Work Text:
London, England
1599
William Shakespeare was accustomed to people crying at performances of Romeo and Juliet, but he’d never seen anyone weeping as passionately as the gentleman in white. The play had ended several minutes ago, and every other member of the audience had left, but the gentleman in white remained in his seat, filling the Globe with wretched sobs.
Shakespeare approached Aziraphale and sat beside him. “Good sir, is my play the cause of so much woe? Or is some malady afflicting thee? I can fetch a doctor if thou need one.”
Aziraphale hastily wiped his tears with his pocket handkerchief. “Thank you for your concern, but I don’t need a doctor. I’m truly sorry for falling apart like this. I didn’t expect to identify so strongly with the star-crossed lovers.”
Shakespeare put his hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Thou art in love thyself, Mr…?”
“Fell. Oh no. No no no.” Aziraphale looked up to the heavens as more tears ran down his cheeks. “I can’t be in love. I’d get in terrible trouble!”
Even though no one else was nearby, Shakespeare lowered his voice to a whisper. “The lady who hath set thy soul aflame—she is already joined to another in holy bonds of matrimony?”
Aziraphale shook his head. “The person I...care about...isn’t married...and isn’t a lady.”
Something clicked in Shakespeare’s mind. “The gentleman in black who has oft accompanied thee to my plays.”
Aziraphale said nothing, but his face said everything.
“By my troth, I do believe the gentleman returns thy love. I have noticed many an affectionate look brighten his fair face when he speaks with thee.”
Aziraphale’s cheeks reddened. “We can’t be together. It’s just not possible.”
“Omnia vincit amor, Mr. Fell. Love conquers all. Employ me to write a sonnet for thy beloved. Allow my carefully crafted words to build the bridge that brings two lonely souls together.”
“You’re a talented writer, but I doubt any words, no matter how carefully crafted, could help in this...” Aziraphale trailed off as he saw Shakespeare’s hopeful expression. Plague outbreaks kept forcing the theatres to close; it was likely the writer needed money from commissions. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm in trying.”
A week later, Aziraphale was holding the sonnet Shakespeare had written for him.
After reading it multiple times, and smiling each time, he tucked it away in a safe place.
Sometimes he let himself imagine a day when he would give the sonnet to Crowley.
But he knew that day would never come.
London, England
2022
“Angel!” Crowley sauntered into the bookshop with a big smile on his face. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”
Aziraphale looked up from the book he was reading. “Oh. What is it?”
“Come with me and I’ll show you.”
Putting a bookmark in his book, Aziraphale rose from his chair and followed Crowley out of the shop and into the Bentley. “You seem excited. Whatever this surprise is, it must be a good one.”
Crowley’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel. “I think so.”
Soon Crowley was parking outside a West End theatre. “They’re doing a production of Romeo and Juliet. It’s gotten a lot of good press. I figured we’d see the show, then get dinner and drinks after.”
“You...you bought us tickets to Romeo and Juliet?” Aziraphale was certain he was blushing from head to toe. “But you don’t like Shakespeare’s sad plays.”
Crowley shrugged. “Yeah, but you do.”
Aziraphale burst into tears.
“Okay, that was not the reaction I was expecting.”
Aziraphale took a few deep breaths. “The last time I went to a production of Romeo and Juliet, I was so distressed that Shakespeare asked me if I needed a doctor.”
“That must have been one hell of a production.”
“Well, the actors were very good, but the reason I was so distressed was...us.”
Crowley looked confused. “Us?”
Aziraphale stared at his hands, unable to meet Crowley’s gaze. “While watching the play, I started thinking that we were like Romeo and Juliet, caring for each other despite being on opposite sides. And it was all too easy to imagine our relationship ending in destruction like theirs did. I’ve been so afraid for so long...but I don’t want to be afraid anymore. I want to tell you the truth.” A 400 year old piece of paper—so well preserved that it looked almost new—left its hiding place in the bookshop and miraculously appeared in Aziraphale’s hand. He handed the paper to Crowley.
“Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments,” Crowley read. “Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove. O no! It is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken—” Crowley looked up from the paper. “What is this?”
“It’s a sonnet Shakespeare wrote for me...” Aziraphale gathered the courage to look at Crowley. “...to give to the person I love.”
Crowley sat in stunned silence.
“My dear boy...please say something.”
Crowley put the paper down gently and opened his mouth to speak. Once. Twice. Three times. Finally he gave up his efforts to form a sentence and kissed Aziraphale with 6,000 years of pent-up passion.
“Goodness,” said Aziraphale when the kiss ended. “That was...wonderful. Am I correct in assuming that was your way of saying you love me too?”
Crowley grinned. “Yeah. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to tell you.”
Aziraphale had never felt so much happiness. “Can I tell you a secret, my love? I’ve wanted to kiss you in this car since 1941.”
“I’ve wanted to kiss you since the Garden.”
The angel and the demon kissed again and again until someone walking by the Bentley shouted at them to get a room.
“Maybe we should go back to my shop,” an embarrassed Aziraphale suggested. “We’d have some privacy there.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to see the show?”
“Another day, perhaps. Right now all I want is to keep kissing you...away from prying eyes.”
“Sounds good to me.” Crowley began driving back to the bookshop, making sure to go more slowly than he normally would so he wouldn’t upset Aziraphale.
“Crowley...” Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s leg. “It’s okay with me if you want to drive a little faster.”
Crowley laughed. “Eager to have your way with me, Angel?”
“Very much so.”
They say a car can’t travel faster than the speed of light, but, on that day, the Bentley came close.
An hour later, a thoroughly satisfied angel and demon lay naked in Aziraphale’s bed, spooning beneath tartan blankets.
“If only I’d known...” Crowley’s breath tickled the back of Aziraphale’s neck while his arm wrapped around his angel’s waist. “I would have gotten us tickets to Romeo and Juliet ages ago.”