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'Golgotha' (18 years old) Eden Sixth Form
It was 8.31am and Crowley stood in the middle of the hot, stuffy room in nothing but his socks and boxers, glaring down at the offending object in his hands. His new last name was still taking a bit of getting used to; but Crawley, he’d decided, was not him anymore. Although he had always disliked it, the real provocation for the sudden change had actually been his mother. She had not reacted well to some of the decisions he had recently made regarding his future. The last argument they had about it a couple of months ago had almost seen him made homeless as a result. He was pretty sure that the only reason he still had a roof over his head, after his catastrophic fall from grace, was that to some degree (and that phrase was just a little too ironic), his mother was still hoping he would eventually change his mind.
Crowley knew better though, and he was determined to live his future for himself. He couldn’t stand the thought of his whole life being a sham — doing something that he didn’t believe in or even enjoy. It might have been his mother’s and grandfather’s wishes to see him become a vicar and carry on the family name, but it certainly wasn’t his. Now, thanks to the advice and support of Mr Raphael the school guidance counsellor, neither was the name. He was counting down the months until he could move out permanently when he started at University College London in September.
“You know what you’ve done? You’ve disappointed me,” he muttered, shaking his head as he held the shorts up against himself in front of his bedroom mirror.
It wasn’t even 9am yet, and already the temperature was stifling. By the time he would be arriving at school to participate in the assembly they were putting on for the parents, it was going to be much too hot to wear his usual trousers. This was set to be the hottest Easter on record and his school wardrobe, for one, was definitely not prepared for that fact. It hadn’t been hot enough for him to wear his school shorts in a couple of years and, having grown significantly in that time, they unfortunately no longer fit him.
“Oh dear, oh dear,” he continued, holding the shorts up dramatically. “Everyone say goodbye to your friend. He just couldn’t cut it.”
With a sigh, he flung the now obsolete pair of shorts into an open box in the corner of his room labelled ‘charity’, and sauntered off along the landing towards his older sister Lilith’s bedroom. With both his mother and sister at work, he had the house to himself, giving him free access to his sister’s wardrobe, where he hoped to find something he could pass off as uniform.
He slunk into the room and opened the wardrobe door, greeted by an interesting array of clothing to peruse. He scanned over the many dresses, shorts and trousers she owned, looking for anything black or grey that he might be able to get away with.
It wasn’t like he was a stranger to borrowing and wearing some of his sister’s clothes. She was four years older than him, so many old jeans and t-shirts that were deemed androgynous enough for him to get away with had found their way into his own wardrobe over the years.
There had also been that rather unforgettable sleepover a few years ago when he and Aziraphale had raided her makeup and dress collection for a laugh while she was out at a party and his mother was on a night shift at the hospital. They had decided to put on their own show and, due to Crowley’s obsession with all things Arthurian at the time, had ended up calling themselves the Ladies of Camelot. It had been good fun dolling themselves up and trying on different dresses and heels, all while singing along to “You’re My Best Friend” by Queen.
At least, that was until Lilith had come home early from her party and caught them. It was that day that he and Aziraphale had learned the true value of a good makeup remover as she had refused to lend them hers, leaving them to scrub off waterproof mascara and lipstick as best as they could with water and a washcloth. They had both gone to bed that night looking more like raunchy pandas than ladies, but at least his sister had agreed not to tell their mum about it.
His eyes fell on a couple of Lilith’s old grey pleated school skirts, squashed in at the very end of the rail. He paused. Was this a bit too daring even for him? Then he thought about the other option, of ending up with great pustulent mangled bollocks from sweating his balls off in that non-air conditioned auditorium all through their lengthy Easter assembly.
“Fuck it!” he said with a shrug and grabbed the skirt. With his mum unable to attend, it wasn’t like his sister would find out and there was no point sweating to death if he didn’t need to. Besides, he’d always felt just as comfortable wearing skirts as he did wearing shorts or trousers. It only seemed to be other people who had a problem with it. And other people’s opinions on what and how he should be, as he was beginning to discover, were something that he could and probably should freely ignore.
***
Once he had quickly finished dressing, wolfed down a piece of toast and brushed his teeth, he left the house to hurry along towards Eden alone. He would usually walk with Aziraphale, but his friend had been asked to arrive there early this morning to have the last parts of his costume fitted. He would be helping act out the Sixth Form’s retelling of the Easter story, while Crowley was just a narrator this time. Panting a little due to his fast pace and the heat, he wondered what Aziraphale would think of his new attire.
