Chapter Text
Azir
He’d had a rough day - he’d had a rough week. Scratch that; he’d had a rough year and a half. Getting the position of the Professor of Classical Literature Studies at Westminster had been a dream come true for him, but it hadn’t come without struggles: the position had only become open when the previous professor had gotten married and moved to Australia with his new wife late in September, several weeks into the school year, he’d had to move suddenly from his home in Wales to a small flat in London that couldn’t accommodate his unpacked book collection, which he simply couldn’t possibly part with, he had left the very few acquaintances he’d had (he wasn’t outgoing enough to easily find people whose company he wished to keep, and was far too bookish for many to want to keep his).
Azir laid his briefcase on the small coffee table in the living area of his tiny apartment, falling down onto the little sofa, holding his head in his hands, shoving his fingers through his white-blonde hair, wondering aloud, “Has culture been completely eradicated from society?” He recalled a student who, in his last period of the day, had raised his hand and asked how it was possible for the Sherlock Holmes stories to have been written when ‘Holmer’ had been dead for centuries.
At least he didn’t have classes past 4:30 pm on Fridays; he would still have time for a drink at the local pub. Azir stood, stretching his shoulders, and headed to the door; his stomach growled as he made his way across the small room. Well, looks like I’m eating pub food for dinner again.
The pub, The Llama House, was within walking distance, so Azir made his way down the sidewalk, fidgeting with his golden heirloom pinky ring, keeping his eyes downcast, avoiding any kind of interaction with those he passed. The professor gradually began to feel clammy; he tugged at his collar uncomfortably as he crossed the street. As he stepped back up onto the curb, lightheadedness set in; he hadn’t had lunch yet, and had skipped breakfast in favor of taking time to make tea. Luckily, the pub was only a few yards away and he could eat something there. Anxiety filled him when he saw that the pub was closed, orange tape forming a large X over each door; when he approached, he saw a paper taped to the inside of the glass door, informing patrons that it would be closed for renovations for the following three weeks.
Azir groaned, turning to head home, but realized he was too unsteady to make the walk when he got a wave of dizziness upon turning; he looked around, somewhat panicked, hoping there was somewhere very nearby where he could find nourishment. He noticed for the first time that there was a brick building two establishments down, the pale blue fluorescent sign read “pLace - Bar & Lounge”; Azir had never been to a Lounge, but he did know that bars generally had some sort of food, even if the quality was not up-to-standard. Making his way carefully to the Bar & Lounge, Azir tried to prepare himself for whatever off-putting atmosphere that awaited him.
Even though the floor-to-ceiling windows were slightly tinted, Azir saw the shape of a man rise from a bar-height stool near the door as the professor approached; the door opened, allowing a man wearing white pants and a matte silver button up shirt to exit, closing the door behind himself. He faced Azir and watched as he drew closer. The man had a dark goatee, no hair atop his head, and was wearing a lanyard that informed Azir he was Security.
“He-hello, sir,” he said timidly.
“Cover’s £40. Doesn’t include drinks or anythin’.”
Azir took out his wallet and produced the £40, then another £20, “Here you are, old chap!”
The security guard opened the door for Azir, who stepped inside and looked around; it wasn’t a very large place, but the white panels on the wall, separated by strips of fluorescent light the same pale blue as on the sign outside, made it appear and feel larger than it was. A few walls came partially out from the main one, creating little personal spaces, each housing a chaise, a sofa, a single armchair, and a small, low table, all furniture in some shade of white; similar furniture was arranged in the main portion of the room, atop circular silver rugs - a few people occupied the seats, most nursing drinks, and a couple sat very closely on a sofa in one of the personal areas, while a small group of about four men shared another. The long bar, on the opposite side of the room as the personal areas, also, was white, illuminated by the pale blue lights embedded in the edges. Azir noticed a spiral staircase that had been painted to look like marble at the very back of the room. It was a quiet, calming atmosphere, smooth jazz playing.
