Chapter Text
Early days of november, 1985.
Aziraphale took a last sip of his cocoa, then set the white winged cup on his desk next to his reading spectacles. Giving a contented sigh, he rose from his armchair and looked out of the bookshop window.
It was a cool autumn morning. A few hours had passed since the sun had risen above the horizon, and the sunbeams bathed the buildings and filtered through the windows of the bookshop. With the shop's erratic opening hours, Aziraphale hadn't bothered to open the doors to the public yet, so he considered going for a walk to St. James's Park to get some fresh air and clear his mind. I don't see why would it be a bad idea, he thought to himself, then headed to grab his coat from the rack, he put it on and mentally prepared to embark on his little adventure.
When he got to the threshold of the bookshop, he took one last glance into the shop and then proceeded to lock the doors, turning the sign at the entrance to say “very closed.”
On the streets of Soho, a block away from the bus stop, Aziraphale ran into a little golden-haired girl who was walking hand in hand with her mother.
“Good morning, Mr. Fell!” exclaimed 7-year-old Maggie, whose face was adorned with a smile.
“Good morning to you, dear Maggie!” Aziraphale beamed. “And to you, dear Nancy, what a pleasure meeting you here!”
“Likewise, Mr. Fell! Funnily enough, we were just on our way to your shop, Maggie was really excited to show you something she made for you. Show him, darling!”
“Oh, really? I feel very humbled!” Aziraphale said, with both hands on his chest.
Carefully, Maggie took a small white origami bird out of her pocket, which was adorned with a yellow ribbon on its neck.
“It's a little bird, Mr. Fell, and it has a little bowtie just like you!”
Aziraphale felt as if his heart expanded inside his chest. He slowly knelt before the girl and delicately took the paper bird by covering her tiny hands with his own.
“Oh, dear Maggie, this is absolutely lovely, you're too sweet… I'm so deeply grateful!” Aziraphale said, cheeks slightly flushed, a warm smile on his face.
Little Maggie smiled, and jumped into Aziraphale's welcoming arms in a warm embrace. Nancy smiled at the heartwarming scene.
“A few days ago I gifted Maggie a japanese origami magazine and she hasn't stopped making them, she also wouldn't stop insisting that I bring her over to give you one of her creations.”
Slowly, Aziraphale unwrapped his arms from Maggie and she smiled at him lovingly. She then turned around and took her mother's hand again. Aziraphale sighed and stood up, although with a little difficulty. “Ah, this ancient body,” he chuckled to himself and shook the dust off his knees. “Once again, thank you, dear Maggie for such a thoughtful present, from the bottom of my heart. I will place this in a very special spot in my bookshop...” said Aziraphale, lovingly glancing down the paper bird in his hands.
“It's nothing, Mr. Fell, you're an angel to us, and always have been. My father is eternally grateful that he gets to keep the old record shop he inherited from my grandfather, it's truly an invaluable treasure to our family.”
“Oh, dear Nancy, nothing of the sort, I'm just a simple landlord!” Aziraphale blushed.
“Mom, can we go see grandad?,” asked the little girl, slowly tugging at her mother's jacket.
“Of course, darling! Have yourself a nice day, Mr. Fell, and thank you for everything once again!”
“To you, dear Nancy, and to you, little Maggie, I'll always treasure this lovely gesture, I now have a new friend!” Aziraphale smiled at the girl, who smiled back at him enthusiastically. “Good bye!”
“Good bye!” they both said in unison, and headed in opposite direction to Aziraphale, to the record shop situated right next to the bookshop.
Smiling, Aziraphale watched them go for a few moments and sighed deeply. Once again, he looked down at the paper bird elegantly decorated with a yellow ribbon, while gently caressing its texture. The color alone brought a person to his mind.
Yellow… Just like Crowley's eyes.
Although it had only been a few weeks since he had last seen him, he missed his company rather greatly. His bosses must be keeping him quite busy, he thought. He sighed again, and carefully slid the paper bird into his pocket. Miraculously, it ended up strategically placed in a corner of his desk where he would always look at it.
Upon arriving at the bus stop and taking the first one that pulled over, although it indicated a totally different destination, it'd still head towards Buckingham Palace anyway. Along the way, a certain demon kept taking over his thoughts, and he couldn't help but wonder where he was right now.
