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Crowley was just about to write off the day as a loss. When he’d seen the forecast late yesterday, he’d thought a bit of rain might lead to more business in his café from those willing to spend money to stay in the warm. However, the constant torrent of water pouring from the Heavens hadn’t let up at all since he’d opened that morning. Only a few fool-hardy and water-resistant folks seemed to be braving it and he’d served maybe seven customers the entire shift. When he’d realised clean-up wasn’t going to be a massive job that day, he’d told Adam, one of his baristas, that he could head home a bit early with pay. No point in them both being bored silly.
With a sigh, Crowley cricked his neck, his gaze wandering over the empty tables and chairs. Nothing better to do, he grabbed a small watering can and stalked over to one of the many plants spilling from the café’s shelves. He glared at one troublemaker, a wily snake plant, that had the bloody cheek to be wilting. “I literally gave you water two weeks ago!” he growled at it, peering at the dry topsoil.
So distracted was he that he didn’t notice he had company of a non-flora nature.
“Um, excuse me, are you open?”
Crowley swung around in surprise and was confronted with an arresting sight. Hopping around near the closing door was a thoroughly-soaked owl of a man, who was gazing at him with large, unblinking eyes. His head was topped with white dandelion-like fluff, as fine as down, and Crowley felt a sudden urge to know what it felt like against his cheek. Tiny little gold-rimmed glasses were resting upon his face, over which this person was smiling kindly. The man was beautiful, and Crowley wanted to thank whatever decisions he’d lucked into which had led to this extraordinary creature crossing his path. He attempted to think of a smooth, suave remark, but it wasn’t going well; Crowley knew words, he was sure of it, tons of ‘em. However, at that exact moment, he couldn’t recall a single one, not over the sound of his own heart thumping away in his chest.
Flapping about to shake the rainwater off him and his (tartan? really?!) umbrella, the new arrival smiled a little more awkwardly. “Terribly sorry, it’s almost closing time, isn’t it? But I thought I’d take the chance and pop in.”
Squawking in a way that was definitely neither smooth or suave, Crowley finally managed to say, “Um, nah, s’all good. Open for another hour at least.” He tried to ignore his inner voice, which was currently shouting at him in frustration that he’d chosen that as the first thing he’d said to this gorgeous person.
Going into automatic customer service mode, Crowley strode back behind the counter and leaned upon it in what he hoped was a devastatingly handsome way. “What can I get for you?”
Me, me, say it’s me, his traitorous brain murmured, and Crowley shook his head to clear those way too hungry thoughts away. It wasn’t unusual for him to be suddenly struck by attraction, but it had never felt this powerful, this insistent. He silently told himself to calm the fuck down; he didn’t even know the bloke’s name yet.
“Oh, well, actually,” his guest began apologetically, “I was rather hoping to simply say hello.”
Curiosity caused Crowley to tilt his head at this, but thankfully the man quickly explained. “Ah, you see, I have just secured the premises across the road.” He waved towards a storefront opposite, one Crowley had seen going through some major renovation to convert it from the knackered London souvenir shop Hastur and Ligur had once run before the words “money-laundering operation” and “local front for gangsters” had led to them fleeing for warmer climes.
“So you’re my new neighbour,” Crowley grinned. Having such a handsome person working just a few steps away…his luck was definitely improving.
“Yes, oh, I haven’t even properly introduced myself!” Flustered, the man nodded and announced with a dramatic flourish, “Aziraphale Fell, bookseller, owner of A.Z.Fell & Co., Purveyor of Books to the Gentry!”
Aziraphale’s little puffed out chest and voice filled with pride caused Crowley to grin in delight. Fuck, he was adorable.
Playing along, Crowley replied in kind. “Anthony Jay Crowley, owner of and coffee-slinger within The Perch Café.” He paused, plucking a tagline from the air. “Um, we sell pretty decent croissants?”
He was pleased to see an amused sparkle in Aziraphale’s shining eyes. His inner voice reluctantly decided to hand it to him: Crowley was managing to engage in some playful banter, which maybe could develop into flirtatious banter, before accelerating towards just plain flirting and then maybe actually making his intentions clear—
“A pleasure to meet you, Crowley,” Aziraphale nodded. “How long have you been here for?”