His best friend had always supported him, no matter how Crowley chose to present himself to the world. And because of that trust and support, at another memorable sleepover when they were fifteen he had decided to share with Aziraphale that he was gay. The steady drip of information that his mind and body had been feeding him for years had finally crystallised into something tangible enough to share.
Everyone around them had seemed to be either pairing up or losing their minds to unrequited love. Then one night, they had stayed up way too late watching The Lord of the Rings. After one too many red bulls (that number for Crowley, who could be energetic at the best of times and almost hyperactive at the worst, was two), he had finally decided to reveal the information. He knew that Aziraphale would take it well. He’d even wondered if they might be alike in that way, but what he had not expected was Aziraphale’s sheer enthusiasm.
“Oh, that’s brilliant,” Aziraphale had gasped, looking almost relieved. “Me too! I’ve wanted to tell you for ages, but it just never felt like the right time.”
It was a relief. Nothing had changed regarding their friendship; if anything, it had brought them closer together. They’d even started to hold hands now and again when they sat on the sofa watching a film or one of their favourite series, just like they used to when they were little kids. It felt perfect; he couldn’t imagine life without his best friend by his side.
Crowley had needed his support over the weeks and months following this revelation too. Aziraphale hadn’t felt ready to tell anybody else yet, and Crowley had completely understood and accepted this. He sometimes pondered what things would have been like if he had kept it to himself for longer. Lilith, who he’d never been that close with due to their age gap and differing interests, didn’t seem overly bothered by the change. His mother, on the other hand, with the strict Christian values she had been steeped in since birth, was much less indifferent to the news. It had caused heavy tension to develop between them, and the announcement of his career change a few short months ago had been the final straw.
***
Almost out of puff now, Crowley crashed through the auditorium doors, only to have the rest of his breath stolen from his lungs when his eyes came to rest upon Aziraphale standing centre stage in full costume. Dressed in fine white robes, the early morning sunlight glinted off the golden halo perched atop his pale blond curls. The large white wings on his back were doing something to Crowley, and the whole effect was so powerful that there might just as well have been a real angel standing there. When Aziraphale turned and noticed his friend, his whole face burst into life, causing Crowley’s already racing heart to almost stutter to a halt.
Forgetting the presence of everyone else in the room, he let his backpack slip to the floor and made his way across to the stage to greet his friend properly — only to be interrupted by a disapproving voice calling out his name.
“Anthony Crawley! What on earth are you wearing?” called out Mrs Uriel, the deputy head, from behind him.
He flinched, sighed and turned around to see her sour face fixed on his lower half.
“I’ve changed it,” he said patiently.
“Changed what? Your trousers? I can see that!” She scowled at him.
“My name. Crawley just wasn’t doing it for me. A bit too squirming at your feet-ish.”
“Very funny,” his teacher replied, her face telling a different story. “So what is it now, and why are you wearing a skirt?”
“Crowley. And my school shorts don’t fit anymore, so I thought I’d just wear this instead,” he replied, waving his hand dismissively at the garment.
This appeared to be the wrong answer as his teacher proceeded to get more irate. “You thought you’d…?” she started incredulously. “We are about to perform a retelling of the Easter story in front of most of the Sixth Form’s parents and family relations! How can you possibly think it appropriate to stand up on stage looking like that? You’ll offend the audience!”
Crowley glanced down at the just-below-the-knee length skirt and back up at her, bewildered.
“Let me get this straight,” he replied disbelievingly. “We’re pretending to crucify Chris on stage and you’re worried about me upsetting people by wearing a skirt?”
The frown in Mrs Uriel’s brow deepened.
“They’re even using nails and fake blood this year! I think if the toddlers and elderly relatives in the audience can get through that unscathed, then anything I’m wearing isn’t going to matter to them all that much. Besides, we were all told to wear summer uniforms for the performance because of the heat.”
The deputy's eyes narrowed at him. Behind the glare, he could see her brain mentally calculating the exact amount of detention he was going to receive for this transgression.
Aziraphale appeared at his right, providing a steady, comforting presence. He could feel the edge of one feathered wing gently brushing against his side.
“Um, hi, hello Mrs Uriel,” he said politely. “I’ve just checked the uniform policy on my phone and it does list both skirts and shorts as acceptable options for students to wear. There’s no mention of which item needs to be worn by which gender. You’re welcome to check it if you don’t believe me,” he finished, offering up his phone to her with a helpful smile.
Her eyes glanced at his phone and then at the large clock on the wall. Crowley thought he heard her let out a small growl under her breath before she straightened herself up to her full height. “There’s no time to discuss this now. The doors will be opening to the parents in ten minutes,” she ground out. “Get to your places both of you — but I will be updating that policy, so you are going to need to find yourself a new pair of shorts quickly, Master Crowley.” With a tight smile, she turned and left the room, feathers well and truly ruffled.