When he arrived at the Westminster station, he paid the driver a generous amount of money, softly whispering “Blessings be upon you, good man,” and got off the bus. He shook his coat and straightened his tartan bowtie, then headed towards St. James's Park which was just a couple of blocks away from his spot.
Once he got there, he walked along the path that surrounded the lake, passing along benches occupied by people reading the newspaper or simply admiring the view, children were running and playing around, some couples were holding hands, exchanging loving glances, and others were standing by the lake, feeding the ducks.
Aziraphale took a deep breath in an attempt to take in as much oxygen as his human body allowed him, seizing the moment.
He then decided to get even closer to the lake, and with a miracle, pieces of bread materialized in the palm of his left hand he would feed the ducks with.
One more time, he thought of Crowley, and how much he wished he was there with him to share this little, quiet moment. His chest began to feel a little heavy, but right before he threw the first pieces of bread into the water, a familiar presence manifested right next to him.
“Ducks don't eat bread, angel,” said a serious, masculine voice. Aziraphale turned to look at the figure.
Aziraphale did his best to fight the smile that threatened to spread across his face.
“Crowley! Um, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Aziraphale asked, suddenly uncertain of what to do with his legs.
“Well, what did you expect, I wasn't going to let you feed bread to these innocent ducks, was I?”
Well, certainly not this, he thought to himself. Oh, how he missed his bloody sarcasm. However, he was supposed to answer, but instead, he shamefully looked down at the pieces of bread in his hand.
“Well, what are they supposed to eat, then?” Aziraphale answered, genuinely interested to learn.
“Frozen peas,” Crowley said nonchalantly. “I read it a while ago in a magazine.”
“A magazine?” Aziraphale raised his eyebrows in surprise.
“I have a stack of magazines and books that I occasionally look through in my flat when I get bored and I need some distraction,” Crowley explained.
“Oh. I imagine that you always have plenty of options to distract yourself, perhaps by making the lives of these poor humans more miserable…”
Crowley looked at him.
“Ngk. If you look closely, they already complicate each other's existence, they keep beating me to it. It ain't fun like that.” Crowley turned to the lake again, looking at something in the distance, Aziraphale looked in the same direction in an attempt to identify what he was looking at, although without success.
“Hmm, I see.” Aziraphale remained silent for a moment, looking down at the pieces of bread in his hand once again. Crowley did the same, and with a snap of his fingers, he turned them into frozen peas, sending a chill through Aziraphale's hand at the sudden shift of temperature.
“Go ahead, throw them. Look, there are two ducks waiting expectantly for you.” This time, Aziraphale didn't bother to hide his smile.
With his free hand, he grabbed a few peas, threw them into the lake, and an enthusiastic group of ducks pounced over them with loud splashes and squawks.
Crowley witnessed the show with a satisfied expression on his face, while Aziraphale subtly studied him from head to toe. In the last few years, Crowley would wear his shoulder-length hair with a man bun and a few loose strands over his face. Ray-Ban sunglasses that looked very comfortable with his sharp and captivating features. But, being honest with himself, Aziraphale wished they weren't there obstructing his view.
He wore a black leather jacket with jeans and boots of the same color that contrasted exquisitely with his copper hair, and a silver chain necklace that glinted in the sunlight; furthermore, he also wore a seemingly very expensive watch on his left wrist that only a select group of human beings could even afford to think about acquiring.
“Thank you very much, my dear,” Aziraphale said, and continued to watch him out of the corner of his eye. Crowley put his hands in the pockets of his jacket, turned his body slightly to face the angel, and raised the right corner of his mouth. Aziraphale swallowed.
“However, you still haven't answered my question, Aziraphale said.
“Oh, that's right,” Crowley laughed and continued. “I just came here to ease my mind a bit, although I didn't expect to run into you here. What brings you here? I expected you would be immersed in a book or committed to your good angel deedssss...” Crowley dragged the last 's' teasingly.
Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Oh, same thing, my dear, to breathe a little, admire the view...” Aziraphale looked directly at Crowley, and after a fleeting moment his eyes shot to another point in the landscape.
Crowley made a nonchalant gesture, turning his body towards the lake again.
