Archive of Our Own

Aziraphale rolled and stretched out, his hand grasping out for the warm body that normally occupied the space beside it and coming up short. He cracked an eye open and confirmed Crowley was nowhere to be seen and smiled indulgently. The days Crowley was not curled up tightly next to him in their shared bed were few and far between. But they were the days that Crowley would wake up early, get restless, and go out to bring back pastries for Aziraphale to eat. Not in bed though  — not after that one time Crowley had slid in beside him only to be greeted with the crunch of crumbs.

Crowley had formally moved into Aziraphale’s flat almost six months ago now and Aziraphale still could not believe he got to wake up next to him every day; well, almost every day. He unofficially moved in months before that, barely going home to his lonely flat in Twickenham more than once a week to grab some spare clothes. Aziraphale had eventually gently suggested he just move everything in and be done with it.

Crowley had resisted, insisting moving in together barely three months after meeting each other was impulsive and irresponsible. Bea had pointed out that no, telling your boss to go fuck himself was impulsive and irresponsible, moving in with someone you’ve only known three months was just ill-advised. 

Aziraphale had sighed and tabled the conversation for another time. He’d not found the right time though, before another spate of tube strikes happened and Crowley had stomped into work three hours late one morning and declared he was over it.

They’d moved what remained of his belongings into Aziraphale’s flat that weekend and never looked back.

Aziraphale glanced at the clock on the bedside table and frowned, Crowley was normally back by now. He grabbed his phone off the table and unlocked it, no Whatsapp messages or missed calls but his personal email icon was flashing at the top of the screen. He pulled the tab down and stared at it confused for a moment before clicking into the message.

Morning Angel :) meet me at Lilly’s. It’s cold out, don’t forget your scarf and gloves.

• Red

Aziraphale smiled, he had no idea what Crowley was playing at, they hadn’t emailed each for anything other than work for a year now, but he was happy to play along. They had nothing else to do today apart from one late afternoon lecture to introduce the dual course they ran together to a new cohort of students. So if Crowley had plans other than laying in bed, Aziraphale was content to go along with them.

They had quickly become regulars at Lilly’s, returning every Sunday morning for brunch before either returning home to pass their day off in peace and quiet, or, if the weather allowed, a leisurely walk around London. The staff knew them well by now, Crowley had offered up a few tips for keeping their plants in perfect condition and the owner had repaid them by way of making sure a table was always free, tucked away at the back, just for them. The odd pastry ‘Aziraphale must absolutely try and let us know if it’s any good’ that came his way didn’t go amiss either. 

Aziraphale got dressed as quickly as he could, buttoning himself into a multitude of layers he’d previously been uncomfortably aware made him look old and stuffy, even if he was perfectly comfortable in them. Now he only saw them as a way to provoke a reaction from Crowley — who never failed to disappoint in looking at him hungrily. 

“Good morning!” He called out to Anathema as he swept through the shop towards the front door.

“You’re in a good mood,” she observed, smiling.

“Crowley’s waiting for me with pastry,” he rocked on his feet.

She held up a piece of paper, “I know, I got a note, ‘Please yell at him to check his email.’” She read out putting the paper back on the desk, “I assume you have?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes, “of course I did.”

“Aw, shame, I wanted to come upstairs and yell at you,” Anathema pouted.

Aziraphale fixed her with a look, “Do you recall what happened the last time you came upstairs unexpectedly?” He raised an eyebrow.

Anathema shuddered, “it is literally impossible for me to forget what I saw.”

“Hmph. You should have knocked then, you learnt a valuable lesson there.”

Anathema rolled her eyes, “Well, off you go then, wouldn’t want to keep him waiting,” she shooed him out the door. Aziraphale frowned at her off behaviour but grabbed his coat and left anyway, Anathema was a locked box when it came to secrets and Crowley was waiting.

