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It is another sunny day in Jolly Old England. Crowley has just picked up breakfast pastries from the coffee shop across the street. He steps inside the bookshop with a little spin to avoid the door bumping on the paperbag, and then catwalks in. Aziraphale has just finished arranging a table by the windows and preparing a fresh pot of tea.
“Pastries,” Crowley announces, lifting the paperbag a little as he approaches the humming angel.
Aziraphale turns to him, smiling like the sun. “Jolly good,” he chirps. “Did you also perhaps get a piece of an eccles cake?” When he sees the answer to his question just from Crowley’s lips squirming, he asks again for the hope of it all. “Even just a single piece?”
Clicking his tongue, Crowley answers, “If you’re looking over my caffeine intake, I will also look over your eccles cake consumption. All fair.”
“Fine.” Aziraphale sighs the sun smile to a thin line, dejected on remembering that he lectured Crowley about coffee. It is truly fair if Crowley watches over his cravings on eccles cake. “The tea today is chamomile.”
Crowley groans while setting down the paperbag then taking his seat across Aziraphale, who is smiling cheekily. Flicking a finger over the teapot, Crowley grins smugly while pouring tea on his cup. Instead of the mild floral scent of chamomile, the strong musky scent of Earl Grey floats out with the steam.
“That is cheating, Crowley.”
“I’m a demon, that’s what I essentially do. And it is still tea, angel.”
“A caffeinated tea,” Aziraphale points while Crowley mumbles “blah blah blah blah blah” as he lifts the teacup to his lips. Aziraphale frowns but then it subtly changes into a fond smile as he sees Crowley smile and relaxes upon drinking Earl Grey.
This is how they spend mornings together now since Crowley moved in. Just the two of them, drinking tea (seldom times it is coffee), eating biscuits, bread, or pastries that Nina baked at the coffee shop, and they chat about anything or they don’t talk at all. But that quietness is comfortable not deafening as it is filled by the music coming from the records Aziraphale plays. Maggie is truly a music genius as she guesses right when Aziraphale describes a particular tune or feeling of a song as he likes to get surprise on the other songs he might yet to discover by Maggie’s help. On top of the changes in the bookshop and both of their lives, Crowley does not wear his glasses as much anymore, even outside the bookshop.
“Oh goodness gracious!” Aziraphale suddenly jumps on his couch, waking up Crowley from getting lost on staring at him.
“Wh—What is it? What’s wrong?”
“Look, Crowley,” he says with a beaming smile as he shows him the front page headline.
Crowley leans forward and sees a photo of the prince with an American waving from one of the palace’s balconies. “What am I looking at?”
“Prince Henry of England announces his relationship with the first son of America, Alex Claremont-Diaz.” He retracts the newspaper from Crowley’s face. Still smiling, he speaks in soft disbelief, “Isn’t it wonderful that the people showed support instead of prejudice and hate?”
Crowley pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue before smacking his lips and replying, “People tend to take one step forward, two steps backward. When a boy loves a boy, or a girl loves a girl, it was never an issue back in the old times but then patriarchy and humanity decided to weaponize the bible.” He is close to continuing going through that thought process when he decided not to pull a dark cloud over such good news. “But sure, yeah, it is wonderful. Good for them.” Then he takes another sip of tea.
Putting down the newspaper before speaking softly, “Humanity will mature one day, Crowley. One day all hypocrisy, prejudice, and repressive systems will be dismantled. That is why we’re here, right, to guide humanity to the better?”
Humming, Crowley nods. “Of course.”
After finishing their breakfast, they spend the remaining hours doing their routine chores—Crowley with the plants, and Aziraphale with the books—before they go to their lunch walk at Berkley park.