“Well, I'm not complaining. There is not much to say regarding the last few weeks. Downstairs seems pleased with my performance lately… You know, humans being humans, makes your job a lot easier.”
“Well, at least you can allow yourself to rest, there's something positive about it,” Aziraphale replied. “I haven't heard from you in a while and I was wondering what you were up to, demon.”
Crowley let out a laugh tinged with indignation and irony, turning completely in Aziraphale's direction.
“Well, I'll tell you what I'm up to, alright? How about lunch… at the Ritz? It's just a few steps from here anyway…”
Aziraphale's face lit up and raised his eyebrows in interest. “I see no reason to object to such proposal.”
Both men-shaped beings headed side by side to the Ritz; when they arrived, the place was packed to the rafters, but still there was a table for two waiting for them in the heart of the loud room. A waiter greeted them and guided them to their table. Conversations of all kinds of topics took place while they enjoyed lunch in each other's company.
Aziraphale took his time, meticulously savoring each bite of the crêpes he had ordered for dessert. Meanwhile, Crowley wasn't protesting, he was rather busy enjoying a glass of expensive wine while his eyes rested on Aziraphale, whose face was a true show for the senses. Well, only for Crowley's.
After about fifteen minutes of contented hums and slow blinks that accompanied a thorough tasting session, Aziraphale had left no trace of his crêpes. Part of Crowley lamented the end of the show, but on the other hand he was looking forward to sharing some news with the angel, or rather, an invitation disguised as a suggestion.
“Angel,” Crowley said after taking a sip from his wine glass, setting it down on the table. His expression turned thoughtful. “I had an idea, well, actually I heard something on the radio on the way to the park that seemed... tempting. See what I did there?” Crowley grinned, proud of his rather terrible joke.
Aziraphale glanced at him and rolled his eyes. He wiped the corner of his lips with a white napkin and placed it next to his empty plate, giving then all his attention to Crowley with a warm smile.
“Oh yeah? Tell me, my dear, I’m listening.”
Crowley shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “Well, apparently there's a party in, uh, Kensington. It's a costume party, tomorrow at 10 pm.”
Aziraphale frowned and stared at him.
“Wait, you're not implying that…”
“It's simply a suggestion, angel. Besides, we've been to many in the last few centuries, or did you forget The Arrangement? We've infiltrated in many of them before, like, I don't know, Rome? Greece? There is no difference with how we did it then, and The Arrangement is not even involved this time, and…” Crowley paused.
“And…”
“And there's no one else I want to go with. You know what? Pretend I said anything.” Crowley smiled wryly.
“I will go with you,” Aziraphale said decisively.
Crowley raised his eyebrow and his glasses almost slide off his nose.
“Oh, good, great,” Crowley suddenly didn't know what to do with his hands.
“Actually, I don't know what you'd think. Of course I don't intend to do a magic act again, you know, last time it was a…” Aziraphale grimaced.
“Don't even mention it.” Crowley readjusted his glasses and leaned back into his seat.
“Hey! The costume was really pretty. Get over it, it's been 44 years, my dear.”
“44 years since I almost turned your head into… Ngk” Crowley looked at him over his glasses.
“But it didn't happen, Crowley. Although now I have ruined the surprise.” Aziraphale lamented, but then his expression brightened again. “Do you know what you'll be dressed as?”
“Surprise,” Crowley answered with a smug expression. Aziraphale rolled his eyes again.
On the way to the bookshop, “Save Me” by Queen accompanied Crowley and Aziraphale on their brief trip in the Bentley from St. James's Park to Soho. Of course, a lot of time was saved by Crowley's distinguished way of driving.
The Bentley came to a halt in the corner of A.Z. FELL and Co. Aziraphale sighed deeply and waited for Crowley to unlock the doors before getting out of the car.
“So, tomorrow night at 9, then,” Crowley concluded, but it sounded more like a question.
“Yes, fantastic, my dear,” Aziraphale said, nervously rubbing his hands. “Thank you again, for lunch... It's been absolutely lovely as always. I…” He paused. “I will be waiting for you tomorrow then,” the angel continued, although an “I missed you” remained burning at the tip of his tongue.
“Alright, then, see you tomorrow, angel,” Crowley avoided looking at him much longer, returning his gaze to the steering wheel and unlocked the doors.
