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Aziraphale was hastening down the pavement towards the Fox and Badger to meet his boyfriend, Gabriel. Well, ‘boyfriend’ was a bit of a misnomer. They’d been seeing each other for a couple of months, and got along alright, but there was no real spark there. In fact, Aziraphale was looking for a reason to end things. He wasn’t very good with confrontation, though, and Gabriel tended to be very persuasive, so Aziraphale was slowly but surely working up the nerve to end everything.
Gabriel had called Aziraphale at his office an hour ago and asked him to meet him at the pub, saying he was going for a drink, but Aziraphale had told him he didn’t think he’d be able to. He needed to have a meeting with the department head, Michael, but when Michael had cancelled, Aziraphale had decided to surprise Gabriel at the pub. Maybe they’d have a pleasant evening and a couple of drinks - maybe Aziraphale could find that spark that had been missing and he’d no longer want to break up with Gabriel. It would be nice to be happily coupled up, he thought, and Gabriel seemed to be a perfect catch on paper. Tall, handsome, successful… Honestly, Aziraphale didn't know why he wasn’t head over heels in love with him, but something kept him from falling.
At any rate, he’d arrived at the Fox and Badger. He pushed open the door to step inside. It was dimly lit, like most pubs, and Aziraphale gave his eyes a couple of minutes to adjust to the lighting. He didn't see Gabriel right away and wondered if he was too late, maybe he’d missed him - and then he did. He spotted him in the back corner, wrapped up in a passionate embrace with a younger man, his tongue halfway down the man’s throat.
Aziraphale’s first reaction was shock - how could he? How dare he? Then he was angry. Without thinking, he marched over to the table, grabbed a glass of wine that was currently being ignored and threw it on the two of them.
“Hey! What the hell!” Gabriel squawked.
“Go to hell, you bastard,” Aziraphale spat, then turned on his heel and marched out of the pub.
It was only a quarter mile to his flat, and he hastened to get there, thankfully without Gabriel, and thankfully without any tears falling. Once he was behind his closed door, he leaned against it and let his head droop, a single tear falling. Well, he supposed he'd wanted to end things, he guessed -
There was a banging on the door that made him jump. “Open the door, sunshine!”
“Go away, Gabriel!” Aziraphale shouted back through the door.
“That wasn’t what it looked like!”
“Really? Because it looked like you were inspecting that young man’s tonsils with your tongue,” he shouted back acidly.
“Open the door, Aziraphale, let’s talk about this like adults.”
“No, you can go straight to hell. I never want to see you again, you cheating bastard!”
“It was just a kiss!” Gabriel shouted.
“So you’re saying that if I hadn't shown up, you wouldn’t have gone farther? And just what kind of excuse is ‘it was just a kiss’, anyway? How would you react, if you were me?”
“You’d never do that!”
“You’re exactly right I wouldn’t. Now leave!” he shouted through the door. “You and I are through. I never want to see you again as long as I live!”
“You’ll regret this, Aziraphale. You’ll die alone and unloved!”
“I’d rather be alone than mistreated! Now go the hell away before I call the police!”
Gabriel slammed his fist against the door, making Aziraphale jump again, and then Aziraphale listened carefully for the sounds of his heavy footsteps retreating, before he went to his couch, sat down, buried his face in his hands, and cried.
The next day was Saturday, and Aziraphale didn't have anywhere to be or anything to do, so he decided to spend a lazy morning at home, not wallowing. Definitely not wallowing. He made himself a little breakfast and read and worked very hard not to think of Gabriel, and it was a pleasant day until just after lunch. He opened the door to step out and go get his mail and found a brown box tied with a string with a note on it. He picked up the box curiously, not sure what to do with it, and looked up and down the hall. On the box was a sticker: Hellfire Cakes, and a little note folded on it that had his name. A. Fell. Curious, he brought the box inside and sat it on his counter.
First, he pulled off the note and read it. In a scrawling but legible hand, it said, “I’m sorry he cheated. He’s a dick who isn't good enough for you. You deserve much better. Crowley, 4B.”