Crowley turned around to see his guardian angel standing beside him, looking in equal measures both pleased and shocked at himself for what he’d just done. A pale shade of pink was blooming on his cheeks.
Aziraphale closed his phone’s case and smiled timidly back at him. “Well, you certainly know how to make an entrance,” he chided. “I’ve never seen Mrs Uriel so rattled. I was sure she was about to give you detention for the rest of the year, and all because of a skirt!” He shook his head with a sigh, eyes flashing down approvingly. “Anyway, I rather think it suits you,” he added in a lower voice.
Crowley beamed, his cheeks starting to hurt from smiling so much at the incredible being before him. “Aziraphale, that was bloody amazing! You’re amazing!” he burst out, barely able to contain his glee. He’d never seen his friend stand up to a teacher so confidently before (even though he had been getting more comfortable with ignoring some of the more authoritarian school rules over the last few years). But jumping in like that to defend him from the deputy head was a new one. Aziraphale might as well have been standing there wielding a flaming sword for how much he resembled a hero to Crowley in that moment.
Yet again, his best friend had exceeded his expectations, continuing to amaze him with how far he’d come since they first met all those years ago, when he wouldn’t question a single rule or long-held belief. He didn’t even flinch when Crowley swore or blasphemed nowadays. Crowley very much approved of the change and, by the way Aziraphale’s eyes kept drifting down to below the hem of his skirt, he thought the feeling might have been mutual.
“Yes, although I do hope I didn’t do the wrong thing,” his friend confessed. “She’s probably going to make the uniform policy even more strict now.”
“Nah, you’re an angel.” Crowley grinned back at him, running his fingers down the sleek feathers of the nearest wing. “I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.”
The angel rolled his eyes at him and scoffed.
Crowley gazed at him fondly for another moment, before adding “Anyway, thanks for being cool about it!”
Gratitude and another feeling, something fizzy and exciting he couldn’t quite place, surged up inside Crowley. Before he could overthink it, he leaned in to give Aziraphale a quick peck on the cheek, relishing his friend’s slight intake of breath as his lips made contact with his soft, rosy skin. “Thanks again, angel,” he whispered into the shell of his ear, before grabbing his backpack and slinking away to climb the steps onto the stage.
Looking back around before he ducked behind the curtains, he could see Aziraphale still standing where he had left him, fingers pressed lightly against his cheek, staring off into the middle distance. He smirked. Oh how he loved the feeling of being able to fluster his best friend so thoroughly.
***
As the curtains swept closed and the sound of applause began to ebb away, Aziraphale let free a sigh of relief. This performance had been their last big school production, and with looming A Level exams to complete after Easter, all spare time would now be reserved for studying. The realisation left him with a strange tangled knot of emotions.
He slipped off his halo for what would surely be the last time and took a moment to examine it in his hands. In truth, it felt almost blasphemous to be wearing this costume. The last couple of years seemed more like he’d just been going through the motions with his faith. It had all become a weak facsimile of what it had once been like for him when he was younger. The stories, hymns and prayers didn’t hold the same power over him as they once did. His many questions had finally changed into doubts, tipping the scales in his mind, and he found that he could no longer define himself as a believer. He couldn’t be completely sure that there wasn’t a great omniscient creator playing dice with the universe at some ineffable games table in the sky — but it was seeming less and less likely.
Slowly but surely disentangling himself from the constrictive tendrils of his faith had been an onerous process, but Crowley had been by his side each step of the way, a patient guide throughout the long process. He had never pushed Aziraphale or hurried him along towards a conclusion. Instead, he merely threw out questions and let Aziraphale find his own way towards the answers.
So now, rather than simply pushing down the many questions and doubts he’d collected to hide away, he would take the time to pick up and carefully examine each one he stumbled upon before deciding if it was something he should retain or cast aside. His mind felt less like a battleground than it ever had before and he was free (at least internally for now) to question things and explore his doubts more fully. After what had happened so recently to Crowley, he was by no means in any hurry to tell his parents about his changing views. He’d come a long way, but he still hadn’t managed to shed all of the restrictive tenets that he had grown up with.
“Hey!” Crowley moved in towards him, smiling. “You were great.” His fingers ghosted down the robe hanging loosely over Aziraphale’s arm, stopping at the bottom to give his hand a quick squeeze, before breaking away again. Despite the almost stifling heat backstage, the touch caused a small shivering sensation to cascade down Aziraphale’s spine. He had to resist the urge to reach out his own hand to recapture the lost contact.
