Chapter Text
Aziraphale took a sip of her tea and turned the page in her book. It wasn’t the best thing she had read in recent years, but it was a decent way to spend her break, and she needed to read chapter ten by next Tuesday’s book club meeting either way. The only vaguely insipid heroine was on a plane to visit her ailing father, and she had just begun to speak with her seatmate when Aziraphale’s timer for her break went off. She didn’t have to keep such strict time necessarily, but it was good to set an example for the student workers who thought the library was an easy work study where they could laze about on their phones or only do their homework and learn nothing.
Adjusting her cardigan, she stood and took her teacup to the break room sink before returning to the circulation desk where she relieved Leo to go to his next class. There was only one more round of classes in the day, but the library would be open until ten. At some point, Anathema, the junior librarian, would come in and relieve her, but for now she settled in to address the questions of the nervous undergrads and check out books. It was easy work. She had been at Tadfield University a long time, moving from England to the States to get her library sciences degree. She had ended up in the sleepy small town of Tadfield in western Virginia and had stayed there ever since, liking how she could walk everywhere, liking the way the leaves changed in fall, liking the brick-laid sidewalks and the small student body at the little liberal arts school. It wasn’t a glamorous life, but a glamorous life would never have suited her.
A pile of books was slammed down onto the counter by her elbow and she looked up with a start right into the face of a pale boy with black hair who looked nearly in tears.
“Would you like to check out?” Aziraphale asked gently, placing her hand on top of the books.
He bit his lip and nodded.
“Student ID, please,” Aziraphale said and the boy passed her his ID. Warlock Dowling, freshman. Well, that might explain the tears. Perhaps it was his first class. Though it was only two weeks into the fall semester, awfully early for breakdowns.
“Looking into the history of…” Aziraphale looked over the titles as she ran the scanner pen over the barcodes on the back of the covers. “Medicinal plants.”
“I couldn’t find the right book,” Warlock said, shoulders going up to his ears. “I’m hoping these will work. Professor Crowley said -”
“Wait, what book?” Aziraphale asked, pausing in her steady rhythm of checking out the books.
“He didn’t say. Just...something about there being some text from the 1800s about medicinal specimens and that it would be in the library. None of us can find it.”
Aziraphale frowned. “It wasn’t on the syllabus? And he didn’t provide a copy of the relevant chapter?”
Warlock sniffled valiantly. “It’ll be fine. It’s just frustrating.”
“Well, if you get any more details let me know. It’s my job to find books, young man.”
Warlock nodded and took back his student ID, tucking it into his wallet, before taking his stack of books and going on his way.
Professor Crowley. Aziraphale turned the name over in her mind. She knew all the professors at her little university. He must have been new.
She hoped young Warlock would figure something out. It was awfully frustrating when professors weren’t clear.
“Ms. Fell,” the girl said through her sniffles, “I’d really appreciate your help. Miss Device looked and couldn’t find anything but I thought I’d come back and ask you since you’ve been here longer.”
Aziraphale handed the poor girl a tissue. “I’m sorry. I wish I could help. What book was it?”
“He didn’t say. Just-I wrote it in my notes- ‘use that famous book about traveling medicinal specimens.’ I googled it and everything.”
Aziraphale patted the girl’s hand and her frown deepened. Her opinion of this Professor Crowley was dropping by the day. From what she had gathered, there was a ten-page research essay due at the end of the month, and one of the required research texts was some book about medical plant specimens gathered in the tropics in the 1800s and transported to the Americas for study. Aziraphale could not, for the life of her, track it down. She had had to comfort more than one weeping student who only wanted to do well.
“Could you just speak to the man and ask for the name of the reference?”
But she knew what the answer would be. It would be the same answer every other student had given.
“I’m too scared!” the girl said before melting into a fresh wave of tears. “You don’t understand. He’s terrifying.”
Enough was enough. Aziraphale had been at Tadfield University longer than Professor Crowley and she would not put up with this behavior.
Aziraphale found out, after a little digging, that Professor Anthony J. Crowley was in the biology department. He was new, as Aziraphale thought. His credentials were impeccable. Undergrad at Oxford, Graduate and PhD at Harvard. Aziraphale was not surprised Tadfield had hired him even without an extensive work history. They did not often get the cream of the crop, being so small and out of the way.
