Work Text:
On special occasions, Aziraphale made the drive up to Soho to open his bookshop.
It was a long drive, and it would be pointless if money was actually a concern- but it wasn't. It brought Aziraphale some joy to run his shop himself. It was nice to see the people of Soho and stay in his old home, even if Crowley complained.
"I've got to open my shop sometime, dear."
"Yeah, but must you take my car? She wants to be with me."
Aziraphale scoffed indignantly. "I'll have you know, she enjoys my company just as well! And, I doubt that part of Soho would fare well if my shop were to remain closed. My regulars would be so disappointed!"
"You don't let them buy anything anyway!"
"Ah- wrong! I sold a book once, a few years ago. Oh, I do hope she's alright. She was a very kind young girl."
Crowley pinched the bridge of his nose. "How long will you be gone?"
"Just for today."
"Can't you just miracle yourself over?"
Aziraphale pouted. "But driving is such a delight- and if I don't, then having gotten my license will be for naught!"
Crowley glared at Aziraphale- but those pleading eyes struck him right in his core- and he buckled.
"Fine- but I'm coming with you."
"Oh, lovely! We can nap in Jim's old room, if need be. Let me pack up, and we can go."
Crowley had fallen asleep twenty minutes into the drive, comforted by the rumbling of his car and the sweet classical music Aziraphale had selected, his head resting peacefully upon the passenger side door.
There was about an hour or so left until they reached the shop, as Aziraphale refused to take the M25- a dastardly creation, that was- and the angel felt his mind wandering off as he stole glances at Crowley's sleeping form.
Aziraphale wondered who he'd see today. He had a lot of regulars- though a few had moved away, having grown tired of the city life.
Perhaps he'd see the young girl who'd always regale him with stories of dogs that she'd met on her walk that day. Maybe he'd see the alternative gentleman who always brought him those delightful lavender pastries. Maggie might pop over, with Nina in tow. Or, if he was lucky- he'd see the lovely young author who always holed herself up in the corner of his shop. His bookshop arguably wasn't a public workspace or a library- but she was quiet, and sometimes she'd let him have a look at her manuscripts- so she got a pass.
He also wondered if it would rain- there were some rather menacing storm clouds in the sky- he'd have to close the shop, but he'd get some quality alone time with Crowley. They could crack open a bottle of Châteauneuf du Pape, do a bad reading of one of his poorly-aged books, and- well. Aziraphale knew where it would progress from there.
Not that he was complaining, anyway.
Aziraphale thought of the long nights they'd spent together in his bookshop, and smiled down at Crowley- who was dreaming of those same nights.
Crowley was right that opening the bookshop offered no real benefit for Aziraphale- he refused to sell any books, and in the odd chance that he'd let someone take a book, he wouldn't accept any money- but Aziraphale loved that shop. It had been with him for hundreds of years- and moving two hours out wasn't going to stop him from running his beloved not-quite shop.
And, seeing his regulars again would be nice.
A short honk broke him out of his thoughts- and a yellow beetle passed him, the driver waving happily at him through their window.
The Bentley purred approvingly beneath him. Yellow suited her- no matter how much Crowley tried to discredit the idea.
Aziraphale placed his hand on Crowley's, and rolled the window down, content to have some time left in the car.
After all, Clair de Lune had just come on.
It was a rather slow Saturday.
The Bentley parked in her usual spot next to the bookshop, Aziraphale thanking her as he got out, Crowley in tow.
"No pedestrians to barely miss this time, angel?"
"I'm quite good at driving. And- who was it that hit Anathema, again? I seem to recall that being you."
"She still hates me for it, you know." Crowley yawned, Aziraphale's keys jingling as he unlocked the door.
Noting the lack of foot traffic, Crowley leaned against Aziraphale, his limbs heavy and his head fuzzy. "'M tired, angel. Think I'm gonna go upstairs."
The bookshop looked the same as it always did- warm, cozy, and bright, only furthering Crowley back to sleep.
"Will you join me later?"
"Perhaps," Aziraphale chided, knowing full well he had every intention of closing up early. "Sleep well, my dear. I love you."
The angel pressed a soft kiss to Crowley's lips, wishing him nothing but the sweetest dreams.