Sitting on a barstool, he wanted to look around more, but his need for sustenance wouldn’t permit it, so he turned to the mixologist behind the bar, a slender woman with champagne colored hair, plump breasts and a pretty face, “Hello, ma’am. Might I see your list of options, please?”
She smiled and handed him a white leather book-like menu, opening only once, “The bottom section on the right shows our bottle-service options.”
“Oh, I’m not looking for that right now, but thank you, my dear,” Azir said kindly, then, noticing her name tag, asked, “What do you suggest, Amber?”
“I like the Fish and Chips.”
Azir heard the sound of the establishment door close, then what could only be described as a quiet ruckus coming from the personal area where the group of men were.
“Fish and Chips, it is, then! Oh, and perhaps a nice brandy, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all; that’s what they pay me for,” she laughed, “We have Hennessy, D’USSÉ XO, which has notes of ripe blackberry and apricot, layered with hints of dark chocolate and walnut, and D’ussé VSOP, which is a powerful bouquet, has a rich woody notes, with touches of cinnamon and floral.”
“Perhaps I’ll try the XO; I do love apricots, and chocolate,” he replied.
Amber gave a little nod, “Alright; I’ll get that straight away.”
Azir smiled kindly, “Oh, thank you, dear. Could I trouble you for a glass of water in the meantime?”
“Is a bottle okay?” she set a bottle of Perrier on the bar, having taken it out of the mini fridge on her side of the counter.
“Of course; that’s wonderful. Thank you.”
Turning around to face the rest of the lounge, noticing the small diamond-shaped portions of glass dangling from a short beaded string at the top of each fluorescent strip on the walls, the pearlescent beading on the seams of the furniture, and the subtle shimmer of silver in the rugs, Azir sighed; he needed a calm place to unwind and relax after the previous week - he liked the pub, but it was loud and people would occasionally try to make small talk with him…but it was familiar and this place was new and intimidating. Taking a sip of his water, Azir sighed; he couldn’t wait for the pub to reopen.
“Would you like the drink now or wait for a bit?,” Amber’s voice came from behind him, so he turned around.
She unlocked the glass cabinet behind the bar, “It’ll be a bit before the food’s ready.”
“Oh, the water will do for the moment, dear; thank you,” he responded as he saw that a couple had sat down at the other end of the bar, and she went to attend to them, relocking the liquor cabinet.
Taking his water, Azir continued observing the room - everything was in a soft color, subtle and calming. Even the patrons seemed to be wearing whites.
He skimmed his eyes over the room and saw a sudden glimpse of black. Nothing here was black, nothing was even a mid tone; Azir looked again and saw that, amongst the small group in the personal area, a new addition had manifested: a slender man with brilliant red hair, slightly tousled, wearing black jeans, a black Henley, black snakeskin boots and dark sunglasses had joined them; he didn’t seem to be aware that furniture was designed with a specific purpose - he was sitting (if you could call it that) in an armchair, one long leg thrown over the arm of it, his body twisted in a way that could not be comfortable so that his back was in the corner of the chair, yet the leg not tossed over the arm of the chair was tucked beneath him, one arm strewn over the back of the seat, the other being used to gesticulate as he talked.
Azir was nearly mesmerized by the sight, by the intentionally haphazard posture, by the confidence that seemed to simply ooze from him. The professor swallowed the sudden lump in his throat and watched the man for a few moments, hypnotized by his deliberately cavalier behavior, entranced by the litheness of his body, fixated on the elegant, long neck, bronzed slightly by the sun. Taking a sip from the bottle with a slightly quivering hand, Azir didn’t have to wonder if the mystery man was attractive - he was the most stunning individual he’d ever laid eyes on. The man suddenly sat normally in the seat, stretched his arm in the direction of the bar, saying something insistently to another man in the little area. As he gestured, the man looked toward the bar, and didn’t look away.
Azir gulped.
_____________________________________
Anthony
Stalking into the flat he’d inherited when his grandfather had passed three years prior, Anthony strode quickly to his kitchen, glaring at the potted fern that dared to be in the corner of the hallway.