Alex is on his window side, staring at the building, red phone booths, tall double-decker buses, and cobbled streets of Old England with a huge smile on his face. Henry is grinning, smitten on his side of the car watching Alex get excited about being his hometown. They stop by a cafe across Berkley park for a quick lunch. When they cross the street to get to the park, Alex is literally skipping on his steps as if he is one of those animated characters walking down the yellow brick road. Henry walks behind him, smiling fondly.
“You guys have the best parks,” Alex declares, skipping backwards to join Henry’s walking phase.
“How so? Central park is quite nice, though I would rather go to the Everglades where there is more wildlife and nature than humans and hotdogs.” They both laugh at that.
“Yeah, that is true. I like the parks here the same reason why you like the Everglades but there is more about this specific park.” He pauses then shrugs. “Maybe because this is the park where you spend weekends with your father, making paper boats and doing races at the pond. That makes this park special than the many others.”
Henry just stares in awe and speechless at Alex's pure honesty but their moment gets interrupted by the distant sounds coming from the direction of the pond. “Are those…” Henry is squinting his eyes when Alex screams “Ducks!”
And there goes Alex running across the small downhill field to get to the wide pond, and there goes Henry smiling and falling more in love.
When Alex reaches the pond, he crouches down to have a closer look at the duck being followed by its ducklings. He is simply enjoying watching when a man stands a few feet from him and starts to rip the corners of white bread from a small paper bag.
“Excuse me sir,” he says and is about to give the man a lecture about how bread is bad to ducks when someone shouts behind.
“Hey! Don’t feed the ducks bread, you idiot! Look at the signage!” That someone is wearing all black, a pair of cool sunglasses and has blazing red hair, and also has the meanest snarl.
The man with the bread steps back then walks away scared after mumbling an apology.
“He can read but chooses to be ignorant. Humanity at its finest.” The person who scolded the man grumbles.
Alex stands up, still looking at the man. Henry walks up to him, worried, then a man wearing white and cream and has the fluffiest white locks, walks up to the man in black.
“What happened?” Henry asks at the same time the man in white, asks the man in black, “You didn’t just scold another human, did you?”
Alex reassures Henry while the man in black answers, “Serves them right to remember to read signages.”
The man in white looks exasperated then turns to look at the other pair looking at them. It hits him who the young lads are in a second. “Your Royal Highness.”
It takes Henry a second to understand why the man addresses him then bowing. Right, that is me, he reminds himself. “Hello, gentlemen,” he curtly greets back.
Aziraphale is awestruck to be meeting another prince in person up close. Crowley is looking back and forth between Aziraphale and the prince and the America, but then he remembers the front page of the newspaper.
“He’s the prince?” He whispers to Aziraphale.
“Yes, Crowley,” Aziraphale whispers back.
“Should we introduce ourselves?”
“I…I—Well, yes, I suppose so?”
They look at each other, unsure but sure, before turning to the two who are looking at them, confused on why they are whispering.
“It is an honour to cross paths with you, Your Royal Highness and Mr Claremont-Diaz,” Aziraphale says with his angelic smile and courteous bow. “My name is Mr Fell.”
Crowley is more casual in greeting and on the bow. “And I’m Anthony Crowley. Crowley for convenience.”
“Well, you seem to know our names already, I guess that will be all,” Henry says, feeling the awkwardness about falling on them like the curtains on the stage at WestEnd—but Alex has a different idea.
“Mr Crowley,” Alex calls, sure at first then slightly not sure anymore. “Can I call you Mr Crowley? I just think that—”
“Nah, Crowley is fine, the ‘Mr’ makes it corporate which gives me uncomfortable sensations,” he clarifies with a friendly smirk.
“Oh, okay, cool, heh,” Alex lets out a chuckle. “Um, yeah, so about the ducks, that is a quick, direct call out on that man. I was about to respectfully lecture him but you…well, yours is better.” He sends two thumbs up to Crowley, which earns him an amused quirk on the eyebrow from the other.
“Welcome to London,” is all Crowley says before turning to Aziraphale. “Back to the bookshop.”