“Oh, thank you, you too!” Aziraphale hurriedly replied, looking up into those bright golden brown eyes, before leaning in conspiratorially. “Furfur told me backstage that he wished he’d thought of wearing a skirt in this heat. It seems you’ve become something of a fashion icon.”
Crowley cackled loudly, but then paused to ask, “Who’s Furfur again?”
“You know, Ferdinand MacFurgus. He’s in the year below us.”
His friend stared blankly back at him.
“The one who’s always in charge of props,” Aziraphale prompted, rolling his eyes as Crowley simply shrugged and shook his head.
He sighed, then leaned in closer and gestured. “The one with the hair.”
“Oh, him!”
“Yes, him,” he said exasperatedly. Crowley really could be hopeless with names sometimes. “Anyway, none of the audience seemed overly scandalised by your new look. I saw a few puzzled frowns from the first row, but I don’t think the rest of them even noticed.”
“I’d be surprised if that lot out there noticed much of anything outside of what their own kid was doing on the stage,” Crowley scoffed. “I think some of them only come so they can show off about how well the ‘apple of their eye’ did during the tea and biscuits Eden provides afterwards.”
Aziraphale tried to stifle a laugh as they turned to make their way to the changing rooms. He thought about his own parents still sitting out there, probably eagerly talking the ear off whoever was nearest them about how their son had got the starring role as the angel again (even though Aziraphale had rarely been allowed to play any other role during his time at Eden). Still, that’s how they were, always more concerned with how things looked and what others might think than anything else. That wasn’t to say they weren’t supportive. On the contrary, they could be very encouraging (bordering on overbearing), as long as it was something they approved of.
He still remembered the first time he had excitedly told them that he wanted to be a magician when he grew up. Although he was only six at the time, their disapproval had been both swift and severe. "Not respectable enough,” had been their exact words, and Aziraphale had eventually been forced some years later to reclassify that dream to the category of ‘fun hobbies’ rather than ‘valid career choices’.
This had also been a big part of why he’d decided to study English Lit at UCL. He had always loved reading, so was happy to learn more about some of his favourite authors and how literature had developed over the centuries. But it had been his parents’ wish for him to become an English teacher. They wanted him to have a reputable job and had made it very clear that they would only help fund the course, student accommodation and supplies if the degree he chose to study would lead to one. This also meant that he would have to take an extra one year PGCE course afterwards, on top of his degree, to become a qualified teacher. He only wished there were some way he could combine his love of the written word with his twin passion for performing.
They made their way (awkwardly for Aziraphale, who was still wearing his wings) through the door of the male changing rooms where the other actors were already taking off their costumes and getting back into their summer uniforms. Crowley, not needing to get changed, slumped down on the low bench that ran along the walls of the room and busied himself playing a game on his phone. Aziraphale could hear the occasional explosion sound effect coming from it as his friend tapped away, his skirt now slightly ruched up and revealing just above the tops of his knees in this new position.
Once his wings and thin robe were slipped off and hung up, Aziraphale was left in his boxers and a white vest. He quickly started pulling on his school shorts and short-sleeved shirt. He wasn’t overly bothered about Crowley seeing him in this state of undress. But, since his body was softer and a little more rounded than the toned muscled physique that boys their age should apparently be aspiring towards, he felt less comfortable like this with his peers around him.
“Why am I always the angel?” he complained as he hung the robe, wings and halo on the costume rail in the middle of the room before returning to put on his tie.
He caught Crowley’s eyes looking up from his phone, glancing at him and then trailing off to stare at the costume he had just hung up. “Nnnyuh, guess it just suits you? You’ve never had the wings before though; those are new!” he remarked approvingly.
“I suppose.” Aziraphale frowned quizzically, a little unsure of where his friend’s newfound enthusiasm was coming from.
Crowley finally broke his fixed gaze with the garment when he was sharply drawn back to his phone, due to a grim sound signalling that his character was out of lives and he needed to restart the level. He let out a small groan, turned the thing off and tossed it into his open backpack, before giving Aziraphale his undivided attention. “Well, you do look very angelic.” He smirked, eyes twinkling as they cast over his friend’s features. “Why'd you think I started calling you angel?”
“Ah, so you think it’s become a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy, do you? I look therefore I am, hum?” he retorted primly, trying to keep the amusement both off his face and out of his voice.
Having finished re-dressing, he slipped his own backpack over his shoulder, ready to head for a shady spot outside to while away their next free period until it was time for lunch.
