Work Text:
The Globe is packed with people come to see the show.
From the most expensive seats to the groundlings, hardly a ticket is unclaimed. On stage, the actors are delivering their lines with gusto — drawing energy from the watching audience, and giving it back in full portion through dramatic performance. William Shakespeare himself, watching from the side of the stage, looks practically beside himself with stunned delight.
Hamlet is beyond doubt, out of nowhere, a raging success.
And in the middle of the theatre, blending in with the crowd, a well-dressed pair of men sit side by side, unnoticed by the throngs of excited play-goers around them. Neither of them, as it happens, is actually even looking much at the actors; the red-haired one seems simply uninterested in the goings-ons there, and the blond, while periodically nodding and clapping appreciatively in response to a particularly eloquent soliloquy, appears significantly more interested in smiling rather excessively affectionately at his companion.
Thank you, my dear, Aziraphale does not say.
Anything for you, Crowley does not answer.
They stay until the final lines of Hamlet, making the most of the inconspicuousness provided by the audience. The audience that, this time, is actually there.