“Few years, now,” said Crowley, a note of embarrassment floating through his words as he added, “though normally it’s a bit livelier.”
“I can imagine,” Aziraphale replied, his eyes smiling. “I must say, you’ve done a beautiful job with it. It feels like a real garden, and so restful!”
Crowley may have preened slightly at that, but he still tried to ignore the way his heart skipped at the sincere praise in Aziraphale’s voice. “Um, so what kind of books d’you sell?”
If Crowley thought Aziraphale was a joy before, it was nothing compared to the vision of his passionate delving into the vast range of stock he presided over, how he made such excited sounds as he reeled off a list of the clearly precious Austen First Editions he kept (“Display only!”), or the 19th century copies of Shakespeare plays he’d lovingly restored himself (“Hamlet is so heart-rending, is it not?”).
He was so bloody adorable.
Crowley watched with wonder until Aziraphale finally paused. “Sounds like an amazing place. Look forward to visiting when you’re open.”
“That’s terribly kind of you,” Aziraphale trilled, doing what almost looked like a wiggle of happiness. Crowley thought for a second that Aziraphale might have caught the involuntary, goofy look on his face at Aziraphale’s cute display, but the man simply turned his head and glanced at the street through the window. “Looks like the weather is finally easing up! I’m afraid I really must go introduce myself to the other traders, but it was lovely to meet you, Crowley.”
There was such warmth in his eyes and it felt like being wrapped up in a cosy blanket. He nearly reverted back to his speechless self until he managed to blurt out, “Here, take a few pastries for the road.”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” Aziraphale murmured, but his hungry gaze had already darted to the cabinet filled with unsold treats.
Crowley huffed out a chuckle and began stuffing a paper bag with a medley of baked goods. “Ah, go on, better someone eat them while they’re still fresh. Not likely to sell many of them tomorrow if the rain goes on like this.”
Eyes round, Aziraphale gratefully took the offered pastries with a pleased hum. “That’s so nice of you!”
Crowley rolled his eyes playfully and tutted. “Not nice, not nice at all.”
Raising a mischievous eyebrow, Aziraphale softly smiled and looked Crowley up and down. “Well, rather more than nice, then.”
Crowley’s brain stuttered to a halt. Was…was Aziraphale flirting? Was that what those sparkling eyes meant? Or was it just the effect of the overhead lights? Was he interested too? Say something, say something, his brain protested. “Uh, maybe we should swap numbers—” Crowley mumbled, but Aziraphale was already striding towards the exit.
“Ta-ta for now, and hopefully see you again soon!” The door closed behind Aziraphale with a firm thud, one that wasn’t half as loud as the ones pounding through Crowley’s chest. When he finally recovered, he gulped, but made a determined vow: he was abso-fucking-lutely going to ask Aziraphale out.
Attempt no. 1 (maybe 1.5? Did the botched attempt to ask for his phone number count?)
It turned out that actually asking Aziraphale Fell out was a bit trickier than Crowley expected. Following that initial meeting, they hadn’t crossed paths again until the day of Aziraphale’s bookshop opening. Crowley had let a couple of hours pass, not wanting to distract the man from the small stream of customers who’d been steadily flowing in all morning. Just before lunchtime, Crowley left the coffee shop in Adam’s capable hands, promising to be back before the rush kicked off.
Carrying an Earl Grey tea (Aziraphale looked like a tea guy) and a pain au chocolat, Crowley wandered over the road. When he entered the bookshop, he was hit by the duelling scents of leather and vanilla drifting from shelves stuffed full with tomes, while neat little table displays popped up like mushrooms around the shop and carried more modern fare. Customers milled about, so it took a moment to locate the owner himself.
At the far end of the shop, he spotted a flash of white and grinned. Aziraphale was standing behind a counter, an old-fashioned brass till upon it. He was bidding goodbye to a person stashing away their purchase into a tote bag, a smile on his face but a trace of exhaustion there too. However, his expression brightened substantially when he met Crowley’s gaze.