His friend sat there a moment longer, fixing him with the look that set off tingling spirals of excitement in Aziraphale’s stomach. “You’ve always been one to me, angel,” he said softly. Then he bounced both eyebrows while smiling devilishly and grabbed his backpack, brushing his body lightly against Aziraphale’s as he squeezed past him to saunter out the door.
That caused the spirals to intensify somewhat, while also turning their trajectory a little further south. Aziraphale took a deep breath to collect himself and opened the door to follow after Crowley. Dear Lord, he could be a menace.
In the corridor that led to the large grassy lawned area outside, someone had put a basket of small chocolate eggs wrapped in colourful foil on a table with a note saying ‘Well done, Year Thirteens! Please take ONE each.’ on it.
“Ha! That’s us,” said Crowley triumphantly, swiping one for himself and tossing another smoothly towards Aziraphale, only for him to fumble slightly before catching it. “Must be a treat for us doing our final show.”
Aziraphale let a thread of nostalgia weave itself into the tangled knot of emotions in his chest. Even if he was rarely cast as the part he wanted, and the productions they performed were less than inspiring, he still loved the feeling of being on stage and entertaining an audience. “Do you remember our first ever play we did together — the Nativity?” he asked.
Crowley scoffed rudely. “I remember them taking my line away! I still can’t believe it. Everyone else was given a line but me — even the donkey got to say ‘hee-haw’! I just had to point.”
Aziraphale rolled his eyes fondly at his disgruntled friend and much maligned innkeeper. “Well honestly, what did you expect if you couldn’t keep to the script?” he teased.
That earned him Crowley’s usual look of mock-offended outrage. “All I did was try to improve it. The story doesn’t make any sense! What kind of a monster sends someone who’s about to give birth to sleep in a stable?”
Aziraphale felt a soft tingling sensation rise in his chest as he thought back on it all. Crowley had such a big heart, even at that age.
They found a shady spot on the low perimeter wall below one of the large trees that were dotted about the expanse of grass. Aziraphale scooched up a little closer than usual to his friend, their shoulders and hips almost touching.
They began to unwrap their now slightly melting eggs and Crowley continued stroppily, oblivious to the enamoured look he was receiving. “I only said ‘You can have my room if you like’. What’s so bad about that? I thought the whole point was to show kindness? Isn’t that what Jesus was supposed to have said, ‘Be kind to each other’? Y’know, before it got him into all that trouble.” Crowley took a bite of egg.
Aziraphale had heard this many times before. He actually found himself agreeing with his friend’s viewpoint on it too nowadays, but he couldn’t resist winding up Crowley just a little bit more. After all, his sense of outrage at what he saw as unjust were one of the things he lo—liked most about him.
“Well, perhaps the innkeeper thought he was being kind by letting them sleep in his stable?” he supplied in an amused tone.
“Would’ve been kinder to let them sleep in his bed!” Crowley grumbled, chomping noisily on more of his egg. “That’s the problem with Eden — everything is so unimaginative and conformist. Our years in the Eden Entertainers would have been much more fun if they actually gave us something inspiring to perform.”
“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale soothed. The endearment had started off as a bit of a joke. Anathema had accused them of behaving like an old married couple after overhearing them happily bickering one day, which was, frankly, a bit ironic considering the PDAs that he and Crowley had to suffer through from her and Newt on an almost daily basis. But it had stuck. Aziraphale liked the way it had felt to call his friend this; after all, Crowley was very dear to him. Why shouldn’t he be able to label him as such?
A light breeze picked up, causing a calming susurration in the leaves above them. They both finished their eggs while looking out onto the massive sun-drenched lawn at the many groups of sixth formers sitting or happily sprawled about in the pockets of shade beneath the trees.
“Your mum didn’t come then?” Aziraphale asked sympathetically as his eyes drifted over the clusters of cheerful faces in front of them.
“Nope,” replied Crowley, popping the P. “Said she had to work, but who knows…”
Aziraphale looked down to where Crowley’s hand lay on the wall between them. He let his own, which had been resting on his thigh since he’d finished eating, slowly slip down until it settled on top of his friend’s. Then he gently entwined their fingers, tracing a continuous soothing circle with his thumb over the nearest knuckle beneath. Crowley let out a long sigh and leaned into him a little, still gazing ahead.
