Chapter Text
Crowley leaned against the back wall of the band hall and took one last drag from her cigarette. She held the stinging heat in her lungs, letting it warm her from the inside, while she rubbed the glowing tip against the bottom of her shoe. Satisfied that she’d extinguished the half-finished smoke, she tucked the remainder of it back into the pack. There was the barest hint of color and shine where her lips had touched the orange filter. She smiled at the sight, and allowed the joy of that small rebellion to push the cloud of gray out of her body and into the winter air.
Crowley stashed the scrunched paper and cellophane pack in an interior pocket of her book bag, then fished for the lipgloss she also kept hidden there. It was a common brand with an innocuous, medicinal-sounding name sold in the pharmacy section of the local drug store. But, the sheer red tint and scent of cherries made Crowley feel like she was slicking on one of the lipsticks from the forbidden makeup department. She uncapped the plastic tube and twisted the bottom to reveal enough of the gloss to cover her lips. She didn’t get a chance to apply any, though.
A tall boy in a long, tan coat appeared in her peripheral vision. He’d come from the courtyard around the side of the building, but had moved so quietly that Crowley hadn’t heard his footsteps. He leaned his shoulder against the building’s corner, facing Crowley and towering over her slender frame.
“Thought I smelled smoke. You got one for your best friend in all the world?” Hastur’s voice was deep for a teenager, and held a sneer of sarcasm. A mop of scraggly blonde hair sat above large, black eyes. He was intimidating without needing to put any effort into it, but Crowley was used to him. He’d bummed more cigarettes off her than she could remember, and never had any on him to share when she was running low.
“I just had my last. Sorry, man.” Crowley lied. Hastur squinted at her, obviously trying to decide if she was telling the truth or not. Crowley just stared back, glad for the sunglasses that hid her expression. They were perfectly round, and displayed a holographic pair of dark golden snake eyes on the lenses. She’d bought them from a booth at a street festival about a year ago, and had worn them every day since. Hastur gave a dismissive huff, then leaned back so he could peek over his shoulder into the school’s courtyard. He made a quick nod with his head like he was beckoning someone over.
“I found him.” He’d pitched his voice to be heard, but not loud enough to attract the attention of the teacher on watch. Crowley took the opportunity to slip on a coat of gloss while Hastur was looking away. She wasn’t quite fast enough, though. Two more of Crowley’s classmates ambled up before she could hide the capped tube in her bag.
“Why do you use that girly shit? You know they make this stuff for dudes, too.” The one in the brown pleather jacket crinkled his face in disgust. The boy whipped his hand out fast enough to snatch the lip gloss from Crowley’s grasp. For a split second he reminded her of one of those lizards that could shoot their tongue like three feet to catch a bug. The unexpected action startled Crowley, which translated into anger.
Crowley smacked her lips together, noisily spreading the gloss. She grinned, exposing her teeth. Thanks to a lack of braces, her canines were crowded just enough for the points of them to dip down over the top of her lower lip. She pushed off the wall, leaning into the boy’s personal space. Her voice was low when she addressed him.
“If you wanted to try it, all you had to do was ask. No need to get so aggro.” It probably wasn’t a good idea to provoke him. This boy was shorter than Hastur or Crowley, but stocky and strong. He was the second person to get on her nerves today, though, and the first bell hadn’t even rung. Crowley raised an eyebrow and waited for his reaction. His look of disgust went through confusion and into shock. He shoved the tube back at Crowley and let it go. She caught it before it could fall to the ground.
“Ugh, as if. I don’t want to smell like some fuckin’ f-”
“That’s enough, Ligur.” Bee’s exasperated voice cut off the unfinished slur. “It’s just medicine for chapped lips. Anyone can use it. Stop being such a dickwad.” The girl at Ligur’s elbow was smaller than any of them, but her presence demanded Hastur and Ligur’s respect. She wore an oddly formal black blazer over a white shirt. Pale foundation didn’t really hide the acne scars on her left cheek, but the dark eye shadow and wispy black shag haircut made for a striking appearance. Crowley hadn’t figured out how, but Bee had trained the other two to treat her like she was their little goth princess. The dynamic tended to go in Crowley’s favor more often than not, so she didn’t question it.
"I brought the Walkman. You got the tape?" Bee produced a small tape player from her jacket. She unplugged the headphone wire and dropped it back into the pocket. Crowley reached into her bag, being careful to not let any of the three of them see her hands shake. Ligur’s comment had gotten to her more than she liked. If she let him know that, though, the teasing would only get worse. So, with hands steadied by sheer force of will, she pulled out a cassette. At first glance, the paper cover under the plastic case appeared to be completely black. But as she flipped it open, the subtle embossed image of a coiled snake caught the morning light. Bee pressed a button on the Walkman to open the clear door and held out her hand. Crowley slid the tape out of the case and handed it over.
“You haven’t listened to it yet?” Hastur asked over the clacking sounds of Bee loading the tape and shutting the door. Crowley rolled her eyes and shook her head.