He made his way to splash some cold water on his face, the icy temperature soothing the rather large cut he’d suffered when tearing out the carpet of the 1948 Ford Angela he’d been working on. Bracing himself with a hand on either side of the newest model of sink, he stared down at the trails of water slowly moving toward the drain, hunching over slightly as if trying to intimidate them.
A beeeee-boop alert sound came from the entry table, where he’d laid his phone; throwing his head back and letting out a snarl, he remembered that he had agreed to go back to the lounge with his friends. Damn it. His most abrasive friend, David, was determined to ask the attractive bartender at pLace for her “digits”, as David called it, but hadn’t been able to find a pickup line that wasn’t one only utter knobs used; apparently ‘Hello; how are you?’ was too ‘corny’, but ‘My dick just died - can I bury it in you?’ is perfectly acceptable.
But, crass and uncouth as he was, David was his friend, and he could hardly be left with Michael, John, and Christopher, who, while being slightly less off-putting, were hardly charismatic.
Sighing, he figured he would meet them.
Wanting to get at least some of the day off, Anthony took a shower, shrugging off the knowledge that his friends would get there before he did. The man pulled on a pair of black jeans he’d worn the night before, doing the buckle he hadn’t bothered to pull from the loops and tugged on a clean three-quarter sleeve black Henley, not caring if it disheveled his red hair; He was at least considerate enough to skip perfecting his locks like he usually did on nights out; it wasn’t as though he was going to be meeting anyone special.
His friends were, as he expected, already at pLace when he arrived; when he entered, Anthony was greeted with subtle enthusiasm, quiet(ish) excitement and claps on his shoulder and back.
“Hi, guys,” Anthony said rather unenthusiastically, “Sorry I’m late, but you know how it is on the A40, and then I tried to cut up towards Chorleywood -”
“- yeah, it’s a mess,” a bald man, who was clearly in exceptional shape, overly muscular to the point of being bulky, so that it made his head look far too small for the rest of him, “He’s still being a drip - you should talk to him.”
“Yeah, Michael, that’s why m’here,” Anthony said, “Didn’t come just to see you ugly pricks.
He was engulfed in more jostling shoulder slaps and back beatings, all but Anthony finding it hysterical.
“The hell off me!” Anthony shoved his friends away, his four friends laughing good-naturedly, then he poured himself onto an armchair in the personal area they had already claimed. Christopher, a bald, dark-skinned man with a goatee, sat on the sofa, looking expectantly at David, who was standing, arms crossed, in between the armchair Anthony had occupied and the chaise, where Michael had sat.
“Paul’s not here yet, either,” David said.
Anthony frowned up at him, “I c’n see that.”
David had the appearance of a Ken doll, with prominent cheekbones and ashy blonde hair, styled into a wavy pompadour; during the time that Anthony had known him, it seemed as though women (and men) were very interested in ‘getting to know him better’. The stereotypically attractive man all but relished in the female attention, though he did dramatically feign nausea at and demean the men who approached him with insults such as ‘queer’, ‘fairy’, ‘twink’, and ‘poufer’, which the others seemed to find hilarious.
“Ah, don’t be such a killjoy, Anthony,” said Michael, who put his hands behind his head, making it appear even smaller between lifted shoulders.
Breaking his silence, a round-faced man who had sat next to Christopher, spoke from the sofa, “Joy, Michael? Who the hell is joyful right now?”
It would have been a shock for anyone who didn’t know John to hear the pessimism from the round-faced man with childlike features, but his friends were very used to the demeanor, often calling him Jaded Johnny.
“You should relax more, John; that’s why you’re single - no broad wants a pissy little bitch,” Michael said. “I think he needs to get laid; maybe that’ll chill you out.”
Frowning, Christopher commented, “Don’t wish that on some poor, unsuspecting woman.”
Michael chortled, “Hey! You’re assuming John’s into women; show the man some respect - maybe he’s a chode-guzzler.”
Derogatory laughter came from Michael and David, John chuckled a bit, but Anthony and Christopher stayed silent, exchanging an appalled look of exasperation.