“I still can’t believe it was the whole ‘vicar’ thing that finally did it either,” his friend confessed. “Though I guess I should’ve seen it coming. It was so much worse than when I told her I was gay, and she only became slightly more ok with that after some frantic Googling to check whether I could still become a vicar if I was! Got to carry on the family legacy — never mind if it didn’t actually fit in with any of my plans and how I wanted to live my life.” He let out another long exhale, tense shoulders now slumping. “I’d sort of convinced myself maybe this wouldn’t be such a big deal in the long run either, that she’d eventually understand why I couldn’t study theology; how I just didn’t believe in it all — that I wasn’t sure I ever really had. But she acted like it was the end of the world. I might as well’ve told her it had started raining fish!”
Aziraphale squeezed his hand tighter. This was not the first discussion they’d had on the topic, but his heart still ached for Crowley on every occasion it was mentioned. He had been there each time, watching his friend pace about, listening to his angry rants, and when those outbursts inevitably gave way to frustrated sobs, he would hug and hold him through it. He always felt he should be doing or saying more, but Crowley had reassured him that just being there was all he ever needed. So Aziraphale had sat and listened, comforted and supported, all the while grappling with how unfair the situation was; Crowley had to fight to be — and then fall just for being — himself. He also feared for a future when that bleak inevitability would one day come for him too.
“I think part of her believes that I’ll still end up changing my mind, that this ‘being gay’ thing is just a phase. That once I see how hard the real world is by working some ‘menial’ job, I’ll come back around to being a vicar, and my faith will just magically appear. But there’s no way I’m changing my mind. And anyway, it’s not like being gay is a choice.”
Aziraphale nodded in empathy, humming his assent, before a spark of nervous anxiety had him shifting uncomfortably on the perch beside his friend.
“Hey, sorry,” said Crowley, turning to face him fully as he surveyed his features with care. “Have you decided if you’re going to tell your parents yet?”
“Uh, no, not yet,” Aziraphale replied, shaking his head as he instead tried to focus on the sensation of the breeze toying with his curls as it gusted over his skin. He hadn’t managed to pluck up the courage so far, unsure of how badly his parents would take it. Part of not wanting to tell them was that it had taken him a while to know exactly how he felt about it all once he’d realised. The discovery had initially left him quite conflicted. Homosexuality was still seen as a sin by most of the people he knew, including his parents — although they were nowhere near as severe in their views as some. But as the belief in his faith had started to dwindle, his confidence in himself had risen.
He hadn’t been remotely ready to tell his parents at the same time as Crowley told his mum. Then Mrs Crawley’s negative reaction had made all of his fears come true, causing him to become even more anxious. Aziraphale knew he must find the fortitude one day, but was not in any rush at the moment; instead, he was resigned to keeping the peace — he hadn’t told them about his diminishing faith either!
But talking things through with Crowley had helped. And after one such evening of discussion, when he had returned home to lie sleepless in his own bed that night, he had finally come to the realisation that showing real love could never be truly sinful. He had awoken the next morning feeling a little lighter and tried to keep that thought in mind whenever his nerves around the topic got the better of him.
“S’ok,” his friend assured him. “Just do it when you feel ready. It’s nobody’s business but yours. You should get to decide if and when you want to share it.”
“Thank you.” Aziraphale exhaled slowly, imagining the tension floating away alongside his breath on the cooling zephyr.
“Anyway, we’ll have uni to look forward to soon!” Crowley continued. “London’s going to be loads more exciting than Guildford. I can’t wait ‘til we can move into our student digs — and that history course I’m doing at UCL is going to be so much more interesting than theology.” Crowley’s face broke into a lopsided smile and he peered at his friend out of the corner of his eye. “Hey, remember when we were younger, and I was determined that I was going to be the one to figure out what the whole business with the fossilised dinosaur skeletons was? That maybe it was just some kind of big joke the paleontologists hadn’t seen yet?”
Aziraphale grinned back, remembering seven-year-old Crowley’s earnest and completely incorrect deductions about the bones he had seen on a trip to London’s Natural History Museum with his family.
“Well, you’ve certainly always had a gift for questions, but I don’t think you quite hit the mark with that particular theory,” he replied with an affectionate chuckle.
“Ugh, I forgot to tell you,” groaned Crowley, scrubbing his free hand down his face, “Mum told me yesterday I need to get a summer job.”
“Oh?” Aziraphale was surprised at the announcement, and a little unsure of how to respond.
“Yeah, one of her friends runs a call centre that’s based on the edge of town. Apparently there’s an opening selling cavity wall insulation or double glazing or something like that. It sounds awful, but Mum’s not really giving me any choice. At least I’ll be able to earn a bit of money to help cover some of the costs of uni. The grants and bursary aren’t going to stretch that far and Mum’s only willing to help out financially if I continue to stick to the whole ‘study theology and become a vicar’ plan.” He paused to scuff his shoe sharply in the gravel at the base of the wall. “So we might not be able to hang out as much as usual in the day — it’s gonna be 9.00 to 5.30 — but I can still meet up with you after work and on the weekends.” He smiled hopefully.
