Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Azira Fell is a man of many things. He’s a good man; well-mannered and soft spoken; of humble beginnings and a believer of good intentions. Do good things to receive good karma in return. Show others the kindness you yourself would like to be shown. His mother raised him right, after all.

He’s fond of many things, too. Animals, books, photography, and especially… food. He’s always been a good eater; no allergies and never an upset stomach. His baby photos show him to have delightfully chubby cherub cheeks and a soft round physique, which has followed him into adulthood in the form of soft smiles and a soft stomach - not overweight, but not the strong form his father would have wished him. No matter.

His love of food is what has led him to this moment in his life - he was about to open his own bakery. He’d managed to get his hands on the deeds to a very small, old shop front in Soho, London, with an apartment on the floor above, and with a little bit of TLC, he knows it’ll feel like home soon enough.

Anthony J. Crowley is also a man of many things. Sharp-tongued, quick witted and endlessly chaotic in every aspect of his character. Those who know him or have had the pleasure to meet him have long since given up understanding his actions or motives. As a lone predator; he takes risks and thrives in adversity, enjoying seeing people react to the things he does. He believes in karma too - talk shit, get hit kind of karma, and his youth was certainly an example of that. 

He also likes to think himself as handsome, devilishly so. Slick red hair, a wicked sense of style, a great taste in music and a gleaming smile that has helped him charm his way through life more times than he could count.

That being said, his career is not one people often expect of him, and thus he tends to do things that are… unfitting of his appearance. 

And with that, he walks into the newly opened Heavenly Delights Bakery . 

Azira lifts his head at the chime of the front door being opened. He braces a dazzling smile, ready to cheerily welcome another new customer into his shop.

“Hello! Welcome to Heavenly Delights!” he calls out with as much enthusiasm as he can manage whilst balancing two hot, heavy trays of freshly baked bread rolls. His baker’s hat is askew, but there’s no time to think about that. He sets the trays down to cool on the prep table and takes off his oven mitts. 

“Is there anything in particular you might be looking for?” he asks as he moves towards the front of the shop from the wide doorway separating the kitchen from the store itself. There is a woman sitting at one of the small tables; whom he’d served a few minutes ago; enjoying the last of her Belgian bun and sips of her tea, and he’s pleased to see there’s nary a crumb in sight on her plate. The customer who just entered approaches the display counter and points at the blueberry muffins, not even saying hello.

Rude, Azira thinks, though his upbeat manner doesn’t falter as he chirps, “Just the one blueberry muffin for you sir?”

The man grunts, raising a brow as if to mock him. “Do ye see me pointin’ at anything else?” 

Azira falters, not sure how to reply, and hurries to select the muffin and package it carefully, not even hearing the door chime again. 

“An excellent choice, sir, these blueberries are locally grown, you know, and the farmer is such a charming old man who-”

“I don’t care, just tell me how much I owe ya.”

Once more he falters, his well-mannered mentality shocked at how rude one person could be even on a first encounter. 

“W-well, it’s- it’ll be -um, a pound and fifteen pence, please. Th-that’ll be all.” He takes the item to the cash register and logs the transaction in manually; the machine is a tad old-fashioned, but he feels it adds to the atmosphere of the shop. 

The rude gentleman drops a fistful of change onto the counter, slowly shifting through it to find the exact change and Azira tries, very hard, not to shift from foot to foot impatiently in front of him as he waits, and instead takes a look around the shop again.

There’s someone new. 

He blinks. Someone must’ve come in without him noticing.

The man is standing by the doorway, admiring a display of cupcake boxes, sizes holding between 8 to 24 cupcakes at a time, and is twirling a polka-dot one in his leather gloved hands idly. Azira can only see his face in profile, the twist of a slight frown tugging his lips down and the small twitch of his straight nose pushing his rather unusual sunglasses back up as he looks around in an almost bored expression. The most notable thing about him is the fact that not only is he dressed entirely in shades of grey and black, but his hair is… well. A shade of coppery red Azira can only describe as stunning. He looks away before he’s caught staring.

The customer pushes an admittedly annoying amount of small change his way, and Azira resolves himself to quickly recounting the coins to the correct amount. Luckily he’s quite good with numbers, and as he hits enter on the register and the till drawer dings open, the rude customer snatches the muffin and turns to leave, without even a goodbye.