Crowley, 4B…that must be Aziraphale’s next door neighbour! He’d moved in about six months ago, and Aziraphale had always thought he was simply beautiful, but a man like that was surely out of Aziraphale’s league. Yet here he was sending condolence notes because he had heard Aziraphale’s breakup (which was utterly humiliating, by the by). But putting that aside - at the very least, this was a gesture of friendship. Aziraphale was surprised to find himself quite eager to take him up on it.
Very quickly, lest he lose his nerve, he grabbed the wrapped box and went to his door, then over to 4B to knock on Crowley’s door. His heart was in his throat as he knocked, and he didn't know what to say but was hoping something genius would occur to him.
The door swung open to reveal his neighbour - Crowley - a tall, lean, ginger man with sunglasses and tight, black clothing that Aziraphale found very appealing. And oh, heavens, he was even better looking up close. He looked surprised to see Aziraphale, then guardedly hopeful when Aziraphale smiled.
“Hello,” Aziraphale said. “My name is Aziraphale Fell, and I'm your next door neighbour.”
“Ah, yeah. I know who you are,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, his cheeks colouring.
“Ah, I, um, I wanted to come thank you for this. I assume it's a cake?”
“You didn’t open it?”
“I did not, I thought perhaps we could share it,” Aziraphale said, his heart in his throat.
Crowley’s face broke into a brilliant smile. “Yeah, sure, absolutely. Um, your place or mine?”
“Either is fine.”
“Come on in,” he said, opening the door for Aziraphale, and Aziraphale stepped in.
HIs flat was laid out exactly like Aziraphale’s, just decorated much differently, with things much more sleek and modern than Aziraphale’s own cosy style. Aziraphale was surprised to see quite a large number of houseplants.
He followed Crowley into the kitchen and sat the cake box down on the table while the other man pulled out plates, forks and a knife.
“Ah, yes, thank you…. shall I call you Crowley?”
“Yeah. My first name is Anthony, but my friends call me Crowley.”
“Well, I’d like to be your friend,” Aziraphale said with a small smile that Crowley returned.
“Please, have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chair, and Aziraphale sat. Crowley sat too, and watched with interest as he untied the string around the box. Once the string was gone, Crowley opened the box and pulled out a robin’s egg blue cake, trimmed with delicate white piping and a ring of exquisite buttercream flowers around it.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “It’s lovely.”
“Thanks,” Crowley replied, smiling.
“It’s almost too pretty to cut.”
“Nonsense,” Crowley said with a grin. “Cakes are meant to be enjoyed.”
“Well, I think you’ll have to cut it. I don’t have it in me to ruin something so beautiful,” Aziraphale said.
Crowley snorted a little, but took the knife and cut them two slices, putting the larger slice on the plate in front of Aziraphale.
“Bon appetit,” Aziraphale said, raising his fork as if to toast, then took a bite. The flavour that burst across his tongue was extraordinary, and he made a little noise of happiness. When he opened his eyes, Crowley had a very odd look on his face, and Aziraphale realised when he must have sounded like.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It just tastes really quite good. I can see why you picked it. Do you frequent this bakery? Hellfire Cakes?”
“Nah. Well, kinda. I own it.”
Aziraphale’s eyes were wide. “You don’t.”
“I do. I made this cake, in fact. It’s white chocolate with white chocolate ganache and fresh raspberry coulis.”
“It’s astounding, is what it is,” Aziraphale said, going for another bite.
Crowley grinned. “Thanks, I was hoping you’d like it. What do you do?”
“I‘m a lecturer of English Literature.”
“Oh, that sounds interesting.”
Aziraphale laughed. “It’s about as interesting as dry white toast,” he said. “But then, so am I.”
“That's not true,” Crowley said. “I think you’re fascinating.”
Aziraphale’s cheeks heated. That was absolutely flirting, he was sure of it, but he wasn’t sure what to do with it. “You hardly know me.”
“Ah, well, you learn a lot about someone by living next to them.”
“Oh, you do, do you?”
“I’m bluffing,” Crowley said, looking sheepish and mischievous. “I don't actually know much about you. I figured out your name, and I see you with books a lot, so I figured you like to read or your job had something to do with books. I never saw anyone else coming or going from your flat without you so I assumed you lived alone. I’ve never seen you with a woman, I’ve only seen you with men, so I, um, I assumed - or I think it’d be more accurate to say that I’d hoped - that you were gay. But that’s all I really know about you.”
