Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

London, 1970

It wasn’t an unusual Friday night. There was nothing particularly special about it to make it remarkable, at least nothing that seemed like it on the surface. Although it appeared unremarkable in every way, something was about to happen that would change both music and music fans around the world for the next two decades and beyond.

Rain washed down heavily on London, grey clouds covering the sun and casting the city in a rather damp and gloomy atmosphere. Young university student Brian May sat in a grimy coffee shop with a pencil and paper in his hand, humming a half-written tune in his head. He had been there a while, his coffee cup sat in front of him, cold and nearly empty.

“‘I’ve loved a hundred women in a lustful haze.’ No, no, that doesn’t sound right.” Brian murmured as he scratched something out in his notebook. “What about, ‘I loved a thousand women in a lustful haze?” he asked, writing the new line in his book. His nose scrunched as he re-read the line with the new word. “No, still not right.” He murmured to himself as he continued to make scratches in his notebook.

Brian had been sitting in this coffee shop for well over an hour, trying his best to take his mind off of his predicament and channel it into a more enjoyable pass time, song writing. Brian was part of a band, called ‘Smile’. The band had been doing well, er, as well as a band of university students can do without proper help from professionals or advertisement. They had a couple of gigs lined up, mainly in bars for the university crowd. But that was before their lead vocalist and bass player, Tim, quit on him and his friend Roger. He had gone to another band, telling Brian that ‘Smile’ wasn’t going anywhere, and he had to try with a band that actually had a chance. Tonight would be the last gig the three of them played together, and Brian was trying to put aside his growing anxieties about what he and Roger would do next.  

He muttered to himself in frustration. The bastard had just left them without a lead singer. While Brian and Roger had wonderful voices, they needed to be focused on the more musical aspects. After all, it was difficult to play lead guitar or drums while also belting out the lead melody. Brian was so consumed in his thoughts he didn’t notice when a man dressed in all black strolled into the shop and up to the counter.

“Black coffee.” The man said to the barista.

That wasn’t the only problem Brian had. Tuition was due soon. He was barely making ends meet. While his band was his passion, it didn’t exactly keep the money rolling in. His parents had told him the band was a stupid idea, and they were pressuring him to give it up entirely, to focus on his studies. Brian sighed. Perhaps they were right. He stared to wonder if maybe he and Roger should just stop. After all, they were in university and working toward new goals and careers. Maybe this music thing wouldn’t last forever. Maybe it was a pipe dream.

Brian ran a tired hand through his hair. This line of thought was getting depressing, so he focused back on the song he had been working on.

“I ate a million dinners brought to me on silver trays.” He snorted to himself as he re-read the words to himself. “That’s what you wish would happen. Can barely afford gas or bread and butter with the money we’re making, let alone meals on silver trays.” He wanted to scratch out the lyrics, tear the whole sheet out and toss it in the rubbish bin, but he had nothing better at the moment, so there the selfish and terrible lyrics stayed, until he could come up with something better.

He was feeling depressed about his situation, and angry about Tim, and as a result his song writing was going terribly.

“Mind if I sit here?” asked an unfamiliar voice.

Brian looked up to see a tall, lanky man who was all angles, and wrapped in black, except for the flaming red hair on top of his head. He even wore dark sunglasses inside. Brian couldn’t imagine he’d have a use for them, especially since it had been raining outside last he checked. Fresh rain glistened on the dark fabric and amongst his fiery curls, telling Brian that it had not yet stopped. This stranger must have wandered in not too long ago. He leaned against the seat opposite Brian, a to-go coffee cup in one hand and some kind of purple flowered plant in the other. He didn’t look terribly intimidating, seeming as he was all bones and angles and no muscle. Yet there was still something slightly… off putting about him that put Brian feel slightly on edge.

“Everywhere else is full.” The man continued, gesturing around the room when Brian evidently took too long, sizing the man up.

He blinked and turned to survey the coffee shop. Indeed, all the other chairs were taken. The rain must have driven everyone inside.

“Oh, of course not.” Brian said, gesturing to the seat in front of him and quickly pulling any writing utensils he had over to his half of the table.

The man shot him a charming, yet sharp smile. “Thanks mate.” He said as he sprawled into the chair opposite him.

Brian simply nodded at the man before turning back to the song in front of him. He tried to concentrate back on his work, but his mind hadn’t strayed far from his previous thoughts.

But if I crossed a million rivers and I rode a million miles. Then I’d still be where I started, bread and butter for a smile.

He glared at the paper. Those lyrics were ringing just a bit too true for him right now. He literally felt like he was selling his own smile, his music itself just for some scraps of bread and butter. They couldn’t make a living off this. Although they had played some gigs and had a small, but steady fan following, they still hadn’t progressed any further than that. They were right back where they started, playing in university pubs, making shit pay. He couldn’t help but feel it was all starting to be, just a bit pointless. Maybe Tim had the right idea, and he should just leave.

“You alright there mate?”

The voice startled Brian, and he looked up to see that his new table companion was looking at him with what might have been concern, although it was hard to tell with those dark glasses.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Brian said, brushing off the man’s concern, and trying to push away the melancholy and anger that had just enveloped him.

“Mm, ya don’t seem like it.” The stranger said, staring at him intently. “You feel all,” he waved a long, elegant hand in the air dismissively. “sad and confused… and mad.” He finished.

Brian leaned back. He had been feeling those things, but he wasn’t about to admit it. He didn’t like how this stranger seemed to read him.

“Well, I’m not.” He said, although his voice had taken on a harder edge, giving himself away a bit. “And even if I was, how could you possibly know that?”

The stranger shrugged. “Sort of got a radar for people who are angry or upset.” He said, before taking a sip of his coffee. Evidently it wasn’t up to his standards if the grimace on his face and the slight hiss that came out of his mouth were anything to go by. He snapped his fingers, as if irritated and then reached toward the middle of the table to grab a couple packets of sugar and a small pitcher of milk. Had they always been there?

“So, what are you writing?” the man asked as he ripped open one of the packets of sugar and put it in his coffee.

“A song.” Brian replied, looking back down at his book.

“Ah, so that’s why you’re all upset.” The man says, reaching for a couple more sugar packets. “Trying to get into the mood?”

“I’m not upset.” Brian said tersely.

A grin stretched across the man’s face. Although it seemed good natured, there was something about it that felt almost, predatorial. “No use lying to me, mate, I can see right through it. I don’t care if you’re upset or not either.”

Brian didn’t like where this conversation was going. He liked even less that this man was somehow able to read him like an open book. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the purple plant that man had brought with him, hoping to change the subject.

The man turned toward the flower. “Belladonna.” He said, shifting the plant closer. It had a beautiful purple flower and some purple black berries around it. “Member of the nightshade family,” he looked up at Brian, the predatory smile was back. “which means its’ poisonous.”

Brian found himself leaning back, his chair scraping a bit on the floor as if it too wanted to get away from the other man.

But the red head only laughed, or more like cackled. “But don’t worry, it’s only if you ingest it, though it also has some narcotic properties.” He explained, reaching over to grab the pitcher of milk. “Belladonna means ‘beautiful lady,’ although how it got that name is a less than friendly story.” He said, starting to stir his coffee.

“If it’s poisonous then why do you have it with you?” Brian asked, curious. Though he had to admit, the name was rather beautiful. He quickly jotted it down in his notebook.

“Just because it’s poisonous doesn’t mean it’s bad.” The man replied. “It has a reputation because it’s poisonous, but when used correctly, the leaves and roots can actually be used to make medicine.” He explained, taking a sip of his altered coffee and letting out a sigh. Brian watched in amazement, because he was certain he had seen the other man put in at least five sugar packets and half a pitcher of cream, if it could even still be considered coffee at that point. Brian also briefly wondered how all of that sweetness could fit into the coffee cup, which he was sure was full when the man sat down.

“What’s your name kid?”

The question startled Brian. “Brian May.” He said, realizing he had forgone the usual manners and introduction that came with meeting a new person. He quickly stuck out his hand to the other man.

“Crowley.” He answered, giving his hand a quick shake, along with a nod. “Now, let me see what you’re writing.” He said, reaching over and grabbing Brian’s notebook out of his hands before he could protest.

“Hmm.” The man, Crowley, hummed as he flicked through the notebook, eyes flying over the pages.

Brian was conflicted. He wanted to take his notebook back, but he also kind of wanted to hear the man’s opinion. After all, he was hitting a wall, and maybe a fresh perspective could help. 

“Don’t get this whole mirror and alley way bit.” Crowley confessed, his face scrunching. “But this other bit, the ‘If I crossed a million rivers, and I rode a million miles, then I’d still be where I started, bread and butter for a smile’, that sounds pretty good.” Crowley said, giving him a nod and handing back the lyrics. “Definitely relatable.”

“Really?” Brian asked, taking his notebook back. “How so?”

Crowley shrugged. “I’ve had a long life, always faced with a whole heap of trouble in front of me, sort of part of my job … as people like to remind me.” He sighed, leaning back. “Troubles I can never seem to get past. Every time I think I’m past one, a few more are there beyond it.” He huffed out a breath, shaking his head slightly and turning back to Brian with the same cocky grin on his face that he had on before. “But, like I’ve said, I’ve been on this Earth for a while. I’ve got experience, you get smarter and little wiser with each passing day.”

He turned back toward the window, the faraway look entering his eyes once more. “And so I know what it’s like, that even after years and years, even if I crossed a million rivers, and rode a million miles - though I’d do by car, I’m never riding a horse that far again - that I’d still be stuck where I started. We’d still be right where we started. We’d still be what we are now.” He grumbled. “Nothing has changed since the beginning anyway. We’re still exactly where we started.” He whispered under his breath, more to himself.

Brian was speechless. Crowley’s words felt personal, and grief ridden, like they had been deeply hidden and weren’t meant for him to hear. But at the same time, he was touched that Crowley had related so well to his lyrics. It was one of the few decent lines on the page.

“And uh, the ‘bread and butter for a smile’ bit?” he asked, trying to pull Crowley out of the strange, depressing funk he had gotten into. 

The change in the man was almost instant. His face lit up, the hard lines of his face softening and a grin spreading, a genuine grin. “Yeah. Bread and butter works, but chocolate and crepes are more of a guarantee for that smile.” He said, he almost sounded… besotted. “Man, all the things I’d do for that smile.”

“For whose smile?” Brian asked, writing down some of Crowley’s earlier words. They had a nice ring to them.

This seemed to draw Crowley out of whatever daydream he had been in because he returned with a shock, staring at Brian like he had forgotten he was there, which he probably had. “Er, no one. Nobody.” He quickly said, the hard look he had before returning. “So,” he said, turning to face Brian directly. A sudden chill drifted up Brian’s spine, and he felt himself somehow caught in the man’s gaze. “what’s really got you so upset earlier?”

Over the course of the next 20 minutes or so Brian found himself tempted into opening up to Crowley about his troubles. He was explaining it all, how his band was falling apart, despite his and Roger’s attempts to keep it together, how this song wasn’t coming out well at all, and how his schoolwork and his parents are pushing down on him and he’s wondering if it’s all worth it. Soon, he found himself finishing up his tale of woe.

“Hmm.” Crowley hummed sympathetically when he had finally finished. “I can see why you were upset. That’s quite a lot going on.”

“Yeah.” Brian nodded. His hands were wrapped around a new cup of coffee that Crowley had bought him as he laid out his troubles.

Crowley took another sip of his own coffee. How was it still steaming? He had bought it almost half an hour ago.

“So, I guess the question now is, is music something you really want to do?” Crowley asked.

Brian looked up. “Yeah, more than anything. I want to do it more than I want my degree.” He admitted, and as he said the words, he realized they were true. He wanted this band to work, wanted his music to work.

Crowley nodded. “Well then, you should go for it.”

“What?” Brian asked, surprised by Crowley’s words. It seemed everyone else in his life was telling him the opposite.

 “The young give up on their dreams too easily.” Crowley grumbled under his breath. “If you want to make a go of this music thing then you actually have to make a go of it.” He explained.

“But we don’t have a lead singer.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Well, then find a new one. You gotta keep the band alive!” he threw his hands up in the air. “The show must go on.” He added with a sharkish grin.

Brian quickly filed away Crowley’s words. “Well, maybe. But what if we’re not good enough? What if our music’s not popular enough and we never get past playing pubs for university students?” he asked, worry building inside him.  

“Well, you’ll never know if you give up now.” Crowley scoffed. “Whatever happens you may as well try, leave it all to chance.”

The man’s words made sense, and Brian found his earlier hesitations starting to disappear, but they weren’t about to let him go that easily. “There’s no way my folks will go for that.” He said, shaking his head. “They want me to be happy where I’m at. And maybe they’re right, after all it won’t be too much longer until I get my degree. Maybe I don’t need to be a rock star.”

Crowley turned, fixing Brian with a look. “So what? If your folks supported you, they’d tell you to go and be a super star or rock star, or whatever. I mean, are you really satisfied staying where you’re at? Would you be happy living the kind of life that they envisioned for you? Could you live that life without ever knowing if you could have made it?”

His words caught him off guard. But after a quick second of thought, he knew his answer.  

“No.” he replied, his resolve growing strong. “I wouldn’t be satisfied just staying where I’m at, not without at least trying to make a go of it.”

The smirk was back. “So, you’re going to give it another shot?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “I am.”

“Good. I bet your band will do real well, be a real temptation for the youth of tomorrow.” He gave a dark chuckle, taking another sip of his coffee.