Aziraphale is about to bid farewell, as well as Henry, but Alex is quicker than them.
“I can’t believe you own a bookshop,” Alex muses upon stepping inside.
Henry is quiet but deep inside, he can’t help himself feel like he just stepped inside the world of Narnia and The Hobbit from the scent of the books and the comfortable warmth from the lights.
So Aziraphale did end up inviting them to the bookshop because he cannot turn down the glimmer of the first son’s doe eyes. He tells Crowley to tour them around while he prepares a fresh pot of tea. Then Alex muses how the bookshop looks like one from the Harry Potter films. “Who's that?” Crowley asks, making Alex look at him with confused and wide eyes.
“You don’t know Harry Potter? Impossible. You co-own this bookshop.”
“Not even at gunpoint I will ever own a bookshop, but, well, I suppose I do now.”
While Alex takes Crowley on a trip down Diagon Alley of the Harry Potter universe, Henry looks around. He is taken aback as all of the books are really old, ancient old, but are all in good condition, well preserved. There is a stack of books on top of a chair beside a vase of green carnations. His eyes widened on seeing that the book on the top is an original first copy of Oscar Wilde’s Green Carnation, and underneath is more of his novels, all are original first copies. What truly took his breath away is what he found beneath the Portrait of Dorian Gray which is a sketch of the painting by Nikolai Ge that also took his breath away when he saw it in person.
Aziraphale walks out from the back, carrying a tray of tea and biscuits. He serves it on the table where Crowley and Alex are having a deep conversation, and Crowley is actually listening intently to a human. He takes a teacup to give to the prince who is by the corner where Crowley puts the plants and flowers that do not need much exposure to the sun.
“Your Royal Highness,” he calls, and Henry turns to him, “tea?”
Henry smiles and accepts it. “Thank you, Mr Fell. And please, you can call me Henry.”
“Alright, Henry. You seem to have your eyes captured by the books.”
“Indeed. I want to ask, are these the actual original first copies of Oscar Wilde’s works?”
“Oh, yes, I actually got them—“ he stops himself before he says that he got the copies because he actually met the man and had a few years of beautiful friendship with— “from my great, great, great grandfather. He is quite close with the owner of the printing company that published those copies.”
“And the sketch of the painting of Achilles and the Body of Patroclus by Nikolai Ge, how and where did you find it?”
“Oh that, well, Crowley is the one that gave it to me. A friend of his knows this person who keeps antique artworks.” In truth, Crowley is the one who sketched the very piece after witnessing how a famous emperor laments for his friend with similar intensity to how Homer described how Achilles did on Patroclus.
“Amazing,” Henry breathes, completely awestruck by how much history is inside this bookshop. The kind of history he prefers to read and be immersed in than the history in the palace. “I grew up having those be my awakening on taking interest in writing and in art. I learned how to read because of Oscar Wilde, can you believe that? Grandpa was hesitant but then later on he confessed to me that Oscar Wilde’s books has engraved themselves in his heart even though his father discourages him to let that fondness grow.”
Aziraphale listens fondly. “That is wonderful of your grandfather to do. To not do what his father did to him to you.”
Henry smiles, more at ease. “Yes. Even though it is one of the countable-by-hand wonderful things he’s done for me.”
Alex is now explaining the tragedy and beauty of Dumbledore and Grindelwald that Crowley has no idea who. Crowley, admittedly, sees himself intrigued more when Alex mentioned that the only reason why the two wizards went on separate paths was because of the pressure on choosing sides—the good side or the evil side. He is about to comment that the two could’ve chosen to be on their own side not the good nor the evil but Alex mentioned something about a Nifler.
Before sunset, Henry and Alex bid farewell to Aziraphale and Crowley. A thought passed by the angel’s mind ending up on inviting the prince and the first son, his boyfriend, if they would want to join him and Crowley on the art show tomorrow. The two accepted the invitation in a heartbeat.