Crowley looked up as the door to the cafe opened, he’d done so everytime it had for the last fifteen minutes. He’d been waiting for Aziraphale coming up for an hour now, he’d known it was going to be a while when he’d snuck out of bed early — Aziraphale was not a morning person. So he’d settled himself down with a book and a coffee content to wait. He’d forgone their usual table, tucked away at the back of the shop, instead sitting at the wobbly little table he’d sat at a year ago today; also waiting anxiously for Aziraphale to walk through the door.

The door dinged again, he looked up and smiled widely, putting the book down and leaning forward to take in the view.

Aziraphale was standing in the doorway, pulling his soft leather gloves off his hands and tucking them into his pockets. He had his pale cream, almost white woollen coat on, the collar wide open showing off the delicious waistcoat and bowtie combination he was wearing. The buttons had been left undone and his bright golden pashmina was slung slightly lopsided around his neck. His cheeks and nose had turned pink in the unusually warm autumn weather and, if the messy fluff of his normally impeccable hair was anything to go by, he’d certainly not sauntered from home to the coffee shop. 

He looked at their usual table and frowned. The barista smiled and waved at him pointing to where Crowley was sitting openly eyeing him, lips curled in an appreciative smile. Aziraphale lit up and Crowley fell in love all over again.

“What’s wrong with the usual table?” Aziraphale asked, confused as he dropped a kiss to Crowley’s upturned face and sat down.

“Prefer the view from here,” he replied, eyeing up Aziraphale who flushed pink.

“Oh stop.”

“Don’t you recognise the table?” He teased, he knew full well Aziraphale was useless at remembering anything without an elaborate system of notes to help. He’d become accustomed to the post it notes all over the study Aziraphale worked from at home, and his habit of commenting on any digital documents they shared for lecturing. 

Aziraphale frowned and shook his head, “of course not my dear, that’s what I have you for.” Aziraphale had stopped being bothered by his failure to recollect things when it became clear Crowley found it endearing, not rude.

“It’s where I first fell in love with you,” Crowley said softly, “well, with Aziraphale of course, I’d been in love with Angel a lot longer by then I reckon.”

“Ohh,” Aziraphale said, voice full of soft affection,  “Of course, this is where we had that first meeting. If I recall It didn’t end particularly well.” He arched an eyebrow at Crowley and thanked the woman who had delivered two pistachio croissants and a large cup of Earl Grey tea to the table.

Crowley shrugged, “fell in love anyway, you walked in the door and smiled at me.”

“If only I would have known you were that easy,” Aziraphale joked, breaking off some of the pastry and placing it in his mouth, humming delightedly as it dissolved into flavour on his tongue.

“That young girl in the kitchen really has outdone herself,” he said happily and Crowley leant on an elbow and stared at him contendly.

Crowley knocked on Bea’s door and strolled in without waiting for an answer.

“Oi.” They called out, “Could have been naked in here.”

Crowley smirked, “seen worse.”

They rolled their eyes, “what are you doing here anyway, don’t you have a stuffy, uptight Professor to tarnish the reputation of?”

Crowley smirked, “is that permission to have sex in the lecture rooms?”

Bea scowled at him, “no, those are still firmly off limits.”

“Not what I heard from Gabriel.” 

Bea threw a pen across the room at him and Crowley ducked grinning.

“Why are you here anyway? Don’t you have a special date planned?”

“Yeah, just needed to come and take a breath I think.” He draped himself over the hard wooden chair Bea chose to keep in their office to dissuade lingering, “I don’t know why I’m nervous.”

Bea shrugged, “it’s a big step, and it’s not been that long since you were at each other's throats and you thought you’d have to go back to Portsmouth with your tail between your legs.”

“Doesn’t feel like a big step, feels…inevitable somehow, like it was meant to be.” He looked away, “I know that sounds dumb,” Crowley mumbled into his lap.

“Yeah, but, you’re kinda dumb, so it fits,” Bea teased back. When Crowley didn’t respond they sighed and leaned forward, “if it feels like that, then why are you nervous, idiot?” They smiled at him, oddly soft for a change.