Aziraphale barged into Professor Crowley’s office hours on Wednesday at two o’clock, holding the syllabus she had found online for his history of biology course and armed to the teeth with her anecdotes of crying students.
“Can I help you?” the professor asked, looking up from his computer, bemused. He was young, as Aziraphale expected. Perhaps in his early thirties. Handsome with sharp cheekbones and a flash of messy dark hair that flopped stylishly over his forehead. He was also wearing sunglasses indoors which seemed entirely unnecessary and only added to the harshness of his expression. It made Aziraphale understand why all the students say they were afraid of him.
However, Aziraphale was a forty-two-year-old woman and was not to be cowed.
“Are you Anthony Crowley?” she asked, pushing her glasses up her nose primly.
One corner of his mouth quirked, and he turned his full attention towards her. “I am.”
Aziraphale slapped the syllabus onto his desk, printed, collated, and stapled. “You teach History of Biology, an introductory level course. I have had no less than five students crying in the library trying to find a text that you stated in a lecture was required for an assignment but is listed nowhere in your syllabus. Not a single one is willing to come speak to you because they are all terrified. That is no way to teach a class, young man.”
Professor Crowley’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “If they can’t find a book, I don’t see why that’s my fault.”
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Aziraphale closed her eyes and bit back a sigh. “All required texts should be listed on the syllabus.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” the professor replied, and his smile returned with a crooked edge. Aziraphale had the frustrating notion that he was teasing her.
“Fun? Syllabi aren’t fun. They are supposed to help students understand the requirements of the class. And also prevent them from weeping in the library. I’m almost out of tissues, you know.”
Professor Crowley was grinning in truth now, and all Aziraphale could think of was sharks and tigers and things that went bump in the night. She stood her ground.
“So you thought you’d come shout at me?” he asked.
“I thought I’d come to knock some sense into you.”
“Consider sense knocked.” Crowley swiveled lazily in his chair and picked up a pen which he passed between his fingers like a poker player would a chip.
“Are you going to tell them which book to use?” Aziraphale pressed.
“Heavens no.”
Aziraphale spluttered, indignation turning her face red.
“But I’ll make it an optional reference,” Professor Crowley said with a laugh at her expression. How very rude.
She let out a long breath. She could be gracious about this. “Thank you very much, Professor Crowley.”
He tapped his pen on the desk. “Call me Crowley.”
Aziraphale nodded her head. “Crowley then.” Though she thought she’d have no occasion to use it. Hopefully, if he was true to his word, there would be no more incidents.
She turned on her heel to leave and he called after her, “What’s your name? Or are you just some avenging angel of the library come down to chastise me?”
She would have given him her name, but the door shut before she could. It would have been terribly awkward to open it so she simply didn’t.
Regardless, they were hardly likely to cross paths very often.
“I wanted to read Song of Achilles next,” Mary said. Mary was Anathema’s neighbor and the only non-Tadfield employee in attendance at the unnamed yet official book club.
“I thought we decided no main character deaths for the next six months?” Anathema asked, looking around the group of women. Marjorie, one of the theater professors who always attended, nodded politely.
Leah, the feminist anthropology adjunct, frowned and leaned forward on the couch. They were at Anathema’s apartment this week and the seating was limited. Aziraphale was sitting in a dining room chair and trying not to frown about it.
“That cuts out a large amount of literary canon,” Leah pointed out.
Aziraphale sighed and said nothing as she sipped at her glass of wine. She liked her book club not for the literary canon, but as an opportunity to talk about books both good and bad. She also didn’t mind a little character death, but she wasn’t going to argue about it.
“Aziraphale,” Anathema said, “You haven’t chosen a book in a while.”
Aziraphale shook her head and waved her off. “No, I’m fine. I’m happy to read whatever you all choose.”
Her fellow librarian looked at her for a long moment but finally moved on. “Alright, well if you don’t want to choose then we can draw straws for it.”
They ended up picking Song of Achilles.
Aziraphale came into work on Monday and found a tissue box on the circulation desk wrapped in a black bow with a card stuck in the ribbon. It read, For students’ tears - AJC.
Aziraphale frowned at the scratchy writing and then scowled at the box. She supposed she had mentioned that she was running out of tissues. However, it was a bit of a dark joke.