Although his words were a little strange, Brian still felt oddly comforted by them. “Thanks. One can only hope.” He said, taking a sip from his own cup.

“What’s the band’s name anyway?”

“Smile.”

He made a face. “That’s a shit name. You should think of changing it.”

Brian nodded, agreeing with him. “Yeah, we probably will. Without Tim there’s no reason to keep the name. Besides, it’s not very catchy is it?”

“Not at all.”

The two sat in companionable silence for a bit, just drinking their coffees. Brian made a few more notes in his journal, writing some of the phrases from their conversation. They might make decent song lyrics one day.

“But I should warn you.” Crowley said suddenly, capturing Brian’s attention after a moment, leaning forward. “It’ll take all of your time and money to really keep this music dream up and keep it going.” He held Brian’s gaze. “If you want to keep yourself and your band afloat, then you can’t let the fame go to your head. It could consume you and the music you love.”

Brian felt a chill go down his spine once more. Crowley’s words held weight and for some reason, Brian felt like Crowley’s words had some kind of power over him, like they held more strength than a normal person’s words.

“I understand.” He said.

Crowley held his gaze. After a moment he nodded and leaned back. “Good.” He said, snapping his fingers. “Then that’s what will happen.”

Brian couldn’t help but smile at Crowley’s confidence in him and his music. He was glad this strange man had decided to sit across from him. This conversation had turned out far different than he had originally thought it would be.

“Oh, look at that, it’s stopped raining.” Crowley remarked, looking out the window.

Brian followed his gaze and found that it had indeed stopped raining. But that’s when he also noticed that it was getting rather dark outside. Suddenly he shot up from his seat. “What time is it?”

“Er, it’s almost 7 he said, checking his watch.”

“Shit, I’m late.” Brian grumbled as he quickly packed his things away.

“Late for what?” Crowley asked.

“We got a gig.” Brian said, shoving his notebook into his bag. “It’s our last one with Tim, after that I’ll need to talk with Rog about finding a new lead singer.” He paused for a moment, looking over at Crowley. “You don’t happen to sing or play any instruments, do you?” 

Crowley burst out in a cackle, the sound bouncing off the walls of the coffee shop. Then he shook his head. “Nah, but I wish you luck in finding one.”

“Was worth a shot.” Brian said with a shrug.

“Go on, get out of here.” Crowley said, waving him off toward the door. “Go keep your band alive.” He said, snapping his fingers once more. “You shouldn’t hit any traffic.”

“Thanks for all your help, Crowley. If you ever want to hear our band play-” he started to say before Crowley cut him off.

“Eh, maybe one day. But I’ve got plans to meet someone for dinner.” Crowley said, checking his watch again.

Brian nodded before making a rush for the door. “Well, thanks again Crowley.”

“Hey, be careful with your auditions.” Crowley’s voice stopped him at the door. “You might end up with a drama queen.” 

Brian barked out a laugh. “We’ve already got Roger; one drama queen is enough.” He said before walking out the door into the night.

Chapter Text

Soho, London 1975

Freddie Mercury was tired. He had been burning the candle on both ends lately. He and his band, Queen, had recently gotten back from their tour in America and were due to record another album soon. It had been a very busy time, but it was also a good thing to be busy. Queen had become very popular over the past few years. Freddie would always be glad that he had finally plucked up the courage to talk to his favorite university band, Smile, that one night after their gig. It turned out that their lead singer had just quit on them, and Freddie had jumped at the opportunity to present himself as an eager replacement. After his impromptu audition they had become a real tight knit group.  

However, along with the popularity came the adoring fans. And though it was wonderful at first, to be in the spotlight, Freddie found that sometimes the fans were more trouble than they were worth. Don’t get him wrong, he loved seeing his fans while he walked down the street, loved giving them autographs and posing for them, maybe belting out a couple of notes. But there were some days, like today where he just needed to get away from it all. Freddie had a huge personality, but even he sometimes needed some time to himself. That is what lead him to take a walk down the streets of Soho, in a truthfully terrible disguise.

He just wanted a day to himself, to work on his song writing in relative peace and quiet. This is what lead him to Soho, and down a less crowded street. It was on this street, as the sky started to open, releasing a light sprinkling of rain that had all the promise of turning into a down pour any minute now, that Freddie found a quaint bookshop on the corner, all lit up from within. There was something about it that felt warm and inviting and Freddie found himself rushing inside just as the rain started to pick up.

The shop was warm, but it wasn’t just a physically warm feeling (although that definitely felt nice compared to the rainy chill outside), but Freddie also felt a strange warmth in his chest, like that of safety and comfort, acceptance. He looked around, bookshelves filled the walls of the shop, and were lined up throughout the middle of the room. It had a somewhat maze-like quality that Freddie immediately knew he’d get lost in. Books were strewn throughout the shelves and on tables and counters.

He started to walk further into the shop, perhaps find the owner and ask if he could stay, just until the rain let up. As he walked, he looked through the books on the shelves. There seemed to be no particular order to the books. They weren’t organized alphabetically or by genre, not that Freddie knew much about most of them, but he could recognize a few titles.

A quick walk through the shelves didn’t reveal anybody else, not even the proprietor of the establishment. Freddie thought this was odd and wondered if he should leave, but as he turned toward the window he saw that the rain was coming down even harder. Well, that put an end to that thought, and surely whoever owned the bookstore wouldn’t kick him out to have to find a way home in that rain.

His eyes roamed around once more. There must be somewhere he could sit in the meantime. Maybe he’d peruse a book, and even buy it if the proprietor were to come out, just as a thank you for letting him stay until the rain left. But truthfully, Freddie wasn’t interested in reading a book, he just wanted to a space to write his music. And as he looked around the book shop, he thought that this wasn’t too bad a place to do it.

He walked further inside, with a different mission in mind this time. He needed to find a place to sit. Just as he was rounding the first corner he found a wooden table, actually free of books and clutter. There was a chair tucked in against it. Freddie turned around to look behind him before doing a double take of the table. He was certain he had walked this way before, but he was also certain that the table hadn’t been there, or if it was it must have been covered in books. But he hadn’t seen anyone else in the shop, so who had moved the books?

It didn’t matter now, not really. Freddie pulled out the chair and sat down, placing his wet bag on the floor and pulling out a notebook full of loose papers.

“Well, maybe I can at least get some writing done.” Freddie murmured to himself as he took out a pencil and opened his notebook. It opened to a song he had been working on for years. He had parts of melodies and lyrics he wrote over time, but it wasn’t quite finished yet. He knew it would be one of his best works yet. When he explained the idea of it to his band mates, they had all been on board, now it was just a matter of Freddie writing it.

Time passed quickly in the book shop. Freddie wasn’t sure how long, but soon enough he was able to get on a roll and he wrote out a new melody for the song, something with a slow, dramatic build. He already had the melody down, now he just needed the lyrics. The song was meant to be like a condensed opera, so it had to start with a tragic beginning, like all operas did.

“Mama, just killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he’s dead.” Freddie belted out, trying out his new lyric with the melody.

“I wouldn’t shout that too loud if I were you.”

Freddie jumped at the unexpected voice. “Sorry, I wasn’t sure anyone else was here. And it’s just a bit of lyric I’m working on.” He said, turning to examine the stranger who had snuck up behind him. He was very attractive with sharp cheek bones and flaming red hair that just brushed past his shoulders. He was also all hips and long legs, dressed in tight, black clothes. “Are you the proprietor?” he asked.

A single, perfect eyebrow lifted above the pair of dark glasses the man was wearing. “Do I look like I run a bookshop?”

Freddie gave the man a once over. “No darling, you look more like a rockstar.” he admitted. Freddie had always been a flirt, although he had no intention of taking his advances any further. He was in love with Mary after all. “But there doesn’t seem to be anyone else here.”

The man shrugged. “Friend of mine owns the shop. I watch it sometimes while he’s busy.”

“What’s he doing?”

“Reading.”

Freddie blinked, unsure what to say. “Well, I was just trying to find a quiet place to write some music. But then it started to rain and I came in to get out of the cold.” He explained, gesturing toward the front window where the rain was still beating down. The man said nothing, just continued to stare at Freddie. “I’ll make sure to buy a book for my time here, if that’ll help.” He added when the silence stretched on a little too long.

The other man scoffed. “No, definitely don’t buy a book. He’d hate that. Although if you aren’t looking to buy anything it explains why the shop let you in.” he mumbled the second part under his breath.

Freddie settled back into the chair. “I’ll just stay until the rain stops.” He said, already back into his work.

“Eh, take as long as you need.” The other man said as he slid into the seat across from Freddie. Was there another seat? Freddie could have sworn there was only the one when he sat down. “The name’s Crowley, by the way.” 

“Freddie.” Freddie replied. He eyed Crowley carefully, but the man showed no signs of recognizing him, as the name ‘Queen’ and ‘Freddie Mercury’ had become quite popular recently. When the man didn’t seem to show any reaction he relaxed, sticking out his hand in greeting. “Freddie Mercury.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Freddie.” Crowley said, giving his hand a firm squeeze. “So, you said you’re writing a song?” Crowley asked as he leaned back in the chair.

“Yes. It’s an opera.” Freddie said, looking back on his work. “Or it will be, one day.” 

“Hmm, opera. Interesting choice. You don’t exactly look like the kind of bloke who writes operas.” Crowley remarked. 

“And you don’t look like the kind of man who would run a book shop, even if temporarily, yet here we are.” Freddie countered, spreading out his arms. “Besides, no one can put me into a single category, nor tamper my genius into one genre. I can write whatever I bloody well like.”

Crowley smirked. “You don’t really care what others think of you, do ya?” he pushed a tumbler over to Freddie. Freddie briefly wondered where the tumbler had come from but figured that Crowley must have walked over with it. Then Crowley pulled another tumbler toward himself and produced a bottle of a clear liquid from seemingly nowhere. “I like that. Drink?” he asked as he poured himself a glass.

“If you don’t mind.” Freddie accepted the glass. He brought it up to his nose, taking a deep sniff. “Vodka?” he asked, a small smile curling at the edge of his lips.

“Yeah, you seemed like a vodka man.” Crowley said dismissively as he took a sip from his glass. “I thought you’d prefer that to wine, which is pretty much all he has stocked up here anyway.” He said, waving lazily around at the shop.

“You’re right.” Freddie had to admit, bringing the drink up once more. But he paused before he put it to his lips. “And just why exactly are you sharing a drink of your vodka with a complete stranger?” he challenged, lifting a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

“I told you, it’s not my vodka.” Crowley said, a bit of a sly grin on his face. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to. But I didn’t poison it or anything.” He shrugged. “It’s just nice to have some company while he’s busy.” He gestured toward the back of the shop.

“He?” Freddie asked, hearing the way that Crowley kept describing this man he knew there was something a little more going on between them. “He’s here?” Freddie followed Crowley’s hand and tried to peer around the bookcases to see if he could catch a glimpse of this mystery man. “And he’s left his shop unattended? Left you to do all the work?”

“Pffbt!” Crowley blew a raspberry and took another sip of alcohol. “It’s hardly any work, there’s rarely any costumers. And since you don’t want to buy anything there’s no need to run you off.”

That didn’t sound like a great way to run a business, but Freddie didn’t push it. “But still, it seems rude to have you over, friend or not, and not at least sit with you.” he countered.

“Ah, I don’t mind.” Crowley waved dismissively again. “He could spend days caught up in his reading, and I wouldn’t mind. I’m happy just to be here with him.” He turned toward Freddie, a mischievous look in his eyes. “Besides, if he’s distracted then we can sneak into his liquor stores and take what we want.” He said, lifting his glass and giving it a bit of a shake.

A grin stretched across Freddie’s face. “You’re fun.” he remarked, his grin widening. He took a sip, finding it was very good vodka.

The next two hours flew by, as the rain poured down outside. Freddie and Crowley had started talking, getting along like a church on fire. They found that they were actually rather similar.

“Now I know Galileo’s called the father of modern physics, but he should be known more for being the father of observational astronomy.” Crowley said, sloshing his glass a bit. They had finished their first bottle, moved on to their second and were both pretty drunk now. “I mean he’s the one who finally figured out that the moon’s not smooth, got all those craters, like cheese. Can’t believe you all thought it was like some giant marble just floating around your planet.” He paused a moment. “You’ve all figured out the moon revolves around the Earth, right?”

“Galileo, Galileo. He um… something about telescopes?” Freddie asked, trying to recall anything he could remember about the man. He didn’t remember much, but through his alcohol fueled haze he found that he liked the man’s name very much. Although why they were talking about Galileo now, Freddie couldn’t say.

“Yeah, he was also the one who learned how to measure stars without a telescope! And the uh… the milky way!” Crowley exclaimed excitedly. 

“Milky way… like the candy bar.” Freddie said, glad he could make that connection.

“Yes! Like the candy-! Wait, no! Not like the candy bar!” Crowley said, shaking his head. “It’s… well, it’s the galaxy. Bunch of stars and solar systems. Not a bloody candy bar.” 

“Oh.” Freddie said, nodding along in his drunken state, even though he really had no bloody idea what Crowley was talking about.

Crowley seemed to sense this and took pity on him, changing the subject. “So, you said you were writing a song earlier. Something about killing a man?”

“Yes! I was!” Freddie said excitedly, pulling out his song writing notebook that he had tucked away when they were starting to get into their second glass.

“Murder is a sin you know.” Crowley said, eyeing Freddie.