Good start, Crowley thought, and he made his way over. “Thought you might need a little pick-me-up,” he explained, resting his offerings upon the counter. “Congrats on the opening, by the way! Looks like it’s going well.”
“A little too well,” Aziraphale huffed with a lop-sided grin. “Been absolutely rushed off my feet today fielding quite a number of queries!” He looked down at the tea and pastry bag and blinked. “That’s ever so…” He paused, then a smirk touched his eyes. “Not nice of you?”
“Very,” Crowley agreed, the wattage of his own smile enough to illuminate Blackpool Tower.
“So I shouldn’t say thank you?” Aziraphale asked oh-so-innocently.
The ease at which they fell into playful back-and-forths was filling Crowley with optimism. “Better not. Though I did want to ask—”
“Sorry,” an extremely unapologetic-looking person interrupted, “I’m looking for a specific book.”
Crowley watched with fascination as Aziraphale attempted to deploy his best customer-service facade. “Well, you’re in the right place!” Aziraphale announced a little too cheerfully. “Could you tell me the name of it?”
The customer sucked air in through their teeth. “‘Fraid not.”
Seeing that no further information was forth-coming, Aziraphale only raised one eyebrow as he asked, “I see. Perhaps an author, in that case?”
The customer hummed thoughtfully. “I think it began with an A…oh, but I remember the cover! It was green!”
Crowley managed to stifle a bark of laughter as both of Aziraphale’s eyebrows now shot up. He cast a regretful glance towards Crowley, who sadly took it as his cue to leave. As much as he wanted to talk with Aziraphale, maybe work up to suggesting a nice dinner date, he could see that the bookseller had his hands full. With the small line forming behind the clueless customer, it didn’t look like business would let up for a while.
Giving Aziraphale a friendly, commiserating wave, he turned around and strode back to the café. It was fine, he told himself, there’d be plenty of other chances to ask Aziraphale out.
Attempt no. 2
A week later, Present Crowley was growling at Past Crowley for making assumptions. Adam had fallen ill the day after Aziraphale’s bookshop had opened, leaving him extremely short-staffed given one of his employees (Pepper) was on holiday. He and Brian managed to sort of scrape by but, bless Brian, he had a habit of knocking over freshly-made drinks and generally causing chaos. Crowley liked the bloke, but he didn’t trust Brian enough so he could hop over to the bookshop and leave him solely in charge. Not unless Crowley wanted to come back to find a bewildered Brian and a café he’d somehow managed to set on fire using a milk steamer.
So when Aziraphale dropped by early on Saturday, his first customer of the day, Crowley silently cheered. The fact that he’d opened up the coffee shop alone and had Aziraphale all to himself for now was even more cause for celebration.
“Morning,” Aziraphale beamed before perusing the menu boards above. “Hmm. I think I’d rather like to try a London Fog Latte to take away, if I may? Soya, please. Ooh, and a pain aux raisins, too.”
Crowley smiled back. “London Fog coming right up.” He began to froth the milk, all the while trying to remember the words he’d come up with to ask Aziraphale out. Not like he’d been practising or anything. In a mirror.
“Um,” he began eloquently, “how’s things going?”
“Marvellously!” Aziraphale rocked on his heels in delight. “Things have calmed down a little, but it’s been so lovely. And everyone along the street has been so welcoming!”
Crowley poured the prepared Earl Grey tea mixture into a paper cup, stirring in a dash of vanilla syrup before layering the soya milk upon it. He created a little heart on top of the latte using a stencil and a dusting of cocoa powder: sure, it was a bit sappy, but he got the feeling Aziraphale might appreciate it.
The way Aziraphale’s eyes lit up meant Crowley was on to a winner. He bagged and passed the pain aux raisins to Aziraphale, who immediately started to unwrap it.
“Sorry,” he blushed, “I didn’t have breakfast this morning and I’m absolutely famished.”
“Go for it,” Crowley waved, pleased for a chance to say what he’d been aching to for ages. “Anyway, yeah, so, there’s something I’ve been meaning to—”
Any processing capacity Crowley’s brain might have had shut down as Aziraphale tore off a piece of pastry and immediately let out the most salacious moan Crowley had ever heard. The sound sent heat coursing through Crowley’s body and he was pretty sure his knees had just wobbled.