Monday was a busy day at the library. Sunday had shortened hours so with more students on campus for class, there was no shortage of things to attend to, student workers to assign jobs, and people to help. Aziraphale forgot all about her gifted box of tissues until the last class of the day let out and the final rush passed as students began to settle in for their evening studying and she settled in at her desk to begin cataloguing.
“Angel, did you get my gift?”
She startled and looked up to see Professor Crowley. Unhooking her reading glasses, she put them down around her neck so they hung by their chain, and she pushed down her regular glasses from where they’d been sitting atop her head.
“Hello again, Professor Crowley,” she said politely.
“Crowley, remember,” he said. He was still wearing those silly sunglasses and he had the most rakish grin. Aziraphale gave him a tight smile in return.
“Yes, Crowley, I got your gift. Very kind. How are your students doing?”
“Better, I’m guessing, if you’re not in my office yelling at me,” Crowley said, leaning one hand on her desk. She glanced down at it with a small frown. “I did some asking around about you.”
“Did you?” Aziraphale asked, turning in her chair to face him. She knew exactly what sort of information he’d get.
“Aziraphale Fell. Strict, but kind. Best librarian in the south. WIll kill you for dog-earing a book. Has been at Tadfield almost longer than anybody except Shadwell.”
“Shadwell?” Aziraphale asked.
“The ghost in the theater,” Crowley said with another grin, sparking a laugh from Aziraphale that she had to stifle with her hand over her mouth. They were in the library for goodness sake. Her library!
He adjusted the strap of his messenger bag across his chest, rumpling the line of buttons down the front of his black shirt. "No hard feelings then?"
"Oh, of course not. I was simply looking out for the students."
Crowley tapped his hand on her desk once and then stepped away. "Have a good night then."
"Good night," she said. He walked away and she turned back to her work.
Aziraphale shrugged on her tan cardigan over her loose blue blouse and adjusted the way it was tucked into her skirt. She put on the same pearl earrings she wore every day and snagged her sensible watch from the counter before knuckling on her glasses.
Today was an open house. Her least favorite day of fall term. All of the departments set up their little booths on long tables and tried to woo students to major in their fields. It was messy, it was loud, it was irritating.
It also meant Aziraphale had almost no job to do for the day as facilities and maintenance did all the work and she was just left to sit at the circulation desk to help the occasional student who actually wanted research help. People on open house day were so rude. They left garbage everywhere. They ate where they weren't supposed to. It was always chaos.
So she dressed herself impeccably and walked to work in the cool autumn air. She stopped by the coffee shop for a tea latte as a bit of a preemptive treat, already knowing it would do nothing to stem the flood of annoyance at the day ahead.
She sighed as she walked through the library's automatic doors, striding past the people already setting up booths and taking a resolute seat at the circulation desk. She would be a good librarian today. It was just one day. She could do it.
She barely lasted until eleven-thirty before she decided to take her lunch break elsewhere. Anything to escape the hustle and bustle and noise. So she grabbed her purse, darted out the eastern door, and ran almost directly into-
"Crowley!" she gasped as the man in question grabbed her arms to steady her. She took a step back, her shoes wobbling on the concrete. "I am so sorry. I was in a bit of a rush."
"Clearly. Where's the fire?" he asked wryly, looking down at her feet and still not releasing her. She politely dislodged his grasp and cleared her throat, unsure why he seemed to think she needed assistance.
"It's open house day at the library and it can get a bit busy. Not that I mind but-"
"You bloody hate it?" Crowley asked, wrinkling his nose. The autumn wind picked up and rustled through his fringe, tossing it about.
"I would prefer a bit of peace and quiet to go about my work," she corrected as she adjusted her glasses. "So I'm going on a lunch break in the interim."
Crowley let out a half laugh sort of chuffing noise. "Fancy that. I'm headed to lunch myself. Care to join me?"
Aziraphale thought of the novel and its major character death awaiting her in her purse. "Why not?"
"I like the sandwiches at the cafe but we can go to the dining hall," Crowley said.
"No, the cafe is fine. I prefer it as well."
Crowley shot her a small smile as they fell into step on the brick walkway.
“How are you liking Tadfield so far?” she asked politely. They bore left, down the hill towards town. The campus cafe was further away and, while a bit more expensive than the regular dining hall, the food was certainly much nicer on the palate.
