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Meeting for drinks wasn’t terribly usual for Aziraphale and Crowley. They preferred the bench, the crowded streets of Soho, even the bookshop. Somehow, the rumblings of a pub made for a much more intimate setting to discuss their latest miracles (or failures). And although they enjoyed each other’s company enough to check in almost every week, actually taking the time to talk was never their strongest suit.
Being supernatural lended itself to leave many things unsaid when the outcome appeared to induce tension, and not feeling much remorse about it. Like it or not, their mission on Earth was far more transcendent than their quarrels, although their frequency made it very difficult to deny that they had become tethered to one another.
However, knowing that they characteristically avoided meeting for anything besides work, Crowley was surprised when Aziraphale suggested they went to a bar in autumn of 1993.
- Why? Is something wrong?
He chuckled on the other line. - I just feel like going.
- Oh, something is definitely wrong then.
- Is it that bad that I want to go out at night for a change?
Crowley grimaced. - Not bad… you’re incapable of being bad. Just unlike you.
Aziraphale was playing with the phone cord when he spoke again. - A group I like has a concert in that venue, so…
- You like a contemporary act?
- They’re quite good!
- Answer the question, angel.
- They are contemporary! I caught them on the radio recently.
- Wow. And to think that you haven’t been hooked on new music since Glenn Miller.
- Not true! I liked Miles Davis for a while…
- Sure, until he came over to our side. Doesn’t count. - Crowley smirked at his phone.
- Are you coming with me or not?
Crowley inhaled a deep breath. - You better not be tricking me to join you during church choir rehearsals again.
- I only did that like three times! And I never meant to invite you.
- I’m hanging up.
✶
Aziraphale was very giddy that night, constantly moving around in his seat as he waited for the show, and his friend. He hadn’t been this excited since he managed to run away from London to attend the premiere of Tchaikovsky’s Pathétique back in the day. That was probably the last time he was utterly moved by a human’s creation –that wasn’t a book. Too bad about what happened to that poor fellow; he always wondered if he was spending a better eternity, although Crowley had warned him not to count on it.
- Um… what’s with the outfit? - was the demon’s greeting as he sat next to him at the bar.
Used to seeing him dressed in an incredibly well tailored cream and taupe ensemble since about 1950, Crowley was shocked when he walked in and realized that Aziraphale was attempting to accommodate to the current trends, which meant that their styles rather matched for the first time in decades.
On top of his classic baby blue button down shirt, the angel was clad in an acid wash denim jacket and gingham pants in shades of light yellow, brown and blue.
Aziraphale beamed. - D’you like it? It’s not what I’m used to, but I didn’t want to stand out!
- I mean… those colors are still…
- What?
Crowley scratched his head to find the right words. - You are in the middle of a crowd that’s mostly dressed in black. You realize that?
- Well… darkness doesn’t really suit me, unless we’re talking about a tuxedo, of course. And that wouldn’t help me to fit in either, now would it?
After a small eyeroll and asking the barman for a whiskey, he continued cross-examining his friend.
- Did you miracle the clothes?
- You know that’s not my thing. I went thrifting!
- Really?
- Yes! I only had to speed up the washing process. It still took too long - Aziraphale pouted.
- All that trouble just to see some blokes play music?
The angel shrugged. - I was also seeing you.
Crowley nearly choked on his drink, but pretended to be okay. - What did you order?
- Manhattan, but I’m already done.
- Want any more?
- Please - The demon requested it straight away.
- So… what are they like?
Aziraphale smiled again. - The singer sounds pained, but the lyrics are very touching. I’m… not quite sure if I can relate to what they say… but it’s very poetic! And I like the guitar– uh– sound.
Crowley remembered that the bouncer had handed him a small brochure on the band, Suede. Pulling it out of his trusty leather jacket’s pocket, the information displayed made even less sense with Aziraphale’s sudden interest.
- Are you sure you know who is playing?
His distrust was met with a pointed look from the angel. - Didn’t I invite you ?
- Fair, but… I’m having a hard time believing that you like this kind of music - he shoved the pamphlet on his friend’s face.
Aziraphale blushed for maybe two seconds. - Why wouldn’t I?
- I mean, I’m immensely appealed, but if anything, that tells you that this is more my kind of scene than yours.
