Chapter Text
Aziraphale stepped into the cool Spring afternoon, the light breeze tickling his skin as he adjusted his grip on a paper bag full of groceries. He had stopped by the supermarket for marmalade and bread, and had left balancing a haul that threatened to spill over at any moment (thanks to the irresistible delicacies in the deli and the fruit that looked simply too delicious to leave behind).
He always liked the street at this time of day. The sun hung smugly a few notches below noon, its leisurely migration towards the horizon painting shadows that stretched and shifted over the streetscape. Bustle was minimal, and the patrons were mostly older folks who appreciated his smile and nod when passing, or pram-wielding parents breaking up the monotony of the day and glad to be out. Even the air seemed to drift with a blithe nonchalance, which was why the tall, slender redhead treading the pavement a few shops down caught Aziraphale’s attention.
Aziraphale couldn’t help but watch the man; he was pacing furiously, with his head tilted to the sky as he yelled at the phone held out in front of him. His long legs brought him almost within range for Aziraphale to eavesdrop, before he spun on a heel and strode back in the opposite direction. Back and forth, back and forth, like an agitated pendulum.
He once again stalked towards Aziraphale before another quick pivot. Then, after only a few paces, the man wobbled and seemed to teeter for a moment on the spot. His knees buckled in the strangest way as he began to slowly descend towards the ground, as though his legs were dissolving beneath him.
Without thinking, Aziraphale dropped his grocery bag and rushed to help the stranger, crouching down as he arrived by his side. By the time he got there the man was sitting on the pavement, leaning back on an arm to steady himself.
“Good heavens! Are you all right?” asked Aziraphale, unable to hide his concern.
He bobbed down, balancing forward on his toes with elbows resting on his thighs to prevent his light dress pants from grazing the ground. Aziraphale felt the afternoon sun on his back and the man raised a hand to shield his eyes, despite the sunglasses on his face.
“Sorry, do I… do I know you?” Aziraphale ventured hesitantly, before shaking his head to discard the ridiculous question.
“‘Yeah, ‘m fine,” came the delayed response, the man's voice more gravelly than Aziraphale expected.
Relief that his question seemed to have been ignored washed over Aziraphale, the small flush that had tinged his face subsiding as he returned to the matter at hand.
“Are you quite sure? You fell!”
‘I didn’t really fall, I more… descended gracefully,” the man answered wryly, gesturing a spiralling motion with the hand he’d just had hovering above his brow.
Aziraphale chuckled, because it was the perfect description of the strange way this man, in his beautifully tailored attire, had dropped steadily towards the ground.
“Vertigo. I get vertigo. Usually it’s ok but every now and then I get the… the sense I’m falling and it can catch me, ah, unaware. ‘Specially if I’m distracted.”
The man adjusted himself into a more upright position, bringing his arms around his bent and splayed knees to encircle his long limbs with a clasp of his hands.
“Was asking my stupid phone to look something up for me and, well, obviously wasn’t asking the right question, wouldn’t give me a proper answer… actually, wouldn’t answer me at all. Next thing I know, I’m down here sharing far too much information with a stranger,” the man finished, his speech an erratic kind of drawl that concluded with a half grin directed at noone in particular.
His explanation had been punctuated by the emphasis of certain syllables and clear frustration, and Aziraphale found it oddly endearing, struggling to stifle a smile.
The man looked past Aziraphale at the paper bag up the street on its side. Two oranges had managed to roll a good distance and the rest of the contents were at various stages of pouring onto the concrete. Aziraphale followed his gaze and abruptly stood.
“Oh, oh dear, you just wait there, I need to...”
“‘M fine, really—”
“I’m sure you are but—,” Aziraphale called over his shoulder as he walked briskly towards the wayward citrus.
”I would just feel better—” he glanced around for the third orange as he bent to gather the other two and spotted it squashed on the road.
“If you would wait there a moment so—” Aziraphale tried to keep looking in the man’s direction so he wouldn’t seem rude, but it was increasingly difficult as he started scooping the shopping back into the bag.
“ —so I can help you,” he finished loudly.