“Bit small,” he said with a shrug. “Bit boring. Been more interesting lately.”
“Really?” she asked. He darted in front of her to open the door to the cafe which she thought was rather unnecessary even if it was certainly polite. “Why is that?”
“Oh, you know. Meeting more people,” he said in an odd tone. “Settling in.”
“If you ever want any pointers about Tadfield, you let me know. I’ve been here nearly two decades now and I feel like I know every dirty corner of this place,” she said as they got in line. He pulled up beside her and when she started rifling in her purse for her wallet, he waved her off.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. My treat.”
She turned to him in surprise. They were almost of a height. Aziraphale favored low heels that added about an inch or so to her height so she supposed he’d be a bit taller than her if she ever found herself shoeless around him. Which of course was a ridiculous thought.
“Nonsense, Professor Crowley,” she said, shaking her head.
“Crowley,” he reminded her. “Consider it the second half of my apology for all those tearful students. A box of kleenexes was hardly enough, don’t you think?”
She hesitated. He was just being polite. Even if it did feel strange to let him buy her lunch, she supposed colleagues did that occasionally and that was what they were.
“Okay. Thank you. That’s very kind,” she said, reshouldering her purse.
He scoffed like he took issue with the assessment as they moved forward in line. “I’ve only had the caprese here but I’m looking to branch out. Any suggestions?”
“Oh the turkey is marvelous,” she said. “And the tuna. Oh, and the grilled cheese.”
He laughed, one clear sharp note. “What I’m hearing is everything is good.”
“Well, yes,” she said with a little awkward wiggle of her shoulders. He didn’t need to tease.
“I think I’ll get the turkey,” he said. “And you?”
“Grilled cheese, please. With tomato.”
“Coming right up.”
They ended up in the corner booth with their drinks and sandwiches.
"So tell me about Tadfield then," Crowley said, contentedly munching on his crisps and leaning back in his seat like he owned the place. It was with the sort of relaxation that was either painfully practiced to disguise discomfort or a true sort of confidence that Aziraphale found she envied. Perhaps a mix of both. Fake it til you make it as the saying went.
"Well, I've lived here for nearly twenty years now," she said, a steady affection for her home already welling inside her. "It's a small place. but it's quite lovely. People are kind. The bookshop on main street will order any book you want. The gelato shop on Johnson is owned by the most lovely couple. They just had a baby. It might not be filled to the brim with entertainment, but there are things to do within driving distance. If you like to do that sort of thing."
"Do you drive places then?" Crowley asked. "For entertainment."
"No," she demurred. "I don't have a car. But I go places with friends and there's a regular bus to Staunton and to Roanoke. I find walking suits me well enough."
Cocking his head, Crowley considered that. "That sounds nice. In its own way. Coming from a larger college town, it's certainly different."
"Very much so," she said with a laugh, turning to her food for a moment. When she returned her attention to Crowley she found his eyes on her, sunglasses slipped down his nose revealing soft brown eyes. He had an odd expression on his face.
“What sort of things are in Staunton and Roanoke?” he prompted.
“Goodness,” she said. “So many things. Wonderful restaurants. Antiquing if that’s your sort of thing. But Staunton has the Blackfriars which is the most remarkable theater. I haven’t been able to go this year, but they’re showing Hamlet.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Bit gloomy, that one.”
She huffed. “That’s what everybody says so nobody wants to do the drive. Usually somebody in my book club is up for the trip, but no one seems interested.”
He hummed and turned back to his sandwich. After a few moments of silence, she asked, "How is the move treating you then? Is it just you or do you have a partner or kids to settle in with?"
"No, just me," he said, leaning forward, elbows on the table. "It's been alright. I haven't unpacked my winter clothes yet."
"Best get on that," Aziraphale said warningly. "It comes down quite hard here with very little warning."
He picked up his sandwich and they both ate for a few minutes in comfortable silence. It was nice actually. Aziraphale normally took lunch alone by simple habit.
"What about you?" Crowley asked as he set down his turkey sandwich. "Any pets? Or you know, spouses? Partners?"
"Yes, I live with my six wives and five husbands," Aziraphale said with a serious nod that had Crowley tossing his head back and laughing. She waved her hand. "No, no. I’m afraid I’m the perpetually single sort. No pets because I'm terribly forgetful. I've killed every plant I've ever owned and I felt it was unfair to try my hand at an animal when I couldn't even manage the flora."