“Yes, sure... Bye, Crowley. Mind how you go, please.”
“Angel…” Crowley sighed. “See you tomorrow.”
Aziraphale got out of the car, stepping onto the sidewalk of the bookshop. He turned again, and with a weary smile, he waved Crowley goodbye, who waved weakly in return. He then pressed on the gas pedal of the Bentley, setting off down Whickber Street and back to Mayfair. Aziraphale sighed, and turned towards the entrance of the shop.
Inside the bookshop, he took off his coat and hung it on the rack that stood next to a temporarily empty bookshelf; a couple of days before he had removed all the books to clean and rearrange them in alphabetical order by author. He decided to finish that pending task, but not before extracting a record from his collection that he would play in his ancient but trusty gramophone to set the mood.
Then the cozy silence of the bookshop was replaced by the melodious voice of Vera Lynn, performing the iconic song “A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square.” Aziraphale rolled up his sleeves and walked towards his desk, where he noticed something familiar: the origami bird with a yellow bowtie that Maggie had gifted him earlier. Aziraphale smiled.
The next day…
A slender naked figure rose from the bathtub of a luxurious, minimalist gray-walled bathroom in a flat in Mayfair, London. Streams of water descended along his body to the floor, forming puddles under his feet. Copper hair shone brightly in the glare of sunlight filtering through a small skylight. Crowley covered his head with a black towel and grabbed a red robe with which he left the bathroom towards his room.
In front of his large queen size bed with gray covers, a full-length mirror that emulated his height stood in the corner of the room. Snapping his fingers, the towel and robe were dry and hanging inside a closet placed opposite the bedroom door. Another snap, and Crowley was dressed in a black suit, a bowtie of the same color, and a white shirt.
After giving it some thought in the morning, he made up his mind about dressing up as James Bond for the party, but thoughtfully looking in the mirror with arms crossed, he realized a shoulder-lenght hair just wouldn’t work out for the occasion, at least if he wanted the costume to be recognizable. A third snap, and his hair was considerably reduced in length, looking impeccably slicked back, inspired by men's hairstyles from the 1950s.
He looked down at his watch, it read 7:28 pm, the sun had hidden below the horizon about an hour ago and he could already feel some anxiety building up in his chest. He had to find something to kill time before leaving for the bookshop.
He considered cleaning up the flat and dusting off the few pieces of furniture he owned, although there weren't that many options. He left the room with a gray feathered duster in hand, walking down the hallway looking for corners he hadn't paid attention to in a while and began brushing the dust particles off their surfaces. He then walked into the room where an old eagle lectern stood up, the same one he rescued from a church reduced to ashes, on that rather intense night in which he saved Aziraphale and his beloved books. He remembered the warm candlelight dinner they shared 44 years ago. Suddenly, it seemed like he could feel the same warmth that enveloped them back then all over again. Nostalgia… He sighed deeply. He continued walking, and a sweet melody emerged from the back of the flat. At least he didn't feel so alone.
Back in the bookshop, an angel hummed happily to the sound of Schubert's Impromptu Op. 90 No. 3, feeling himself in his teal satin starry cape, a black suit, beige vest and white bowtie. On his head an elegant top hat, and a smile on his face that out-shined the sun itself. He felt radiant, and at times it seemed as if he were truly glowing. Even if he wasn't going to do a magic act that night, the world was his stage, and his audience was hundreds of books with endless stories to tell.
He picked up the mirror that lay on his desk and prepared to add the missing element to his costume which consisted of a marker moustache, but to his indignation, his pulse just wouldn't cooperate with him. He tried sitting down, but it was the same fruitless result. Dramatically, he put the mirror and marker aside, looking at them with a bit of disdain.
Rather than continue his show of self-pity, he sighed and carefully took the cup of chamomile tea from his desk, giving it a generous sip and taking in the soft aroma that emanated from it with a soft, contented hum. He looked up at the old clock that stood against the wall of the shop and there were just a few minutes left before the agreed meeting time. Anxiety rose in his chest, and Crowley was all he could think of. He couldn't wait to see him walk through the doors of the bookshop, but he didn't want to give the impression that he had been expectantly waiting for him for the last 30 minutes. Well, 24 hours, actually.