“Have a nice day!” he calls after him anyway.

The guy tuts, shaking his head and reaches for the door, only-

-smack.

“Oh. Sorry about that.” Not sounding sorry at all, the gentleman with the unusual sunglasses grins sharpishly at the rude man. He’d opened the door just before him, causing the now red-face angry man to walk face-first into the edge of the door.

“Watch what you’re doing, asshole!” the man sputters, clutching his nose as he storms out. Sunglasses man wiggles his fingers after him in a teasing manner, calling out, “Better watch where you’re going, you know!”

Azira stands there, mouth slightly agape, unsure how to react to anything that has just happened. The fiery-haired gentleman drops his hand and lets go of the door, letting it shut naturally as he saunters - yes, saunters, it’s the best word for how he moves - up to where Azira stands still like a statue.

“Don’t suppose you do custom orders?” he asks, and the baker has to blink and clear his throat. Dear Lord that voice is something else-

“I-I err, well, yes. I suppose I could make a custom order, if the request is something within the range of my abilities.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is….” the man leans closer, mouth twisting slightly. “Azir...a…?”

“Azira.” Azira provides him sheepishly. “I er..have a kind of unusual name, I suppose…”

“It suits you, though. Sounds like it could be an angel’s name.” The man leans back and smirks, and Azira swallows almost nervously, why is he nervous? “So, Azira, is it? I need uhh...let’s see… around 30 cupcakes.”

“Cupcakes..?” He was not expecting a simple request such as that.

“Yes. Nothing too fancy - vanilla and chocolate chips, or something like that. Bit of frosting on top. Sprinkles and whatnot.”

“Is this for a special occasion of sorts?” Azira grabs his notepad, jotting down the details before he forgets.

“Kinda.” The man sniffs, pushing his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose and swaying on the spot, as if he struggles to stand still. “It’s - it’s a welcoming party, of sorts.” 

“Right. And - And when would you like this order for, sir?”

“Crowley.” 

“Pardon?”

“Just Crowley. None of that sir stuff.” He waves his hand dismissively. “And I need it for a week from now, that good?”

“Ahh, yes, plenty of time, don’t worry sir- I-I mean, Mr Crowley, sir-” he feels the heat of his blush creep down his neck from his ears and he wishes, not for the first time, that he didn’t fluster so easily when he’s embarrassed. “When will you be collecting it?”

“First thing in the morning - ah- when is it you open, exactly?”

“Eight on the dot!” 

“Mmn, that should be fine. I’ll be in to collect them at eight, next week.”

“Splendid!” He’s scribbling down the last of the notes - and honestly, the name Crowley just seems to fit the man so well - when he realises Mr Crowley is in fact, already leaving. 

“Ahh, sir- M-Mr Crowley-”

“Mmn, yes, Mr Azira?” The red haired wonder turns and hums, smirking back at him. 

“I…” Azira has to clear his throat again. “I-I need some sort of contact number.. A-and a deposit on the order, in case of cancellation..”

“Ahh, yes, my apologies.” He saunters back and leans over the counter, easily sliding Azira’s notebook and pen from his slackened grip. With an effortless twirl, his thin, long fingers pull the pen across the page to reveal a phone number along with the name, Anthony J. Crowley. From his jacket pocket he produces a leather wallet and pulls out a few notes. 

“Is this good?” He holds out a few ten-pound notes.

“.. Ah! Yes, that’s m-more than enough - in fact, I think I need to give you some change-”

“Don’t worry about that, Angel.. Add it to the tip jar, or something.” He grins and backs away, turning sharply with a salute of his hand. Within moments he’s out the door, around the corner and out of sight. Azira sits at the register on the little stool he’d placed there for quiet moments, staring down at the notepad and the foreign, haphazardous scrawl in front of him, so different from his own neat script. It was not like him to be so taken aback by a person, but as he’s been told many a time by his parents - is that a first encounter always has a lasting effect on how you view that person, and well, this has certainly been an interesting one.

To say that Crowley was nervous about going back to the bakery the following week would be a damned lie. A lie in the sense that it was close to the truth, but he wasn't ready to admit it to himself just yet.