Crowley grinned at her. He had a delightfully expressive face, she decided. It would be impossible for him to hide even the smallest feeling. Everything was out in the open on a face like that.
Crowley walked her back to the library on his way to the science building and said, "We should do that again some time."
Surprised, she nodded in spite of herself. "I think that would be alright."
From: [email protected]
Need a book to scare the kids with. Wondering if you could help.
- AJC
>>>
From: [email protected]
Dear Professor Crowley,
Absolutely not. Why on earth would you think I would help you with some scheme like that?
Sincerely,
A.Z. Fell
>>>
From: [email protected]
Aren’t you the librarian? You’re supposed to help me find references.
- AJC
>>>
From: [email protected]
Serious references for academic purposes.
Sincerely,
A.Z. Fell
>>>
From: [email protected]
My academic purpose is to put the fear of Professor Crowley back into my students after *somebody* made me back down on my very good plan of making them scuttle around the library in terror. They come to my office hours now. It’s miserable. Help me out here.
- AJC
>>>
From: [email protected]
No.
Sincerely,
A.Z. Fell
Crowley sauntered into the library two weeks after their first lunch together. They’d had lunch together both Fridays since, and Aziraphale found she liked it. He was something of a friend. Irritating emails notwithstanding.
“I have a proposal, angel,” he said, leaning casually over the circulation desk, slim torso twisting slightly. It pulled the fabric of his black button down tight against his ribs as he rocked back and forth and tried to get her attention.
She removed her reading glasses and pushed her regular glasses back down from the top of her head. “I have no idea why you insist on calling me that.”
“Because you’re the avenging angel of the library, of course,” he said with a little grin that revealed that one charming crooked incisor of his. He still wore his sunglasses everywhere and Aziraphale still hadn’t asked about them. She thought asking might be a little rude.
“What is your proposal, Crowley?” she asked with a sigh. He was being a nuisance in her library.
“I got tickets to your Hamlet at the Blackfriars this Saturday. You should come with me. It’s a matinee and then I thought we could get dinner. Together.”
Aziraphale couldn’t hide her surprise, hands splayed on the book in front of her. “You said Hamlet was gloomy.”
“Yeah, but you’re good company. Might make it a bit less gloomy.”
She frowned at him. “What if I was busy on Saturday?”
“Well, are you?” he asked.
“No, but it was awfully presumptuous of you to buy the tickets in advance. You should have asked first,” she said with a sniff.
“Is that a yes?” he asked, grin returning, this time wide and growing by the second.
“Yes, Crowley, I will go to Hamlet with you.”
“And dinner?”
“And dinner.”
"Give me your number and I can text you the details," Crowley said, pulling out his phone.
Aziraphale returned her attention to the book in front of her. "Not to worry. You can email me."
Crowley frowned, phone extended. "What if plans change the day of. Email’s too slow. Text’s better."
"Oh, you’re probably right," she said, grabbing his phone and punching in her mobile number in the open application. "I'm just so used to email for all my communication these days."
He took back his phone. “See you on Saturday.”
“Yes, Saturday,” she said and she waved him off. “Now toddle off. I have work to do.”
Aziraphale always did like dressing up for the theater. She would put a bit more effort into her naturally wavy blonde hair, doing up her curls. She would wear her favorite blue dress with the cowl neck and the flowing tea length skirt. More often than not, she wore baggier clothes that were comfortable and easy, but she knew this dress fit her well, nipping in under her breasts, showing off her modest figure. She would wear her grandmother’s pearls and put on the only make-up she owned, a touch of light pink lipstick.
It was her theater outfit. Truly the only thing worth dressing up for.
Satisfied, she tried to decide if she should bring her cardigan or not. She stared at where it was folded on the bed. It was large and comfortable and tan but it was hardly theater appropriate. She had this war every time, and she never brought it, and she always ended up slightly cold. She didn’t want Crowley to think she was tacky with her chunky, slightly worn cardigan.
Sighing, she grabbed her clutch purse and slipped her phone and wallet inside before toeing into her best heels and making her way out the door.
Crowley was waiting at the curb, leaning against the passenger door of a nicely appointed black sedan. She’d never been one for cars but it looked very clean. When Crowley saw her, he shot to his feet.