- Well, it appeals to me too. So I guess it’s our scene.
Crowley took another sip of whisky, suddenly very uncomfortable with this get-together. So naturally, he pivoted to changing the subject.
- Did uh… did you want to inform me of any good deeds you’re planning before the concert?
- Not really. This isn’t a work meeting - Aziraphale’s eyes shifted nonetheless. - Do you have anything to declare?
- Well… I might have influenced an angel I know to enjoy sinful music, but my involvement in that isn’t too clear.
Aziraphale ignored the comment. - Let’s just talk.
- About?
- Anything that fits within the next… 10 minutes without live music - he proposed after glancing at the pocket watch he usually kept in his vest, now hidden in his new pants.
- Uh… um… I don’t–
- How about this: what have you listened to lately?
- I haven’t had time to play anything new. Politics have kept me busy.
- Right. Things are going too well on that front. Uh-oh! - Aziraphale giggled somewhat mockingly.
Crowley wasn’t fazed by this. It was routine. - At least the boss doesn’t care too much. - And truth be told, neither did he.
- How about last month? What did you listen to then?
- Er… well… I liked an electronic tune… it’s not really your type…
- How come?
- Maybe I could play it now. You would figure it out. Wait a minute.
Crowley walked towards the jukebox –one of those boxy, dark gray modern ones that he’d despised ever since they were invented– to try and find the song that popped up in his mind. Once the artist appeared, embarrassment crept up his spine, and not because he thought Aziraphale wouldn’t like it. Even if that were the case, he was far too sweet to give him a hard time. It’s just that maybe the particular crowd that was waiting for the show would chastise him.
- What’s taking you so long? - the angel had joined him, standing near his right shoulder, as per usual.
- I– er– it’s not here, unfortunately. I can bring the tape to the shop tomorrow, if you like.
Aziraphale showed no reaction. - I don’t have a cassette player.
- Well, I’ll bring that too. Happy?
- No, but the recital’s about to begin, at last! - he grabbed his friend excitedly and pushed him into the mass of people that surrounded the stage.
- Did you finish your drink?
But Crowley didn’t get a reply, because the band finally came out, all dressed in black -much like himself- and wearing impeccably disheveled long dark hair –except for the drummer, whose haircut made him resemble a little schoolboy. Barely saying hello to the audience, the lead singer started wailing along to some distorted guitar chords.
That was when the demon thought that, being his first time in over a hundred years hearing live music, Aziraphale might be very sensitive to the blaring of the speakers. However, when he turned to look at his friend, he seemed entranced by the spectacle, as if he’d never seen anything like it. And granted, that was true, but not even the Beatles phenomena had impressed him when it came about.
- Everything good?
- Oh yes! It’s a bit loud, but I can handle it.
That was all it took for Crowley to miracle some earplugs for the entire audience. It was harmless enough that his supervisors downstairs wouldn’t scold him for it. Plus, he was protecting the hearing of secular music lovers, didn’t that count as a hellish action?
- What do you think?
The demon hadn’t been paying attention. - They’re no Queen, but they’re alright.
- He’s wonderful!
He raised an eyebrow. - Who is?
- The singer! Don’t you think?
- … I guess.
So that was the reason Aziraphale was so eager to come out to a bar? Because he thought a human –of all things– was good-looking? He could do that any day of the week without paying the price of admission. People-watching was free!
- So you like him - Crowley wasn’t asking.
- Oh Crowley, don’t be silly. Is it a crime to say someone is handsome?
- The thing is you never do that–
- This is my favorite part!
Crowley patiently waited until the first song was over, as to not interrupt the angel’s enthusiasm with his questioning. Or not too much, at least.
- You do know what they’re referencing, right? - Aziraphale shot him a somewhat irritated look. - Heroin. The song is about addiction.
For a beat, the angel’s expression shifted uncomfortably. -... Of course I knew that! That doesn’t mean I support drug use…
- Of course you don’t.
- Why are you being so judgemental tonight? - Now he was outright indignant.
Crowley scoffed and mumbled his reply, despite the noise. - You’re one to talk.
Aziraphale rolled his eyes. - You’re welcome to leave, if you want to.
- There is no way in Hell I’m leaving you with… - the demon trailed off in spite of his anger. A voice in the back of his mind laughed at him for being so close to admitting he felt even the slightest hint of jealousy because of a mortal.