Aziraphale was suddenly aware of the man’s presence, in part because of the long shadow that crept its way up the pavement, and also because of a peculiar sensation that seemed to work its way up his spine.
It wasn't unpleasant, more like a warm coil that wrapped itself around each vertebrae (quite the opposite of the chill that seemed to be the favoured calling card of most strange encounters). Yet it was undeniable: Aziraphale sensed the man’s approach. He shook his head quickly to dismiss the odd feeling, all the while his mind felt simultaneously scattered and certain about something he couldn’t quite latch onto.
Before he could dwell any further, an apple appeared in front of Aziraphale’s nose, delicately dangling from a hand that drew Aziraphale’s eyes along an outstretched arm until he was looking up at the tall (he really was very tall ) man hovering beside him.
“This one nearly got away,” the man offered with a hint of amusement. His brow creased slightly as his mouth opened to say something else, before he apparently changed his mind and brought his lips back together.
Aziraphale smiled and reached to take the piece of fruit, his forefinger grazing the back of the stranger’s thumb. An invisible jolt snapped both their gazes towards one another as Aziraphale swiftly pulled his hand back. His palms were suddenly prickling with sweat, while his stomach twisted itself into an impossibly tight knot. With a knee still on the ground, concerns of dirtying the fabric long since discarded, he cleared his throat and cast his eyes back to his groceries as he wrestled with what to do next.
“Why don’t you, ah, why don’t you keep the apple?” Aziraphale suggested as he rose to his feet, hugging his shopping far more tightly than was necessary and unsure where to look. “I’m sure something to eat would be beneficial after your… saunter downwards.”
The man threw back his head and snorted in delight. The knot in Aziraphale’s stomach somehow tightened further at the sound, and he fought to stop the feeling from being reflected on his face. The stranger’s attention settled back on Aziraphale, his fingers twitching around the piece of fruit still in his hand, before his wide smile gently receded and he cocked his head.
Aziraphale glanced sheepishly towards the man, who now appeared to be considering him with the same furrowed look he had worn less than a minute earlier.
“You seem awfully familiar,” the man stated carefully, his mouth twisting in contemplation. “D’you live around here or…?”
“Yes! I live only a few blocks that way,” Aziraphale answered with an enthusiastic nod in the direction of his apartment, relieved that the recognition was mutual and probably a simple case of walking past one another in the street. Though he was sure he would’ve remembered seeing this man before. His fine, angled features, and the way the right side of his mouth quirked when it seemed he was suppressing a grin; the lovely, fiery hair—bursts of auburn ricocheting through the strands as it captured the golden afternoon rays—the clothing, those legs… oh dear.
“Yeah, right, ok. I’m that way too,” the man replied equally enthusiastically, as though he too was pleased to make sense of it all. “Must have the same coffee place or something.”
Aziraphale’s face lit up at the suggestion. “Why yes, that must be it!”
Silence settled and the two men stood observing one another. And the awkwardness that should’ve descended, as neither made any attempt to move or speak, never quite took hold.
Aziraphale swallowed hard as he tried not to focus on how attractive the man in front of him was. Even the small snake tattoo, just in front of his ear, only added to the appeal.
The ring of a bicycle bell dragged Aziraphale’s attention to the road over the man’s shoulder and both watched as a cyclist zigzagged between pedestrians and parked cars, before continuing into the distance.
“Crowley,” the man declared as he returned to face Aziraphale.
“I beg your pardon?”
“S'my name,” the man clarified. “Well, it’s Anthony actually, but I go by Crowley.”
“Oh!” Aziraphale let out with a small grin. “Very nice to meet you Ant…I mean Crowley. I’m Aziraphale.”
Crowley’s eyebrows rose clear above his dark sunglasses, a reaction Aziraphale was accustomed to when introducing himself, yet he suddenly felt self-conscious. A familiar warmth blanched his cheeks and he shuffled from one foot to the other uncomfortably.
“It’s a bit unusual, I know…” he began softly.