When they were outside of the bookshop, Aziraphale caught Henry, giving him the sketch.
“What? Why are you giving this to me? Your friend gave it to you.”
Smiling reassuringly, he replies, “Take it as a challenge. Find a way to alter the ending of the painting using the same style of sketching.”
Henry pulls the sketch to his chest before nodding. “Challenge accepted, Mr Fell. See you tomorrow.”
“Drive safely.” Aziraphale waves at the car driving off.
Henry insists for Aziraphale and Crowley to be in his and Alex’s car so that they will not be troubled as Aziraphale inviting them already means a lot.
“Please, Mr Fell, this is the least we can do,” Henry says. Aziraphale almost says yes when Crowley suddenly speaks in full cool confidence, “It’s alright, lads. We have a car.” Aziraphale turns to him, looking at him with wide eyes that evokes shock and fondness. Crowley continues. “Our Bentley may look old but it is still on its tip top shape.”
With that they all had an agreement.
Alex cannot help but comment right away when he and Henry get in their car, “Yeah, that is absolutely the hottest Bentley I’ve ever seen.”
Henry sighs whilst starting the engine. “I agree. How did they even manage to maintain it that way.”
“The books, I guess.” Then they look at each other clueless and thoughtless, but nonetheless both agree that Bentley is one hot vintage car.
“Our Bentley,” Aziraphale says as he gets in his and Crowley’s car . “You told them that it is ours.”
“Well,” He starts after revving up the engine and putting the car on drive, and continues asking a question, “it is the same as it is our bookshop , right?”
Aziraphale feels like something is about to burst through his chest. “Right,” he answers breathlessly.
Crowley is keeping a neutral face when deep inside he is screaming on the top of his lungs. “Right. Now stop smiling like that, angel, I think I’m about to melt.” Then he steps on the gas.
At the art show, the artist invites all of the audience to participate in an activity she and her partner came up with to make the show more memorable. The activity is by pairs—Henry and Aziraphale, Alex and Crowley. Everyone is encouraged to sketch or paint what they feel from the paintings they have seen from the collection.
Henry pulls out the mental image of the sketch, thinking in which angle he will rewrite the ending of the painting. A memory flashes in his mind; the first time he visited Alex’s family’s lakehouse, where Alex rolled to his side, propped on an elbow, and gazed down at him, and he was looking at him with the same emotion. It is like the sketch as Achilles is propped on top of Patroclus but instead of sadness and despair there is love and happiness.
Aziraphale has already an idea what to paint, which he knows will surprise Crowley.
Alex thinks for a moment, looking at the blank sketch pad then looking at the painting hanging and framed on the wide walls of the room. He caught on one particular painting, evoking the emotion of intimacy in a peaceful place. He begins visualising what would be the image that he would like to draw himself into that evokes such.
Crowley went straight on sketching the ox that he tempted Aziraphale to eat after they finished the job on Job. No other reason besides that he saw one of the paintings having an ox in it. Or perhaps because it was the time that solidifies his persuasion on intervening with the ‘Great Plan’ and the angelic heavenly toxic system that has its questionable, ridiculous parts that simply makes no moral sense—the very time he grew fond of a certain angel that
While doing their artworks, Henry and Aziraphale talk about how brave it is to choose the one person that made them happy and freed them from the heavyweight of legacy on your shoulders.
“Did none of your family ever support you, Mr Fell?” Henry asks as Aziraphale tells him that his ‘family’ is not very much in favor of him running a bookshop instead of doing something more greater and bigger, and the idea of him continuing being with Crowley.
“It’s more terrible than not giving support, Henry. They tend to tell me things, really awful things, and they brush it off a second later as if it didn’t affect me in a bad way. I called them out once and I was labelled the bad one.”
“That is awful.”