He reached out for the closest book, which contained approximately 400 yellowed pages and a hard, red cover slightly worn at the corners. He shifted in his seat, and pretending to be immersed in his reading, he awaited Crowley's arrival. The wait was not long though, because in a matter of a couple of minutes, he heard the Bentley coming to a halt outside the shop. Aziraphale looked out of the window and smiled, but quickly looked back down to his book again.
Crowley got out of the Bentley and walked into the shop, ringing the entrance bell. He spotted the angel seemingly immersed in his book and cleared his throat. Aziraphale turned and his face lit up.
“Crowley, here you are! Please make yourself at home, dear boy,” Aziraphale said, standing up. His eyes scanned Crowley from head to toe and oh, he looked stunning. The contrast of white with black, that little bowtie, his hair... His hair?
“Your hair, yesterday, uh,” Aziraphale said, raising his hand to his mouth, but stopping halfway.
“Oh, yeah, seemed more fitting for the costume,” said Crowley, vaguely gesturing with his hand to the side of his head. “A small miracle, you know, it's reversible,” he added.
“You look very…” Aziraphale blushed. “What are you dressed up as?” he asked, smiling nervously.
“You’re joking, right?” Crowley gasped. “James Bond! British secret agent, codename 007, doesn't it sound familiar to you?”
“Oh, yes, yes, it came to me now,” Aziraphale replied guiltily. “Ian Fleming’s work, I knew it rang a bell somewhere. I haven't watched the movies, though… You look dashing, my dear.”
Crowley's expression softened. “Ngk.” He waved nonchalantly, while serpentine eyes surveyed Aziraphale up and down.
Crowley thanked someone he had his glasses on because he just couldn't take his eyes off Aziraphale. He wondered how he could be so ridiculously charming and attractive at the same bloody time. Ah, that costume, he thought, so many memories... Funnily enough, just a few hours ago he was reminiscing about that roller-coaster of a night.
“Would you look at that, the return of the acclaimed Mr. Fell the Marvellous!” Crowley exclaimed, making an over-dramatic gesture with his hands, and then plopping down on the couch in front of Aziraphale's desk. Aziraphale huffed, turning his gaze away to hide the sudden flush in his face.
“Of course, my dear, besides, there were no other options, were there?” Aziraphale said, looking at him again, but it was more of a rhetorical question. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Uh, I'm good now,” Crowley paused. “We still have an hour left until the party. Kensington is not far, and believe me, there will be extraordinary amounts of alcohol for you and me.”
“Considering the way you drive, Crowley, I'm certain we'll be there in no time,” Aziraphale replied, in a subtly mocking tone. Crowley rolled his eyes.
Taking off his glasses, he dropped them to the side. His eyes met Aziraphale's, whose heart suddenly pounded in his chest. Ah, there are those gorgeous serpentine eyes I so adore, the angel thought to himself.
“You look good, angel.”
Aziraphale's eyes widened in surprise. “Oh, thank you very much, Crowley dear,” the angel smiled nervously, feeling too self-aware all of a sudden while rubbing his hands to soothe himself. But then, it dawned on him that he was forgetting a very important detail that was missing from his costume: The moustache.
“Gosh, I almost forgot,” Aziraphale turned towards his desk and quickly sat down; With his left hand, he clumsily grabbed the mirror and with the other he picked up the marker and brought it up near his mouth. No point. His hand was shaky and Aziraphale looked rather helpless while Crowley witnessed the scene in a perplexed manner. Aziraphale sighed in defeat.
“What's wrong, angel?” Crowley asked, leaning closer to Aziraphale.
“Nothing, Crowley, it's nothing,” the angel lied, but then retracted. “Well… actually, I can't be Fell the Marvellous without my trademark moustache… can I?”
“Can't you do a miracle…? At least that's what you did last time, or so I think.” Crowley said.
“I did, yes, or maybe not, I can't recall... It's been so long,” Aziraphale shook his head. “I know it's completely silly, but without that element it wouldn't feel the same..."
Crowley sighed deeply and contemplated his options for a moment, pinching the bridge of his nose slightly.
“I'll probably regret asking,” he took the glasses back into his hands and looked at them, avoiding Aziraphale's gaze.
“Uh…” Aziraphale frowned, watching him from behind the mirror.