“I swiped it from Luci’s car this morning. I haven’t had time to.” Hastur nodded his approval. The album had been out for months, but none of them had been able to get their hands on a copy of it. Bee's dad had managed to steal their neighbor's cable, though. So, they’d all spent way too many hours parked in front of her television just waiting for MTv to play the singles' videos. And when Crowley heard the album blaring from Luci’s Camaro yesterday, she knew that she’d be able to grab it before school. Her older brother was never awake before she left in the morning, and he never locked his car doors. It had been as easy as breathing to take the tape. The only difficult thing had been finding it. Luci’s glove compartment was overflowing with metal albums. As Crowley had dug through the plastic rectangles featuring images of flames and demons, she mused that when she got her own car she’d only keep Metallica in her glove compartment.
Bee hit play on the Walkman. A dark, repetitive guitar sounded out, quickly followed by driving drums. The sound was thin and tinny from the portable stereo’s little speaker. And, they had to keep it quiet so that the teacher didn’t discover them back here. But, the opening riff was still powerful enough to keep Hastur nodding his head. Ligur soon followed, then like falling dominos, Crowley and Bee were also gently headbanging to the beat of “Enter Sandman.”
Tron didn’t bother to wish Aziraphale a good day when he hopped out of the truck. Aziraphale counted himself lucky that his brother had even agreed to drive him to school this year. But, he knew it was only because his mother had ordered it as a condition for buying him the F-150. It most certainly was not because of some sort of familial affection. Tron was class president, debate team leader, and on track for law school after graduation. His dreams culminated at the White House. He did not have time to hang around with a younger brother who always seemed to have his nose buried in some ridiculous paperback novel.
Aziraphale sighed and returned his copy of Courting Catherine to his bag before opening the passenger door. He grabbed the backpack and his trumpet case. He needed to drop off his instrument in the band hall's cubby room before first period, so he set off across the parking lot. Tron had parked in the very far corner, where he and his friends usually gathered before class. That meant that Aziraphale had a clear view of the band hall’s back wall as he made his way onto campus. He didn’t pay much attention to the little group clumped up out of sight of the courtyard. That is, until his eyes caught a flash of red.
Crowley. Aziraphale's breath hitched in his chest, and his feet stopped. Crowley had changed so much since they had last talked. Gone were the mop of floppy curls and easy smile. Instead, dark glasses hid a guarded expression. A long fall of fiery waves contrasted with the faded black jacket and gray scarf he wore against the cold. Aziraphale had watched the transformation from a distance over the past few years, and it had caused a dull ache to bloom in his chest whenever he thought about it.
Aziraphale was caught by a sudden urge to walk over to his old friend. His feet started to move again, making a crunching sound on some loose gravel near the edge of the parking lot. Crowley must have heard because his head stopped nodding, and he slipped his hair behind his ear to be able to see in Aziraphale's direction.
Aziraphale didn't realize he'd waved until his hand was already in the air. His breath started again with a quick intake, and he felt a smile on his face. For a second he thought his silent greeting might be returned. But he must have been mistaken. If he had really seen a look of pleased surprise, it quickly disappeared. He couldn't make out Crowley's eyes behind the glasses, but the meaning of the small shake of Crowley's head was clear. Aziraphale shouldn't say anything like a hello. He shouldn’t join the group behind the band hall. He was not welcome there.
"Ugh, it's fucking freezing out here." Aziraphale could just hear Bee's grumble. She lifted one hand to her mouth, and blew into a loosely closed fist. Hastur and Ligur jumped into action. They both dug lighters out of their pockets and produced little flames for Bee to warm her fingers over.
Aziraphale was shocked to see students with lighters on campus. Surely that was against the rules? Then, the stale scent of cigarettes wafted his way. His heart sunk. There was no way he could let Tron see him hanging out with the type of kids who smoked out back of campus. If his brother squealed to their mother, he'd be grounded forever.
Crowley's attention was snapped back to his friends when Bee handed him the Walkman they'd been listening to. She took advantage of the feeble heat from the two battered Bics, and hadn't noticed that the move had surprised Crowley. Not even having the excuse of holding Crowley's gaze anymore, Aziraphale sighed and looked away. He plastered a fake expression of neutral happiness onto his face. It was silly to feel sad over something that he knew wouldn't have worked out in his favor, but he couldn't help it. He walked on to the band hall's entrance, willing himself to forget the hope that had lived in him for just a few precious moments.
"Did you see that?" Shax elbowed the boy next to her.
"Ow!" Fergus rubbed at the spot on his ribs where her jab had connected. "See what?"
"That rich kid was waving hello to Luci's little brother. I wonder if they're patching things up."
"So what if they are?" Shax rolled her eyes at her … friend wasn't quite the right word.
"Ferg, if you're going to get anywhere in life, you've got to pay attention to these things. Remember, it's not what you know…"
"It's how you use what you know." Fergus finished her sentence in a bored sing-song. He'd heard her spout her philosophy on success more times than he'd care to count. Fortunately, he was saved from hearing it again by the literal bell.
The pair joined the throng of students filing into the various buildings that made up the high school. Only time would tell if anything would come of the little interaction they'd just witnessed.