“How ‘bout your family? I’ve read about your grandfather being passive-aggressive about you confirming your relationship with Alex. Honestly, my jaw drops on reading that he describes your relationship as genuine, occasionally vulgar but undeniably genuine.” There is a small smile on his lips, Henry does too.
“That is grandpa,” Henry sighs. “He may appear all regal and speak reverently about traditions and customs but while he was talking to Alex and I he never once snarled, looked disgusted, nor threatened us. Which is a wonder.”
They both pause on their work to share a look. At the same time they agreed, “passive-aggressive.”
On the other table, Alex and Crowley talk about what it feels to care so much about someone that you are willing to wait when they are ready, and how rewarding it is at the end.
“How long have you been together, you and Mr Fell? Whoa, is that an ox?” Alex quickly pauses on sketching, amused to see how cartoonish the ox looks.
Crowley uses his body to block Alex from seeing the other ridiculous details of the ox he’s drawing. “Yes, it is an ox. Don’t laugh at my ox.” Alex chuckles, more on that request than on the drawing. “And you can say that he and I go back a long time.”
Alex’s hums. “Sounds like you’re been in love with each other since the beginning of time.”
Crowley chortles, a big smile on his lips. “Yeah, you can say that. We’ve been together since the very beginning. How long have you been with the prince?”
“Oh, well, it’s been two years now.”
“Congratulations. Must have been tough on keeping your relationship secret for a while.”
Alex clicks his tongue while nodding. “Yeah. But look at us now.” He glances over his shoulder to the table on his left where Henry is smiling while being focused on working, then he turns back to Crowley. “I’m willing to wait, no matter how long, no matter how there is no guarantee that Henry will not decide to give up because of the pressure and how much he cares about me too. It is like the two wizards I told you about; they loved each other and wanted to be together but they decided to lock themselves in their own palaces, waiting for one of them to come rescue the other. I’m willing to save Henry but if it will affect my family’s political standing, I might have to think wisely, but, in truth, I think I will still choose to save Henry no matter what.”
“For a young man, you sure hold a well-tuned moral compass,” Crowley says. He wishes he can tell his and Aziraphale’s story as it is but it will surely confuse the human to an extent. “I witnessed how Aziraphale was treated by his people, and at that point in time I made it my second purpose of existence: saving him. Then I might’ve missed when I started to fall again but for a different reason. Thousands of years of waiting and here I am, here we are.”
Even though there are parts that Alex needs a moment to comprehend, such as the ‘thousand year’ and ‘the fall’, Alex finds himself emphasizing with the intent of Crowley’s anecdote.
“Can I ask one more question?”
“Go on, kid.”
“Why are you wearing sunglasses inside an art hall? I mean, can you see anything?”
“Barely anything, especially with the snake eyes, but I’m used to it now.”
After the artshow, they all decided to take a walk to the Ritz instead of bringing their cars. Luckily, and surprisingly, there had been no signs of paparazzis or media or any people running to them for photos or interviews or signatures. Perhaps, it is all thanks to an angel and demon, using their smallest miracle to not make it obvious.
Alex gets to bond with Aziraphale about magic, and Henry and Crowley talk about giving up their titles and crowns for a much more worthy cause. “You’re the prince of England, I’m a duke in hell, and here we are living the best years of our lives with the people that made us see that it is possible and not bad to walk out of grand palaces.”
“A duke in hell?” Henry furrows his eyebrows but there is a small tugging on the corner of his lips. “Were you also a part of a royal family?”
Crowley takes in a deep breath. “Yeah, I was. Never grew fond of it.”
Henry smiles, emphatically. “I feel like I share the same sentiment.”
“You’re free to feel anything, Henry. Oh, can I call you by name or should I—“
“Henry is much preferable,” he reassures him.
“Alright.”
The pairs went to their own paths after dinner. At the bookshop, Crowley takes off his sunglasses before showing Aziraphale what he made at the art show, then he groans on seeing what Aziraphale made.