He wasn’t wearing his sunglasses.
“Hi,” he said, sounding choked as he passed his hand through his hair. “You look…”
“Oh, yes,” she said, toying with the edge of her skirt. “I like to dress up a bit for the theater. I hope that’s alright.”
“Yeah. Yeah. More than alright. It’s...yeah.”
He opened the door for her and let her slip inside. Very old-fashioned really and very kind for someone so young.
“How old are you?” she asked out of curiosity when he got into the car.
He gave her a strange look. “Thirty-one.”
About the age she thought. “Quite young for your position,” she said as they pulled out onto main street.
The weather was warm and the sun was out, highlighting the autumn colors that were beginning to settle in the trees. It was her favorite time of year in Shenandoah and it would be a lovely drive down the highway.
“Professor Keller was a bit peeved they hired you,” she said conspiratorially. “He was angling for tenure.”
Crowley snorted and signalled to pull onto the highway. “They don’t give tenure anymore.”
“Yes, well, he thinks he can finagle his way into it with enough arse-kissing,” she said.
Barking out a laugh, Crowley glanced at her. The bright sunlight illuminated his face for a moment and Aziraphale was struck by the unique structure of it. The slope of his nose, the curl of his mouth, the warm whiskey color of his eyes, now exposed. Strange that he wouldn’t wear his sunglasses on a sunny day.
“Arse-kissing?” Crowley repeated.
“That’s what he does!” she said. “Miserable man.”
“I’m not disagreeing. I just can’t believe you said the word arse. I’ve never heard you swear before.”
“I don’t like to swear around the students,” she said primly.
“Oh, yeah,” Crowley said with a wide gesture of his chin. “Impressionable eighteen-year-old minds. I’m sure they’ve never heard a foul word in their lives.”
“Oh, hush,” Aziraphale said, flapping her hand at him but unable to hide her smile. He delighted in teasing her.
Crowley buzzed around an eighteen-wheeler and Aziraphale yelped, her affection for him swiftly replaced by distress. She glanced at the speedometer and said, “Crowley, the speed limit is 70 miles per hour.”
“That’s just guidelines.”
“It’s called a speed limit.”
“Pshhh,” Crowley said and continued to push one hundred. He wasn’t the only one on the road to do it, but it still had Aziraphale gritting her teeth.
The drive to Staunton should have been forty-five minutes.
With Crowley, it took thirty.
Stepping into the Blackfriars always took Aziraphale’s breath away. It’s full wooden construction. The huge chandeliers casting the room in a warm almost romantic lighting. The painstaking details and effort gone into making it a reproduction of the original theater. She clutched Crowley’s arm and said in a hushed voice, “Isn’t it gorgeous?”
“Yeah,” he said back, just as quietly if a bit more reverently, though she supposed it was his first time.
She turned to look at him and found his eyes on her. “Where are our seats?”
“C’mon,” he said, keeping hold of her arm and leading her to the front row on the right side.
“Oh, these are excellent. Crowley, these must have cost a fortune,” she admonished. “I have to pay you back.”
"S'no trouble," he said as they took their seats. "It's a matinee so they weren't so bad."
"You're too kind."
"Never in my life has anyone accused me of being too kind," Crowley said with a scowl. Aziraphale patted his knee.
"There's a first time for everything," she said with certainty.
The show got started and as always Blackfriars did Shakespeare traditionally without any strange gimmicks. That's what Aziraphale liked best. It was only as Hamlet spoke to Gertrude that Aziraphale realized Crowley was sitting very...close.
His knee was pressed against hers, warm through the thin fabric of her skirt. He'd also dressed somewhat nicely, a step up from his usual black jeans and button downs so the heat of his skin was nigh on blazing through the material of his slacks.
She politely scooted to her right, thankful that the matinee was somewhat sparsely attended and their bench was fairly empty. He probably didn't even realize he was encroaching on her space. He was a very carefree sort of person with his body. She noticed the way he spread about in chairs. He'd probably forgotten that she was there.
She only regretted moving away when, sure as anything, she began to grow cold.
She rubbed surreptitiously at her elbows and was thankful for the intermission so she could go into the lobby for some sun. Before she could, she was confronted with a fistful of fabric. She hadn't even stood up from her seat yet.
