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Summary
Aziraphale Fell works at the university library and has a terrible, terrible crush on one of the students.
The first time Aziraphale saw him, back in late September, Anthony was checking himself in the mirror in the staff’s bathroom, arched over the sink, the flat land of his stomach partially exposed and pressed against the cold marble. The black of his shirt accentuated the pale skin stretched over his hip bone.
Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I think you have mistaken this place for a club’s bathroom, young man.”
Unperturbed, Anthony didn’t turn around; he just shifted a bit to stare at Aziraphale through his reflection in the mirror, and Aziraphale could see winged emerald green eyeliner around his hazel eyes. He did not dare to move another muscle, mesmerized and unsure he would survive contact.
“I have not,” the boy said, as he painted his lips, “I like to look hot to make others feel horrible about themselves, ergo I need to see myself properly. So…” He smacked his lips in an obscene pop - or, at least, it seemed obscene to Aziraphale, already under the boy's spell.