"Yeah," Crowley said with a yawn. "You too."
With that, Crowley slunk up the spiral staircase, and Aziraphale got to work.
Customers started flooding in not long after Crowley had gone to bed. Aziraphale supposed word had gotten out that he'd reopened for the first time in months- he'd have to thank Maggie for that later- and was uncharacteristically pleased at how busy he was.
Presently, he was helping an eccentric older woman find a copy of The Picture of Dorian Grey. More accurately, he was leading her closer to the exit- and listening to her talk about her wife.
"How is she? I recall her being rather unwell the last time we met."
"Oh, she's much better now, thanks! Her lungs are poorly- but the air seems to have cleared, and she's properly well, now."
Aziraphale smiled to himself, and resisted the urge to say you're welcome.
"Dreadfully sorry, madame, but I don't seem to have it at the moment. You may want to peruse the other shop just down the road, I've a feeling you'll find it there."
"Right," she smiled, knowingly. "It's good to have you back, dear. Thanks for the chat."
"Good talking to you!"
It was nearing nine. This was much later than Aziraphale had anticipated staying open- but Crowley was still asleep, and the rush had just now calmed down, Aziraphale having finished up with his last customer.
The angel sighed, and switched into his cardigan, gleefully escaping the confines of his well-loved coat.
Perhaps it was time to close. He'd worked particularly hard today- just over nine hours- and as he peeked around the doorframe, it seemed that most of Soho had gone to bed, besides the pub's normal residents. So, Aziraphale shut the door, reveling in the calm of his shop.
It was quiet now- his gramophone was still softly playing the music of Glenn Miller, there were no more customers shuffling around, and-
There was a scratching noise coming from the back of his shop, the familiar sound of a pencil on paper, then, a page flipping.
Crowley hadn't gotten up- Aziraphale could still faintly make out the sound of him snoring upstairs- so it wasn't him.
Aziraphale walked towards the noise, quietly, carefully- and there she was, his favorite young author, hard at work, her eyes locked on the yellowed pages of her favorite Starry Night-print journal.
She didn't notice him, and kept scribbling- and Aziraphale thought to leave her be. It was late, but she was obviously very focused- and it wouldn't do any good to break her out of her writing streak. He knew how authors were, having tried his hand at writing a few times throughout his life.
"Oh!" The girl exclaimed, her pencil clattering to the floor as she sprung up, fiddling with her belongings and shoving them into her bag. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Fell! I had no idea it was so late, and it was so busy when I came in that I didn't say hi- oh, I really didn't mean to-"
"It's alright, dear girl! It's alright. You can stay."
"I wouldn't want to impose-"
The girl paused for a moment, her bag slipping out of her hand and back on to the couch as she looked up at him.
"Oh, Mr. Fell. I'm so glad to see you!"
Aziraphale smiled at her, and welcomed the hug she was offering. It was late, but he was glad to see her- and if his shop was going to be the birthplace of new literature, then there was nothing to complain about.
"As am I. I trust you've been doing well?"
"Yeah," Her eyes shot down to her notebook, then back up to Aziraphale. "I'm okay. You?"
She sat back down on the couch, and picked up her pencil, barely suppressing a sigh.
"I've been wonderful. The South Downs are lovely. Would you like some cocoa, dear?"
"Aw, are you sure?"
"Of course. I'll be back in a jiffy."
Aziraphale puttered off, and the young author got back to work.
"Crowley, darling."
Crowley didn't stir. His face was still buried in the pillows, his chest slowly rising and falling.
"You've been asleep for more than twelve hours! It's time you got out of bed."
"Sssss.."
Crowley rolled over- and Aziraphale's heart flipped. He still couldn't get over how peaceful Crowley looked when he was asleep, especially under his favorite white quilt.
"Oh, my darling. I suppose there's no harm in letting you sleep for a bit longer. And, I must tell you.."
"Shhhh. What is it, angel?"
"We have a guest."
"You opened the shop, of course we have- ugh, what time is it, even?"
"It's past nine, dearest."
"P.M?! Why haven't you closed?"
"I got busy," Aziraphale pouted. "Will you come downstairs soon? I'd like to share a bottle of wine with you."
