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After his latest tours, Freddie had become quite the casanova. In fact, he was so good at it he couldn’t remember the name of any of those who ended up having breakfast with him.
The latest contestant in his personal game of romantic roulette was one of the young catering staff he'd hired for one of his post-concert late-night parties.
However, this one had been surprisingly resistant to the singer’s advances. Under the spell of one of his synthetic fairies, Freddie had found no better way to show interest than by asking the young man to light his cigarette again and again.
The boy had little choice but to do as told, and ended up spending the whole evening orbiting around him. And when the guests had finally gone home, Freddie didn’t let him leave just like that. Instead, he offered a generous tip and—perhaps too eagerly—the right side of the mattress.
Crowley wasn’t there that time, but Freddie told him later that he could’ve sworn he saw a flicker of temptation in the handsome waiter’s eyes when he made the offer. Still, no luck. Though, as he confessed between peals of conspiratorial laughter, his bed hadn’t remained empty that night.
A few weeks later, the same opportunity presented itself.
Freddie had insisted that Crowley bring his “friend” to the party—the one he’d talked so much about between drinks—so both the demon and Aziraphale got the chance to see him fall for the same man all over again.
“I’m done with schoolboy tricks,” Freddie announced confidently.
“We’ll see…” muttered Crowley, taking a sip of his whiskey.
“This time, no more coming on too strong,” he added, looking at the angel.
“Patience is a virtue!” said Aziraphale, raising his champagne glass approvingly with a smile.
“It’s going to be classic. A proper date. Dinner, limo, chocolates… And then…” he explained, clapping his hands to mark the end of the sentence, “he’s going to have the time of his life!”
“Flawless plan,” Crowley encouraged him.
Aziraphale, however, frowned.
“It does sound divine, but what about you, dear?”
Freddie burst into laughter along with the demon and slapped Aziraphale so heartily on the back that his champagne spilled onto his shoes.
After that, he forgot all about them for the rest of the evening.
The next thing they heard was that the waiter had accepted the invitation, that—of all places—he’d chosen the Ritz for dinner, and that for some reason—clearly irrational—Freddie believed this date might put an end to his gambling with love.
Crowley cheered at the news, swayed by his friend’s optimism. Aziraphale, on the other hand, expressed concern about such high hopes. And so, after an unnecessarily long debate, the angel and the demon ended up booking a table not far from the singer’s to witness how the evening unfolded and settle their doubts.
“This doesn’t look good,” Aziraphale said, eyes fixed on the couple.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure. Derek seems a bit… distracted.”
“Nah,” scoffed Crowley, brushing it off. Then he glanced over and added, somewhat pensively, “So that’s what he’s called…”
“You really don’t think so?”
“Oh, come on. You’d have to be an idiot to look away while dining with a rock star. Besides, they’ve been eyeing each other up since the starters. And they skipped the main course.”
“Shame, the ossobuco was exquisite… But as wonderful as it all seems, if we want to make sure things go well, we must take action.”
“I doubt we have the same idea of what ‘going well’ means, but just in case—Let’s add a little spark.”
With a snap of his fingers, Freddie’s teeth gained a dazzling, ad-worthy glow. His shirt tightened slightly, accentuating his pecs and biceps. For a finishing touch, two buttons popped open, revealing his sun-kissed chest.
“Heh, no way he’ll resist that,” said Crowley with a grin, counting on the irresistible allure of seventies chest hair.
Aziraphale rolled his eyes.
“If you truly care about your friend,” he reproached, “we should make sure he’s in good company.”
“And what do you suggest? That we go over there and ask, ‘So, did you finish school? Do you take drugs? Any criminal record we should know about?’” Crowley replied with full sarcasm.
“Don’t be ridiculous, dear. None of that. We must be discreet. So, as you rightly said, let’s add a little ‘spark’,” Aziraphale said, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
At that moment, a tall, handsome blond waiter had just placed the soufflé Freddie had ordered on the table.
He poured a generous splash of rum over it, and just as he pulled out the blowtorch to flambé the dessert, Crowley caught a subtle flick of the angel’s wrist—and the resulting flame rose dramatically, catching the waiter’s eyebrows and bow tie on fire.
Derek sprang from his chair, grabbed the bottle of champagne from the ice bucket beside him, and poured the melting water over the poor man’s head—while Freddie watched the scene, stunned.
“What the hell was that!?” Crowley snapped at the angel, shielding his face behind the menu.
“Hmm,” Aziraphale mused thoughtfully, then nodded. “Duly noted.”
“You said we had to be discreet!”
“Desperate situations call for desperate… uh… was it measures or times?”
Crowley didn’t help him finish the phrase.
“No remorse, angel?” Crowley asked, incredulous.
“All caution is necessary,” Aziraphale said, as he neatly unfolded and refolded his linen napkin.
The demon took a sip of his red wine and shook his head in resignation.
“The important thing is, now we know Derek is brave, compassionate, and decisive,” Aziraphale concluded, forcing a satisfied smile.
“You worry too much. They’re having a great time.”
“So it seems, but if he ends up brokenhearted… You know how badly he takes it.”
“I do. Though he’s not the only one who…”
“Shhh, wait!” the angel cut him off. “Let’s hear what he says.”
“Shall we order another soufflé?” they heard Freddie say.
“I’m sure there’s something less dangerous on the menu,” Derek replied.
“Well, I must warn you—if you’re with me, you’re never safe from fire…”
Crowley grinned with smug pride.