“What if he doesn’t agree?”

“I have it on good authority he will.”

Crowley snorted, “Anathema is not good authority. She’s as bad a meddling menace as you are, and knowing each other has only made both of you worse.”

“Whatever dude, if you’d listened to either of us you two would have got your shit together a lot sooner.”

Crowley stuck his tongue out childishly before standing up, “you’ll be over later?”

Bea rolled their eyes,“yes! I’ve got my instructions from Ana, go on, fuck off and be disgustingly sweet somewhere else.” They shooed him out of the office and slammed the door behind him.

“Come in,” Aziraphale called out without looking up when he heard the knock on his door. He’d had students coming and going all morning once they’d realised Professor Fell was on campus unusually early, and outside the office hours he was far better at sticking to these days. It had been a bit of an adjustment for the established students, used to their professor being able to be found somewhere on university grounds at almost any hour of the day. But since the clash of all his various worlds came together in the form of one lanky, red headed professor who’d been equally pleased by all the revelations, Aziraphale had found more and more reasons to close his office at a sensible time and head home. Or linger in the mornings and turn up just in time for a lecture. He suspected Gabriel would have more to say about it if the man wasn’t so relieved to unburden himself of Aziraphale onto Crowley.

“What no kiss? I’m hurt,” Crowley’s voice drifted over him and his heart still did that flutter in his chest. 

A white box was placed on his desk, away from all the paperwork scattered across it and Aziraphale forgot about the kiss for a brief second as his face lit up, “Ooo baklava! You do love me!”

Crowley laughed, “yeah that’s your proof, not me moving in or I dunno, repeatedly telling you whilst I take you apart, thru-”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale cut him off and looked up sharply, appalled, “my office door is open .”

Crolwey shrugged, “I think the adults on campus are well aware you’re getting regularly seen to, love.” Crowley waggled an eyebrow, enjoying the scandalised look that passed over Aziraphale’s face, even as his lips failed to entirely hide a smile.

“Still, have some decorum,” Aziraphale’s eyes slid back to the box.

“Before you dig into that, I did actually bring lunch as well, and, since we’re here, I figured we could eat and go over the tweaks to the course for the new semester?”

“Mmm, yes, I’d had some thoughts actually, didn’t want to bring them up at home.”

Crowley’s gut still clenched when he heard Aziraphale casually drop ‘home’ into any conversation. Like it was so obviously natural for them to be living together. He cleared his throat, “yeah, well, anyway,” he dumped a bag onto the desk and began emptying out little plastic boxes of cheese and meat, and one with a small handful of olives.

Aziraphale frowned, “olives? Neither of us eat them?”

Crowley inhaled, as silently as he could and plucked them out of the box. “Saw them and thought of you,” he said casually and speared one on the stick that still sat in the plastic duck pen holder on Aziraphale’s desk.

Aziraphale’s face softened and he smiled, “cheese?” He offered out the box of squared cheddar.

Crowley took one, shoving it in his mouth, chewing and swallowing to calm his heartbeat down, “you know, I sent you that email as soon as I left your office. I mean, I didn’t know it was you, then.”

Aziraphale frowned, eyes losing focus as he scanned through memories, “oh, that email. The one that made us finally talk to each other, at least online anyway.”

Crowley nodded, “I’d been falling for Angel for a while I think, but Aziraphale gave me the push to be honest. Suppose I didn’t want two things I couldn’t have in my life,” he flicked his eyes up to meet blue ones, gazing at him adoringly in a way that would never get old.

“And you don't,” Aziraphale said.

Their afternoon lecture went ahead smoothly, the semester having barely begun and students really still just finding their feet. They wouldn’t get to the meat of the course until after Christmas — when Aziraphale would confidently present his work to the room whilst Crowley sat in the front row and openly stared at him proudly.