Aziraphale felt a solid stone-like lump form in his throat at the new information. He tried to swallow it down, but the weight of it instead caused a sinking feeling to open up in the pit of his stomach. He’d thought he would have had more time to figure out how he was going to tell Crowley about his news.
“What, aren’t you going to smirk at your poor bugger of a friend, for his awful summer job?” teased Crowley, nudging him playfully with his shoulder.
“Smirk? Me?” he replied, flustered as guilt began to tighten its grip on his insides and squeeze.
“Well, what’re your lot planning to do for the summer then? Off on any trips?” his friend continued breezily, unaware of the sudden drop in Aziraphale’s mood.
Panic decided to join in. “I’m not consulted on holiday decisions, Crowley,” he deflected, trying to gather the snippets of half-formed thoughts and conversations he had been saving up over the last few weeks to discuss with Crowley when the time was right (not when the time was right now). How was he supposed to tell him everything when he’d just discovered his friend was being forced to spend the summer slaving away in some miserable call centre? While he was going to be—
“Oh, there you are Aziraphale!” called out the cheerful voice of his mother. He startled at the sound and looked up to see his parents walking over towards them. Pulling his hand off Crowley’s, he made sure his shirt was properly tucked in and his posture was impeccable as they made their way across the grass from the entrance to the auditorium, where other family members were now filtering out too.
“Hello, darling!” His mother beamed as they finally stopped in front of them and the boys mumbled their greetings back. “We thought you were both very good in the show, didn’t we, Godfrey?” She nudged Aziraphale’s father with her elbow and he dutifully nodded, while wearing a perplexed expression as he stared down at Crowley’s lower half.
His mother continued to give a detailed runthrough of the many conversations she had instigated with a large proportion of the other parents who’d attended the play. Both boys nodded along politely. But Aziraphale kept his eyes fixed on his father’s confused face. He could practically hear his thought process as it stuttered along. He knew what his father truly wanted to say was “You’re wearing a skirt!” …But he just couldn’t bring himself to say it. I mean, Crowley must know that, mustn’t he? Perhaps his father thought it was possibly some kind of practical joke. So instead he said…
“Has Aziraphale told you about the big holiday yet?”
Aziraphale closed his eyes and groaned internally. Oh…fuck. It was times like this that made him think that although he was getting closer to ruling out the reality of God in his mind, the existence of Satan might very well still be on the table.
“Uhhh, no?” Crowley responded, glancing quickly at Aziraphale and then back at his parents again.
“Oh, it’s going to be simply wonderful!” his mother crowed, delighted for another opportunity to broadcast their impressive plans. “We’re going to visit France and then Italy for six weeks this summer. One last big family holiday before our little boy leaves for university.”
Aziraphale felt wretched. He would have actually welcomed the ground opening up at this point and swallowing him down to Hell so he could give its ruler a few choice words about inopportune timing.
He watched Crowley’s slightly bewildered face as he tried to take in the torrent of information his mother was spewing forth about their luxury travel plans.
“First we’re going to Paris to see all of their beautiful cathedrals and art galleries — we might spend a bit of time exploring the more rural areas too, if the mood suits. Then we’ll hop on a plane to Italy to spend a couple of weeks on the beach in Sperlonga at this delightful little five-star hotel Godfrey and I went to on our wedding anniversary a few years ago. After that, we’re hiring a car and travelling up to Rome to see all of the sights. We’ll be visiting Vatican City too, of course, to see the Sistine Chapel and St. Peter’s Basilica, and then there’s all the museums…” She continued to waffle, listing all of the many religious buildings and attractions they would be seeing.
As Crowley nodded along politely to his mother’s enthusiastic sharing of their ever expanding itinerary, Aziraphale felt the emotional knot in his chest tighten even further. He’d been trying to think of the best way to mention this trip to his friend for a little while now. He hadn’t wanted to lie about it — they rarely had any secrets between them — but by keeping it to himself, he could at least on some level pretend that it wasn’t real yet, that it wasn’t going to happen.
