Chapter Text
Crowley wasn't a demon given to statistics, but he was keeping a rigorous count.
Seventy-four days. Seventeen bouquets. Eight artisanal coffees with heart designs in the foam. And exactly four invitations for "after-work drinks" that Aziraphale, in his infinite and exasperating politeness, had declined with a smile that Crowley considered dangerously too kind.
Her name was Eleanor. She had opened a concept flower shop and coffee shop two doors down from Aziraphale's bookstore. She was human, successful, wore expensive jasmine perfume, and—what irritated Crowley most— seemed to have an endless supply of patience.
Crowley was sprawled in one of the velvet armchairs in the bookstore, hidden behind his dark glasses and a copy of a gardening magazine he wasn't even reading. He watched, his serpentine eyes half-closed, through the reflection in the shop window.
The doorbell rang with that cheerful tinkle that Crowley now associated with impending disaster.
"Mr. Fell!" Eleanor's voice echoed, vibrant and full of self-confidence. "I brought something that I thought would go perfectly with the first edition you showed me yesterday."
Aziraphale emerged from behind a pile of books, adjusting his waistcoat and with that glint in his eyes that he usually reserved for French pastries or books.
"Oh, Eleanor! What a pleasant surprise. But you really didn't need to..."
"Those are lilies of the valley," she said, sliding a bouquet wrapped in brown tissue paper across the counter. "And I brought that Dry Martini we talked about. The bartender on the corner let me bring it in a thermal cup to keep it cold."
Crowley gripped the arm of the armchair so tightly that the leather creaked. A drink. In the middle of the afternoon. At the bookstore.
"Lilies of the valley!" Aziraphale exclaimed, his hands almost touching hers as he picked the flowers. "A symbol of purity and... well, of renewed happiness. What a lovely gesture."
Eleanor leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter, her gaze fixed on the angel in a way that Crowley could only describe as "predatory."
" I always think that happiness should be cultivated, don't you think, Aziraphale?"
From his shadowy corner, Crowley let out a sound that was a mixture of a growl and a gasp. Aziraphale finally seemed to notice his presence.
"Ah, Crowley!" the angel called, beaming. "Look how kind dear Eleanor is. She's been such a helpful neighbor these past few months."
Crowley stood up. He walked to the counter, stopping right next to Aziraphale, invading the angel's personal space with a possessiveness he expected would be obvious even to a protozoan.
"Yes," Crowley hissed, his voice dropping to that dangerous tone. "Helpful is a word. I was thinking of something more like... persistent."
Eleanor did not back down. She looked at Crowley, then at his hand which was now resting "casually" on Aziraphale's shoulder, and gave a defiant smile.
" Mr. Crowley, right? The... friend who's always around?"