Chapter Text
Winter mornings in London were harsh. Temperatures may not be extremely low, but the dampness caused by days and days of constant rain resulted in a chill that seeped into every nook and cranny of the body, making anyone feel completely drenched. No matter how many layers of clothing one wore, they would never be enough to completely eliminate that feeling. Given this situation and in the early hours of the morning, there were only three possible scenarios to consider in order to face the beginning of the day: the first one was to stay at home if the absence of work or studies allowed it. What better way than to spend the coldest hours embraced by the warmth of one's home. The second option was to go directly to work, university, or school, making a direct journey that would keep anyone who must do so safe. And finally, there was the third option, which was to find an establishment or place where one could have a hot drink, so as to get some energy and warmth for the hours to come. Whether it was coffee, chocolate, or tea, lingering inside a coffee shop that invited you to breakfast was the choice of the vast majority. The aroma of a coffee whose beans had been ground with care and entirely by hand, or the smell of freshly baked pastries and bread, were a little temptation that many could not resist.
And there he was, isolated from everything, sitting at one of the farthest tables from the entrance of that little botanical café. Papers full of sketches lay scattered all over the table, forming a great little chaos which he seemed to be the only one to understand. From the counter, the owner and employee of the café could observe how the customer raised a hand to his cheek to rest it on it, twisting his lips in a gesture of annoyance. The expression was accompanied by a frown as he insistently tapped the table with the end of a pen. He wore dark sunglasses that hid his gaze, even though the light inside was purely artificial. He was dressed in black, but in a style the clerk had always found most appealing. Tight trousers, a shirt with a silk scarf around his neck and a dress jacket crowned the outfit. He never wore the same clothes, but even so the colours used to be the same, with black predominating in almost ninety percent of his clothes. He certainly stood out in comparison with himself for how opposite they were, as his curly blond hair and blue eyes were the day in comparison to him, which seemed to be the night. On the other hand, the client was tall and slim, very slim, giving the impression that he was even taller. By contrast he was a little shorter, and his figure a little bulkier. Not as if it was something that had bothered him at any point in his life or affected him in a negative way. He was very much at ease with himself and, precisely because of that, he could even find it amusing to see himself so different from him. For he had often wondered what someone like him was doing in a small, simple coffee shop like his.
When had he first seen him there? If he was right, he had been eating breakfast every day for at least half a year now, sitting at the same table and spending at least a couple of hours there. Totally oblivious to everything around him. His company had practically become a routine and, when he did not come, he could not help but feel slightly worried that something could have happened to him. On one occasion he even asked him why his discreet café was his chosen place for his first morning meal, to which he had replied tersely that he liked the ambience. And the plants. Wherever one looked, there were all kinds of pots, small trunks and even flowers, all natural, decorating and oxygenating the atmosphere.
From the beginning Aziraphale, the owner of the A.Z. Phell coffee shop, had decided that it would be a quiet and relaxed environment where his customers could unwind in a peaceful atmosphere. He knew how to achieve this: with classical music at an appropriate volume, small bookshelves with totally free reading of various genres, and flowers. Lots of flowers. And for some reason, unknown to that day, that had been a strong point in attracting such a specific customer as the red-haired man.
Aziraphale carefully finished filling a cup with black coffee and placed it on a small plate. He did not add any sugar to it, knowing that if he did, he would find the envelope perfectly intact in the same place where he would have placed it. He took a quick glance to check that the other two occupied tables were served and stepped out from behind the counter to walk to the further side of the room. As he approached, he noted how his presence had alerted his opposite number, who without looking up from the papers struggled to make room between the sketches so that the blond could leave the hot drink for him.
Once he reached him, Aziraphale carefully placed his order, taking the opportunity to take a look at what his client was up to that day. A myriad of coat sketches was intermingled, showing a variety of colours that could be surprising given the monochromatic nature of their author. The blond smiled lightly, fascinated by the great amount of detail and annotations although they were only stripes and stains made with a pen.