“Oh, it’s just a lyric.” Freddie brushed him off. “Every good opera has a tragedy or murder.”

“Sounds an awful lot like bloody Shakespeare.” Crowley mumbles into his glass. “Never liked the tragedies, always preferred the funny ones.”

“Perhaps you could help me, darling, seeing as we’re becoming fast friends already.” Freddie said, his face lighting up. “I’ve been struggling with the lyrics for a while now, as this song has been slowly being written for a couple of years now. I’ve got some of the melodies and lyrics written up, but I’m stuck on this first part.” He showed Crowley the page. 

“Er, sure, I’ve helped some musicians before.” Crowley said, waving him off. “What’ve you got so far?”

Freddie cleared his throat before he sang. “Mama, I just killed a man. Put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger now he’s dead.”

They both sat in silence for a few moments.

“That’s it?”  

“Well, there are a few other bits and pieces, but this is the part I’m working on.” 

Crowley groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to try and write songs while drunk. But he pressed on anyways.

“This isn’t one of those tragedy operas where the son accidentally marries his mum or anything is it?”

Freddie shook his head quickly. “No! It’s not even a whole opera, no names or anything. Just an opera in song form, just one song.” He clarified.

“Ah, then why’d the bloke kill someone? And why tell his mum? Doesn’t seem like something she’d want to hear.”

“I suppose not. I have to say this bit’s been rather hard to write. My own mum and I aren’t very close anymore.” He admitted, a sad look coming over his face. Ever since their band took off, Freddie hadn’t made much effort to see or talk with his family. He told himself it was because his father, and there by extension his mum and sister, didn’t approve of what he did, of his lifestyle. His father believed Freddie was too self-centered and that he should spend more time thinking of those around him. ‘Good thoughts, good words, good deeds.’ That was always his father’s motto. Freddie knew his family would prefer he lived a life more… ordinary. But Freddie knew he was never an ordinary kind of man. He was made for greater things than what his papa could ever dream of. However, Freddie also knew that he should probably reach out to them.

“Mmm. Parent dynamics are tough.” Crowley said, taking another sip of his drink.

“How do you get on with your mum?” Freddie asked curiously.

Crowley froze, glass still in his mouth. He looked down into the rest of the liquid before tossing it back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “My… Mum and I don’t get along.” He said as he poured himself another glass.

“Really?” Freddie asked as he pulled his notebook a little closer to him. He could sense some juicy details about to spill his way, hoping inspiration could come from Crowley’s story.

The other man nodded. “She threw me out, back when life was first starting out.” He said, downing his next shot of vodka in one gulp. He hissed at the burn.

Freddie made a sympathetic noise. His mum must have kicked him out when he was very young, probably a teenager.

“All I did was ask questions.” Crowley’s voice had turned more melancholy as he stared into his empty glass. “But back then that was enough to have Her turn against me, to cast me out.” He set the glass down. Freddie poured him another. “Was it my fault?” Crowley asked quietly. “Was I the one who threw it all away? I mean I know those questions weren’t exactly sanctioned, but were they really so bad?”

As Crowley continued to speak Freddie became curious about what kind of questions the man had asked that had caused his mum to kick him out, and at such a young age. But then Crowley turned toward the back of the shop, where Freddie had noticed the other man’s eyes kept flicking back to throughout the evening. And Freddie was reminded of his earlier words, ‘friend of mine owns the shop. I watch it sometimes while he’s busy.’ And ‘he could spend days caught up in his reading and I wouldn’t mind. I’m just happy to be here with him.’ Suddenly Freddie knew just what kind of questions Crowley had probably asked. Freddie knew his own parents wouldn’t have approved either. Freddie had never admitted it to anyone before but sometimes he would entertain ‘those kind of thoughts’ in the dead of night. For a man to love or desire another ma-….

“I wonder if She cried when She cast me out.” Crowley mused aloud, his eyes far away. “I wonder if She cried for any of us.” He looked down at his now empty glass again, his glasses sliding further down his nose, and Freddie could swear that Crowley's eyes looked almost yellow, although that might have been the alcohol’s influence. “I wonder if it matters at all.”

Suddenly Freddie was afraid he stumbled onto something very personal to the man, and even with the accompaniment of alcohol, he wondered if he was prying too far. There was something vulnerable and slightly broken about the man, and Freddie didn’t feel right pushing him.

“You don’t have to share if it’s too hard for you.” Freddie said, his voice gentle.

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye to anybody before She threw me out.” Crowley continued, as if Freddie wasn’t there.

“I’m sorry.” Freddie said, trying to offer the man sympathy. “It must have hurt.”

“It was the most torturous experience I’ve ever faced.” Crowley bit out, his tone bitter.

Freddie couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine. Suddenly the book shop felt stifling hot, like he was sitting in the bowels of hell itself. A sweat started to break out along the back of his neck. He didn’t like the feeling, the tightness his chest and the sadness lingering in the air. Crowley’s story seemed to be affecting him in more ways than he thought. Perhaps it was because Freddie worried that that would have been his story, if his father would have thrown him out if he ever indulged in those feelings. Yet his father had also been the one to tell him that, ‘You can’t get anywhere pretending to be someone you’re not.’ Now he wondered just what he meant by that.

Well, he couldn’t imagine the pain Crowley must have gone through.

“But there was nothing I could do.” Crowley’s voice reminds Freddie that the pain he is experiencing is not his own. He was not the one who had been evicted from his home and family. “I didn’t want to fall and be cast out, which She knew would leave me as good as dead.” Crowley looked up again. “I remember what it was like, just lying there in the lake. I remember wishing I hadn’t been born at all. Cause what was the point of it then? Why was I born just to suffer this fate, and separated from everything, from Her grace and love?” He turned back toward the back of the book shop. Freddie can’t see his face, but he can feel the longing the man has.

“I can be so close and yet still not able to have what I want, not the way I really want it.” His hand tightened around his glass. “I’m so close, but he still pushes me away. And I know it’s for our own safety, cause his side would come after him and my side would… Shit, I fell and ran away from hell just to invent one of my own, my own personal hell.” He grumbled self-deprecatingly.

Freddie knew that Crowley’s mind was no longer on his parents. It’s obvious in the way he stared longingly at the back of the shop. Something heavy settled in Freddie’s gut and he felt his heart break a little bit for the man sitting across from him. He shouldn’t have had to suffer so much of his life.

Suddenly Crowley snapped to attention, before glaring at the ground. “So what? Do you think you could stop me if I finally gave in? If I finally let it all go for him? Or would you just spit in my eye and continue to use me as your lacky?” he shouted at the ground, spitting on it before he quickly threw his head back and started to hiss at the ceiling. “And what about you?” he asked, shoving his finger into the air like he was accusing God themself. “Do you think you can just love me and then leave me to die? Oh no! I don’t think so! And I don’t need you! Cause I got out of there! You may have left me to rot in hell, but I got out of there on my own! Yeah, I clawed my way to the surface! And you know what I found?!” His gaze flicked to the backroom again. “I found an angel.” his voice much quieter and gentler, full of amazement.

Perhaps Crowley was a bit more drunk than Freddie realized.

Freddie knew this would probably be a good time to change topics. But he couldn’t deny that he was also getting a lot of powerful words that he could spin into lyrics from this. It turned out Crowley’s life was a bit of a tragedy, perfect for an opera. But Freddie also knew that Crowley probably wouldn’t share all of this with him if he wasn’t so drunk. He should put an end to this conversation, move on to lighter topics, like going back to Galileo or something. And Freddie had every intention of following through with his new plan but he still found his voice speaking something else instead.

“Was it worth it?” Freddie heard himself asking. He couldn’t hold the question back any longer as it had been circling his brain ever since he put together the pieces of why Crowley was kicked out. His own worries and fears were wrapped up in the question. Crowley had been brave enough to tell his parents who he truly was, who he truly loved. And Freddie had to know if it was worth the risk for him, if being with this… book seller was enough.

Crowley turned to him. Yellow eyes peeked over the rim of his dark sunglasses. Or at least they looked yellow, must have been the lighting.

Crowley sighed. “Well, there are definitely some things I wouldn’t have learned had She not done what She did.” He pushed his glasses back up securely on his face. “I suppose in the end I am a bit glad that I left my previous life behind. The company sure was shite.” He added with a dark chuckle. 

He looked back up toward the ceiling. “And now I really can put it behind me, face the truth, all of it. Besides,” he turned back toward the back room, where Freddie was sure his partner was. “if I hadn’t been cast out, I’m not sure we ever would have met.”

The answer is enough for Freddie, for now. It warms him a little to see that some men can have that kind of life, that it works out for some of them. In that moment he is glad to have Mary, his beautiful fiancé waiting for him at home. He loves her more than anything, but there is also another secret part of Freddie that wonders, if it can be worth it for this man and his partner, maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible if he… But he pushes the thought aside. He loves Mary, and that is enough.

“Well, I think I should head out now that the rain has stopped.” Freddie said, changing the subject before he could dwell too much more on it.

Crowley paused for a moment before nodding. “Yeah, it’s getting late. I should close up.” He said, getting to his feet and picking up the glasses. The bottle seemed strangely fuller than it had a moment ago, and Crowley strangely more sober. And didn’t they open that second bottle? “I’ll help you get a cab.”

“Ah, that’s alright darling. I should walk for a bit, clear my head.” Freddie said as he stood up. He didn’t want to trouble Crowley any more than he already had, and besides, he didn’t want to have to deal with a cab driver fawning all over him and asking for autographs or pictures in his drunken state.

“Oh, sure. Then let me walk you out.” Crowley said, giving his fingers a snap and pointing toward the door. Suddenly Freddie felt more sober than he had a moment ago. He looked confusedly back at the table. He should be far more drunk considering all the vodka they just drank.

The pair of them walk to the store’s front door and Crowley opened it for him. “Well, it was very nice to meet you Crowley.” Freddie said, remembering his manners right before he stepped out. “And thank you for the drink.”

“No problem.” 

Freddie gave him a nod before turning to face the street. It was darker now, dusk having just started to set. A smile pulled at the sides of Freddie’s face. He had a very successful evening of song writing and made a new friend in the process. In fact, it was one of his more fruitful song writing sessions he’s had in quite a long time. Freddie quickly turned back around before Crowley could close the door behind him, an idea popping into his head.

“My band and I are going to be recording an album soon.” Freddie said, just before the door closed.

“Oh? Good for you.” Crowley said, leaning against the doorway.

“Yes, and I wanted to thank you for the drinks and your help tonight.” 

Crowley shrugged. “No big deal.”

“Maybe not to you darling, but I have been stuck on that song for a while now. And I was thinking,” he paused for dramatic effect. “would you be interested in coming to the recording studio sometime perhaps help me finish the song?” 

There was a short pause. “You, you want me to help you write more songs?” Crowley asked in disbelief.

“Yes. As a thank you for all of your help tonight.”

Crowley shifted uncomfortably. “I dunno.”

Freddie thought fast, and when his eyes trailed back into the warm bookshop, he knew a way to convince Crowley to come. “You’re welcome to bring your friend as well. You would both be my guests.” He said, gesturing toward the shop.

The statement has the intended affect because Crowley turned inward. After a short reprieve he turned back around and nodded.  

“Alright. I’ll talk to him about it.”

He smiled. “Great. Give me your number, I'll send you the address, darling.” He said before he and Crowley quickly exchanged numbers.

“Have a good evening Crowley.” Freddie said when they finish, turning his back to the book shop and waving a hand in the air behind him.

“Night Freddie.” Crowley said before he closed and locked the doors behind him.

Well, it had been quite an eventful night for Freddie. He hadn’t written so much in quite a long time, and he had been stuck on that song for years. He was just glad to make some headway on it, especially since he planned on releasing it in the next album.

As Freddie turned around to look at the book shop one last time he saw the silhouette of a man, or a man-shaped being as they walked to the window, watching after him. Then, just for a moment Freddie thought he saw another figure move in the background, further in the shop. But while the silhouette was dark and unmoving, the new figure seemed to be very bright, almost glowing. Must have been a trick of the light.

Freddie shook his head, trying to push the strange image from his head. He hoped Crowley would take him up on his offer to come to the studio and help him write, and perhaps he could meet the man’s mysterious non-book selling friend.

Then Freddie gave one final nod to the book shop, which he would strangely never find open again, and turned down the street. It was a small miracle that when Freddie turned away, he couldn’t hear the conversation happening inside the book shop.

“Angel! Angel! ANGEL! I JUST MET FREDDIE BLOODY MERCURY! AHHHHHHHHHHHH!! HISSSSSSSSSS! Hissssss! Hisssssss!”

“Look out my dear! Your tail almost knocked over my Jane Austen collection! Now what were-? Is that my vodka? Were you drinking without me?! You better not have drunk it all you foul fiend! And just who is Freddie Mercury?”

Chapter Text

Somewhere on the outskirts of Rockfield, Wales 1975

“Those bloody arseholes!” Roger grumbled into the cold, country air. It was a crisp morning, er, more like afternoon at this point. And the great Roger Taylor, drummer and sometimes vocalist of the world renown band, Queen, was standing at the corner of a country road in the middle of nowhere, holding four grocery bags.

“Just go get a couple of groceries Roger. It’s just down the road, Roger. You drank all the coffee so you should be the one to buy more, Roger!” He said in a higher pitched voice to himself, trying to imitate his bandmates. He hefted the bags higher since they were starting to drag in the mud.