The subtle, slow piano coming from the stage interrupted his train of thought, since the ballad one of the band members had begun to play couldn’t sound more different than the previous tune.
- This song made me think of you - Aziraphale said simply, the audience so quiet that Crowley believed they all heard him.
The demon froze, and part of him felt that his reaction had stopped time altogether. It wouldn’t have been the first occasion in which the angel’s honesty had shook him to the point that he lost control of his powers.
Far away
we’ll go far away
and flog ice creams
til the company’s on its knees…
- Your eyes are always on the exits - Aziraphale replied to a question that hadn’t been posed.
Crowley sighed. - When the shit hits the fan, that will be the only choice.
- I know that’s what you believe.
- And you disagree.
Aziraphale hesitated. Even for a somewhat rebellious angel like him, going against Heaven’s plan for the inevitable end of the world in any way was a tricky idea. Nevermind the fact that losing the Earth inevitably meant to lose Crowley in the process. And that being a problem in itself was even harder to digest.
Because even after agreeing to stay out of each other’s way about 6.000 years ago, they never came to acknowledge that, ultimately, they had become friends. Because it was too complicated to be anything but diehard allies, the ones that would always be there to lend a hand when their respective head offices wouldn’t pay them any mind.
In truth, they only had each other. They were bonded for however long they might be on this planet. But they both had a feeling that saying the quiet part out loud would cause their relationship to cease to exist.
- Leaving would cause a lot of trouble with the higher ups - was what Aziraphale argued instead.
- Angel… - his non-confrontational answer meant to avoid exactly the upset tone Crowley was using, the one that he’d always put on when he felt a blow.
See you
in your next life
when we’ll fly away
for good
✶
Crowley showed up at the bookshop unannounced the next morning. He’d never been an early riser –and sleeping through an entire day was a brilliant way of avoiding conflict–, but there was so much he needed to get off his chest since Aziraphale and him parted ways mere hours before, that taking immediate action seemed like the way to go.
- I brought the tape - he announced as he burst inside, albeit staying by the door.
But his friend wasn’t where he expected him to be: sitting at his desk, looking through old documents or the doodles he frequented to make in his spare time, as the sun reflected on his platinum blonde hair.
- Angel?
- Crowley? I’m getting dressed.
The demon blushed and nodded as if Aziraphale could see him. He made a mental note to stop hanging out with humans for a week or two. That would definitely help.
Aziraphale appeared a few minutes later, obligatory cup of tea already in hand as he stood near his desk. - You’re inexplicably early.
- Or maybe you took too long to get ready.
The angel's eyes shifted, but he still smiled. - I think it’s the former. Let me guess: the hangover didn’t let you sleep?
- We drank the same amount! And we can miracle ourselves out of a hangover, need I remind you.
Aziraphale took a sip. - Just as well… Then why are you here?
- I– brought the tape. Remember? - Crowley showed him the orange cassette and the boombox they’d need to play it.
- Oh, right. I just didn’t think you would barge in at this hour for a song–
- I had to. It– this one reminds me of you.
Aziraphale’s cup trembled in his hand, but they both decided to ignore it.
- Does it now? - he asked, attempting to school his expression.
- Yup.
The angel finally sat down at the desk, his back to the demon. - Will you play it then?
Crowley joined Aziraphale, placing his sunglasses and the device on the table carefully, given the ungodly amount of books and loose papers on the surface.
- You know, it’s not a sin to throw stuff away every once in a while. Think of it as making space for new things.
The angel wouldn’t meet his eye nor jab back. - Can we not talk about sins right now?
The demon was taken aback, but he obliged, like he always did. Yet as he rewound the tape, it occurred to him…
- Do you want to hear the whole album or…?
Aziraphale seemed to have spaced out. - I… just the piece you wanted to show me is fine.
Crowley’s irregular heartbeat was betraying his nonchalant exterior, and he knew all too well that the angel could sense it. So he focused on rewinding the cassette, because the tune that had been gnawing at his insides since he first encountered it had to be played perfectly.
As the sleek instrumental filled the silence, Aziraphale became increasingly nervous, so much so that he decided to make small talk to pull himself out of that state.
- That’s an unusual group name - he commented, pointing at the top of the case, which stated that this album was recorded by the Pet Shop Boys.