Aziraphale still kept the pseudonym, still distanced himself from it and refused to step forward and take credit for the roaring success of the series. The latest book had been widely commended and was shortlisted for several awards, but Aziraphale maintained he didn’t want the fuss and that he felt the books and their content needed to exist on their own, without his name and family attached to them. 

Crowley felt he deserved all the fame and praise but had had to reluctantly agree that, for the reader finding a home inside the pages of his work, having the Heavenstone name attached to it would not be a positive thing. He still insisted they be part of the curriculum though and that Aziraphale taught them — despite the publishing dates clearly making them Crowley’s purview. He had a feeling a few astute students had their suspicions but they all wisely kept quiet, it wouldn’t have surprised him to find out Bea was involved somehow.

The gossip mill had exploded shortly after their relationship became public, and the class numbers had doubled with nosy students hoping for something scandalous. When it became apparent that not only were Professors Fell and Crowley paragons of professionality but also that the course was not easy to get a passing mark in, the numbers had reduced. Not to mention classes often ended in a spirited and loud debate between the two that left the less informed students confused as to what was going on and what notes to take. 

The signs up had dropped off, people had dropped out and the classes returned, largely, to normal. Those that were left quickly figured out the heated arguing was more affectionate than angry and if you were paying close enough attention one or the other would usually reveal something that, if brought up in a term paper, would get you a few extra marks. Plus, if you were feeling particularly brave students were always welcome to jump in with their own opinions.

“Dinner?” Crowley asked as he slid his laptop into his bag and stretched out, cracking his spine and breathing a sigh of relief.

Aziraphale wrinkled his nose at the sound, “that doesn’t sound like a question dear,” he replied amused. “I’m not sure what’s going on, but you’ve been awfully strange today. Did I forget an anniversary?”

Crowley dropped his arms, “no, well yes, sort of. But it’s not really your anniversary exactly so not like you were supposed to remember it.”

Aziraphale frowned, “I don’t understand.”

“Ugh,” Crowley rolled his head, sneaking a hand up under his red curls to scratch at his neck. “It’s just…this is when I moved here, and met you,” he flushed.

“Oh.” Aziraphale let out a small sound and rocked on his feet smiling, “well that’s certainly a date I’m happy to celebrate. Where are we off to?” He stuck an elbow out for Crowley to take hold of.

“Just a little Moroccan place I know, small, out the way, bit rough looking. Probably not your thing, could always bail and go to the Ivy instead.”

“Oh stop it, you’re never going to let me live that down are you? I’ve apologised a million times over for doubting your culinary choices.” The humour was clear in Aziraphale’s voice as they walked out of the campus building, hands sliding down to grasp at each other and swing gently between them as they ambled towards the now familiar restaurant. 

They returned here at least once a month, and Aziraphale had become a firm favourite with the owner —  having first apologised profusely for leaving Crowley sitting at a table crying. Crowley, it turned out, was old friends with the owner and that was the reason he had a near instant supply of home made baklava with which to ply Aziraphale with. Crowley’s friend had been overjoyed to discover Crowley was ‘in love at last’, immediately confessing to Aziraphale in a loud whisper he had feared Crowley would ‘die alone in that awful flat with only his plants’. Crowley had scowled at him and threatened to take his business elsewhere; something everyone knew was a lie. The friend had also attempted to teach Aziraphale to make baklava, but, since they were still finding sticky, dried syrup patches in the bookshop kitchen, it had been unanimously agreed never to let Aziraphale do that again. 

This dinner was going a lot better than that first, ill-fated, one. For a start Crowley was pretty certain he was going to make it to the end of the meal without being walked out on. He’d ordered the same dishes they had that first time and Aziraphale was eagerly tucking into them.

“I heard A Nightingale Sings is going to be turned into a movie.”

“Mm, TV series actually, six parts on Amazon Prime,” Aziraphale wiggled in his seat. “If it does well they might do the other books.”

“Ooo, maybe we’ll get one of the raunchy ones? Perhaps from the new book, those scenes were particularly delightful,” Crowley raised an eyebrow and Aziraphale flushed.