“Oh, I’ll buy more coffee to shove down your throats you ungrateful animals.” He hissed as his legs propelled him forward, through a sticky muddy road. He had left the general store, which felt like a million miles away from their recording studio in the middle of nowhere, almost 20 minutes ago and Roger was starting to think he had taken a wrong turn sometime back. Nothing looked familiar, but that was probably because Roger thought everything looked the same. He started to wish he had paid more attention on his way to the store.

“Why didn’t we send Paul to get the groceries? I mean what is he even here for?” he asked in frustration. Roger was starting to sweat, his jacket too warm, especially after the exercise. Roger wasn’t dressed for a walk into town, especially since the town was much farther than he had anticipated.

“Paul said it was just down the road.” Roger rolled his eyes. “More like in the next county.” A rumble of thunder peeled through the air. He looked up to see the grey clouds over head start to pour out a gentle rain. “That’s great, just great.” He lamented as the first few drops hit his upturned face.

Roger wasn’t dressed for the weather… obviously. He always dressed more for style than substance. His jeans were already dragging through the mud and did little to cover his already ruined boots. The shirt he wore under his ridiculously fluffy coat was too thin to actually protect against any wind chill. And to make matters worst, the grocery bags that he had been toting around for the past couple of miles were starting to fill with water themselves, making them even heavier. Roger groaned, throwing his head back to glare at the sky.

“I swear when I see that smug bastard again, I’ll…” but he didn’t finish his threat, partly because he didn’t know how to finish it, and partly because he heard the sound of a motor vehicle pulling onto the lane.

He looked up and was shocked to see a beautiful, shining black Bentley in perfect condition come careening down the road. It was coming so fast that Roger was certain that it was going to rush right past him (if not outright run him over) and splash mud all over the front of his already soaking clothes. He cringed back, bringing up the grocery bags to block the worst of the mud that was sure to fly soon. But it didn’t come.

“Oh, you poor dear!” called out a very posh voice.

Roger opened his eyes to find that the Bentley had stopped right in front of him. He wasn’t sure how, as there was no screech of breaks and the car was going far too fast to even stop in time. He looked up in bewilderment to see a kindly face staring at him from out of the passenger side of the window. It was an older man with blonde hair so light it nearly looked white and deep blue eyes.

“Are you alright? You look absolutely freezing.” The man said, looking Roger up and down.

“Er, yeah, I am.” He answered in a bit of a daze, still unable to understand how he wasn’t either hit by the car or covered in mud.

“Oh, well that won’t do.” The man said before opening the car door and walking toward him, a tartan umbrella in his hand. “You’ll catch a cold walking around in this weather dressed like that.” He said, standing next to Roger and holding out the umbrella above them both.

Now that the car was opened Roger could hear the sound of music from the Beatles drifting out through the doorway.

You say ‘Goodbye’ and I say ‘Hello, hello, hello’!

“Hey, are you in or out? You’re letting the rain in, angel!” came a grumpy voice from further in the car, presumably the driver.

Angel? Did he just call the other man angel? 

“Just a moment.” The man called over his shoulder as he gently pulled Roger’s bags out of his numb grip. “Oh you’re soaked to the bone. You simply must come with us my dear.” The man said, hefting the bags easily and curling his hand around Roger’s arm.

“What? Oh, no, that’s alright.” Roger tried to reassure the man, although he found his body moving toward the car anyways.

“Nonsense, my dear. There’s plenty of room, and we can’t just leave you out here, especially not in this weather.” The man said as he started to settle Roger into the car.

Roger tried to protest, even making sure to take a peek at the license plate anyways, just in case these two ended up being axe murderers.

Even in his strange, bewildered state Roger couldn’t help but somehow feel calmed by the blonde man’s touch. That was until he was put into the car and was suddenly overcome by a rather uncomfortable feeling, especially as the driver seemed to be watching him from the rearview mirror. The man was wearing sunglasses and had red hair. There was something about his demeanor and overall presence that kind of put Roger on edge. He gulped, wishing the other man would hurry and put his groceries in the trunk so that he wouldn’t have to be alone in the car with the other man.

“What, are we picking up hitch hikers now? We’re already running late, angel.” The driver complained but made no move to put the car in drive until the blonde man had returned to his seat, shutting the door behind him.

I say ‘High’, and you say, ‘low’. You say, ‘Why?’ and I say, ‘I don’t know’.

“Well we couldn’t just leave him there dear. It’s raining and he was all alone! Besides, it’s the least we can do since you almost hit him.” The blonde said in a haughty huff. “Besides, it was your idea to-”

“Yeah, well I didn’t hit him!” the red head snarked back, cutting him off before he could finish.

The other man rolled his eyes. “Really, my dear? Didn’t you say we were in a hurry?”

“Pff, I’ll show you ‘in a hurry’.” The red head mumbled under his breath, but he put the car in drive and drove forward anyways. Roger briefly wondered how these two met and why they were even driving together, they didn’t seem to have anything in common.

You say, ‘Yes’, I say, ‘No’. You say, ‘Stop’, and I say, “Go, go go!’

“So, my dear,” the blonde said, his voice chipper once more as he turned to look back at Roger. “what’s your name?”

So, it appeared this man called everyone ‘my dear’. It reminded Roger of talking to his grandpa.

“Roger.” He said, shaking his head so that he could concentrate on the situation at hand.

“Lovely name.”

“What were you doing out on the road in the middle of nowhere anyway?” the driver asked, staring at Roger through the rearview again.

“I’m on my way to my mates. They’re expecting my back soon.” He explained. 

“Well, Roger, it is a pleasure to meet you.” The blonde said, giving him a bright smile that made Roger feel warm, even though a couple of minutes ago he was getting soaked in the rain. This man didn’t seem like the kidnapping type, more like the fussy librarian type. He felt like he could trust him. “Why don’t we drop you off at your friends?” he asked in a cheery tone.

“Angel…” the other man drawled.

All of a sudden Roger had the very real worry that they might kick him out of the car and back onto the wet roads, just to trudge his groceries back to that farm, so he quickly cut in. “It’s just down the road a bit. My band and I are recording an album.” 

“Well, if it’s just down the road I’m sure it’s not too much trouble for us to drop you off.” the blonde said, shooting the red head a look.  

The driver stared at Roger in the rear view. Was he even watching the road?

“Hmm, I suppose we could…” he drawled. “Besides, I think we might be heading in the same direction.” He said, a smirk tilting the corner of his lips.

Roger found he really didn’t like that smirk. “And what are your names?” he asked, suddenly realizing that he had no idea who these two strangers that he had just hitched a ride with were.

“Oh! Forgive my manners. My name is Aziraphale.” The blonde man said, fixing Roger with another bright smile.

OH... so 'angel' was a pet name. Aziraphale was a mouthful. He’d probably go by a nickname too if he had to be called that everyday.

The car’s radio gave a strange stutter before changing stations right in the middle of a song.

Earth angel, Earth angel, will you be mine? My darling dear, love you for all time.  

“Er, and I’m Crowley!” the driver quickly cut in almost as soon as the song started to play. Roger could see a blush start to creep onto the man’s cheeks. Though he couldn't imagine why. 

Then the radio seemed to glitch again, before changing to a new station. There must have been some loose wiring that needed to be fixed.

You’re the devil in disguise. Oh yes you are, the devil in disguise. Elvis crooned.

“Stop that.” The driver, Crowley, growled at the radio, like it could hear him.

“Your radio seems to be glitching.” Roger remarked. 

“I’m afraid she’s always like this.” Aziraphale replied. “Bit of an audacious lady, not unlike her owner.” He said, shooting Crowley a look, although Roger caught Aziraphale patting the car’s side door fondly.

Just then, the radio did it again, skipping to a new channel and a new song.

She’s got style, she’s got grace, she’s a winner. She’s a lady. Whoa whoa whoa. She’s a lady.

“She’s not audacious.” Crowley grumbled.

“Perhaps brazen would be a nicer adjective.” Aziraphale suggested.

“No, she’s not any 'nice' adjective at all. She’s a sleek, sensual automobile, tearing up the roads like a bat out of hell.”

Well she’s never in the way, always something nice to say, oh what a blessing.

“Don’t talk back to me missy.” Crowley growled at the radio again. “And don’t you dare use that kind of language while I’m driving.”

“My dear, who is driving whom here?” Aziraphale asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“I can take a look at her if you like.” Roger quickly cut in. This conversation had taken a weird turn and Roger wanted to try and steer it back into an area he was more comfortable with. Besides, if he looked at the car then he could feel a little less guilty about bumming a ride from these gentlemen, or a gentleman and his… grumpy companion.

“Oh, that’s very kind of you.” Aziraphale said, turning back to Roger.

“But not necessary. She’s fine the way she is.” Crowley cut in, a bit defensively.

Roger shrugged. “Alright. I just thought if it was bothering you so much. I do know my way around cars.”

“Really?” Crowley asked, he meant it to sound dismissive, but underneath his tone Roger could hear the curiosity lurking.

“Yeah. I love cars. I have an Alfa Romeo myself. But I had to leave her behind while we’re working. They didn’t want any distractions.” He added, sneering the last word.

“Ooh, an Italian car.” Crowley said, his interest peaked.

“Mm-hmm. She’s a real beauty, I clean her regularly, can’t let anyone else get their grubby hands on her. You have no idea the kind of damage that can happen by paying someone else to take care of your car.” Roger remarked.

“Oh, I believe it. You don’t know what those paid car washers could be doing. They could scratch the paint or chip her windshield. No, I handle all of Bentley's maintenance myself, and she’s never had so much as a flat tire.” Crowley turned to catch Roger’s eye in the rearview mirror. “You could say I’m a miracle worker.” He said, his mouth turning into a predatory grin.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and groaned from the passenger seat. "Oh, please." 

“You know, we met a bloke on tour, uh, Harris I think. He had a Triumph TR4.” Roger chuckled. “The way he talked about it you’d have thought the car was the love of his life.”

“Ooh, not bad. It’s a good sports car, but it ain’t got nothing on the Bentley.” Crowley puffed up his chest in pride.

“No, I’m going to have to agree with you on that one.” Roger said, eyes trailing over the car’s interior. At that moment the radio switched to a new song, one that had become quite popular that year.

Why can’t we be friends? Why can’t we be friends?

“I got to admit, there’s no better feeling than just getting out on the open road, just me and Bentley, hearing her gears turning and the roar of her engine as we peel off down the M25.” Crowley said rather dreamily.

“Mmm, yeah. Getting my hands on her wheel, with her pistons pumping and her hub caps gleaming.” Roger added, smiling.

“Are we still talking about cars?” Aziraphale asked, confused. But Roger and Crowley didn’t seem to hear him.

“The adrenaline shot you get when the radials are squealing. But Bentley handles like a dream.” Crowley said, running his hand fondly over her dashboard.

“That’s pretty poetic.” Roger said, something curling in the back of his mind. “And cars are better than people.” 

“You’ve got that right.” Crowley laughed.

“I mean they don’t talk back, they don’t force you to make small talk.”

“Well, most cars don’t talk back.” Crowley mumbled.

“All she needs is an open road and some petrol, and you’ve got a friend for life.” Roger finished, getting caught up in his ramble.

Why can’t we be friends? Why can’t we be friends?

“Well, I’m glad you have all started to get along.” Aziraphale said, though his tone said otherwise.

Both Roger and Crowley seemed to startle at the other man’s words. They had almost forgotten he was in the car with them.

The car radio quickly switched again, back to ‘Earth Angel’.

Earth angel, Earth angel, the one I adore. Love you forever and ever more.

“Er, not that there’s anything wrong with small talk. Big fan of small talk, me. And of course, friends come in all shapes and sizes ange-, er, Aziraphale.” Crowley said, trying to recover.

I’m just a fool, a fool in love with you.

“There’s no need to trip over yourself for me, dear.” Aziraphale said, shaking his head.

“Ngk.” Crowley turned a shade redder.

These two sure were strange. 

“So, uh, are you two like friends? Or…?”

Tensions rose in the car before Aziraphale quickly and rather guiltily blurted out, “Friends? We’re not friends! We hardly know each other!” though Roger could see a blush creep up his cheeks from his angle.

Crowley grunted in agreement, but Roger saw the slight dip in his shoulders at the other man’s words.

Just then the radio glitched again, switching to another song.

Funny how love is the end of the lies when the truth begins.

“So, Roger, you said you were in a band?” Crowley asked, changing the subject as nonchalantly as possible.

“Yeah.” Roger said, glad to be talking about something else. 

“Oh, classical?” Aziraphale asked, perking up a bit. 

“No. We don’t really stick to one genre. But we also don’t really do classical, although Fred’s trying to do an opera if that counts.” He shrugged. “You may have heard of us. We’re called Queen.”

The Bentley swerved slightly on the muddy path. Roger lunged for his door handle, they were going at such high speeds he was worried with the mud and rain earlier that they’d go careening into a ditch or something.

“Ah, must be one of those bebop bands. Although the name does sound familiar.” Aziraphale drawled. He looked perfectly composed, but Roger saw he also had a tight grip on his door handle.

"Well, we just finished a tour in America.” Roger said, loosening his group on the door and trying to relax, striking a nonchalant pose. “You may have heard some of our songs on the radio.” He said, gesturing to the car’s dashboard. That’s when he first really heard what song was playing.

Funny how love is running wild and free. Funny how love is coming home in time for tea.

“Actually, this is one of ours.” A grin split his face.

“Oh, yeah I think I’ve heard this one a couple of times on the radio.” Crowley said.