- It’s only two lads - Crowley replied quietly.
- I see… and since when–
- Do I like them? I dunno… I caught them on telly years ago… er… - the demon stopped once he knew the lyrics would begin.
We’ve been around forever
look at us now together
ordering drinks at the bar
That sounds awfully familiar , was Aziraphale’s immediate thought, but he’d never dare to admit it. That would tear apart the seal that had been keeping them at an appropriate distance for as long as he could remember. Enough distance as to not ruffle any feathers in general.
But he’d be lying if he said that he hadn’t expected that very thing to happen the night before. Instead, once the show ended, Crowley had driven him home and barely said goodbye, looking frazzled on his way out of the shop.
To speak is a sin
you look first, then stare
and once in a while
a smile, if you dare
The words in the song stung in a way that Aziraphale couldn’t place right away. He wondered if Crowley had felt this way when he ambushed him with his own feelings during the concert. But that wasn’t the only thing that tugged at him. The fact that he was hearing his friend’s thoughts via someone else’s voice was…
- It’s not fair - Aziraphale spouted once the song was over. He had finally turned to face Crowley, and looked terribly conflicted.
- What isn’t? - The demon stopped the tape, pretending he didn’t notice the angel’s bitter gaze.
- Is this why you were annoyed last night? Because I wouldn’t tell you outright that–
- But you did. We spoke about it.
- Then why did you say this song reminds you of me?
- Because… well…
- Well? - Aziraphale pushed, his voice quivering despite him trying to sound stern.
- I’m just… terrible at this, aren’t I? - Crowley took a minute to collect himself. - Um… the– I didn't mean to insult you. And I don’t know why you think you did as much last night, but…
Crowley had to stop again, looking down at his shoes and taking a deep breath. Aziraphale’s eyes being glued to him as he tried his best to speak his mind was doing the opposite of helping him to make a good case.
- It– it made me think of you because it describes us… very well. Annoyingly so.
- Why–
- And I– I need it to not be this accurate anymore.
Aziraphale feigned naivete, like he usually did when the truth was hitting him on the face. - I don’t– what do you mean?
- I have to… you have to know that– you’re the only one I care for. In any way.
For once, the angel was lost for words. There was nothing he could say to refute what Crowley was baring in front of him. Fidgeting with the cassette case and looking away was the only thing he was able to do, for a moment.
- What happens now? - were Aziraphale’s strained first words after the confession.
They startled Crowley, but not enough to leave him speechless. - Um… ideally, you’d say how you feel. So I don’t look like an absolute moron.
- Right.
The demon studied the angel’s expression in silence, expecting the worst, as he often did.
- I just… don’t know what else I can say - Aziraphale started, looking at Crowley in the eye after a long time. - I thought it had been written all over my face for– pfff– some hundred years?
- What has?
The angel sighed. - Everything.
- You mean–
- Yes. We’re on the same page, for a change. - A brief chuckle escaped his lips.
Crowley realized then that Aziraphale was beaming in a way that was all too familiar, and completely new at the same time. He’d shown him that smile before, but something had shifted. It was more open, not a hint of restraint or fear behind his starry eyes.
And so, the demon couldn’t help but smile back, his habitual frown disappearing for the first time in maybe decades.
- I know things will be complicated–
Aziraphale shushed him with his index finger. - We can manage complicated, I reckon.
Crowley could barely handle the touch. - W-we can?
- We’ve gone through worse. And we’re usually out of sight anyway…
- It’s not like I want to hide but–
- We won’t. Necessarily. We’ll meet in secret, like we do already. We’ll just… not talk about work that often.
Crowley found that to be a little too good to be true. - Are you really suggesting–
- Don’t tell me you’re not planning on taking me out on dates? At least for a picnic!
- I– I am– no! I mean– of course I will–
Aziraphale giggled. - Look at us. It took us more than a thousand years to come to terms with… this… and we’re already bickering.
- It is what we do best, to be frank - Crowley grinned.
- I just imagined it would be a lot more romantic!
Crowley unsuccessfully argued that whenever he looked back on any conversation he and Aziraphale had –seriously, any at all–, he’d think it was quite romantic. At least in sentiment. Deep, deep down. Some people say that to this day, they’re still debating the topic.