Chapter Text
Aziraphale scrolled through Instagram, blonde curls falling hazardously into his eyes, blowing them away with a huff of air. He’d like to say that he was looking for new recipes to try out, but he was stuck in the loop of scrolling. Doomscrolling, he’d heard some teenagers say on a reel. He didn’t feel like there was any impending doom, so he didn’t quite understand the slang, but he found himself feeling the same way for a lot of things. He was only 30, he wasn’t supposed to feel so old!
Alas, he did. And he was perceived that way, with his chunky wool sweaters and petticoats and the glasses and taste for classical music - he’d even taken up knitting in his free time! His tenant, Maggie, teased him about it, telling him he’d become an old grandpa soon. Maggie, bless her heart, was absolutely stricken by a girl named Nina, who worked in the coffee shop by her job at the record store. Aziraphale was used to Maggie coming by to his cottage after a long day at the record store, as it was next to it, and he was used to the girl speaking about Nina. It was like she was a broken record!
(Get it? Because she works in a record store? ....Okay)
Anyway, Aziraphale loved getting visits from her, as he would never admit it, but he was quite lonely. Even though the cottage wasn’t too big, he still yearned for some kind of connection. Let it be platonic or romantic, he just wanted to speak to someone who wasn’t a decade younger than him. He put his phone down, turning it off with a sigh, again he’d gotten sucked into social media.
He really didn’t like the fact that this was his job, but apparently people liked to watch him bake, and he was too much of a people pleaser to do something that didn’t bring back good reviews.
Even if he still hadn’t gotten money from it, he did get nice comments from people saying that he had ‘brightened up their day!’ or ‘made them feel happy’, or something similar. Besides, it wasn’t like that was his current job! No, he worked at the bookshop near his small cottage, and everyone in the little town knew him. Apart from being known for his kindness, he was known for his delicious baked goods. Sometimes, for charities or similar events, he set up a small ‘shop’ by his cottage (a table with various baked goods and coffee), which was always very popular.
Aziraphale’d been told various times he could perfectly open up a bakery, but he wasn’t sure he’d like that. It could be too stressful, and maybe he wouldn’t like to bake anymore, and his comfort thing would be gone. He couldn’t have that now, could he?
He rolled his shoulders back, letting them relax just slightly as he closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath. His eyes were tired, but he wasn’t very sure why, as he hadn’t spent too much time reading the previous night. Okay, so he did, so he was reading this new genre called cozy mystery, and it felt like he physically couldn’t stop reading, but he did that every night, it wasn’t anything new! See, how could he not be hooked when Laura, Charlie Harris’ daughter and aspiring Hollywood actor, had come back to the small town and had reconnected with her ex? And then the ex died? It was just too captivating to stop reading, and he had found he really didn’t want to.
Another one of his options was to talk about books on his main Instagram account, although that may be shifting the focus away from his baking - then again, that may be a good thing, seeing as he’d been okay lately and didn’t need to use baking as a stress relief (also, to who would he be giving all these pastries? Maggie certainly couldn’t eat all of them alone, and she wouldn’t give any to Nina, even if Aziraphale insisted it would be a good starting point!)
He walks to his comfy chair and sinks into it, eyes closing as he took off his reading glasses (he’d put them on to read a recipe for blueberry cinnamon rolls), bliss rolling over him for a few seconds. And then, a ping! And another ping!
Aziraphale scowls, which is something he never does, but it was probably an effect from the tiredness, and checks his phone. He’d put his phone on silent, he didn’t even have the Instagram notifications on, at least not for posts, and he doubted anybody would send him a direct message (was that what they were called? Maggie had been trying to show him how to work the app but it was a bit too confusing for him. He liked Pinterest much more.)
And his eyes widened once he saw @anthonyjcrowley. What the fuck. He normally wouldn’t bring himself to say swear words, as he just found them to be off-putting, at least to hear him say them, but he couldn’t help but let it out. Genuinely though, what the fuck was Anthony J Crowley messaging him about?
It was probably a fake account. He hoped it wasn’t a fake account, it would be very nice to meet an actor, he thought. He so adored every role Anthony got, since he was simply a good actor. He very much liked Doctor Who, and he watched Anthony’s season over and over (it wasn’t just for him - the writing was also nice (lie, it was most certainly just for Anthony)).
@anthonyjcrowley: Helol, Mr. Fell! I love yuor videos and wanted to tell yuo.
@aziraphalesfellsbaking: Hello! Don’t mind me asking, but is this a fake account?
Aziraphale, you idiot. How could it not be a fake account? Besides, what would a fake account even say to that-? Clearly no!
@anthonyjcrowley: Of course not, I unsterdant that necessary precuations must be taken. No, this is not a fake accoutn.
@aziraphalesfellsbaking: Right.
Aziraphale’s eyes glazed over the check approved mark thing at Anthony’s profile, something that Maggie had said meant someone was good? Lee-git? He wasn’t sure what she had said.
@anthonyjcrowley: Coffee?
@aziraphalesfellsbaking: Excuse me?
@anthonyjcrowley: too fast?i wnat cofefe with you.
Aziraphale stares at the message and shuts off his phone, sighing.