“Go on, David; you’ve been wanting to ask her out for months,” Michael urged once the three had calmed, “You’ll be kicking your own arse if you don’t! Anthony will go with you for…moral support.”
Leaning his head to the side, stretching his neck, the thin man definitively said, “Anthony will not; you’re a grown-ass man, David; just go talk to her. I’ll wait for your report right here.” He tried not to roll his eyes at the fact that David needed to be practically begged to approach a woman. He shot scornful eyes - which he, admittedly couldn’t see behind Anthony’s dark glasses, at David then glanced over toward the bartender and saw a man with white-blonde hair taking a drink from a bottle of water; he looked rather out-of-place, despite wearing clothes that were much more similar to the other patrons’ outfits than his own. The man wore cream colored trousers, an odd waistcoat that was best described as a faded gold, beneath a beige overcoat. It wasn’t exactly the attire that made him look out of place, but the straight posture, his fidgeting, and the aura of profound awkwardness emanating from him…not to mention his bow tie.
Anthony observed the man for a moment, captivated by the downright ethereal aura he was radiating. Assessing him from a distance, Anthony cocked his head slightly; he didn’t recall ever seeing this particular man in the lounge before, and the dark-clad member of the group of friends concluded he must not have frequented the lounge; there was absolutely no possible way that the endearingly awkward blonde could have been in the establishment previously, because Anthony knew he would have remembered such a beautifully enigmatic man. The enchanting patron glanced at the group of friends, Anthony almost certain they made eye contact; he cleared his throat again.
“I…I’ll go with you next week, Dave, I swear,” Anthony offered; perhaps the bar would be unoccupied and the possibility that he wouldn’t even be in a situation where he’d be able to make a fool of himself in front of the mystifying man was comforting. But, then again, if the unique blonde never returned, Anthony would undoubtedly never see him again. Shit.
“Alright, then, let’s go,” he stood, tousling his hair a bit, cursing himself for not taking time to style it like he usually did. Shit.
David was smiling appreciatively and had taken the first few steps to head out of the personal space. Groaning inwardly, Anthony realized that he didn’t have any idea of what to say to the man at the bar; asking if it was the first time he’d been to the lounge was lamer than anything he’d want to be the first thing he said to him. Anthony wanted something clever, a quality always at the tip of his tongue, but he was entirely unable to come up with anything, knowing it would be said to that magnetic and intriguing creature. Shit.
David was halfway toward the bar, while Anthony, lost in thought like a mouse in a maze, was seemingly plastered in the chair. Anthony saw the bartender set a basket of food in front of the intriguing visitor to the lounge; the cream and beige-clad man turned on his stool to face the bar and Amber. Shit.
Shifting in the armchair he’d been disrespecting, Anthony shoved himself hips first out of the chair. Shitshitshitshitshitshit
The arrogance was seeping from David as he all but posed at the end of the bar, standing with a hand on the surface, attempting to appear casual, his other hand on his hip, facing the space between the bar and the wall, effectively forming a six-foot tall barrier.
Azir glanced up at him from the yet untouched dinner in front of himself, furrowing his brow slightly and contemplating moving a few seats down, as he had sat at the second stool from the end of the bar, just in case he needed a quick escape if the new environment was too offputting.
He was trying to figure out a way to move seats without being obvious about it when a presence suddenly blocked his destination; the very man Azir had been admiring from across the room was suddenly occupying the space directly to the professor’s left, jostling Azir’s glass of brandy, which wobbled dangerously. The stool beside him had been shoved to the side by the man. His scent, though faint, engulfed Azir: he smelled of leather, mahogany, and patchouli.
“David,” the man hissed, “Do you have any idea what you’re gonna say?”
Still obstructing the opening that led behind the bar, David grinned at the alluring stranger, “I’m working on it.”
Amber, near the opposite end of the bar, happened to glance toward them; David whistled and winked at her - she rolled her eyes and busied herself with ringing up the couple’s tab. Once she had received their payment and thanked them, the bartender reluctantly looked toward the opposite end of the bar; she gave a defeated sigh and approached, determinedly avoiding acknowledging David.