(This was in fact true, though Crowley would be loathe to admit it. But the Bentley would tend to play love ballads whenever Aziraphale was near the car, or when Crowley drove to and from the book shop. Some of her preferred choices were, ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ by Elvis, “All You Need is Love” by the Beatles, “You’re the First, the Last, My Everything” by Barry White, and “You Are the Sunshine of My Life” by Stevie Wonder, much to Crowley’s chagrin.)

“Yeah, not really one of our more popular songs, but Freddie was real excited about the lyrics for this one.” Roger said, dismissing it. “Have you heard any of our songs before?” he asked, directing his question at Aziraphale.

That’s when Roger noticed that Aziraphale had gone rather silent and pale. Crowley seemed to notice his distress at the same time as Roger. He turned toward the other man.

“Angel, you alright?” He asked, concern written so plainly on his face that even Roger could see it around his glasses.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale asked a bit absentmindedly, as if coming out of a trance. “Oh, yes! Tickety boo, my dear. Er, Roger.” He said, shifting in his seat. “you said that this was one of the songs your band wrote?”

“Yes.” Roger replied. 

“And uh, would you say a lot of people are familiar with your band, and um, are familiar with your songs?” he asked, his voice getting a little higher.

“Er, yeah. We’re pretty popular.”

“Hmm. So, so how many people would you say have heard this?” Aziraphale asked, his hands twisting around themselves in his lap.

“Um, a lot. I mean, we’ve just finished a tour in America. But we didn’t play it live since the vocals are kind of crazy, even for Freddie. But that doesn’t mean we don’t sell out albums at our concerts. So… I don’t know. Maybe millions?” Roger offered.

“Ah… millions.” Aziraphale repeated, his voice high pitched but quiet.

Crowley reached his hand out toward Aziraphale, as if wanting to comfort him, but he held himself back at the last second, flinching right before he made contact. He pulled his hand back before Aziraphale could come out of his daze, he didn’t seem to notice anyone else was there. “Aziraphale?” Crowley called out gentley.  

“Hmm? Oh, well, um, that’s wonderful Roger. I’m so glad. Your band seems quite successful.” Aziraphale said, seeming to come back to himself a little. Though Roger could tell he still wasn’t quite all there.

“Yeah, we’re doing pretty well at the moment.” Roger said, the last of the song trailing off into the background, before switching to another.

I was told a million times of all the troubles in my way. Mind you grow a little wiser, little better everyday.

“Hey, this is one of ours too.” Roger said, recognizing the lyrics and familiar melody.

But if I crossed a million rivers and I drove a million miles, I’d still be where I started, bread and butter for a smile.

“Really?” Crowley said, seeming to perk up. “Your band wrote this?”

“Yeah, it was one of our first songs when we were starting over.” Roger explained.

“Hmm, I don’t suppose before your band became known as ‘Queen’, it used to go by ‘Smile’, did it?” Crowley asked, raising an eyebrow.

Roger did a double take of Crowley. “Actually, yeah. That was our name before Freddie and John joined us. Could Crowley have seen them when they were still, ‘Smile’? It didn’t seem likely. Crowley and Aziraphale both seemed older than him, so they didn’t fit the typical age demographic that ‘Smile’ was reaching in university pubs.

A grin slowly started to spread across Crowley’s face, but it made Roger slightly uncomfortable to look at, more like a predator. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Before Roger could comment or ask what Crowley meant by that, he was interrupted by Aziraphale.

“Oh, look! That must be where your friends are.” Aziraphale said, pointing at something ahead of them. Roger scooted forward to get a closer look and he did indeed see the Rockfield farm, where he and his bandmates were currently staying, coming into view.

“Yeah, that’s it. Wow, can’t believe you found it. I definitely thought I was lost.” Roger said as he sank back into the seats.

“Must have been a miracle.” Crowley mumbled under his breath. Aziraphale shot him an exasperated look.

“Hey, there’s John!” Roger said as the Bentley rolled to a stop outside of what appeared to be the main house. And there indeed stood a young man with long brown hair standing in the front yard, smoking a cigarette.

“John!” he called out once he opened the Bentley’s door.

“Roger, we were starting to wonder if you’d gotten lost.” The other man, John, replied before putting out his cigarette. His eyes trailed over the car appreciatively, before landing on the other occupants as they got out. “But now I can see that you bummed a ride off these nice folks.” He said, nodding at Crowley and Aziraphale as they stepped out of the car as well.

“I wouldn’t say ‘nice’.” Crowley hissed.

“Well, we couldn’t leave the young man out in the rain, not with all of his groceries.” Aziraphale insisted.

“That’s real kind of you. I know I wouldn’t have picked him up.” John joked.

“You lot sent me out to the Arco 10 bloody miles away in the fucking rain!” Roger growled as he stomped forward. “You didn’t even give me an umbrella.”

“They were by the door Roger. And it’s Wales, there’s almost always rain.” John rolled his eyes and stepped forward, offering his hand. “Hi, I’m John. And I will thank you for picking Roger up, seeing as he’s a rude, ungrateful arse who probably forgot to say that himself.” He said, shooting Roger a look.

“Well, I was going to, but now you’ve made me seem like a git.” Roger glared at John.

“And I’m sure now you would have wished you left him on the road.” John leaned in to tell Aziraphale in a stage whisper.

“I heard that!” Roger said as he tried to move into the house while Crowley opened up the boot to retrieve his groceries.

“Oi! Don’t forget your stuff!” Crowley called out as Roger was halfway to the door.

“Oh, right.” Roger said, shaking his head and walking back.

“Hello! My name is Aziraphale, and this is my companion, Crowley.” Aziraphale said to John, gesturing to the red head.

“Hey.” Crowley said, shutting the boot and giving John a nod.

"Pleasure to meet you both.” John said, giving a nod of his own.

Suddenly another voice called out to the group. “Ah Roger, I see you’ve finally decided to grace us with your presence.” Another man with long, dark, curly hair said as he walked out the front door.

“Ha ha, it’s your idiots’ faults that I had to go in the first place.” Roger quipped as he trudged to the steps with two bags of groceries in hand. “What, did you miss me, Brian?” he asked.

The new man, Brian, ignored him, instead turning to John. “Did he get lost?”

“It would seem so.” John replied as Roger spluttered indignantly. “And these two gentlemen picked him up.” He said, gesturing to Crowley and Aziraphale.

“Like picking up a stray cat.” Brian murmured. “Guess Freddie owes me 5 quid. Hi, name’s Brian, thanks for picking up our drummer.” He said, jerking a thumb in Roger’s direction.

“Oh, it was our pleasure!” Aziraphale said, positively beaming. “I’m just glad we were able to find him before the poor thing got completely drenched.”

“Yeah, would be a shame if got picked up by less… savory characters.” Crowley said, sidling up beside Aziraphale with a smirk on his face.

Brian’s eyes widened as he took Crowley in. “Wait a second…” he said, eyes trailing up and down Crowley. “Do I know you?”

“Yeah, I think ya do.” He said, giving a cheeky little wave.

“You’re the… the coffee shop bloke!” Brian said, his eyes widening. “With the belladonna!”

Crowley’s grin widened. “Anthony J. Crowley,” He said, performing a dramatic bow. “at your service.” He turned around, looking at the farmhouse and the surrounding area. “I’d say it seems like your band took off but looking around I’m not so sure it has. Would you say it was worth keeping your band alive?” 

Brian chuckled at his words. “Oh, believe me, it was worth it.”

Crowley smirked, though this time it seemed more genuine. “Good.”

“Wait, do you two know each other?” Roger asked, looking between the two in confusion.

“We met… a couple years ago.” Brian said, still not quite believing what he was seeing.

“Small world.” John mumbled as he and Aziraphale watched the proceedings.

“What are you doing here?” Brian asked, seeming to come out of his daze.

“Oh, you mean besides saving your drummer from his unexpected but probably much needed shower?” Crowley asked, the cocky grin plastered on his face.

“Hey! I smell great!”

“We’re supposed to be secluded to work on our music. How did you even find us?”

“I’m afraid that would be my fault darling.” All five men turned to see yet another man emerge from the doorway. He had long, wavy black hair and sharp cheekbones. Roger rolled his eyes, Freddie always liked to make an entrance. “They’re my guests.” Freddie said. “What are you all doing out here? Am I the only one interested in making an album?”

Roger rolled his eyes. “I didn’t need a welcome parade.”

“Well, I’m so glad you could make it darling.” Freddie said, redirecting his attention back to Crowley. Then he turned to Aziraphale. “And this must be your...“

“This is Aziraphale.” Crowley cut in before Freddie could finish.

“Ah, wonderful to meet…” Freddie paused, his eyes roaming over Aziraphale’s form, which had gone pale again as they stared at Freddie. “Are you-?”

“Tea!” Aziraphale suddenly blurted out. “Uh, I mean, why don’t we all go inside and I’ll make us all a nice pot of tea, or perhaps some cocoa.” He said, quickly grabbing the grocery bags from Crowley as his face turned red. “That way we can all get better acquainted."

“Cocoa? What are we, five?” Brian asked. His back was turned so luckily he didn’t see the glare Crowley shot him. Although Brian did shiver, though he wasn't sure why. 

“I don’t know. Cocoa sounds good to me.” John said as he followed Aziraphale to the door.

“What about coffee? I didn’t walk all the way to the bloody Arco and back just so you could all drink tea and cocoa!” Roger felt indignant.

“But you didn’t walk back Roger, you caught a ride.” John pointed out.

“After he got lost.” Brian added.

“Lost? Oh dear, I guess I owe Brian five quid then.” Freddie whined.

“Besides, I didn’t even buy tea or cocoa!” Roger shouted, not liking how his friends were ganging up on him.

“Oh, don’t worry about that dear, there will be plenty to go around.” Aziraphale said, lifting the bags with a knowing smile on his face.

“I’ll show you where the kitchen is.” John said, leading Aziraphale into the house.

“Oh, splendid my dear.” Aziraphale seemed to return to his cheerful self.

“Well, I suppose I could use a tea break.” Brian said as he followed them in.

“Yes, I think tea would be a lovely idea.” Freddie said, leading Crowley inside. “So, Crowley, I was thinking of a new lyric that I want to run by you. What do you think of ‘Lucifer has a devil put aside for me?’.”

“Hmm. Not bad, but old Lucy doesn’t really do much work himself. He’s more a figure head. Now Beelzebub handles more of the day to day…” their voices trailed off as they walked further into the house.

Roger stared at the door, wondering how the two strangers he had met on the road maybe 10 minutes ago not only seemed to have been invited to their recording session but were now staying to make them tea and cocoa. Just who were these two men who already seemed to know half of their band and easily implemented themselves into their routine? Freddy was even running his lyrics by Crowley!

Roger looked down at the two bags in his hands. They were growing heavier. Thunder rumbled overhead once more, signaling that the weather was about to turn again.

“What just happened?” he asked no one in particular. “Just who are these blokes?”

The radio on the Bentley was still playing.

She’s a killer Queen, gunpowder, gelatine, dynamite with a laser beam. Guaranteed to blow your mind, anytime.

Roger jumped as another one of their songs played. Hadn’t Crowley turned the car off? His eyes roved over the Bentley with it’s beautiful black coat. For a moment it almost seemed like it was answering his question…

He shook his head. There was no way. “I must be losing my mind.” He turned to give the Bentley one last look. “But you are beautiful.” He told the car.

Recommended at the price. Insatiable an appetite. Wanna try?

Roger smiled. He could see why Crowley so clearly cared for his car. He always did appreciate a man who loved his…

He snapped into focus. In love with his car… A smile lit up Roger’s face as he scrambled into the house just as the sky overhead rumbled, letting out a downpour before it could soak him again. He quickly moved to the kitchen where everyone had gathered for tea, making sure to grab his song writing book on the way. He had the beginnings of a song in the back of his head.

Chapter Text

Rockfield Farm, 1975

It was still light outside by the time Aziraphale finished the cleanup from their impromptu tea at the Rockfield Farm. He looked around and released a deep sigh, after realizing he was alone in the room.

That had been a close call earlier. His secret almost revealed, and right in front of Crowley of all things!

Aziraphale leaned back against the kitchen counter, the teacups and little plates drying beside the sink. He needed to think, come up with some sort of plan. He couldn’t let Crowley know. It was bad enough he had admitted it once, even if he thought his words would never be heard by another human being, but now to hear that it wasn’t just one, but thousands, even millions of people had heard his-!

He shook his head. This wouldn’t do. He was getting himself worked up now and that wasn’t going to help anyone. So, Aziraphale took a deep and tried to relax, to calm himself. He fell back on the one thing all angels could rely on, Her love and grace. He took a deep breath before letting it go in a slow exhale. Then he dug deep into himself, expanding his senses, and reaching for the love in the air. He could feel it almost immediately. The house was filled with it, a friendship type of love that the four bandmates felt for each other. But there were also individual loves in each of the musicians. He could even feel Crowley if he tried, but he never did, feeling Crowley deserved his privacy. Besides, it wasn’t like demons could love… not in that way. And it’s not that Aziraphale had ever given himself permission to really look, to look and learn that Crowley felt nothing would be… painful.

Immediately Aziraphale started to feel more at peace. Love was a wonderful emotion that grounded him in the moment. Human love was something special and fluid. He knew it could quickly turn in an instant, but that was only surface level love. The much deeper kind was steady, rock solid. He could feel that here. These boys had become a family, something deeper than the surface, it was reflected in their love.

