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Early morning weekdays were perhaps Ezra’s favorite. Bright, bustling, busy. Travelers rushing around Gatwick with a dozen places to be. Red-eyes coming in from interesting places. It was a quiet rush: few were the families who tugged small and overstimulated children through the overwhelming lines, replaced instead with experienced and (generally) willing wayfarers. Not he didn’t like the children--they were darling--but there was a fresh sense of competency to the weekday shifts. Though they be madness, there was pleasure in them.
Halo Coffee was a resting place for a time like this, an oasis in a fascinating storm. This was where Ezra thrived. He wasn’t a terribly chatty man to begin with--though he did love hearing the stories of the world from those who wished to tell him--but the opportunity to give people a little break from the chaos was a cherished mitzvah of his. A satisfying blessing. The world could use more of those.
It was just such a morning, and Ezra was chatting with some of his regulars. Flight attendants--two women, one man, one non-binary person--all absolutely lovely. Whatever the conversation, it was completely derailed when Captain Anthony Crowley stumbled past the stanchions.
Ezra’s first thought was alarm. He knew this man--six years of regular coffees and wonderful conversations had built up a solid friendship--and Crowley had never been anything but suave. The Crowley he knew was impeccably dressed with a crooked smile that would make any rational man weak at the knees. He wore sunglasses indoors to complete his cool pilot look. He walked like his hips were possessed by Freddy Mercury. This Crowley looked--
Scared?
Singed?
And he walked right up to Ezra. No preamble. No warning. Crowley kissed him--on the mouth--like the world was ending.
Out of shock, Ezra didn’t have a first thought. His second thought on the matter pinged between delight and concern. Crowley tasted like ash and salt--he smelled like kerosene--and as much as Ezra wanted to kiss him back it was concern which won out. He pushed the man away--gently, not too far--and met his eyes.
“Crowley? What was that?”
“You’re alive,” said the captain. None of the others present would have recognized the tremble in his voice, but Ezra heard it and pressed a hand to Crowley’s cheek.
“Was that a concern?”
“Do you remember what-- No, wait--” It was Crowley who pulled away. Ezra buried the disappointment. “Ezra, look at me. What’s happened to your hair?”
Ezra reached up to check his coif, momentarily alarmed. “Since... yesterday? Nothing! I’ve washed it? My barber suggested--”
“It’s short again.”
“What?”
“I--” Crowley spun in place. His eyes landed on the shop across the hall. The construction down the way where they were putting in new gate rooms. “Something’s wrong.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Of course I’m not all right-- Ezra, where am I?”
Ezra shared a concerned glance with the flight attendants.
“No. No, wrong question. When am I?”
“It’s 2019,” said Ezra. “You’re... just at the shop. Halo Coffee. I own it. You know that.”
Crowley laughed. It wasn’t a terribly happy laugh—more like he was doing some mental math and needed to pass the time. “Was that the first time I’ve ever kissed you?”
“Ah, yes. And it was quite dramatic--I mean, it was lovely, but I would like an explanation.” First? That meant there was a second.
Crowley was shaking now. He took a very, very deep breath.
“I think that’s gonna take a while. You might want to close the shop.”
#
“The world ended.”
“Yeah.”
The flight attendants had been ushered out, despite their curiosity. The rolling gate had been pulled down and locked. Ezra made Crowley his usual--he ordered it black, but preferred a vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso, something they’d come to an understanding on years ago--and they sat together in one of the back tables.
“So. The world ended, your plane crashed--"
“With you on board.”
“Excellent detail, thank you. Your plane crashed with me on board and you were hurtled back in time. To here. Now. To me.”
“Yeah.”
Ezra hesitated. “None of that explains why you kissed me.”
“No.” Crowley leaned back in his chair. “But that’s not really what’s important right now.”
“It seems important. Not… as important, perhaps, but still.”
“Listen. I think I know how to fix things, and this is- I need you to trust me. Desperately. I need to explain--" Crowley paused. “No. There’s too much. I need to sum up. You and I end up chasing the antichrist.”
“Together.”
“Yes. And we mess it up terribly.”
“What did you do?”
“Why do you think it was me?”
Ezra raised an eyebrow.
“We lost him.”
“You lost the antichrist.”
“The antichrist was lost, yes, you can stop giving me that look now.” Crowley’s fingers drummed on the side of his latte. He glanced away awkwardly. Ezra did not stop giving him the look.
“So how do we fix it?”
“I can’t. But I traveled back in time, which means you can. So you need to know two things.” He paused again. “And… then, if I’m right, I think I’ll disappear.”
“And you still won’t tell me why you kissed me.”
“Do you need an answer? It should be obvious.”
“Crowley.” Ezra set down his tea. “You clearly know you’re… important to me. And you have information about… us, our future, that I don’t have. I need to know what you know.”
Crowley squirmed in his seat. “I… I’m not the one who needs to tell you. Not that.”
“My dear-"
“Come on, angel. Don’t make me do this.”
Ezra blushed. Angel? That was new. Crowley didn’t even miss a beat, just pointed at the Halo Coffee sign over the register. Halo. Angel. Well then.
“Fine. Then what do I need to know?”
“First, we need to listen to Agnes Nutter. Yes, that’s her real name. Everything she says is correct, no matter how silly it sounds.”
“And the second thing?”
“It’s Adam. Not Warlock. I will be very convinced of this, and I am not correct.”
“I’ll remember.”
“Thanks.”
In the pause, an announcement echoed somewhere in the terminal. The distant beeping of an accessibility tram rolled past the café. Coffesshop classical drifted from the speaker near the entrance. Ezra swallowed the lump in his throat. Maybe it was the look on his face that made Crowley take pity on him--maybe it was just nostalgia.
“It’s good, angel. What I know. What the future holds. It’s good.”
“You die in a plane crash.”
“Not if you save me.” He cracked one of those smiles now—the one that made Ezra’s knees weak. “Just… throw past me a hint or two, because he is tormented right now.”
“If you insist.” Crowley had been right. He was beginning to fade. Ezra was less shocked by the ceiling lights shining through his head--or the time travel--than the kiss. In a moment of boldness he reached for Crowley’s hand. “I’m sorry for all that.”
“Worth it. Worth you.”
“I know you can’t give me an answer, but I’ve been in love with you for years. Since the day you rescued my books from the bomb squad.”
Crowley was surprised into a laugh. “You left them unattended.”
“I forgot about them!”
“You are ridiculous.” He was properly translucent now. “Just- send me a text message or something.”
“I don’t have one of those new telephones—”
“Call me, then, angel. Call the old me, ask me out. Wherever you are, I’ll come to you. All right?”
“All right.”
Crowley leaned forward. The ghost of his lips pressed against Ezra’s, just for a moment. Then he was gone. Ezra sighed, smiled, and gathered the cups from the table. Maybe things would be fine.
Maybe the future did look bright.