"Working from early morning, like every day" he greeted the taller one, speaking softly and calmly. There it was, a shy smile that always tugged at his lips whenever he was in his presence. "If you fancy something to eat just let me know."
"Coffee will do for now." The other man raised his head, meeting his gaze. He did not smile directly, but he did soften the expression on his face compared to how he had looked minutes before.
“Did you bring an umbrella today, Mr Crowley? It will rain till noon, and the last time you were overconfident you got soaked to the skin. I don't think you'd like to relive a cold like the one you had days later.”
“I've parked the car by the door," Crowley gestured with his head, pointing to a black Bentley visible through the window. He left the pen he was holding on one side of the table and tried to pile the chaos of papers on the other. He moved the coffee towards the centre of the table and picked up the cup, taking a sip. "It's different, it doesn't taste the same as other days. Different origin?"
“I knew it was impossible for you not to notice." Aziraphale spoke proudly, as well as eagerly. His gaze shone brightly, allowing himself to linger in his company for a few more minutes. “Dare you venture to guess where you think it is from?”
He did not know if it could be called friendship, or if they were simply acquaintances. In the beginning they had never exchanged words beyond the merely professional. What he wanted to drink, what he might want to eat and how much he should pay him for the service. That was all they had talked about as customer and worker for many weeks. Aziraphale had kept his distance as stipulated. At least until his curiosity got the better of him. There had been shy, disinterested questions at first, such as who he was and what did he do for a living. He had introduced himself as Crowley, but his full name was actually Anthony J. Crowley. His eyes widened in surprise that day as he recognised the name, which he had never associated with a particular face before. For Anthony J. Crowley was a well-known fashion designer who, although he did not show his face publicly, had risen to fame due to the high quality of his clothes seen on the catwalks. His signature was seen in magazines, in the media and in shops. And Aziraphale would never have imagined that the man behind that name and surname was someone so different and unique. And he was aware that even though someone of his status could afford more luxurious breakfasts or less crowded places, he had chosen him. A detail that meant the world to him.
A few brief seconds went by in which Crowley took a second sip and savoured the dark liquid on his palate. A thoughtful murmur was all he uttered for the moment, trying to figure out any distinctive nuances that would give him a clue as to what kind of bean he bought this time. He had been a fan of the drink for many years, both because of his body's need for caffeine and because of its strong taste. So instead of just being reduced to drinking it, it was now also a passion. He no longer consumed just any coffee, but the one that his palate considered "worthy". And the one prepared by that smiling middle-aged man fit into that category by far.
“Blue Mountain, Jamaica, also known as JBM. I don't see much difference in colour but it's milder in flavour strength compared to the one you served me last week," he raised an eyebrow, expectantly. He was about to ask if he was right, but the blush on Aziraphale's face and his vibrant smile stopped him. He stretched his legs under the table, satisfied, receiving a brief applause at his correct guess. "I haven't consumed it many times, but this is a taste I'd never forget."
"It is very satisfying for me to be able to meet your expectations, Mr. Crowley. I can afford these little games with you knowing and trusting that they will please you. I obtained fresh grain at the beginning of the week, so I jumped at the chance. In my humble opinion, as one who doesn't like strong flavours, I think it's one of the best coffees I've ever tasted."
“Will you serve only this one this week?”
“Not necessarily, but it's my star product. I also have beans from Indonesia and Nicaragua, so I could prepare you something different tomorrow if you don't feel like repeating. However, today was a little test in case you hadn't had the opportunity to taste the JBM.”
“Anything will do." Crowley nodded. He was quite a nonconformist on many subjects, but this coffee shop was the exception. He glanced at the display case where biscuits and cakes were displayed, reviewing from his position what he had prepared that day. Aziraphale followed his gaze but didn't add anything for the moment. "Maybe I'll order something to eat later. The café smells wonderful.”