"Okay, yeah, absolutely." Crowley sucked in a breath, and peeked up at Aziraphale. "Just kick out your guest first."
"That's not very sporting."
"'M a demon. Can't share. Against the rules."
"You're retired, dear."
Crowley rolled over, breathing out a content sigh.
"I'll be down soon, angel."
Aziraphale had brought the young author her cocoa fifteen minutes ago- but she hadn't touched it, a frown etched into her youthful features.
"I must say," Aziraphale tried, gently. "It's quite odd to see you frown. What's troubling you? I'm sure I can help."
"It… I can't write, Mr. Fell. Every time I put my pencil to the paper, I just.. stop."
Aziraphale's brows furrowed.
"It's like… I feel stuck, you know? And I cant be. I need to write- because if I don't, then.."
Ah. So that's it.
"You don't need to write, dear girl." Comforts Aziraphale, voice soft and gentle. "Perhaps... Take a rest. Do something you enjoy."
"I'm trying-" the girl sighs, defeated. "That's why I'm here. I love this place. I thought, maybe.. being here would give me the inspiration to write again."
"But... You have been writing. Since you've been here. You've hardly touched your cocoa."
"I know. It's nothing good, though."
"It's a start," says the angel, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It doesn't have to be perfect."
He thinks for a moment, eyes studying how her fingers fiddle with the edge of her journal, the paper creased and soft from wear, and picks up her cup of cocoa, handing it to her.
With a slight pout, she puts down her pencil, and cups the mug in her hands, her fingertips light against Aziraphale's.
"Why don't you have a look around?" Aziraphale offers, patiently. "Or, I have a kitchenette in the back. You might enjoy baking."
"Oh, I couldn't-"
"Nonsense, dear. I don't mind sharing. I'm quite good at it."
The young author looks up at Aziraphale, having adopted a lopsided smile, a blush spread across her cheeks as she sets down her now near-empty mug. "Yeah, I'd like that. You're so very kind. What are you in the mood for, Mr. Fell?"
"Hmm. Biscuits?"
"Oh, I wish I would have brought some tea."
"Nonsense. We'll drink some of mine."
Aziraphale's smile is warm, comforting, and assuring- and the girl decides to stay, closing her journal at last.
"Okay. Sounds perfect."
"Mm. Those were scrumptious."
"Thanks for letting me borrow your kitchen, Mr. Fell."
"It was no problem, I assure you. Are you feeling any better?"
The girl thinks for a moment, then smiles and picks up her packed bag.
"Yeah, I am! Thank you."
"Oh, lovely! I'm glad I could be of some assistance."
"You always are." The girl yawned, fatigue finally catching up to her. "Sorry I stayed so late. I didn't realize."
Aziraphale gently opened the door- his hand resting softly upon her back.
"That's alright. I've no qualms."
"Goodnight, Mr. Fell. Thanks again."
"Safe travels, dear."
Aziraphale pressed his fingertips to his forehead, and once he'd confirmed she'd make it home safe, locked up the shop, feeling pleased.
"So. Didn't expect you to be open this late."
"Crowley. I didn't expect you to sleep for so long."
Crowley came to Aziraphale and melted into his embrace, content to stay there for as long as Aziraphale would let him.
"Sorry. Can't help but to succumb to angelic comfort, you know. I am infernal. What- what was her problem, anyway? You've never hung around a customer for that long."
"Writer's block, the poor dear. You should have seen how frustrated she was."
"Yeah.. uh. Sorry."
Aziraphale's eyes widened.
"That was YOU?!"
"Oi, I was just doin' my job! Though I have to admit, that was one of my more heinous creations."
Aziraphale glared at Crowley, then sighed.
"Did you… help her?"
"Obviously! I suppose thwarting you never really ends, does it, darling?"
Crowley pressed a long kiss to Aziraphale's lips, holding him close in a tight embrace.
"Mm. Nah. Got a lot more of me to deal with."
"Now, about that drink… I've got a bottle of Châteauneuf du Pape in the back, if that suits you."
"I'd never deny a drink with you, angel."
Aziraphale smiled.
The drive had been worth it.
"Lovely. I'll pour."