That’s when he heard it, a beautiful voice echoing lightly through the farmhouse.

“Love of my life, you’ve hurt me. You’ve broken my heart and now you leave me.”

Aziraphale turned, finding the string of love connected with the voice. He felt a tug in his own heart, the warm, enveloping feeling he always felt when humans were experiencing love. He also recognized the voice. Aziraphale took a deep breath before heaving himself off the counter. There was a talk he needed to have with the owner that was long overdue.

~

“Love of my life, you’ve hurt me. You’ve broken my heart, and now you leave me.” Freddie was trying out a new song in the recording hall, gently pressing the piano keys for the soft love song. Paul, the band’s handler, sat in a nearby chair, smoking and watching Freddie as he worked.

“Love of my life, can’t you see? Bring it back, bring it back.” He paused, deciding he didn’t like the melody for that line. So, he tried again. “Bring it back, bring it back. Don’t take it away from me because you don’t know what it means to me.” He concluded the song, feeling the breath leave his lungs and a satisfaction settling over him. That’s how he knew the song was on the right track. He smiled before grabbing a pencil to mark the new change in the melody.

This was turning out to be a really good day for him and the band. He and the others seemed to be making good progress on the album, and now he had an almost complete, new song to show them. Plus, his friend Crowley had come after all, and he had brought his bookshop friend! Although it was a bit strange because he was sure that he had met…

“It’s beautiful.” Paul remarked, a dreamy look in his eyes. He slowly got to his feet and walked over to stand beside Freddie, leaning against the piano. “What’s it called?”

Freddie turned to him. “Love of my life. I wrote it for Mary.” He explained.

“If you say so.” Paul muttered under his breath, averting his gaze. He took a drag of his cigarette before putting it out in the ash tray in front of him. Freddie watched his movements for a moment before turning back to his writing.

He had just finished writing out the new melody when suddenly Paul bolted forward, pressing his lips to Freddie’s, surprising him. Conflicting emotions passed through Freddie’s mind as Paul tried to deepen the kiss: betrayal, joy, but mostly confusion. Freddie lifted his hands, although he wasn’t sure what for, whether to pull him closer or push him away. Then Paul pulled back, watching Freddie with hungry eyes.

Freddie felt dizzy, like the room was spinning and he didn’t seem to know what to think. Paul lifted a hand, resting it on his shoulder. Freddie found himself wanting to simultaneously lean into and shrink away from the touch. The kiss wasn’t bad, but it did feel wrong. It wasn’t like his kisses with Mary, not necessarily worst, just different. He had secretly been wondering what it would be like to kiss a man, but this wasn’t how he wanted to find out. Kissing Paul didn’t feel right, like it wasn’t the right person he was kissing.

Freddie opened his mouth to speak but found his throat dry. Did Paul have feelings for him? He must have, or else he wouldn’t have kissed him. Right? Yet something about the kiss didn’t feel like love, or even admiration. It was a dominating kiss, one looking to lay a claim. Freddie didn’t like it one bit. After a moment he cleared his throat and shook his head. Even if Paul actually did like him, his actions still weren’t warranted nor appropriate.

“Don’t misunderstand, Paul.” He said, slowly but clearly. “Mary knows me in a way that no one else ever will.” He moved to turn away when Paul’s hand came up, gently lifting Freddie’s chin so that he had to look Paul in the face.

“I know you, Freddie Mercury.” Paul said, as sincerely as he was able.

“Is that what you think?” Freddie asked, some amusement in his voice. He no longer felt off-kilter, his confidence returning, mask of arrogance back in place like armor. Paul was a dangerous man to be in a relationship with. Freddie had seen how he treated his ‘dalliances’ while they were on tour, and he had no desire to join their ranks. Paul liked you only as long as he could get something from you, and when he was finished, he’d toss people aside like a used hankie. And Freddie wouldn’t be lured in simply because the man was reasonably attractive.

“No, you don’t know me.” He said, taking a hold of Paul’s hand and removing it from his face, pushing it back toward him. “You just see what you want to see.”

Paul’s mouth shifted into a tight line.

“We work together. That’s all.” Freddie said with a hint of finality in his voice.

Something in Paul’s eyes flashed and he leaned forward again. “Freddie…”

“I’m afraid it’s gone rotten.” Came a very posh sounding voice from behind them.

Both men turned to find a figure standing in the doorway, a fresh cup of tea in their hand. It was the man from earlier, the bookshop owner who had come with Roger and Crowley. What did he say his name was? Aziraphale?

When Freddie had seen the man earlier, he seemed kind and polite, if a bit flustered, and now he presented himself similarly, but Freddie could feel a strange undercurrent underneath. There was something else about this man that seemed to loom in the doorway, giving off an aura of power and authority. Freddie felt a strange shiver run up his spine, but he was able to suppress it. Paul, who still stood right next to him was not so lucky and Freddie could see his whole body shake for a second.

“What?”

“Your milk, I’m afraid it’s spoilt.” Aziraphale said as he swiftly and gracefully crossed the room, implanting himself between Paul and Freddie, the teacup in his hand was steaming. “I looked everywhere for another jug, but I’m afraid you seem to be out.” He said, an apologetic look on his face before he held the cup of tea out to Freddie. “Now I know it’s not quite the same, but I did find some cream that I thought might do in a pinch.” He gave Freddie a warm smile that somehow put him a little more at ease. Although he hadn’t remembered asking Aziraphale for a cup of tea.

“Excuse me, mister, uh,” Paul had clearly forgot Aziraphale’s name, although in his defense it was an unusual one. “sir, but we’re a bit busy right now. And who are you anyway?” 

Aziraphale turned around, a look of mild horror on his face. “Oh, please do forgive my manners! My name is Aziraphale.” He said, holding out his hand to the other man. “And you are?”

Paul seemed a bit taken back for a moment. There was something a little… off putting about Aziraphale. “Uh, Paul Prenter.” He said, reaching out awkwardly to take Aziraphale’s hand.

“Hmm, so nice to meet you Paul.” Aziraphale said, giving his hand a squeeze, though the way he said ‘nice’ seemed to be the same way Crowley said it. Paul flinched but quickly tried to hide it, putting on an indifferent face. Aziraphale must have been stronger than he looked.

“Um, no offense Mr. Azer-, Azi-“

“Aziraphale.” Aziraphale corrected him.

“Uh, yeah, Azirafer, but why are you here?” Paul asked, trying to stand up tall.

Aziraphale lifted the cuppa, as if it wasn’t already obvious. “Tea.” 

Paul rolled his eyes. “No Mr. Az-, sir. I mean how are you here? This is a private residence-”

“Aziraphale is here as my guest.” Freddie said, stepping in. “I invited both him and his friend Crowley here to help me write.” He moved next to Aziraphale, feeling emboldened and more than a little annoyed with Paul at the moment.

Paul met Freddie’s gaze. He saw something shift in the depths of his eyes, something dark and hungry, like a shark watching its prey.

Suddenly Aziraphale looked between the two men, seeming to sense some tension in the room. “Oh dear! I’m so sorry! Have I interrupted something?” he asked, free hand jumping up to his chest.

“No, you’ve not interrupted anything.” Freddie reassured him, focusing his attention back on his guest, who was looking rather scandalized as he switched back and forth between staring at Paul and Freddie with large, innocent blue eyes. “I was just working on a new song.”

Tension rushed out of the poor man at Freddie’s words, hand over his heart. He flashed Freddie a beaming smile. “Oh, well, that’s wonderful to hear.” Aziraphale said before turning his attention back to Paul. “And you? Are you also a song writer? I thought Crowley said there were only four members in the band.”

Paul blinked, taken a bit aback by the question. He was obviously not at the top of his game tonight. “I’m not part of the band. I’m, well, I’m sort of their manager, er their handler.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows rose. “I’m afraid I’m not very familiar with show business terms, so what exactly does that mean my dear?” he asked innocently, tilting his head slightly.

“I help the boys out, watch over them as they work, and make sure they’re not distracted.” He explained.

“Ah, so you take care of the boys while they’re here, is that it? You make sure they have all that they need?” he asked in that same chipper tone.

“Yeah, I do.” Paul said, a hint of pride in his voice.

“Hmm, well that sounds jolly good Mr. Prenter.” Aziraphale said, giving him a smile. “What a wonderful thing to be taking care of others. There’s not enough people looking out for each other in this world.” He said, shaking his head gravely.

Paul puffed his chest out. “There indeed are not.”

Aziraphale nodded sagely before tilting his head again, like a dog watching its owner toy with a ball before throwing it. “But I’m afraid there’s something I don’t understand, and I was wondering if you could enlighten me.”

Freddie raised an eye at that. Aziraphale’s words sounded innocent, but there was something lurking underneath them. He had a feeling there was more to this request than Aziraphale was letting on.

“Sure, what do you need help with?” Paul asked, the smug expression back on his face.

Where was Aziraphale going with this?

“Well, it’s just. I don’t understand, you said it was your job to take care of them and look out for their best interests, yes?” he asked innocently.

“Right.”

Ooh, this was interesting. Freddie had a pretty good idea where Aziraphale was going with this.

“Then why did you send Roger out alone?”

Yep, that confirmed it.

“Uh,” Paul stammered. “I had to stay of course, to watch-”

“And without a vehicle? The poor boy had to walk to the nearest Arco and back,” Aziraphale said, cutting him off. “and I’m afraid he was rather lost by the time Crowley and I found him.”

“Well, you see-”

Freddie smirked. Oh, this man was smart. He found himself glad that Aziraphale had interrupted them. Now all he had to do was watch as Paul got his arse handed to him by a man who dressed like a librarian and talked like his grandpa.

“And then the rain! Oh, the poor thing! He was positively drenched by the time we happened upon him. The poor dear was lost and cold! That doesn’t seem like such a great way to take care of your charges.”

Freddie was trying very hard to hold back the grin that was trying to overtake his face. Oh, so this is why Crowley liked Aziraphale. He had wondered earlier how the two of them worked together, seeing as they seemed to be polar opposites, but now, he could see why they got along. There was a bit more Crowley in Aziraphale than he thought, something strong and rather bastardly just under the surface of all that tartan and waistcoats.

“Yeah, well…”

“But I’m sure you never intended for Roger to be caught in the rain. After all, you cannot control the weather, my dear.” Aziraphale said, innocent smile returning to his face.

“Um, yes! That’s right! Wasn’t my fault Roger got soaked.” Paul said, grabbing onto the lifeline Aziraphale had thrown him.

“Hmm, and I’m sure that in the future you’d do everything to make sure nothing like that happens to your charges again. As I’m sure you’re very good at your job.” He said, the sickly-sweet smile still in place.

“Right! Of course!” Paul said, nodding vigorously.

Freddie was close to full on grinning like a maniac now. He could see the switch that Aziraphale was about to pull on him and he had no desire to pull Paul back before he fell in.

“So, you agree that it would be better for you to do the shopping from now on?” Aziraphale asked, still somehow seeming like he was only gently enquiring and not guilting Paul into doing his job.

“Well, yeah. I mean, they can’t survive without me.” He said, giving a rakish smile.

“Oh, how very kind of you, dear.” Aziraphale said, simply glowing. “So, I assume you will be the one to go out and fetch more milk then?” he asked, nodding toward the teacup still in his hands.

He looked down, his eyes widening as he realized the tea was still there. “Oh, yeah, absolutely.”

Aziraphale’s smile grew wider. “Wonderful! Well, then, I suppose you better be off soon, we wouldn’t want you getting caught in the dark.” He said, turning to the window, which had started to grow darker as dusk settled.

Paul followed his gaze. “You’re right.”

“Well, off you go then. Toodle pip.” Aziraphale said, ushering Paul out the door.

As soon as Aziraphale had pushed the slightly confused handler out the door he shut it behind him turning around to meet Freddie’s open mouth. Aziraphale’s smile melted into a more genuine one than the rather devilish fake one he had been giving Paul. “Tea.” He said, holding out the somehow still steaming cup to him. “It’s Earl Grey, just as you like it my dear.”

Freddie felt the dread and anxiety that had built up inside him ever since Paul’s kiss fade away. “Thank you.” He said, taking the cup. His eyes trailed over to the door, where Paul had made his hasty exit. While most of Freddie disagreed with what Paul had done, there was still a part of him that ached for it, just one tiny part of that kiss had felt right to Freddie, and the idea both attracted and scared him.

“You know, love between two people itself isn’t wrong.” Aziraphale’s soft voice filtered into his thoughts.

He turned toward the other man, seeing his blue knowing gaze directed fully at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, love isn’t rigid. There is no one right way to love someone. There aren’t rules about who it’s appropriate to love or how to love them, at least, that wasn’t love’s original intent and purpose.” He said, voice gentle.

A warm yet frightening feeling crept into Freddie’s heart. He had a feeling Aziraphale could see more than the average person, and right now he could see just what was in Freddie’s heart. He was afraid for a moment, afraid of what Aziraphale would say or do. But then his mind traveled back to his conversation with Crowley in the bookshop, Aziraphale’s bookshop. He remembered the way Crowley turned into a soppy mess when he talked or even thought about his ‘angel’ in the backroom. He thought of a sunny afternoon in the park, talking with a gentleman on the seat beside him…

“Love between two people is not limited to just between a man in a woman. No, love can be between any two… beings.” Aziraphale said, ducking his head as a blush came over his cheeks. “And just because it’s not between a man and a woman does not make it any less true, any less validated, any less beautiful.” His voice is quiet again, eyes misty.