“Oh, stop.”

“Shan’t, never thought I’d be turned on by a description of my own legs in six inch heels,” Crowley was grinning as he took a mouthful of spiced rice and watched Aziraphale’s face turn even darker pink.

“That’s- it’s not- they weren’t- how-?” He sputtered and Crowley loved that he still had the ability to occasionally surprise and embarrass his partner. He’d recognised the comparison as soon as he’d read it and had sat on that revelation for a while until he could find the perfect time.

“Did you think you could slip that in there without me noticing?” He asked grinning, “it was basically word for word.”

“It was not.” Aziraphale hissed back at him, “I…well…it wasn’t,” he insisted, looking down at his dinner.

Crowley reached over and cupped his face, tilting it upwards and stroking along his jaw, “it was and I loved it. Do you remember what we did the night after I finished that book?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and his cheeks some managed to darken even further, “Oh, my, ye-es.” 

It was before Crowley had moved in, he had texted Aziraphale from the university to say he’d just finished the book and would be over soon with a surprise. Crowley had turned up on the bookshop doorstep wearing a long black coat and an incredibly uncomfortable looking pair of six inch stilettos. 

Just the coat and stilettos. 

They hadn’t made it past the foyer of the bookshop and Aziraphale now had intimate knowledge of what having stilettos pressed into your arse felt like.

Crowley slid his hand round the side of Aziraphale’s face and looked at him gently, “that scene you wrote gave me the confidence to share that part of me with you,” he said softly.

Aziraphale turned his head and pressed a kiss into Crowley’s palm, “and I loved you even more,” he whispered back. 

Crowley checked his phone under the table as Aziraphale paid, and frowned, it was a little earlier than he’d planned and neither Anathema or Bea had messaged him yet. He stuck it back in his pocket as Aziraphale turned his attention back to him.

“Fancy a walk? Still quite nice outside, given the time of year,” he asked, casually. 

Aziraphale smiled, “well I have my scarf anyway,” he said, looping it round the back of his neck.

Crowley grinned, “it’s a lovely warm scarf as well.”

“Well you’d know, since you keep stealing it off me, I’ve repeatedly offered to buy you one.”

“S’not the same as a stolen scarf, besides your’s smells nice. Reminds me of walking round St James after you ditched me at the coffee shop.”

“Oh I knew you’d been wearing it!” Aziraphale said with mock outrage, “I could smell you all over it when I got it back.”

“Figured it was the least you could do to pay me back for the coffee and pastry you didn’t even eat.”

“Hmph,” Aziraphale tangled their hands together as they ambled back through Trafalgar Square, “I have to admit though, I didn’t mind. I was quite disappointed when the scent finally faded.”

Crowley squeezed his hand, “well there you go, I’m doing you a favour, refreshing it every so often.”

“Whatever you need to tell yourself, my dear,” Aziraphale squeezed back though and they carried on down to St James park in a comfortable silence. Occasionally bumping into each other as they went. 

“You know I do think Anathema is going to ask Newt to marry her,” Aziraphale said suddenly, and Crowley stiffened.

“Uh, why?”

“She’s been acting very strangely, secretive. I know she’s the sort of woman that wouldn’t wait for someone else to do it either. Poor Newt, he’ll probably get asked over breakfast along with ‘should we pick up some strawberries on the way to your mothers’ not a romantic bone in her body that girl. Still, she loves him, and he, her.”

Crowley swallowed, “not your ideal proposal then? Just being asked?”

Aziraphale looked thoughtful for a moment, “can’t say I’ve given it much thought, never thought I’d have to. I do think it should be romantic though, private, but something special with a bit of thought, you know?”

Crowley was staring at him and Aziraphale coloured and turned away, “or something, I mean I’m not that fussy, it doesn’t really matter anyway does it? Far too old to be getting proposed to.”

