Chapter Text
Aziraphale, a man that had firmly entered his forties, gave an unreservedly happy wiggle in his rather plush armchair as he sank down with a contented sigh. This was his favourite part of the morning, how could it not be? He had an impeccably brewed cup of tea, only the finest Earl Grey for him, and in his hands was what could only be described as a laptop, though the man currently in possession of the device referred to it as a portable personal computer. He refused to use modern lingo that was so prosaic to be derivative.
His acquaintances, and even dearest friends would be startled to learn that something as technologically advanced as a laptop could spark joy in someone as staunchly outdated as Aziraphale was. But it was not the device that gave him a gleeful smile, but rather what he could do with it. Not watch adult entertainment videos thank you very much, he had enough literature for that sort of thing; rather he could communicate via electronic mail to someone that had in a short time become rather dear to him. A pen friend by the name of Anthony.
Aziraphale’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of this dear man. He reassured himself that it could not be classed as infidelity, as he found himself doing so time and time again, his friendship with Anthony was purely platonic. Though that did not explain just why he felt the need for Gabriel, his sort of partner, to set off for work before he even dared to retrieve the device from its hiding place. Never mind loading the thing up.
You’ve Got Mail. The device announced grandly with a little number one in the corner of the envelope icon. Aziraphale’s hands shook, almost enough to spill his precious tea, as he used his enlarged cursor to click. Could it be? Could it be from Anthony? He dared to hope that it was.
His hope was not in vain. The sender was from snakelover and the subject line said Blasted plants. He had to bite his lip to hold in his chuckle, his body filling with warmth. Anthony certainly enjoyed ranting about his frankly stunning greenery, Aziraphale couldn’t see what the matter was, but he certainly understood the need for perfectionism. He could be like that in the upkeep of his books. With a sharply drawn breath, he clicked on the message, eager to devour his friend’s words and recounting of his shenanigans.
Dear Angel,
I hope you don’t mind your new nickname. Your last story of how you offered your umbrella to the schoolgirl when it was positively chucking it down had me thinking you must be a divine presence in disguise, doing good deeds through the city of London. Either that or a saint. But I reckon saints are a little boring, so I’m going to think of you as an Angel filled with ethereal goodness.
My day has been a little hellish. Endless bureaucracy and stuffy meetings filled with incompetence and lack of imagination. The only good part was seeing that I had a message from you.
Oh I did entertain myself a little, caused a spot of mischief on my lunch break when I was finally let out for ‘bad’ behaviour. Nothing too heinous. Though I’m sure I can picture your righteous squawk of disapproval. I have to balance your goodness though don’t I? World wouldn’t be right if it was all sunshine and rainbows. Okay fine, I glued a coin to the floor. Not that bad really in the grand scheme of things? More of a prank if anything. Was pretty hilarious watching people getting frustrated trying to pick it up, over and over again. I wish I had filmed it Angel. Then I could show you it if we ever did meet..
When I’m not being tortured by the spawns of hell that are my colleagues, I’ve been helping this Dracaena trifasciata shape up. See the attached picture. Honestly, no matter how many times I give it my best motivational speech, it still has the audacity to get yellow spots. I despair! I’d ask you for gardening advice Angel but I’ve seen that image of the potted rose you sent me. A green thumb you do not have, I’m afraid.
Anyway, I best dash. Mischief to make and carnage to cause.
Hope to hear from you soon,
Anthony
By the time he had finished reading the message, and rereading it several times for good measure, Aziraphale was beaming with a smile so blinding it rivalled the sun. He’d never met this Anthony fellow, and yet he was so impossibly fond. If only he could meet him in person, but that was a dangerous thought. Anthony would likely be dismayed by his appearance, he had been eating far too many biscuits according to Gabriel. Anthony might look at him and be disappointed with his stuffy, outdated clothes and want nothing to do with him, Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to cope with that. No it was much better than the communicate via this handy little device. Platonically of course.
A glance at his antique and ornate clock that stood impressively on his mantelpiece told him that he did not have that long before it was time to open up his store, his employees counted on him after all. But he definitely didn’t want to leave Anthony waiting, a little message would have to do.
Most of the time he wished that the world still used pen and paper, better yet quills and ink to really get into the aesthetic, but then he reminded himself that he would be waiting for a reply from Anthony longer if that was the case. It was worth the sacrifice to be able to communicate as easily. Aziraphale placed his gold rimmed glasses firmly onto the ridge of his nose from where they had fallen forward and typed.
My dear boy,
I’m afraid you are mistaken. I am no angel. I merely provided the girl with my umbrella so that her school work wouldn’t get drenched in that frankly dreadful downpour. I was certainly not motivated by altruism, her books would have been quite ruined if the rain had gotten to them. You know how I feel about books being damaged.
So you are mistaken, but I do not take offence to your mistake. It is quite flattering to be referred to as an angel, even if it has been done so erroneously.
I am dismayed to hear that your work has been so unfulfilling. I find myself unable to bear the thought of these corporate jobs, you have my strongest sympathies. Perhaps you could find an occupation better suited to your talents my dear. I am rather fortunate in that my work fills me with such joy. Though nothing fills me with quite so much happiness as hearing from you too my dear friend. I am eternally grateful my rather persistent colleague insisted that I used this portable personal computer- you know my thoughts quite intimately on such technology- and join that pen pal site. I’m not much one to believe in fate or happenstance, we make our own choices after all, but I shudder to even consider an alternative universe where I didn’t stumble across your profile.
Oh dear, I’ve quite run on. I hope you don’t find my enthusiasm too off putting. I am rather in a buoyant mood, nothing quite lifts you up as much as a crisp autumn morning, filled with the promise of cosy sweaters, hot cocoa and a good book to read in the chill of the evening. It is truly a magical season, perhaps my favourite of all, when walking through the parks of London, leaves crunching deliciously under foot.
I do not squawk! I thought I was an angel, but now you are describing me as some kind of undignified seagull. I must applaud you on your despicably fiendish ploy, you truly are the scourge of humanity gluing coins to the floor. Does your evil have no bounds? Well, I must take it upon myself to thwart you, and perform as good deeds as I can to restore balance in the universe. It is the properly angelic thing to do after all.
I shall start by complimenting your beautiful plant. I see no spots upon its stunning green leaves my dear, perhaps you are imagining them? I wish I could hear your motivational speech, maybe then could I actually find the will to abstain from the plethora of food, or gross matter as someone I know calls it. I shall endeavour to ignore your little dig at my horticultural skills my dear, as I fear you are sadly correct.
I shall end this letter on one note and it is this. I’m beyond grateful for every missive I receive from you my dear Anthony. If strangers and errant passers-by notice an extra skip in my step today, know that it was all because of one reason and one reason only; I had mail, from you.
Yours truly,
Ezra
Aziraphale watched his letter swoop from his outbox with a satisfying swoosh, as much as it truly pained him to admit it, he did rather like that bit. He especially appreciated the fact that Anthony would receive his response quickly and thus may be persuaded to reply sooner rather than later. For now, Aziraphale had work to do, his bookshop wouldn’t run itself and so he strolled into the bracing chill that was a London morning in October. He did indeed have a skip in his step, and of course it was all due to his message from his dear friend Anthony.