Freddie wasn’t sure what compelled him to do so, but he reached out his hand, gently placing it on the other man’s arm, trying to offer him comfort, even though he was the one trying to comfort Freddie. Aziraphale startled at the touch, apparently unused to physical touch in that way. His eye’s met Freddie’s again, where a second ago they had been distant and misty, now they were clear, and focused once more. His hand closed over Freddie’s, and Freddie started to feel just a bit warmer, a bit safer.

“Love is never wrong, no matter what form it comes in.” Aziraphale said, holding Freddie’s gaze. He felt his breath catch in his throat, the other man’s words ringing in his head, and deep down inside, he knew he was right. And that realization caused something to loosen in his heart, a deep tension started to release its death like grip on him. Yes, love wasn’t wrong. It couldn’t be. And expressing that love surely couldn’t be wrong either, even if others… disapproved.

Yet his eyes flicked back over to the door, despite himself. Paul had kissed him. Was that love? Did Paul love him? He wasn’t sure. That kind of love felt… wrong, possessive.

“Surely, not all love is right.” Freddie said, the words wrenching themselves from his mouth and his thoughts almost against his will. No, loving outside the norm was dangerous. It could disgrace him, his career, his band. And one thing he wouldn’t do is let it disgrace his band. Not to mention he still loved Mary, more than anything. Surely Aziraphale was mistaken. If there was love like Paul’s out in the world then love could in fact, be wrong.

Aziraphale followed his gaze, seeming to sense Freddie’s thoughts. “What that man feels isn’t love, it’s greed.” He said, glaring at the door.

Freddie turned back to Aziraphale.

The other man sighed. “Freddie, I didn’t say love was not confusing, or easy. Goodness, if anyone can talk to you about repressed feelings or forbidden love well…” he chuckled to himself before shaking his head. “Real love, the kind between you and your bandmates, that’s one type of love. The love you have for Mary, that’s another kind, but maybe not the kind you’re thinking of.” He said, looking at Freddie as if he could see right through him. “Love is strange, it’s a funny thing. But not all kinds of love are bad. That wasn’t what She intended. Love is still love.”

Freddie smiled and Aziraphale returned it. Their eyes met and Freddie felt himself sinking in the sea of blue, as the light behind Aziraphale illuminated him rather like a halo. Funny, how it reminded him of…

He gasped. A memory came back to him, one that had been trying to surface for a while now and only now was able to break the surface.

“We’ve met before.” Freddie said slowly. “I knew it! You were the man from the park!”

Aziraphale smiled sheepishly. “Ah, yes. That was me.”

~

St. James Park, 1973

The sun beat down on an unusually warm summer day. The grass was freshly cut, sending its green scent into the air. The duck pond sparkled under the sun’s rays. It was a beautiful day, a perfect day to go walking in the park with your lover. Or so Aziraphale thought as he found himself walking down the well-trodden path of St. James Park.

The day was absolutely beautiful. He had hoped that Crowley would join him on his walk, but he knew the demon had some demonic wiles to perform before his next report to Hell. The report was due that afternoon, and as usual, the demon had procrastinated until the last minute. But he had promised to meet Aziraphale at his shop that evening, and the angel couldn’t wait. In fact, he had closed his shop just for the occasion, though that had honestly taken no persuading at all. But without the shop open and his latest restoration project just sent out, the bookshop was too quiet, and his mind wandered too much. That’s when he noticed what a beautiful day it was and decided to go for a walk in the Park.

He walked their usual path by the duck pond. He greeted the ducks, giving them handfuls of seed that had miraculously appeared in his coat pocket. After each duck had had their fill Aziraphale made his way over to the bench that he and Crowley usually sat.

It by all accounts, had the making of a perfect day. At least that’s what Aziraphale thought. Anybody would be happy on this day. So, it threw Aziraphale for a loop when he felt a wave of sadness wash over him, and not only that but the origin of the emotion was sitting on his and Crowley’s very bench. He could see them, a man hunched in on himself, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper, muttering something under his breath.

Now Aziraphale, being an angel, can sense when a human or any of Her creatures are in distress, and he is naturally drawn to them. His very nature calls him to help them, to comfort them. So, he walked over to the hunched figure and cleared his throat.

“My dear, are you alright?” He asked, his voice quiet, so as not to startle the man.

Yet startle him he did. The man looked up from his hunched position.  

“What? Yes. Yes, I’m alright darling. Absolutely nothing to worry about.” The man replied, before hunching back in on himself.

Aziraphale frowned. “You don’t look alright, my dear.” He said, moving to sit beside him. “There’s nothing to fear from me. You’re very safe.” Aziraphale used some of his angelic grace to reach out and soothe some of the man’s stress and worry. It seemed to do the trick, because a few moments later the man let out a breath and relaxed slightly. Aziraphale smiled. “Now please, tell me what’s bothering you. It may help you to speak your mind, get it off your chest.”

The man nodded. “I’m just…” he sighed. “overreacting I suppose.” He leaned back against the bench. “It’s just work.”

“Oh? What kind of work are you in?” Aziraphale asked, settling down in the seat beside him.

The man turned to him then, dark brown eyes set on an angular face and framed with bushy eyebrows. His dark hair hung past his shoulders in curls. He looked Aziraphale up and down before shrugging and turning his gaze out toward the park. “I’m a song writer.”

“My, that sounds marvelous.” Aziraphale said. “I admit I don’t know much about music, but the concept does intrigue me. After all, poetry set to music, such a beautiful idea. Humans are always finding new ways to express their stories, their feelings. My friend is particularly fond of music, he listens to a lot of bebop.”

The man startled for a moment before smiling and shaking his head. “My label has asked for a love song.” He looked back down at his notes. “I thought it would be easy. I’ve got a girl, you know. But I haven’t seen her for months.” His eyes grew distant.

“I’m sorry.” Aziraphale said, hand reaching out to the other man’s shoulder.

“It’s not your fault.” The man chuckled. “We’ve been touring, and the label’s asked for another album. But Mary’s gone up North, visiting family.” He turned back to the pond. “And it’s just so hard without her, without my muse, without my Mary.” His eyes grew distant. “I can’t feel that love without her. There’s nothing there. I can’t write a love song without Mary.” He shut his notebook, leaning back against the bench.

“Can’t feel the love?” Aziraphale asked, sounding slightly scandalized. “My dear, there’s love everywhere, all around you.” He said, reaching out with his angelic senses. There was love all over the park, especially on a day like today. He squeezed the young man’s shoulder, getting his attention before pointing out to the park around them. A family was across the way, playing football in the grass. A man walked his dog around the edge of the pond, the dog happily trotting behind him. A couple sat on a picnic blanket, food spread around them, but they were too busy drinking in each other to notice or mind. An elderly couple were sitting on a bench on the other side of the park, a bag of seeds in their hands, feeding the ducks. Aziraphale fought the emotions building up around him. “You just have to look and see.”

The young man looked up, eyes roaming around the park. He seemed to finally see what Aziraphale was talking about. “You’re right.” He said, his voice more of a breathy whisper. His eyes lingered on the couple, sitting on their picnic blanket. Then suddenly his eyes widened, and he turned back to Aziraphale.

“You know a lot about love, don’t you?” he asked. “Are you some kind of expert?”

Aziraphale smiled, his chest puffing out a little bit. “My dear, you could say that love is part of my job description.” He gave a little wiggle. “However, I’m not sure I would call myself an expert.” He admitted, a faint blush coming over his cheeks.

“What do you know about love? How can it be everywhere? The only place I seem to find love is…” he trailed off, a sad expression crossing his face.

Aziraphale felt his heart ache. He knew what the man was going to say. “Love is a funny thing, isn’t it? It’s everywhere, the couples in the park, the families playing in the grass, even the ducks of the pond. But I do think I understand your meaning.” He said, his voice dropping on the last sentence.

“Is there someone for you?” the man asked. Aziraphale turned to look at him. He saw the heart broken expression on his face, the glassy eyes as they stared at the pond. This was a man who was missing his love. Perhaps that is what caused the honest response to fall from his mouth.

“Yes.” The word escaped like a bird from a cage, like a butterfly from a cocoon, long held and wrapped in safety, but longing to be free, to show what it could truly be once it was no longer contained.

“Yes, I dare say there is.” His thoughts traveled back to a dark night in London. Or at least what should have been a dark night. He’s standing in what remains of a church, the city is dark, save for the few stars that have just managed to peek through the haze in the sky. A bag is in his hands, the handle warm in his grip as his fingers brush another’s long and slender.

“Love is everywhere they are.” He said softly. His mind traveled back farther. The moments he found he was slowly falling in love, even when he didn’t realize it. The time in the Bastille, and when he was almost burned as a witch because he performed one too many miracles. By the time he had reached the church bombing in WWII, he knew why he’d purposefully put himself in those situations, into trouble. He wanted someone to come, to rescue him like a damsel in distress, like the heroes in all those books he loved. He wanted to be swept off his feet by his true love.

“Love is everywhere, they’re bound to be.” The man said, dragging Aziraphale out of his reverie.

Aziraphale blinked, before shaking his head and bringing himself back to the moment. “Hmm, quite right.” He said, unconsciously reaching up and fiddling with his bowtie.

The other man nodded. “But love can also be a double-edged sword. While love can bring you up, it can also pull you down.”

The man’s words cut to the core of Aziraphale. “Yes, love can break your heart so suddenly.” He said, thinking back to the Holy Water incident, how it had nearly destroyed him to give it, knowing how his demon wouldn’t let go of his desire for such a deadly weapon and how it could harm him. How could Aziraphale even consider a world without him?

“It wasn’t meant to be that way.” Aziraphale found himself saying.

“It wasn’t?” the man asked.

“No, back in the Garden. Adam and Eve… their love was pure. They were literally made for each other. But after that wily serpent,” he chuckled. “well, free will was entered into the mix. And although they were perfect with each other, they were introduced to strife, and they had the option to… well, to no longer be together. It didn’t happen of course, but stepping out of the Garden, well it gave them the opportunity to love whomever they wanted. Didn’t it?” he asked, more to himself than to the man on the bench.

“You really love them… don’t you?” the man asked, his voice soft. Aziraphale turned, his eyes earnest. He knew the man wasn’t talking about Adam and Eve.

“I…” he stopped himself. Unsure if he could or should say exactly what he was thinking. He processed it for a moment. He shouldn’t say anything. It was too risky. If heaven was listening… well, if heaven was listening he’d be impressed they were taking an interest in what was really happening down here, to be honest. They really only seemed to track his miracles and monitor general large events on Earth. They had been more involved in the beginning, but after almost 6 millennia he couldn’t blame them for slacking off a bit.

Plus, Aziraphale hadn’t said anything incriminating thus far. He was talking with this young man about love. It was a rather angelic duty if he said so himself. Surely there was nothing wrong in explaining just what love was to this man. Angels were also made to help and comfort humans. Surely answering his question would be alright.

He tried again.

“He’s better than anyone else in heaven and means more to me than that place ever did. There’s nothing on heaven or Earth that could measure how much I feel for him.”

The man nodded sagely. “I know the feeling.” His gaze wandered the pond once more, deep in thought. The two of them sat on the bench together, gazing out at all the love around them. Then, the other man spoke up. “How did you know it was love?” he asked, his voice a mere whisper.

“There was one moment when I really knew.” Aziraphale answered, his eyes not leaving the ducks as they glided across the water, mind back in that church nearly 50 years ago. “But I think I felt it long before then, I just didn’t recognize it for what it was.” His voice had grown soft as well. Love was not something that should be spoken of in a harsh tone. And his love was secret, precious, fragile. If said to the wrong person or at the wrong time, it could shatter, be taken away from, stolen like a thief in the night, and he couldn’t let that happen. It was too priceless and wonderful and so intrinsic in his life that he couldn’t allow for it to be taken away.

“There were many little moments before then, as well as after, and they just enforced the idea, and now seem entirely obvious in hindsight.” He added with a slight chuckle, shaking his head at his own foolishness for not recognizing it sooner.

“Grand gestures I understand.” The man said, leaning back against the bench. “I’m the sort of bloke that likes to go big or go home. Love should be running wild and free after all. That I understand.”

Aziraphale reflected on that. He felt something ache in his chest. Love should be free, without constraints or worries attached. But Aziraphale knew his love, his romantic love could never be that. He mourned it, wishing he could declare his love aloud, shout it from the rooftops as this man surely would. But he can’t. He never allowed himself to.

“But, what you said, the little things. I’m sure they’re just as important as the big ones. Though I’m not sure I’ve done a very good job of that myself. How do you love with the little things?”

Aziraphale was stunned for a moment, and he tried to collect his thoughts. How indeed did one show love through all the little moments? Yet, as he reflected in his own life, his own love, he could easily pinpoint one of the reasons, one of the ways he knew he loved his demon.

“You come home in time for tea.” He said, the words traveling directly from his brain to his mouth.

The man paused, turning toward him with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“He’s a rather impatient, lazy being. He’s never on time, always off doing something that rather suits his fancy as opposed to getting his work done on time.” He chuckled. “In fact, that’s where he is now, going off and performing last minute miracles for his boss downstairs.” He added, a smile lighting up his face.

“But he has never been late for one of our tea dates, er, business get togethers.” He quickly corrected himself. “And I think he does it because he cares enough, knowing that those times are important to me.” Tea has always been one of Aziraphale’s favorite things about Earth, that along with their books, their food delicacies, their wine, and the fact that this is where he and his adversary spent almost all of their time.

