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“May I take your glass, sir?”
Aziraphale holds back a sigh. He chose this particular corner in the hopes of remaining invisible for all participants, including the event staff. At least it’s just a… waiter.
But not just any waiter.
“Crowley?”
“Thought that was you. It’s good to see you, Aziraphale. Why are you hiding way back here?”
It takes a few seconds for Aziraphale to respond, because he’s too busy taking in Crowley’s appearance. His outfit is the same as the other servers’, but somehow it looks more flattering on Crowley. Then again, that might just be his lingering infatuation distorting his perception.
“I’m quite sure my reason is obvious,” he finally presses out. “How long has it been? Six years?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know exactly to the day when they last met.
Crowley’s eyes dips down to the green reindeer jumper Aziraphale is wearing. “I like your choice better.”
“I could’ve sworn the invite said holiday-appropriate.” Aziraphale’s gaze drifts over the sea of co-workers, all dressed in suits and dresses without a hint of holiday feel to them.
“It’s a holiday-themed party. You made the right choice.”
“Maybe.” He still feels like a pariah, but what else is new?
“I have to keep moving.” Crowley takes Aziraphale’s empty glass and hands him a champagne glass from his tray. “Back in a bit.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Sure I do, can’t let you starve.” Crowley is about to leave, but turns back. “Oh, and it’s actually seven years. In February.”
Amazed, Aziraphale watches Crowley head towards the kitchen.
He remembers.
And he’s true to his words. Crowley comes around several times, offering him all kinds of scrumptious hors d’oeuvres. And each time, he stays to chat for a while, making Aziraphale’s night infinitely better.
Initially, Aziraphale is begrudgingly staying because he has foolishly promised to lock up after the cleaning crew. Now, he doesn’t want the evening to end.
He clings to his corner until the last of his co-workers vanishes into darkness outside, leaving him alone with the hired staff. They work quickly, and before he knows it, the room is back to its normal state.
Save for one thing. Someone has put up mistletoe over the office door.
He walks over and raises himself up onto his toes, stretching his arm as far as he can—but it’s still out of reach.
“May I?”
Aziraphale spins around to find Crowley, now dressed in casual clothes.
“Oh, I’m in the way, aren’t I? I’m sorry.”
Before he has time to shuffle to the side, Crowley lays a hand on his arm. “No.” His eyes momentarily travel up to the mistletoe. “May I?”
“Yes,” Aziraphale whispers.
He holds his breath as Crowley leans forward to press a lingering kiss on his cheek.
“Can I walk you home?”
“I’d love that, thank you.”
As they walk arm in arm towards Soho, Aziraphale dares to hope that maybe, just maybe, Crowley will stay in his life this time.