"Here," Crowley said. "Take my jacket."
"What?"
"You're cold."
"Oh," she said, taking the suit jacket and wondering if it would even fit her. She stood and slipped it over her shoulders. Shockingly it did. It smelled of Crowley, a smoky woodsy smell. "Thank you. That's very nice. I always get cold here."
Crowley stared up at her, eyes wide. "Yeah." His adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. "Chilly."
"Could we go out in the lobby for a bit?" She prompted when he continued to stare. "I'd like to use the bathroom and get some water."
"Yeah, yeah, of course," he said, lurching to his feet and gesturing for her to go past. As she did, he placed his hand on the small of her back to guide her before falling into step at her side.
She looked at him askance. Did he have any idea what such behavior was signalling? He was quite young. Men his age could be very flirtatious. Stepping away, she ducked her head and moved quickly towards the bathroom.
The show resumed for the second half and she didn't have much thought to spare for Crowley's closeness. It was all her favorite parts of Hamlet. She leaned forward in her seat as Hamlet performed his soliloquy, gripped the railing as Ophelia descended into madness. She didn't realize she was crying until Crowley handed her a handkerchief.
"Thank you," she said under her breath as the scene changed. "That part always gets me."
Crowley was looking at her, awestruck and wide-eyed. "Yeah."
Perhaps he was just as affected by the theater. How nice to find a young man like that. Perhaps they could go again together sometime.
She let herself be swept up in the performance and when it was over she rose to her feet for a resounding ovation. As they left, she gushed to Crowley. "That was remarkable. I haven't seen a performance of Hamlet like that in years. What did you think?"
"It was certainly something."
"Oh, thank you for the handkerchief. I'm sorry about the waterworks. It's silly but I get so invested."
The sun had begun to set, dousing the street in warm gold and red and Aziraphale turned to face Crowley. Without his jacket on, he was just in a slim line white button down and black slacks and he looked the very picture of professionalism.
"It's not silly," he said gently, cocking his head. For some reason, she’d expected him to tease her and the fact that he hadn’t unmoored her.
Laughing awkwardly, she changed the subject, unable to handle the raw look on his face. "What would you like to do for dinner? There are several options. French, Indian, Mexican, Japanese."
Crowley hemmed and hawed rather dramatically before choosing Indian, letting Aziraphale lead him down a side street. "It's fortuitous that you chose this place. it's right beside a wonderful ice cream shop for dessert."
"I'm the picture of fortune," he said, opening the door for her. More of that casual politeness.
They settled in and he let her order for the table. "I trust your judgment," he said easily, sipping at his tea so she ordered a few dishes and resolved to not let him pay after knowing he must have gone out of his way on the tickets.
"Thank you for today," she said, laying her napkin in her lap. "It has been lovely."
"It's not over yet," he pointed out.
"I suppose not."
They began to snack on their papadam and chutney, and the setting sun caught on Crowley’s eyes again and Aziraphale didn’t know what came over her, it was certainly rude, but she asked, “Where are your sunglasses?”
Crowley froze, papadam halfway to his mouth. He set it on his plate. “It’s, uh, it’s kind of a funny story actually.”
Aziraphale raised her eyebrows expectantly.
“When I moved here, I broke my glasses and I can’t see shit without them,” he said. “I have contacts. Obviously.” He gestured at his glasses-less face. “But, um, if I wear them for too long my eyes dry out and I have to use a lot of eye drops, but I do also have prescription sunglasses so…”
“So you wore the sunglasses,” Aziraphale finished for him. “That’s a bit silly. Why didn’t you just replace the broken glasses?”
“I did, but by that point, the sunglasses were a bit of a thing and I thought it would be weird if I started wearing regular glasses so I just didn’t.”
Aziraphale stared at him and then broke out laughing. He glared at her. “I’m sorry...that’s...that’s so embarrassing for you.”
“Oh, thank you. How kind.”
Laugh tapering off, Aziraphale let out a long breath to steady herself. “I had no idea you were so ridiculous under your whole-” she broke off and waved her hand at Crowley.
“My whole what?”
“Your I’m very cool, be afraid of me thing.”
“I am very cool and you should be afraid of me!” he protested.
“I don’t think cool people have to insist they’re cool,” Aziraphale countered, and just then, their food arrived, saving Crowley from having to defend himself.