If he was being honest with himself, the thought of being forced to leave behind his life here for so long had stirred up a lot of complicated feelings. He liked the familiarity of his daily routine and being able to talk to his best friend whenever he wanted. They had barely gone more than two weeks without seeing each other in recent years, and even during the school holidays when they had been younger, they had enjoyed regular playdates and sleepovers. But in the last few years, especially with their mobile phones and online games, they had been almost inseparable — or at the very least, always contactable. Now that his mother had spilled the beans for him, revealing the glaring reality of the situation, it suddenly hit him. This wasn’t about not wanting to leave his life behind. It was that he didn’t want to leave Crowley. And with that new piece of information falling into place, it was starting to dawn on him that his feelings for his friend might run deeper than he had ever thought to look before.
Aziraphale was still twisting his fingers together anxiously as his parents said their goodbyes.
Crowley turned to him. “So, a nice relaxing holiday visiting every religious attraction Paris, Rome and Vatican City have to offer, eh?” The teasing tone in his friend’s voice cut through the last of his rapidly fraying nerves.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before!” he burst out as soon as his parents finally disappeared out of sight. “At first I didn't want to mention it until I was sure, and then…I don't even think I want to go — six weeks is such a long time. It’s just all so unfair, especially with how you’ll be spending your summer!” He tried to blink the sting of tears away as he rapidly forced out the rest of his jumble of thoughts. “I’ll be flitting about from five-star hotel to five-star hotel all while you’re stuck working away in some dreadful call centre.”
As Crowley slipped their hands back together, Aziraphale took a shaky breath to steady himself. He finally brought his eyes back up to meet his friend’s, and whispered, “I-I’m going to miss you terribly, my dear. It’s going to feel like a very long summer without you.”
“Oh, angel, did you get too in your head about things again?” Crowley said sympathetically, squeezing his hand a little tighter.
Aziraphale gave a weak but grateful smile, only trusting himself to nod in return, lest the last scraps of his composure completely slip.
“Look, I’m going to miss you loads too, but it’s not your fault my mum’s determined to punish me.” He gave Aziraphale an awkward shoulder bump to match his crooked smile. “Sounds exciting though, yeah? And we’ll still be able to text and stuff. S’not like we aren’t going to be able to speak at all.”
“Yes, I suppose so.” Aziraphale sniffed, cheering slightly as he felt a little of the tension he had put himself under starting to release.
“D’you think they’re on a mission to show you all of the religious kingdoms of the world before you finally break free?” Crowley grinned with a wink.
“I think they’re trying to show me a lot of religious everything, if my mother’s towering pile of travel magazines at home are to be believed.” The taut knot in his chest finally began to loosen. “Thank you,” he added, “I really was going to tell you.”
“I know, angel. But you can always tell me, yeah? Even if it’s difficult.”
They sat together for a little while longer, enjoying the clear spring air, and the heat of the sun tempered by the occasional gusty breeze.
“Do you think you’ll get the chance to go away this summer?” asked Aziraphale.
“Not likely.” Crowley snorted. “Between Mum still being cross at me and this new full-time job, my travel opportunities are limited.”
Aziraphale hummed in commiseration, before wiggling a bit closer to put his arm around him. Crowley let his head fall onto his shoulder. Feeling himself instantly relax, Aziraphale breathed in the same comforting scent that had been with him since childhood. He’d become so used to it over the years, it was almost like an extension of himself. He never wanted to be without it.
Crowley let out a small sigh of contentment as he sank further into the side of him. “Don’t worry, it’s only six weeks; it’ll fly past,” he said assuredly.
“Yes, you’re probably right,” agreed Aziraphale, wishing he could hold onto this moment and pack it up to take with him on his journey.
“I can’t believe we’re finally going to be leaving Eden,” said Crowley happily, after a few blissful moments had passed. “Only one term left and then we’ll both be free! No more horrible strict teachers, no more stupid rules that don’t make any sense—”
“—no more triple R.E. lessons every week!” added Aziraphale.
“Ugh, no more R.E. ever again!” Crowley grimaced.
The lunch bell chimed in the distance, giving them the cue that they needed to return inside if they wanted to get something to eat. Aziraphale looked around, taking in all that had been familiar for so long.
Eden, despite its name, had never felt like much of a haven to him, but its austere and stifling presence was all he had known for most of his life. The thought of leaving it behind as he went on to forge his own path outside its walls at university was just as thrilling as it was daunting. There certainly were going to be a lot of changes for both him and Crowley over the coming months. But…it was time to leave the garden.
“Let me tempt you to a spot of lunch?” suggested Crowley, leaning back away from him, so Aziraphale could catch the glint of mischief in his eyes.
“Temptation accomplished.” Aziraphale beamed back at him with a happy little wiggle.
He could worry about the future later. Right now it was ‘Try a New Taste’ Thursday and, if the rumours were to be believed, this week it was going to be sushi!