“Can I get you anything?” she asked the slender man, who shook his head, “Nah, ‘m alright.”
David cleared his throat obnoxiously.
The bartender visibly steeled her nerves and turned to him, “Yes?”
Giving a smile that he obviously thought was attractive (though made him look more like a hyena), David said, “I don’t see a menu, but I do see something I’d like to open up.”
Startled, Azir choked into the brandy he’d been taking a sip of.
The thin man at his side groaned and gave a sharp, “The fuck, David?”
Looking appalled, Amber took a step back.
Hearing the door to the lounge open then close, the intriguing man was distracted for a moment, looking toward it to see a broad-shouldered, dark-haired man enter, “Paul! There you are, mate!” He turned his attention to the new arrival, accepting a handshake and saying, “Haven’t seen you in ages; you avoiding us? Don’t blame you, ‘f ’m being honest.”
While his friend - and, apparently his handler - was distracted, David tried again, questioning Amber, “What’s your favorite flower? I want to know what to put on your casket after I murder your pussy.”
Apparently hearing the last word, Anthony whipped around, knocking over the still mostly-full brandy glass, though Azir was already on his feet.
“You foul man! How dare you speak to her like that; you should be absolutely ashamed of yourself,” Azir declared, “You are to apologize this instant and get back from this bar; it’s quite obvious you’re purposefully blocking the lady’s way out.”
David looked completely gobsmacked and humiliated, being harshly reprimanded by the man who appeared unthreatening and docile, but he weakly mumbled to Amber, “Yeah, sorry. I’m leaving.” He quickly, though angrily, left the lounge entirely.
“Thank you, sir,” Amber said, obviously angry but not at Azir.
A barrage of alerts from different phones came from the personal section the four men had occupied, also sounding from both Paul’s pocket and the black-clad man’s. The four men also vacated the lounge after they checked their phones.
Paul gave a wry smile, “We’re going somewhere else tonight, apparently.” He turned and left behind the others.
Sliding his phone back into his pocket, the interestingly puzzling man scoffed to himself, “I’m not. Saw what that knob did.”
Turning back to the bar, he grinned at Azir, whose heart stopped, “That was brilliant.”
Just realizing that the counter was wet, he said, “Shit. I knocked your drink over. Sorry; I’ll replace it.” Waving down Amber, who had gone to the far liquor display, he said, “Gimme a sec, yeah?”
Unable to respond, as he was sure he was still shaking with anger, and now from the alluring presence, Azir remained silently looking at the wall behind the bar, even as the woman came over.
“Knocked over his drink - can we get him another?”
“Of course; do you want the same, Anthony?”
With a shrug, the man replied, “Sure, why not?”
Anthony. His name was Anthony.
Finally turning to look at the man, Azir gave a faint, repressed smile, “Anthony, is it? Well, thank you for my ‘replacement drink’; you don’t have to do that.”
Anthony shrugged again.
The way this funny little man says his name was the best sound he’d ever heard.
“Technically, yeah, but I prefer Crowley - my last name; ‘s just people in tech school saw my records and started that; it stuck.”
“I see.”
Amber returned, setting two glasses down, “Here you go: D’USSÉ XO.”
“Ahh, fancy shmancy,” Crowley said, “What do people call you?”
Azir gave a quiet chuckle, “Odd as it is, people call me Azir, though that’s not actually my name; it’s Aziraphale.”
“Huh. Sounds almost Biblical - like, ah, one of those names an angel had, like…like what was it? Raphael? Is that intentional?”
Tutting, Aziraphale answered, “Moderately, perhaps; it originates from Hebrew, meaning helper or healer; helper/healer of the fallen; or helper/healer of the arrogant.”
Crowley laughed.
Goodness, it was a beautiful sound.
“Well, you certainly helped that arrogant prick David; put ‘im right in his place, didn’t you?”
Rolling his gorgeous blue eyes, Aziraphale scoffed, “Hardly; that would have required a beat off, as they say.”