Thankfully, Aziraphale’s eyes were closed in bliss and so couldn’t immediately see the effect his groans were having upon Crowley. Finally, his eyelids flickered open and he murmured, “Oh my goodness, that’s simply divine, oh my…”
Swallowing the morsel down, Aziraphale sighed with deep satisfaction, pausing his attack upon the flaky treat to utter, “These are simply heavenly. Do you make these yourself?”
Crowley blinked, his mind still hazy as he mumbled, “From…from a local bakery.”
“How delightful,” Aziraphale chirped happily, “I must get their address from you at some point to see what other wares they have.” He glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall. “Oh, bugger it all, I’m late. Must dash. See you again soon!”
With that, Aziraphale flew off, leaving Crowley alone and trying to remember what he’d been going to say before Aziraphale’s pastry-fuelled indulgence had left him feeling like he’d fallen head-first out of a tree.
Attempts no. 3-7
“You’re rubbish at this,” Nina concluded, eyeing Crowley judgementally over the rim of her coffee mug. Crowley could only answer with a laconic groan of agreement, the sound muffled by the fact his forehead was resting on the table between them. “Aziraphale’s a sweetheart to talk to. Don’t know how on Earth you’ve made this into a problem.”
Nina managed a record shop down the street with her girlfriend. She’d decided to pop over towards the end of Crowley’s shift to catch up while Adam kindly dealt with the few customers wandering in; Crowley was, however, regretting asking for her advice. As his closest friend, she knew him like no other, which was partly the problem.
Leaning back into his chair with a sigh, he explained, “It’s not like I haven’t been trying!” It was true: Crowley had made quite a few attempts to ask Aziraphale out. He hadn’t done so every time they’d met. Often, he’d get so caught up in just talking with Aziraphale, marvelling at how kind and interesting he was. They’d get to talking about politics, or films, or their weirdly similar childhoods, both of them having flown the nest far earlier than they should’ve thanks to parents with particular ideas of how to live (which, bitterly, didn’t align with who their children had turned out to be).
They could talk about anything, which was…disarming to Crowley, an experience he’d never had before. So he liked getting to know Aziraphale, especially as the more he did, the more he was certain he was falling for the unassuming and adorable bookseller, who concealed a rather intriguing streak of bastardry beneath.
However, when Crowley did manage to summon up the courage, telling himself to just go for it, something had cropped up. One time, Brian had accidentally caused a minor explosion with the espresso machine, showering Crowley in coffee grounds just as he’d been about to lean over the counter and ask Aziraphale his thoughts about French cuisine. On another, they bumped into each other on Whickber Street, their conversation interrupted by a sudden rainstorm, forcing them to huddle under an awning. It was perfect, Crowley had thought: a romantic setting in which to confess his attraction. Well, it was, until the awning had ripped from the weight of collected rainwater, practically drowning him and Aziraphale before they fled for their respective shops.
The time he’d tried to use some stencils to spell out “DATE?” in cocoa powder on top of Aziraphale’s London Fog, but which he’d had to very quickly scoop away as the letters bled into looking more like “DOPE!”, was best not talked about.
He’d even tried to just physically pass the bloke his phone number, with the worst luck. When Aziraphale had taken the time to sit down one afternoon, Crowley had finally found the courage to scribble down his number onto a napkin. Striding over, he’d attempted to fix the most flirtatious look upon his face.
“Thought you might want this,” Crowley murmured, holding out the napkin.
Aziraphale’s eyes had darted up at Crowley. “Oh, thank you so much!” He’d proceeded to grab the napkin from Crowley’s offered grasp before wiping it across his cheeks. “Honestly, I don’t know how I make such a mess of myself with only a croissant!”
Crowley had watched, deflated, as Aziraphale scrunched up the tissue into a ball and placed it upon his plate. Too awkward to point out why he’d really brought the napkin over, Crowley only smiled weakly before dragging his feet back to the bar, ignoring the all-too-knowing and amused looks of Adam and Pepper.