“Fuck off,” he blurts as he remembers how to speak after seeing how breathtaking the painting of the sunrise Aziraphale made. “There’s no way you managed to do that. You miracled it, didn’t you?”
“No,” Aziraphale shakes his head while the fond smile never leaves his lips since seeing Crowley’s face. “I certainly did not use any miracle. I made it for you and I was hoping you would recognize it.”
“What the clouds?”
“No. Your creation.”
And that is when Aziraphale removes the invisible cloak he put on the painting. The cloak unravels a beautiful painting of the cosmos, the stars, the novas that Crowley created. There are tears threatening to fall from the corners of his eyes.
“You painted this…for me? You remember what it looked like?”
“Of course,” Aziraphale says, voice trembling by the well of emotions in his chest. “It is when I met you too. And I knew that at that point, something ineffable had happened.”
Crowley lifts his head, looking directly into Aziraphale’s eyes. “Oh, angel,” he sighs, breathlessly.
At their apartment on Baker’s street, Alex and Henry have presented to each other their artworks. Alex is awed and shellshocked on what Henry made. Henry is choking up on his emotions on seeing Alex’s. And then before laying under the covers of their bed, Alex pulls Henry up on a sitting position by the end of the bed.
“Mr Fell taught me this magic trick and you will be my very first audience.”
Henry chuckles, endearingly. “Of course, because I will not be allowed to boo you when it fails,” he teases, earning a playful slap on the thigh.
“Shut up, your majesty.” Henry is about to tease him more but he puts a finger on Henry’s lip then puts on his serious face. “I’m serious. I’ve been wanting to learn how to do magic since I watched a biopic of Harry Houdini.”
“Alright,” Henry mumbles through Alex’s finger.
Alex retracts his finger, takes a deep breath then he pulls out a coin from his pocket. He does all the hand moves that Mr Fell taught him. On the last part, which is the pivotal one, he starts to get nervous as he tells himself that should not ruin the surprise ending of the trick. He did it.
“Where’s the coin?” He asks Henry, showing his empty hands on your majesty’s face.
“I do not know,” Henry says, feeling deep inside a childish giddiness that is nostalgic for the time his father brought him to a carnival and watched the magical show. And now, Alex is the one causing the giddiness. “Where is the coin, Alex?”
“I have no clue. But how about we check your pockets.” With that Alex pulls him up then checks the pockets whilst tickling him, eliciting a chaotic laughter echoing on the four walls.
When they both pause to take a breath from laughing, Alex looks into Henry’s eye, finding himself getting pulled into slotting his lips into Henry’s. Then, after it, he runs his hand on Henry’s right ear, pulling off the last part of the magic trick smoothly.
“Found it,” he mumbles on top of Henry’s lips.
“Yeah?” Henry is about to tease him that he knew where Alex hid the coin all along but what he Alex pulled from behind his ear is not a coin. His breath hitched, while Alex chuckled softly.
“Did you like it?” Alex asks as he shows a gold ring with a blue diamond that has the similar glimmer as Henry’s eyes under the light.
“Are—I—It’s beautiful, Alex. Well done with the trick. Wow.”
“Actually, I was planning on giving it to you in the traditional way, but then I remember that we’re more into nontraditional methods.”
They share a soft laugh.
“Want me to put it on you?”
“Is that your nontraditional way of asking me to marry you?”
“Perhaps, but no. I’ll try something nontraditional and something that will create a pivotal part of the history of our lives.”
Henry smiles. “History, huh? Bet we can make some.”
Alex then slides the ring into Henry’s finger, and then lets himself lean forward to let his forehead touch Henry’s.
“I love you,” Henry says.
“I love you more,” Alex says back, cheekily but honestly.
“That is up for debate.”
“Luckily, I’m the president of the debate club.”
Henry laughs then pulls Alex in an embrace, then Alex wraps his arms around him too, letting the gesture speak how much they love each other without the need to debate about it.