Crowley snorted, chuckling, “No one says that. I think you mean beat down.”
“What? Why? Aren’t they the same thing?”
“No, no, no; definitely not,” Crowley assured.
Frowning in confusion, his brow slightly furrowing and his nose wrinkling adorably, Aziraphale asked, “Well, what does beat off mean, then?”
Oh. He’s actually as innocent as he looks.
“Nyyyahh…ngk; you should look it up - not gonna go there - just don’t look at images or videos”
Unless you’re into you’re into men Oh, please be into men.
There was something about this cute little man that made Crowley very much want to get close to him, to form a lasting, deep friendship with him, to - dare he think it? - have a relationship with. He had never been so taken with someone this quickly, but the intonations when Aziraphale said his name went straight to his heart, a feeling of pleasant squeezing and a low fiery warmth blossoming in his chest.
Taking a sip from his glass, Crowley eyed Aziraphale’s basket of food, noting that the spilled brandy had soaked the chips; he plucked one soggy fry and commented, “Seems I owe you fresh chips, too.”
“Nonsense, dear boy,” Aziraphale replied, “I’ll make do with the fish; bar food is hardly my favorite.”
“Ah, it’s not that bad when you get used to it..Hey, ‘xcuse me,” Crowley caught Amber’s attention, “Looks like the drink I gracefully spilled got this guy’s chips wet.” He looked back at Aziraphale, “To be honest, their chips are always soggy; fancy onion rings? I mean….ngk. I’ll get chips if ‘s what you want, but I’m telling ya, they’re no good.”
Aziraphale made a dramatic show of surveying Crowley before answering, “You seem trustworthy enough; I’ll take your word.”
“Onion rings, Amber, do you mind?”
Amber nodded, “Right away, Anthony.”
Looking back at Aziraphale, Crowley conversationally said, “So, you don’t like bar food…what does anyone eat ‘round here that isn’t?”
“I didn’t say I don’t like bar food - only that it isn’t my favorite. Though, to be fair, I’m afraid I haven’t had it before. It’s my first time, rather.”
Again, Crowley snorted, though he swallowed it down this time before saying, “Yeah, I don’t take you for a bar fellow.”
Aziraphale narrowed his eyes a bit, “Are you making fun of me?”
“No. No, no, no, no, no. ‘Course not.”
Setting the basket of onion rings between the two men, Amber smiled a subtle, knowing and encouraging smile at Crowley; it was obvious to her that he fancied this man, and she knew he’d never be able to flirt with him while his judgmental friends were present.
“ ‘s just I’ve never seen you here, and I’m usually here every Friday. Plus, you’re not…I don’t know.” Crowley gestured up and down Aziraphale’s body, “dressed for a lounge.”
“Tartan is stylish!” Aziraphale protested, though it was friendly, “And you’re the one dressed like you’re going to The Grim Reaper’s funeral.”
“Grim Reaper can’t die; ‘s immortal - like a…like, I dunno, he is Death, isn’t he?”
Giving a wry smile, the professor snarked, “My point exactly. You look like you’re attending the funeral of Death himself - very bleak. May I?” he motioned to the onion rings.
“ ‘Course. Are you saying I’m bleak? Seems rude. And you don’t strike me as rude.”
Taking a tentative bite of the onion ring he’d chosen, wrinkling his nose a bit at the greasy residue, Aziraphale shook his head, “Certainly not. Merely that it doesn’t really go with the ambiance here.”
“Well, I did wear same clothes I wear to work, ‘cept a clean shirt; I restore vintage cars, see?”
“Ah. I’m afraid I’m rather unknowledgeable on that subject; forgive me. I recently took up a position at Westminster, teaching Classical Literature.”
“In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer,” Crowley said, “I like that.”
“Camus! Dear gracious; do you enjoy literature, yourself?” Aziraphale asked enthusiastically.
He seemed so pleased, Crowley hated to disappoint him, but he admitted, “That quote just struck with me for some reason. And ‘for the light to shine its brightest, a darkness must be present’.”
