraphale go buy duck feed from a vendor at the park. He smiled as Aziraphale turned and offered a handful to some passing kids. However long he would have to wait, he’d do it for Aziraphale.
“Everything okay, dear?” Aziraphale asked as he approached. “You’re brooding again.”
“I don’t brood , angel,” Crowley replied. “I just have a very cool and sulky look about me, s’all.”
Aziraphale laughed and Crowley pretended like it wasn’t the most delightful sound he ever heard.
“Cool, is it?” Aziraphale said, taking out a handful of duck feed and throwing it out in front of them. “I’m not quite sure that’s the term I’d use to describe a man nearing 50-years-old that still wears skinny jeans and all black.”
“What, and your sense of style is better?” Crowley asked, bumping his knee against Aziraphale’s leg. “Tartan and houndstooth and argyle .”
Aziraphale smiled softly.
“Well, it’s certainly better suited to my age.”
Crowley couldn’t argue with that, so he stayed quiet, watching as the ducks clamored for the next handful of feed. He sat, hyper aware of the press of Aziraphale’s thigh next to his, and thought about where they should go for lunch later.
More ducks gathered and they stayed silent as Aziraphale finished off the bag, giving a little extra to a small duckling on the outside of the pack.
“Why don’t we go to that Indian place for lunch, hm?” Crowley said. “I remember you said something about wanting to try their Peshwari naan.”
Aziraphale blinked up at him.
“Why, that was a few weeks ago, wasn’t it?” he asked. “And you remembered?”
Crowley sniffed and looked away, pushing up his sunglasses.
“Of course I remembered. You said it, didn’t you?”
Crowley felt Azirahpale’s stare boring into the side of his head. Then he felt something brush along the side of his hand. He looked down and saw it was Aziraphale’s hand, curling softly around Crowley’s fingers. Crowley risked a glance up at Aziraphale and saw him smiling down at their now-joined hands, blushing.
“Angel-”
“You know you’re my dearest friend, don’t you?” Aziraphale interrupted. “I know it’s silly. We’ve only known each other a scant few months now, and we didn’t exactly have the nicest of meetings, but… you are- you’ve become so important to me.”
Crowley couldn’t look away from Aziraphale’s face. He leaned forward and, when Aziraphale didn’t move, planted a gentle kiss on his cheek.
“I know,” he whispered. “And for what it’s worth, you have to me, too.”
Aziraphale beamed at him. Then, after what looked like a moment of thought, leaned forward and pecked Crowley on the lips. Crowley felt his entire nervous system shut down. Before he had the chance to react, Aziraphale jumped up and tugged on Crowley’s hand.
“Come on, dear, let’s go get lunch!” He released Crowley’s hand and made his way to the garbage tin to throw away the empty duck feed bag before turning back to Crowley. “Coming?”
He took a few steps before turning back around to Crowley, who was standing by their bench with his mouth hanging open.
“Close your mouth, darling, or you’ll catch flies,” Aziraphale said, smirking and continuing to make his way to the park exit.
“Angel?” Crowley croaked out, before shaking his head and jogging to catch up with him. “Angel! Wait for me, you bastard!”
The sounds of their laughter echoed through the park and followed them all the way to the Bentley, where Aziraphale spotted a flash of white on the hood. He grabbed it and read the small text, laughing even harder once he realized what it was.
“What?” Crowley asked, getting into the driver seat.
“Dear, I do believe this is a parking ticket.”
“Oh for the love of-”