“You’re not,” Crowley’s voice was tight and came out quiet and strangled, he cleared his throat and tried again, “you’re not, too old for a proposal that is. No one is.”

Aziraphale smiled, “that's a lovely sentiment dear, but people our age don’t really bother with weddings do they?”

“Marriage isn’t about the wedding, it’s about the message,” Crowley said, burying his hands in his pockets, “to each other and to everyone else.” He sniffed, “you know, ‘us two against the world.’” His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he took advantage of Aziraphale staring into the distance thoughtfully to slide it out and check the message on the lock screen.

“I suppose I never thought of it that way, that does sound rather nice.” 

Crowley stood up, “come on, I’m getting cold now.”

“Oh, um, okay,” Aziraphale stood, a bit perturbed by the sudden change in tone, “home?”

Crowley nodded, “home,” he agreed.

The bookshop was dark when they got back, the closed sign flipped over and Anathema nowhere to be found, Aziraphale privately hoped she was off somewhere figuring out a nicer way to propose to Newt. He stripped off his coat and hung it up on the peg next to the door, leaving the scarf draped around his neck; he was thinking about making Crowley wear it for him later. 

The door to the flat was slightly open and he could hear music coming down from upstairs, Aziraphale frowned, “Crowley, are we expecting Bea or Anathema?” He asked, it wasn’t unusual for either of them to drop by these days, and both had an open invitation — and key — to the flat.

“Maybe? Bea did say they might be over later,” Crowley’s voice was behind him and Aziraphale shrugged and pushed the door open, walking up the stairs slowly. He turned into the living room and gasped, grateful he hadn’t been holding anything, since he’d have dropped it. 

There were candles on every surface — LED’s he noted with a sigh of relief — flickering gently and lighting the room softly. A large potted olive tree sat in the corner that hadn’t been there before, and several more plants were dotted around various surfaces with a variety of brightly coloured blooms on them. Yellow and black petals had been scattered over almost every surface, and, once Aziraphale was over the beauty of it all, he’d be mildly annoyed at the clean up. Through the kitchen he could spy the stock pot was out and the warm garlic and onion scents of a hot pot were wafting through the flat. He assumed that was Anathema’s work since neither Crowley nor Bea were of any use at cooking.

“Crowley I-” he turned around, his stomach dropped and his hand clapped over his mouth to stifle a loud and embarrassing noise that escaped unbidden.

Crowley knelt on the floor behind him holding out a ring box.

“Uh. I didn’t really think about this bit to be honest,” he said awkwardly. “Was to worried about all the other bits.”

Aziraphale let out a short laugh around his hand, “all the other…? Oh!” His face softened as  he recalled the day. The perfect breakfast, the ideal lunch and the romantic dinner. 

Crowley scratched at his neck, “just wanted to recreate all those little moments we had, but…the way they would have happened, if we weren’t both morons.”

Aziraphale knelt down, level with him, “speak for yourself.” He reached out for the box, “may I…?”

“I mean, are you going to keep it?”

Aziraphale took it and opened it, “of course I am!” He slid the golden band onto his finger, “I plan on keeping you as well!” Crowley sniffed, his eyes oddly watery and Aziraphale cupped his face pulling him in and kissed him soundly. 

Crowley kissed back, clutching firmly at Aziraphale’s jacket and keeping them pressed against each other, “not too old for a wedding then?” He teased when they broke apart.

Aziraphale pulled a face, “well. I may have been a bit hasty in passing that judgement.” 

Crowley laughed and wiped his face, “I see, changing your tune now it’s your wedding.”

Aziraphale smiled, “now it’s our wedding, my dear.”

“So long as it’s what you want, Angel,” Crowley said quietly, looking at him earnestly.

“I think someone very clever once said something very lovely,” Aziraphale met his gaze and kissed him again.

“Oh yeah?” Crowley tucked himself into Aziraphale’s arms and rested his head on a broad shoulder.

Aziraphale sighed happily and sunk into the embrace, “us two against the world.”