Smiling gently, Aziraphale replied, “Not the exact quote, but valiant effort!” He lifted his drink in a toast to Crowley’s attempt, which was, admittedly, close enough. He downed the remainder of brandy from his glass.
Noticing the sound of an empty tumbler being set down, Amber came back, “Would you like another?”
Tossing back his drink, Crowley said, “Two of them, barmaid!” Apparently, he frequented pLace enough to be on very good terms with the staff, as Amber huffed, “I’m not your maid, Anthony.” She did happily pour the men each another drink, though feigning irritation as she did so.
Setting two new glasses on the bar, she noticed Aziraphale hadn’t eaten much of anything; maybe a piece of fish and a single onion ring. While Aziraphale was distracted tracing the condensation from his empty glass, making loops and stars on the bar, she mouthed to Crowley, ‘he’s not eating; ask him out’.
Crowley waved her away, hooking his foot around the leg of the nearby stool he’d accosted earlier and dragging it back so he could sit atop it.
Picking up an onion ring and dramatically inspecting it, he waited for the other man to look up; Crowley didn’t have to wait long, as the rustling of the basket lining drew Aziraphale’s attention and he lifted his eyes.
Crowley gave the onion ring a few seconds of intense scrutiny before tossing it back into the basket then smirking at Aziraphale, “Rubbish. Horrible. Looks like I’m going into serious debt to you, Aziraphale, buddy; I ruined your food. Let me make it up to you with…lunch? Wherever it is you usually go.”
Blue eyes widening slightly, Aziraphale stammered, “N-no, no need. It wasn’t your fault. It’s very kind of you to offer, though.”
“Not an offer,” Crowley said, “More like a request.”
Eavesdropping, Amber shook her head in disbelief; it was plain as day that this new visitor to the lounge was taken with Anthony, but was too shy and proper to accept his offer of replacement food.
The bartender returned, and, seeing that Aziraphale had nearly finished his drink, she decided to help Crowley before he left and Crowley missed his chance; Amber stepped over again, saying, “He’s right, you know. You didn’t eat much, and you looked like you were about to collapse when you came in here.”
“I assure you, I’m quite alright,” Aziraphale said, though he still looked hopeful.
Crowley nodded silently, appearing somewhat dejected.
“I’ve known Anthony for a while,” Amber said, “I can guarantee he’s not going to murder you, if you’re worried.”
Aziraphale laughed quietly, looking at her.
The woman shrugged and blinked a few times then glanced at Crowley, “He’s quite a catch, you know.” Crowley’s head snapped to her.
Surely she wasn’t going that far.
“Although, you’re much more his type than I am,” she ended; Crowley bared his teeth at her.
Aziraphale, however, slowly lifted his head, “Oh. Oh, I - I see…”
Of course he’s straight, Crowley thought, There’s no way he’s smart, adorable, funny and gay. Fuck.
“Well…perhaps I can accept your offer,” Aziraphale replied, “Though, my usual place won’t be open again for a few weeks, I’m afraid.”
The accepted offer made Crowley grin, “Well, we don’t hafta go there; I’ll take you anywhere you want.” Immediately, he realized he seemed too eager, and added, “Unless you’d prefer to go to your place - ngk - the place you usually go.”
A warm smile came to the angelic face, “No, absolutely not. And I knew what you meant - no need to worry. When would you like to do that? I - I mean meet for lunch.”
Crowley smirked, “Next Friday?”
“Oh, I’m afraid I’m out of town, at an education seminar - my very first education conference circuit, actually.”
Nodding, Crowley offered, “Oh, that’s great; I mean, isn’t it? What about the next weekend, then?”
Aziraphale looked thoughtful, “Are - are you busy during the week? I can pop out for lunch once in a while, if that’d be good for you?”
“Sure - I’m nearly done with the Ford I’m working on now; just need to put in new carpet and change the brake pads. Should be done Monday, but ‘s no guarantee.”
“I…I suppose we should exchange numbers, then?”