“Ah no, that’s not what I…I mean I wasn’t,” Crowley stammered. Aziraphale’s chest bristled with fondness at the man’s discomfort and apparent need to put him at ease.
“Was just going to say you don’t hear too many biblical sounding names these days. Religious family?”
Aziraphale stilled and searched for the answer. Surely he knew this, but why couldn’t he place it? His family, his family…
“Ah, well, I’m not sure,” Aziraphale answered through his confusion. “I suppose what I mean is, I’m not sure where the inspiration for my name came from exactly.” He decided to ignore the strain of trying to provide a better response, pushing the absence away with a vague intention of examining it later.
“What I do know is that it is frequently misspelt, often mispronounced, and usually requires repeating after a first introduction,” Aziraphale stated matter-of-factly, a facetious undertone piercing his declaration. He paused for effect, before tipping forward slightly and adding in a hushed tone, “And often after a second introduction too."
“Well, Aziraphale ,” —Crowley leaned towards him with a crooked smile to emphasise that no repetition of his name would be necessary—“S'good to meet you and ah, thanks for before. The coming to see if I was alright and everything.”
Aziraphale looked back towards the spot where this enigmatic man had first caught his attention and realised he had no idea how long they’d been standing outside the grocery store.
“Well, considering we seem to live in the same neighbourhood, I must insist that I walk you home,” Aziraphale asserted, beginning to move along the pavement. Crowley fell into step beside him.
Crowley shot him a look of protest. “That really won’t be necessary–”
“I really would feel better if I walked you at least part of the way, given your earlier episode,” Aziraphale continued, nodding thoughtfully as he considered that it was the only sensible option. “Besides, I’m heading that way, so it’s no trouble.”
They strolled through the Soho streets, a pair juxtaposed by the black and beige of their jackets and the crimson and white of their hair. Dark and light, side by side, the glow of the dropping sun emphasising the contrast.
Aziraphale pointed out the bookshop he frequented and asked his companion if he’d ever had the pleasure of visiting. Crowley scrunched his nose as though trying to grasp a thought he couldn’t quite articulate, before saying he wasn’t much of a reader.
They mostly walked in silence, though Aziraphale observed that the Spring weather really was delightful, particularly the mornings, and Crowley mentioned that he enjoyed the daffodils at this time of year. Something about the splashes of yellow everywhere.
As they rounded a corner, Aziraphale stopped and motioned to the building beside them.
“This is me.”
“Oh, right,” Crowley acknowledged, with a nod and a glance up to the floors above.
Aziraphale had almost forgotten they were not out for a walk together, that they were simply two people who had met barely half an hour earlier: perfect strangers who happened to be travelling in the same direction and this would be where their interaction ended.
“Are you all right to get home from here?” Aziraphale asked earnestly. “Because I’d be more than happy to– ”
“Oh no no, not necessary,” Crowley interjected, raising both hands to make the point. “My flat’s just around the next corner, we’re practically neighbours,” he finished with an exaggerated grin.
As they lingered there, Crowley’s brow furrowed briefly, and Aziraphale could almost convince himself that the man in front of him was just as reluctant for their time to end as he was.
“So we are.” Aziraphale tried to hide his disappointment that their interlude was drawing to a close. He cleared his throat in an attempt to counteract the pang of longing gnawing at the back of his sternum.
Aziraphale smiled, tight lipped, and awkwardly studied the ground around his feet as he and Crowley remained fixed to the pavement once again. He could feel the man looking at him, and Aziraphale lifted his gaze to meet Crowley’s, their eyes connecting despite the tinted lenses. The moment seemed to stretch and suspend them in a state of comfortable stillness.
“Well, then,” Aziraphale finally said, the moment that had held them loosening its grip and gently returning them to the reality of their situation. “It was lovely to meet you, Crowley. I do hope the vertigo doesn’t give you too much trouble.”
“Right, yeah, thanks,” Crowley answered, an unsteadiness threaded through his voice. “Nice to meet you too and, ah…see you ‘round.”
I hope so, Aziraphale thought to himself as Crowley turned, raised an arm above his head to give a single, sharp wave, then strode away.