“Of course, as you know, it's all freshly made. Feel free to call me whenever you fancy something, and I will bring it to you immediately.”
“Great, thanks. And how's your day going? Good week ahead?”
“Just like the others, Mr. Crowley," Aziraphale rubbed his hands, which rested close to his belly. "The holiday period is over, so I fill the cafeteria every morning and part of the afternoon with students and people like you, who are back at work. It's been an exhausting few days, but seeing people's happiness made it worth it.”
"Don't you ever take holidays?" he inquired curiously. Ever since he had frequented the place, he only knew the man rested on Sundays. That was the least he could do, considering he was the only worker there.
“Just if I have no other choice. Otherwise, what would happen with all the customers who cross the city to put a sweet spot in their lives?”
“Even so, you should rest now and then. Overexertion can negatively affect your health, my friend.”
“I’m aware. I’m very aware of that, even if it doesn't seem so.”
“I'd not want to find the cafeteria closed because you've fallen ill for pushing yourself beyond your limits.”
“I assure you that will not happen." The blond said firmly, nodding his head assertively to emphasise his words. Crowley's only response was a chuckle.
The chat ended. With the arrival of new clients Aziraphale excused himself and went to attend them, leaving Crowley to return his full attention to his work. He had two good offices in the city, one in a studio and the other in his own home, to work as much as he wanted without being disturbed. Still, he had grown used to doing it there, surrounded by people he paid no attention to, enjoying the products the man offered him. He liked his presence there, always smiling and full of light, in stark contrast to how serious and antisocial he considered himself to be.
They were like yin and yang, attracting him to his presence like a moth to the light of a streetlamp. He felt calm, peaceful, tranquil. As if he welcomed him into his home with open arms, ensuring him a most productive stay, even in terms of work. He always left the place in a good mood, satisfied and feeling fulfilled. And he could not wait for the day to end so that he could start a new one and have the opportunity to enjoy his company again. But just like him, half the city thought the same, so as the hours went by, the cafeteria filled up. The silence of the early hours turned to a light bustle by mid-morning, and it was when the hustle and bustle got louder that he decided to leave. Not that he was recognised or harassed by anyone, Aziraphale himself always made sure of that. But at that particular moment he would simply leave with the premise that he would be back the next day.
He snapped out of his thoughts when his eyes met the blond's again. He blinked slightly and instantly looked down at the sketch he was currently with. He felt an annoying blush settle on his cheeks and instantly cursed himself for getting caught. He had been engaging in this sort of behaviour with the other for some time now and had been aware that it was more than just a coincidence when he had returned his glances with a smile. At first, he had dismissed it as mere curiosity, but he was beginning to think that perhaps there was more to it than that. However, as busy as his schedule was, Crowley had pushed it out of his mind almost immediately. He had no time to dwell on such things. In the meantime, he would enjoy those brief moments over breakfast without further ado.
The hours went by, and it was almost midday before Crowley left. Just as he had predicted mid-morning, he ordered a piece of chocolate carrot cake. It did not take Aziraphale half a minute to serve it, walking happily among the tables while many customers wished him both a good day and complimented him on the delicacies he prepared. He enjoyed the dessert as if he was tasting it for the first time and, minutes later, stood up and put on a dark hat that usually accompanied him everywhere he went.
It was pouring outside; the temperature was cold, and people were walking here and there holding umbrellas and hurrying to avoid contact with the water as much as possible. Despite this, and just before leaving, Crowley gripped the handle of the briefcase he was carrying tightly to make sure nothing inside it got wet. He turned slightly, finding the blond waving goodbye to him. There they were, his perfectly white teeth peeking through the radiant smile on his lips. He reciprocated the gesture by placing his thumb and forefinger on the brim of his hat, lowering his head in turn in farewell. Then he turned and walked outside.
That coffee shop, and especially its owner, were definitely all the light London needed to shine.