His demon was a rather sensitive and secretive character, or at least he was to everyone else. But Aziraphale could read him like an open book, despite what the serpent may think. And because they were on opposite sides, they both had to keep their thoughts and feelings to themselves. While Crowley was not very good at this, Aziraphale had to be extra careful to hide their relationship, business or otherwise. It wouldn’t do to have their sides looking too closely at them. He knew Crowley couldn’t come right out and say what he felt for Aziraphale, to talk about their friendship, no more than Aziraphale could tell him. But Crowley still managed to show his angel that he cared for him in little ways, like taking him to a concert, making sure Shakespeare’s latest play was a hit, bringing him take out from the downtown sushi place he liked, bringing him chocolates when his shop opened. They were all under the veil of poorly construed excuses of course, but they still made the angel’s heart soar.

It took Aziraphale a while to figure out that these were tokens of… well, affection, or friendship on the demon’s part. It asserted the demon’s feelings in small ways, even if he didn’t quite know or understand that he was doing it. But after Aziraphale understood these small acts of friendship and service for what they were, he started reciprocating. He made tea for Crowley, making him coffee or bringing by bottles of wine. He put more blankets and pillows on the couch in his backroom, especially during the winter, even if they were tartan. He never told Crowley, but he even petitioned for the space in front of his bookshop to become a parking zone so that his counterpart could park there without breaking the law. Although he had a feeling that it being illegal to park there was one of reasons his demon did it. So that petition mysteriously got lost in the mail.

There were so many unspoken things, unspoken ways that they were both able to show their ‘friendship’ for each other, even though he would never actually be able to say the words. But it could be shown and demonstrated in so many little ways.

He smiled, thinking about how he was going to have tea with Crowley later that very day. He turned to his pocket watch and his eyebrows skyrocketed.

“Oh dear, I’m afraid I’m rather late for an important engagement.” He said, quickly stowing his watch and getting to his feet. “Please excuse me.”

“Not at all.” The man said, waving him off. “In fact, I think you’ve helped me more than you realize. Do you mind if I use some of your words for the song that I’m writing? I loved the bit about love being about getting home in time for tea.” The man replied.

Aziraphale froze. Having his words put in the song? Why, he had never thought of that before. He turned to meet the man’s gaze. He looked honest, earnest, hopeful. Part of Aziraphale wanted to say no, terrified that somehow this song, those lyrics, his words would somehow get back to heaven or hell, and that they’d somehow connect the dots about who he was talking of when he meant it. His mind quickly went back, raking through all the words he had actually said aloud, looking for clues that could expose him and his hidden feelings for Crowley. He started to fret, fingers tangling and his stomach in knots.

“Oh, well, I- I don’t know.”

“It could be anonymous if you like.” The man offered, he looked worried as he watched Aziraphale, concern creasing his brow. “I won’t use your name in case this is an … unexpected love.” He said, giving the man a look, saying he knew a little more than he was letting on.

Aziraphale bit his lip. Perhaps… Then his words would be out in the world. Anyone could hear them. He wondered just how successful this man was as a song writer. Then he internally chastised himself. No matter what he decided to do, he already knew that he was going to end his meeting by bestowing a blessing on this young man and his work.

The man’s eyes were hopeful. And Aziraphale remembered how he had acted at the beginning of their conversation. If his words could bring comfort to this man, put a smile on his face, well… maybe these were words of love that others needed to here.

He took a deep breath. “Alright then. I suppose.” He said, though he still sounded a bit uncertain himself.

The man’s face broke into a broad grin, and Aziraphale knew he had made the right choice.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” he said. He looked out across the park. “Now you better hurry along if you want to meet your uh, ‘friend’ for tea.” He said, nodding toward the sun, which had sunk lower in the sky since the start of their conversation.

Aziraphale returned his smile. “Yes, yes you’re right.” He pulled out his pocket watch again, eyes widening at the time displayed there. “Oh, I really must be going.” It was lovely to meet you.” He said, before taking off at a brisk walk.

“You too!” the man called out after him.

Aziraphale walked quickly as the sun beat low upon his back. It wouldn’t do for the demon to beat him to the bookshop, but he cared about getting there before him. Having everything prepared, the tea, the kettle, the sugar, and milk, showed his Demon that he was preparing for him, taking care of him. Especially since he always did it the human way. Taking the extra time to do it made it somehow feel a little more special, like Crowley was worth the effort of it, which he was, worth it and a whole lot more. It was important, the time they got to spend together. He wondered if Crowley felt the same way, that their time together was important, which is why he was always on time, not wanting to miss a moment of Aziraphale’s presence, just as Aziraphale craved his.

His feet carried him swiftly through St. James Park and into Soho. It didn’t occur to him as he sent a small miracle behind him to the song writer still on the bench, that he hadn’t bothered to collect the man’s name.

~

Rockfield Farms, 1975

“You’re the one who helped me write ‘Funny How Love Is’.” Freddie said, realization finally dawning on him.

He thought he had recognized Aziraphale earlier when he first arrived. But the man had seemed to be dodging him. He couldn’t quite understand why at the time, perhaps he was just starstruck? But it made sense now. Aziraphale had talked about his love on their last meeting. And based on Freddie’s conversation with Crowley in the bookshop, it only made sense that he had been talking about Aziraphale as well. But Freddie also knew how dangerous it was to talk about that kind of love, especially in public. No wonder Aziraphale didn’t want Freddie to give him any credit for the song, not like he could even find him again after that day… until today.

“Yes, that was me.” Aziraphale said, a blush forming on his cheeks.

“I never got to thank you.” Freddie said, standing up and stepping closer to him.

“Ah, no need for thanks dear.” Aziraphale waved him off.

“No, there is a need. I was in a rather miserable place at the time. I hadn’t seen Mary in so long, and there was so much pressure from the label.” Freddie shook his head. “It was a very hard time for me, and I couldn’t come up with the love song they wanted. You really were such a big help to me darling.” He said, reaching out to squeeze Aziraphale’s hand.

A small smile pulled at the corner of the other man’s mouth. “Well, I’m happy I could help you, my dear.”

Freddie’s smile widened. Then he got an idea. “Hey, would you like to help me with this song?” he asked, gesturing to the piano. “It would help to get the words and opinions from another man in love.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Oh! I’m not in… I don’t have a… Well, I…” he stuttered.

“It would be a real help to me.” Freddie said, when Aziraphale started to fret. Evidently the man was still in the closet. But he couldn’t blame him, society did not look kindly on the kind of love he had. That’s part of the reason why Freddie never acted out on his other unnamed feelings. “It’s another love song. I’m writing it for Mary.” He added, trying to divert some of the attention off of him.

“Oh, well if you’re writing it for your girl-”

“Fiancé.” Freddie corrected. “And it’s really writing itself.” He said, turning around to sit down and start the chord progression on the piano. Aziraphale simply stood there, taking in the beautiful melody as Freddie’s fingers danced across the keys.

“It sounds lovely.” He remarked.

“Thank you, darling.” Freddie smiled. “You don’t have to help if you’re uncomfortable.” He said, turning back to face him. “And I won’t tell anyone you’ve helped if you’re still uncomfortable about that.” Freddie said. “But I think I’d find it helpful. Just a line or two, from the man who reminded me that love is everywhere.”

Another blush flushed Aziraphale’s cheeks. “Well, I suppose…” he drawled, looking nervously down at his hands.

“Wonderful, darling.” He said, reaching over and pulling his notebook and pencil closer to him. “If you could say one thing to the love of your life, not saying that you have one,” he quickly added when Aziraphale opened his mouth to protest. “what would you say?”

Aziraphale stared at Freddie for a moment, a number of emotions flickering across his face. Then, he closed his mouth and looked deep in thought. Freddie was patient. He could wait, knowing that whatever this man had to say would be worth it.

“I suppose I would say…” Aziraphale drawled, tapping his chin as he was deep in thought. “Love of my life, please don’t leave me.”

Freddie’s eyes widened.

“I would say, that even as time passes on, as the world turns and grows older, I will be by your side, as you have always been there by mine. And…” he cleared his throat. “I would tell them that I love them. And even when the world stops turning, I will continue to love them. That I have loved them since the beginning of time, and I still love them now. Even if we were to come face to face with those who say what we feel is wrong, I wouldn’t change my mind. I was made to be a guardian, but for so long I was no longer sure what I was meant to guard. And now, now it seems what I’ve been meant to hold and protect and treasure all this time was by my side all along.”

Something inside of Freddie seemed to uncurl itself. Something warm and tender crept up, enfolding him and making him feel all gooey inside. The look on Aziraphale’s face spoke of a devotion so deep that it almost made his heart stutter. This was a man in love. What beautiful words. They were definitely going in the song.

“That’s- that’s beautiful.” He said, once he was able to get himself under control. “You should join us full time as my love song co-lyricist.” He joked. “Although with the way you and Crowley have been helping, I’m afraid you’ll be asking for recognition and compensation soon.”

Aziraphale shot him a warm smile. “Thank you, dear. But I'd much rather have my anonymity if it’s all the same to you.”

“Of course, darling.” He chuckled. Freddie watched as Aziraphale wiggled, positively glowing in the early evening light. He turned toward the window.

Aziraphale followed his gaze and let out a startled noise. “Oh my. It’s getting rather late, isn’t it?” he asked, eyes sparkling in the last rays of the sun.

“Yes, but it’s not too late. Please, you and Crowley must join us for dinner. I insist.” Freddie said, feeling sad at the thought that they might leave.

He met his gaze. “Dinner? Oh, well we would hate to impose.” Aziraphale said, though his eyes did trail toward the direction of the kitchen.

Freddie smiled. “No imposition at all.” He reassured. “It would be our privilege, and it’s the least we can do with all the help you’ve given.” He said, gesturing to the unfinished song on his piano.

The smile that lit up Aziraphale’s face was like a torch in a storm. “Well, then I suppose it would be rude of us to refuse.” He said, giving a slight wiggle. Freddie felt his own smile responding in kind. “Although, I must insist on helping with the preparations, seeing as you and your band mates are all so busy working on your songs.” Aziraphale added, gesturing to the room around them.

“No need to worry about that. We take turns making the meals.” He said, brushing his words off. “Although, it is Roger’s turn, and I’m sure he could use all the help he can get.” He added after a moment’s consideration.

Aziraphale laughed. “Well, then I’ll go see if the young man would like my help.” He said, turning toward the door.

“You know, you can stay for the night if you like.” Freddie heard himself say. He found he didn’t want his time with Aziraphale or Crowley to end.

Aziraphale paused before turning back to Freddie and shaking his head. “That’s very kind of you. But tomorrow is Sunday and I’m afraid Crow-, er, I have a tradition that I simply cannot miss.”

Freddie caught the slip up but wisely chose not to say anything. Instead, he felt a rather mischevious grin stretch across his face. “Oh, and what kind of tradition is that exactly?”

“Oh, nothing terribly busy.”

“Oh, so what will you be doing then?”

“Tea.” Aziraphale said, a warm, tender smile coming across his face. “There’s always tea in the afternoon, followed by a walk in the park on Sundays.” Freddie couldn’t be certain because of the lighting, but he thought that maybe Aziraphale’s cheeks blushed. “And sometimes, if we’re lucky there’s a night cap afterward.”

“Hmm, so a typical lazy Sunday hmm?” Freddie asked, his tone teasing. Aziraphale's words from the Park so long ago floated around in his mind. He knew what those 'teas' meant to him. 

Aziraphale stiffened. “Well, I-, sloth is a sin.” He said, not able to look Freddie in the eye. “And Sunday is the sabbath, after all.” Aziraphale answered with a dismissive wave.

Although Aziraphale seemed like an upright, moral man, Freddie wasn’t sure he’d quite peg him as the religious type. He was certain Aziraphale was just using that as an excuse. But he wouldn’t press any further. Besides, lazy Sunday afternoons. That wasn’t a bad lyric either.

“Well, I’ll just go see if Roger needs some help with dinner, shall I?” Aziraphale asked, his bright demeanor from earlier returning.

Freddie couldn’t help but smile. He had a feeling he knew why Aziraphale really wanted to be home on Sunday, if only to keep up this tradition, but it was probably less the tradition then who the tradition was with. Besides, he knew that being punctual for tea was very important to Aziraphale. He had already basically written an entire song about it.

“That sounds good. I’ll join you in a little bit. I just want to make sure I get these new lyrics down first.” Freddie said, turning back to the piano.

“Ah, sounds lovely."

“And Aziraphale, I’m not sure we ever thanked you properly for giving Roger a ride from town today. You and Crowley.” Freddie said, unable to stop himself as he saw the blush form on the man’s cheeks again. “Although, I have to wonder why you were driving in the car together. How do you know Mr. Crowley?” he asked, a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Oh! Well, um, you see, Crowley and I-, well, oh would you look at the time! I simply must see how dinner is getting on. Toodle pip, my dear. See you soon.” Aziraphale said before he left, quickly closing the door behind him.

Freddie chuckled to himself, shaking his head. Once the man left he turned back to his work at the piano. He picked up his pencil and wrote down Aziraphale’s words to the page.

Both he and Crowley were both rather oblivious, but whether it was to their own feelings or each other’s… well, Freddie had a good guess.

“Love of my life, don’t leave me. You’ve taken my heart and now desert me. Love of my life, can’t you see?” he asked, a smile in his voice as he wrote down the lyrics.