“Er…prob’ly be helpful,” Crowley said.
Taking out his phone, Aziraphale tapped at it a few times before looking up, “Alright, what’s your number?
“+44 020 7213 4219,” Crowley replied.
When Aziraphale had evidently entered it, he said, “Mine is +44 202 6437 4567.”
Crowley prodded his screen several times, then asked, “Right. How’d you spell that name of yours?
“Aziraphale,” he answered, “A. Z. I. R. A. -”
“Whoa, whoa,” Crowley interrupted, “My thing’ll only show 6 letters on the screen when I call or text.” He hit the bottom of his phone against his knee a few times, “Michael’s ‘Mike’, Christopher’s ‘Chris’ - you get it. Dropped my phone on the lift and a third the screen’s black, see?”
Surely enough, when he turned the phone to show Aziraphale, a fair portion of the screen was completely black.
“Waiting ‘til next month when I can upgrade to replace it,” Crowley said, “Your name…said it sounds like a name from the Bible, like an angel’s name; ‘s’what you’re going in my phone as. Angel.”
Aziraphale made a noise somewhere between a nervous giggle and a choked sob, “Oh, how mortifying…”
“Shut up,” Crowley smiled.
After giving each other their numbers, Aziraphale said, “Mind if I text you just to confirm I’ve put this in properly?”
Seeing the responding shrug accompanied by a nod, Aziraphale typed a brief note to the number.
Crowley turned his back to Aziraphale.
“You are a piece of work, aren’t you?” Aziraphale asked with a chuckle.
Grinning at him, Crowley replied, “Absolutely.”
It took some doing, but he finally extracted his wallet from his pants pocket and set the payment for Aziraphale’s food, the onion rings, and their drinks on the bar top.
“Oh, oh, dear. Are you quite sure?” Aziraphale asked nervously.
Crowley made a face, “Forget it. I spilled your drink - fair’s fair.” After a pause, he spoke again, “Do you need to call for a cab?”
The professor smiled softly, “No, no, I live just a few blocks away.”
“Right, well, ah…be - ngk - get home safe, yeah?” He gave a weird half-wave-half-salute. Aziraphale furrowed his eyebrows adorably and nodded, completing the farewell before leaving, Crowley watching as he departed.
As soon as the lounge door closed behind him, Crowley let his head and arm flop forward onto the bar; Amber turned around to him, “You okay?”
Crowley made a sort of gurgling growl in response then lifted his head to rest his chin on his outstretched arm, “Couldn’t have done that without you saying I was a catch - thanks.”
“Well, he seemed nice, and he managed to run David off, didn’t he?” the woman noted.
Giving a smitten sigh, Crowley replied, “He did. Downright brilliant, he was. Chivalrous. I can’t even be mad at David for being a bastard now; doubt we’d have said two words to each other if I hadn’t knocked over his drink.”
“Well, I can be mad at him for the both of us,” she said, “and I hope your date goes well…whenever it is.”
“Right, well, I’m off, then,” Crowley said, standing, “Ciao!”
Amber gave a nod and suggested, “You should text him to see if he got home.”
“Already thought of that,” he said, heading for the exit.
Crowley couldn’t believe it; he’d never have thought that someone as almost divinely attractive as Aziraphale would be in such a location as pLace, which was, to be fair, rarely a host for even moderately upper-brow people, which Aziraphale obviously was. Not only that, but he was sweet and charmingly awkward, obviously a bit out of his element, but handled it with grace and dignity.
Ugh and he’s dead smart, too.
Tossing his keys to the entry table once he got back to his apartment, Crowley stretched his shoulders back and flopped onto his couch, throwing his feet up on the coffee table and taking out his phone.
Aziraphale got into his bed, smiling to himself at the thought of seeing Crowley again; when he’d seen the handsome man across the lounge, Aziraphale figured that he would just observe him, have a little treat for his eyes and go on with his life. Never would he have dared to imagine that he would go out with him, and Aziraphale would have staked his life on the odds that the man would never be interested in him. And yet…