“I think I’m genuinely cursed,” Crowley lamented. “Maybe it just wasn’t meant to be.”
Rolling her eyes, Nina tutted, “You’re making a bigger thing of it than it is.” She glanced through the window at Crowley’s back and her eyes suddenly sparkled with mischief. “Look, s’nice and quiet now. Go see him and don’t overthink it. Uh, but before you do, tell me what you’re gonna say.”
Crowley scowled at the amused glint in her eyes. “What, now?”
“No time like the present!” Nina insisted urgently. “Come on, quick. Just…close your eyes and imagine I’m Aziraphale.”
Hissing out a weary sigh and feeling more foolish than he liked, Crowley did as his friend ordered. Eyes closed, he took a deep breath, feeling a soft whisper of air as Nina waved about with something. “Alright, fine. Um, Aziraphale. I like you. A lot. Would you like to go on a date with me?”
“Oh!”
Crowley’s eyes shot open, his heart vibrating beneath his ribs, and the sight before him confirmed what his ears had heard. Nina was still sitting at the table, her expression dancing with satisfaction. However, more importantly, Aziraphale was also there, wide-eyed and standing at her shoulder, feathers absolutely ruffled.
“Um,” began Crowley, his pulse thundering with embarrassment.
Aziraphale blinked then, with warm eyes, and said something miraculous. “Yes,” he murmured, “I’d love to.”
Crowley would be having Several Words with Nina later about her tactics; about how she’d apparently spotted Aziraphale making his way to the café then beckoned him over after she’d called out his name. The way she’d emphasised it, and so loudly, should have been a giveaway… But for now, he contented himself with the glow of knowing he’d not only asked Aziraphale out, but that he looked bloody delighted about it.
“Come on, darling, we don’t want to be late!” Aziraphale announced.
Crowley stumbled through the flat into the living room, muttering under his breath as he tried to find the present for Nina and Maggie. “Where’d you put the thingy?” Crowley called out, eyes scanning their flat.
With an amused puff, Aziraphale emerged from the hallway. “If by ‘the thingy’ you mean the wedding gift, it’s on the sofa.”
Ah, of course it was. Crowley hopped over and grabbed it, placing it on the table before checking his presentability in a nearby mirror.
“How do you always look so put together,” Aziraphale lamented, coming to stand at Crowley’s shoulder, “while I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards?”
Crowley snorted as he regarded their reflections. “To be fair, I spend way too much time grooming myself.”
“I groom plenty, thank you!” Aziraphale huffed, his feathered arm moving in a futile effort to smooth the untamable fluff upon his head.
“And you always look beautiful, preened or unpreened,” Crowley murmured, turning his head to nuzzle against Aziraphale’s downy coat. He glanced at their reflections, a wave of happiness engulfing him. It was true they made an odd couple in some ways: Crowley, with his sleek Corvid features and gruff voice, the black feathers lining his body shimmering with hidden depths; and Aziraphale, with his round, owl eyes and white plumage dotted with tawny flecks. So many differences, but it made the most sense in the world to him. They were their own little flock of the two of them, after all.
“Flatterer,” Aziraphale sighed before brushing his beak against Crowley’s in affection. He reached over and picked up the gift, a large, flat, beige stone wrapped in a white ribbon, its rough surface glittering with tiny minerals: a symbol about how Nina and Maggie were making a home together.
“C’mon then,” Crowley said, leading them towards the door, but then his voice dropped lower, a hint of amusement woven into his sultry tones. “Perhaps I could help you out by grooming your wings, later?”
A surprised squawk echoed from Aziraphale’s throat, followed by a fond look of exasperation. “Have I mentioned, lately,” he sighed, “how much I love you?”
“Love you too,” Crowley sang out, pleased at the effect his trilled notes had upon Aziraphale. “But yeah,” he added proudly, “you said it this morning, actually, just after I brought you a cup of tea.” It still amazed him, after all these months, how easily he could sing the words now; how it had always been easy to fall for Aziraphale when he wasn’t getting in his own way. He guided them through the home and life they’d built together, love echoing through his heart. “And I’ll never get tired of hearing it.”