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“There we are,” Aziraphale said, as he placed a carefully arranged cheese platter on the small table Crowley had positioned in front of the sofa.
“S’perfect, angel. Now sit down, it’s about to start.”
He wasn’t even sure how it had come about, Crowley’s penchant for Formula 1. One evening, after far too much wine and meandering conversation, Crowley had become so animated as he spoke of the thrill and the freedom and the skill, that Aziraphale felt compelled to support his passion for the sport. And so he had purchased a small television and on race days, they would turn the bookshop sign to “closed” and settle in to watch.
Crowley sank back into the couch, trying to get comfortable enough for the two hours of car racing he was about to endure. Of all the activities for Aziraphale to show an interest in, Formula 1 was definitely not one that Crowley would have picked.
Yet when the angel had suggested a year or so earlier that perhaps they might watch the Monaco Grand Prix, Crowley’s attempt to suggest something— anything —else, was met with such a fierce insistence that they give it a try, that he really had no choice. Besides, if it made Aziraphale happy, then Crowley could grin and bear it.
“Oh yes, it really is all rather thrilling, isn’t it?”
Aziraphale nodded excitedly as the race began, gesturing towards the television enthusiastically.
“Mm’yeah, yeah, on the edge of my seat here,” Crowley replied. He sat up and did his best to match the enthusiasm. “I mean, look at him taking that corner!”
While Crowley loved his Bentley and pushing her to her limits, he really had no knowledge of car racing whatsoever. But Aziraphale appeared quite knowledgeable and Crowley figured he should at least appear to have some understanding of how it all worked.
“Ooo, that was a speedy turn about, wasn’t it!” Aziraphale exclaimed.
“Absolutely, the rattle of the chassis must have been something.”
“Indeed.”
And so it continued as the race wore on.
Maggie glanced across at the bookshop as Nina turned the lock on her café.
“Is it a bit weird if we just pop over there when all the blinds are drawn like that?” she asked.
Nina turned to join her as they strolled over the road.
“Nah, I don’t think so. It’s the end of the day. Probably doesn’t want nosey pedestrians peering into his shop.”
“You’re probably right,” Maggie hummed in agreement. “Besides, I’ve never known Mr Fell to turn down a treat. It’s very nice of you to give him these leftover biscuits.”
“Well, we’re not staying,” Nina warned as they reached the entrance. “Quick hello, hand them over, then we’re on our way. Ok?”
“Yes, yes, that’s—”
Maggie paused, brow furrowed as she leaned towards the door.
“Can you hear that?”
Nina bent forward and hovered close to the pane of glass.
“Come on, you can do it. Faster, faster!”
“Oh god, too hard, slow down.”
Nina’s jaw dropped and Maggie’s eyes grew wide.
“Crowley?” Nina mouthed at Maggie, who nodded in agreement.
“Is that the rim? Oh no, Crowley, is the rim ok?”
“Dunno, angel, can’t see from this angle.”
“Oh, I can’t look. Is it out?"
“Think it might be stuck.”
Nina and Maggie slowly backed away from the bookshop, hastily making their way down the street and agreeing that Aziraphale probably didn’t really need the biscuits anyway.
“Well, that was quite the race!” Aziraphale smiled broadly at Crowley as he repositioned himself on the couch.
He loved it when Crowley was passionate about something—he had commented with fervour throughout—and Aziraphale was rather pleased that his superficial glossing over of a car magazine seemed to have given him a handle on some of the terminology.
Crowley finished pouring them each a glass of wine, then settled back against the cushions. As he pulled a blanket over himself and took a sip, Aziraphale’s heart skipped at the sight.
“So, ah, I have a confession,” he said, taking a quick drink of the red before he could back out.
“Well that’s intriguing.” Crowley cocked an eyebrow. “Do tell.”
“I’m not sure why I feel I should say something now, but it’s just…well… I don’t actually care all that much for Formula 1.” The words tumbled out in rapid succession and Aziraphale took another gulp of wine as soon as he had uttered them.
Crowley stared at him, stone faced, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure if he was upset or perhaps didn’t hear him. But after a moment, a grin spread across his face and laughter soon followed. Aziraphale didn’t know what to make of it.
“Oh, angel. I don’t care about Formula 1. At all .”
“What? Yes you do, what about the thrill and the freedom and the speed that you talked about with such excitement?”
Crowley scrunched his face. “I said that? I mean, sure, it probably is all those things, but doesn’t mean I have any interest in the sport. I thought you were mad about Formula 1.”
“Me?” Aziraphale asked, quite taken aback.
“I know, I had the same reaction,” Crowley said cheekily.
Crowley scooted up the couch until his slender frame was leaning against Aziraphale.
“So, if you don’t like it, why on earth did you come and watch all these races over the past year?” Aziraphale asked.
Crowley swirled the wine in his glass as the question hovered.
“For you,” he replied softly.
Aziraphale’s chest swelled and he wrapped an arm around Crowley’s shoulder.
“The same could be said for you,” Crowley posited. “Why did you go and buy a television and insist we watch every. single. race?”
“For much the same reason, it seems.” Aziraphale let out a small, affectionate chuckle. “For you, my dear.”
Crowley turned to look at him and Aziraphale melted into his gaze as their eyes met. A gentle smile played on Crowley’s lips and he leaned in and pressed them to Aziraphale’s. They allowed the kiss to linger; it was sweet and familiar and said all that they couldn’t.
Crowley then relaxed back against Aziraphale and the pair sipped their wine contentedly.
“You know, I rather wish I had something sweet to go with this lovely wine,” Aziraphale thought out loud. “What I wouldn’t do for a nice biscuit.”