“Can I... help you with it?” He swallowed hard, and he did regret asking, even though it was too late.
Aziraphale slowly lowered the mirror and marker onto his lap and stared at Crowley.
"Would you…?"
Crowley did not answer, proceeding directly to put on his glasses, sitting up from the couch.
“Give me that,” standing in front of Aziraphale, Crowley extended his hand and Aziraphale timidly handed him the marker.
From his viewpoint, Aziraphale felt small and vulnerable at the feet of the large, slender figure that stood before him. He swallowed hard, and his eyes couldn't help but make a fleeting journey all the way from the tip of his shiny leather shoes and back to his eyes.
“I'll need you to stay still, Aziraphale…” Crowley said, rather terrified and uncertain of his next move, the marker was held between his thumb, index and middle fingers, trembling. He slowly approached his face and held up the marker under the angel's nose. He took a deep breath. At times like this, he was grateful that he didn't need to breathe on his own volition.
Not looking directly at Aziraphale's lips required a supernatural strength that he wasn't entirely sure he possessed. Oh, so soft, partially parted and inviting, he pondered for the briefest moment how they would feel against his own. He felt hot.
Focus, Crowley, he thought to himself.
Despite the glasses, Aziraphale felt the weight of Crowley's gaze on him and cursed that ridiculous layer of glass getting in his way. Aziraphale suddenly felt like all the layers of clothing he had on were too much for him. His legs were a bundle of nerves and he was grateful that he was sitting down, otherwise his legs would have definitely failed him. He didn't remember being this close to Crowley's lips before, and oh, they were captivating.
Crowley's left hand hovered at the side of Aziraphale's face. For a moment, Aziraphale considered pushing everything aside, and just allow himself get carried away. His reasoning flew out of the window, and shakily, he whispered “Go ahead.” Only Aziraphale knew what he really meant by that invitation.
Slowly and with some trepidation, Crowley placed his left hand on Aziraphale's jaw, his thumb resting on his chin. His skin was soft and warm under his touch and the desire to kiss him was unbearable. But resisting his own impulse, he proceeded to take the marker over his philtrum, and began to slowly trace the first wing of his moustache. Aziraphale sighed.
Crowley continued with the other half of the moustache, taking brief pauses to evaluate his work, and sighed in relief that it looked decent enough. They both stared into each other's eyes, waiting for the other's next step.
“Are you done…?” Aziraphale asked softly.
“Uh, y-yeah,” Crowley replied, suddenly snapped out of his mental trance. “Look at it and tell me if it's okay, I'm going to sit down,” he added, and in two strides he collapsed onto the couch. He didn't take off his glasses.
Aziraphale held up the mirror and stared at his reflection, analyzing Crowley's work.
“Oh my dear, it's perfect,” Aziraphale said, a warm expression on his face. "Thank you so much, Crowley." He placed the mirror on his desk and stared at Crowley again.
“Ngk, it's nothing, angel,” Crowley replied distractedly, trying very hard to stabilize his heart rate.
A slightly awkward silence fell between them as they avoided looking directly into each other's eyes, until Aziraphale turned to look at the clock. It was about a quarter to 10.
“Good heavens, my dear, look at the time!” Hurriedly, Aziraphale stood up and took a step in front of Crowley, suddenly unsure of his next course of action. But then, he extended his hand. Crowley frowned at him for a second, and then he took his hand, which sparked a rather pleasant tingling. Aziraphale smiled, and with a firm squeeze he helped Crowley to his feet.
At the threshold of the bookshop, Crowley tapped his foot as he waited while Aziraphale fumbled with his keys; finally, he found the right one and locked the doors of the shop, offering him a sheepish smile as a thank you for his patience. It was a rather humid night and partly cloudy, but it didn’t seem like it would rain anytime soon.
They headed to the Bentley and Crowley opened the passenger door for the angel. Aziraphale gave him a warm smile that wreaked havoc on the dazed demon's head. He got into the car and Crowley walked to the other side to get into the driver's seat. Both doors closed at the same time and the crash made them look at each other for a brief moment.
Crowley put the car in gear and stepped on the accelerator. Normally he would go at a beastly speed, and this time was no exception. However, on occasions like this, he was driving about 20 miles slower than usual.
Only Aziraphale could achieve a miracle of that nature.