“Look at him go!”
Aziraphale shushed him again, cheeks slightly flushed.
“You’ve… got your shirt all dirty,” Freddie pointed out.
“Oh shit! It’s not even mine!” the young man exclaimed, jumping from his seat and inspecting the mess. “Maybe I can clean it a bit…”
“Don’t worry. You won’t be needing it in less than an hour.”
“You don’t beat around the bush, do you?”
“I know what I want,” Freddie admitted, taking his hand. “But if you think we’re rushing things…”
“I like speed,” Derek replied, cheekily.
“I’m glad. I happen to own a sports car you’re going to have a great time in.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” said a new waiter. “Given the incident, management has asked me to offer our sincerest apologies. Our colleague is currently in the restroom receiving treatment for his burns…”
Aziraphale, a little more flushed now, took the chance to avert his eyes and sipped his wine.
“What’s wrong? Worried your little miracle might have gotten out of hand?” Crowley teased.
“It couldn’t have been that bad. But what they were just saying…”
“Are you scandalised over that?”
“Heavens, no!” Aziraphale exclaimed, avoiding the demon’s smirk. “It’s just that I don’t think it’s polite to sit here listening in. And maybe…”
“Yes?” Crowley pressed.
“Maybe the date isn’t going so badly after all.”
Crowley let out a short laugh and finished what was left of his wine.
“See? Freddie knows what he’s doing. Highlight the natural charms and he’s got anyone in his pocket,” he said with a triumphant tone, confusing Aziraphale slightly with the idiom. “So if you’ve had enough proof that I was right, we can pay and head back to your bookshop.”
Aziraphale cast one last glance at the couple.
“…to the restroom. Be right back,” he heard Derek say.
“All right. Just give me a moment. I think I might go help our friend’s date deal with his scorched shirt.”
Crowley snapped his fingers with a crooked smile, and Aziraphale’s chair pulled back from the table with gentlemanly finesse.
The angel gave him a soft, grateful smile and headed towards the restrooms.
Once he was far enough away, Crowley reached for Aziraphale’s half-finished glass of white wine and drank slowly, waiting for the garçon to bring the bill.
On his way to the gents’, Aziraphale couldn’t resist performing a couple more miracles—he saved a lady who was pretending not to be choking, and vanished a few unfortunate stains from a gentleman’s expensive tuxedo.
Once he reached the door, the angel hesitated. Would it be more impolite to go in, or to wait outside until Derek came out?
But then, the sound of laughter drew his attention.
“...fucking Freddie Mercury! Shit!”
“Told you.”
“So, what? You think he likes you?”
“For sure. If I shag him, maybe he’ll even give me that sports car.”
Aziraphale stifled a gasp as he recognised Derek’s voice and quickly covered his mouth with one hand.
“You really don’t mind?”
“No, babe. We talked about this. This kind of thing doesn’t happen every day. Go on, make him yours. Get a couple months’ rent out of it. Then, you know—make up some excuse. I mean, with how famous he is…”
“You’re not jealous, are you?”
“Not at all. I know you couldn’t live without this…”
Then came silence.
But it didn’t last long. Soon it was replaced by the unmistakable sound of lips locked in messy kisses and breathless giggles.
Mortified and offended in equal measure, Aziraphale felt compelled to interrupt.
With determined steps, he flung open the bathroom door and saw the bitter truth for himself: the shock, the heat on their faces—and Derek, in the arms of the blond waiter.
“Wrong bathroom!” Aziraphale exclaimed, and without a second thought, made his way back to Freddie’s table, where he found Crowley at his side.
“Darling! I’m afraid I bring very bad news and very little time. So I’ll be brief—and then we can escort you home.”
“Escort me?” Freddie raised an eyebrow, sharing an amused look with Crowley. “Sorry, but tonight’s strictly for two. Unless you’re into that sort of thing, and the mood’s right…”
“Farrokh, please,” Aziraphale begged, glancing quickly over his shoulder and lowering his voice. “Derek is deceiving you. He’s involved with that blond waiter from earlier—they’ve been planning to scam you.”
Crowley, catching the sincerity in the angel’s tone, turned his attention to his friend’s face.
Freddie looked down at his nearly empty glass and swirled the ice at the bottom.
“So, in the end, looks like there’s a party you could join,” he said at last, with a bitter smile.
“Freddie, my friend, he’s telling the truth. Ask for the bill—on me,” Crowley offered.
“You don’t have to stay. I know he’s attractive, and I know you wanted this to be special, but…” Aziraphale added.
“Leave.”
“…but if you’re not careful, he’ll end up emptying more than just your wallet!”
“I said get out!” Freddie snapped, this time slamming his glass down onto the table with force.
Aziraphale flinched, taken aback by such a firm—and resigned—gesture.
“You deserve far better than this,” the angel whispered in one final plea, but it only seemed to anger Freddie further.
“For fuck’s sake, I know! I’m not an idiot. And he’s not the first…”
He paused, carefully swallowing the lump in his throat.
“But whatever. I know what I want.”
A heavy silence fell between them, and when Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak again, Freddie cut him off at once:
“You and Crowley should leave. Before you ruin my bloody date.”
Aziraphale stood frozen, unable to say another word.
Crowley took the lead. Silently, he slipped an arm around the angel’s shoulders and guided him between the tables.
Before leaving the dining room, the demon turned around to wave Freddie goodbye.
But his glass was no longer empty.