“That’s all accurate,” Aziraphale said. “You knew my name, my vocation is all about books, I do live alone, and I’m as gay as a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide.”
“I’d like to fill in my gaps, though,” Crowley said. “I’d like to learn more about you. If you’re willing.”
Aziraphale felt like he’d fly away. “I think I’d like that very much. But I am just coming out of a relationship, short-lived and unpleasant though it was.”
“How long were you with that douchebag?”
“We met and started dating about three months ago.”
“So it wasn't really serious?” Crowley asked hopefully.
“Well, we hadn’t professed our undying love or anything, but we were exclusive. At least, I was,” he said bitterly.
“I’m sorry. We don’t have to talk about him.”
“No, it’s alright. To be honest, I knew it wasn’t working and was looking for an opportunity to end things. I’m not sad things are over. I just wish they hadn't ended the way they did. That hurt.”
“Yeah, I imagine so. I'm sorry. You deserve better than that bastard,” Crowley said emphatically.
It sprung to Aziraphale’s lips to ask ‘are you better?’ but he managed to refrain. Barely.
“So you moved into this flat last autumn, correct?”
“That’s right.”
“Where were you before?”
“Mayfair.”
“Goodness. This feels like a step down from Mayfair.”
“Well, I had this big flat in Mayfair all to myself, just me and my plants, and my shop was here, in Soho. Plus, I like the vibe here a lot. And the neighbors are top notch.”
Aziraphale giggled. “Quite right. How long has your shop been open?”
“About two years.”
“Are you doing well? I imagine the competition is stiff.”
“It is stiff, yes, and there are a lot of bakeries, but we’ve kind of set ourselves apart by doing hyper realistic cakes.”
“You do?”
Crowley nodded. “Yeah. I mean, we do cakes like these, too, of course, for weddings and birthdays and whatnot. And we can make any flower out of buttercream or fondant. But about half of our cakes are the hyper realistic ones.”
“Do you know, I saw a show on telly about cakes like those, and they seemed like magic.”
Crowley grinned. “They’re not magic, just skill. Years and years of practice.”
“Do you have any photos? I’d love to see.”
Crowley pulled out his mobile and tapped on it for a moment while he scooted his chair around so he was sitting beside Aziraphale, and Aziraphale tried not to let his heart beat out of his chest with excitement from the proximity. Oh, heavens, he had a crush.
“Here’s the album,” Crowley said, and showed him the phone. On the screen were a variety of objects: a carton of eggs, a roll of toilet paper, a skein of yarn, a tossed salad, a suitcase with fabric hanging out of it, and even a puppy.
“I think you misplaced a photo,” Aziraphale said, pointing to the dog. “There’s no way that’s cake.”
Crowley grinned and swiped the screen, and the next photo showed the puppy with a slice missing. Aziraphale was agog.
“You made that?”
“I did, yeah. I mean, I have assistants, but it’s 90% me. I can do it all on my own, if need be.”
“Crowley, I don’t even know what to say. The talent you have is immense.”
“Thanks, angel,” he said, looking pleased.
Aziraphale froze, and asked, “Angel?”
Crowley’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “Shit. I, uh, I sort of called you that in my head before I knew your name and it stuck. You just... you seem like an angel. I’m sorry.”
“No, please don’t be sorry,” Aziraphale said, smiling, “I’m the farthest thing from offended. In fact, I really think you’ve made my day, Crowley. Not my day, my week. My month.”
Crowley grinned. “Yeah?”
“Yes, quite. I’m starting to think that catching Gabriel in a compromising position and then having a screaming row with him, while it seemed like a terrible thing at the time, may have actually been a blessing in disguise.”
Crowley’s grin was lopsided. “Part of some grand, ineffable plan?”
Aziraphale returned the smile. “You could say that. I was wondering, Crowley, whether I could interest you in dinner one night this week? Or is that too forw–”
“Yes!” Crowley practically leapt to say. “I’d love to. You just name the time and place and I’ll be there.”
“Oh, jolly good,” Aziraphale said, quite pleased with this turn of events, and looking forward to his date.