He had not been expecting the employee behind the counter to be so.... well, for lack of a better word, angelic. He was sure the man had the patience of a saint, especially with the way he handled the rude customer he'd been serving before Crowley approached. He eavesdropped on them and maybe, maybe purposefully opened the door on purpose with just the right timing to smack the asshole in the face. He'd been rewarded double for the gesture; a flustered and angry ass storming off and the shocked yet flushed pink face of the baker, who he swore was hiding a smile.

And he was so soft spoken. He spoke so formally, despite his appearance - he can't be much more different in age to Crowley, who was slowly approaching the big 3-0 as reluctantly as possible. His manner and personality just seemed so polite and refined that he almost seemed out of place in the bakery, if it weren't for the messy apron, askew baker's hat and dustings of flour on his hands and cheeks.

Crowley grimaces at the image in his mind of big blue eyes, a wide friendly smile and that one insistent smudge on the man's cheek he wished he could have brushed off. It's not good for him to already feel...things... like this after one small conversation.

He's waiting across the street in his Bentley, parked up in one of the few cheap parking spaces this area of London had to offer - and well, at seven in the morning it's well within his right to hog it. He's early - the lights are off in the storefront of the bakery, though he can see a faint glow through the windows where the back kitchens must be, even with his sunglasses on. He takes a drag of his vape - nasty thing, but Gabriel had complained of him smelling of smoke and cigarettes in the workplace and it affecting the kids, so he had made the switch to lessen the smell. Plus, it was supposedly less bad for you. At least now he can get his nicotine fix; just now it smells of apples.

A movement in the corner of his eye gets his attention, and he looks up to see a blur of blonde and white open the door to the bakery, moving nonchalantly over to the windows and giving them a quick wipe down with a damp cloth. He has a carefree grin on his face, and as Crowley tucks away his vape and gets out of the car, he can hear faint humming as he approaches.

"Mornin'"

The blonde man startles a bit. "Oh!! Good morning, my dear."

Crowley raises a brow, but doesn't comment on the pet name. Maybe it was retaliation for the 'Angel' nickname he'd given him before.

"Am I too early for ya?" he waves a hand at the still-quiet shop. The chalkboard in the door window says the average opening time is 8am.

"Oh, not a worry! It's usually just me here in the mornings, and I'm not strict on opening times. Most of those numbers are simply guesstimate." He chuckles, gathering up his cleaning kit and shuffling around Crowley to head up the steps. "Come in! I'll get your order for you."

Crowley hums and smiles, gently kicking the door shut behind him. Definitely not because he wanted to be alone with the baker.

"You always open alone?" He asks casually. "What about management?"

"Ahh, well - I am the one who owns and runs the shop, so- I suppose I am my own management?" Azira - Crowley now remembers, catching sight of his name tag in the light, shrugs. "Though if it starts getting busier I will have to take on a couple of helpers."

"If you need a few young folk to help out part time, there's a college nearby that has a decent cooking course goin' on. You could probably put an ad up over there."

"Oh, wonderful! That's so helpful, thank you Mr Crowley!" The blonde beams at him, and he has to shuffle his feet and look away before he did something weird.

"Don't worry about it."

Azira smiles even more at that, then turns with a thought and hurries into the back room. "I almost forgot!" Crowley hears him call, and the shorter man returns with a large, square cupcake box. "I hope it's to your liking, the instructions were, erm, a little vague..."

He lifts the lid of the box, revealing thirty perfectly frosted vanilla cupcakes, the swirl of buttercream frosting dusted lightly in chocolate cocoa powder and an artistic swirl of chocolate and sugar sprinkles.

"They look perfect, Angel, they'll love it." He almost reaches in to grab one, but stops himself, reminding his hungry stomach that they were for his new students. He almost pouts.

"I did make a couple extra, if you'd like to try one yourself?" Azira almost reads his mind, and Crowley looks up with an eager grin.

"Absolutely."

Azira  grins and as if by magic, produces a small plate with two extra cupcakes. He reboxes the order and sets it to one side, then gives Crowley a curious, innocent look.

"Would you like a drink with your cupcake? I could make a pot of tea."

"Ahh, m'fine, Angel, this is more than enough already." His fingers twitch, eager to try out the delightful looking treat in front of him already. Amused, the blonde shakes his head with a hum.

"Go on, you heathen. Try it and tell me what you think!"

Crowley tries to keep to some manners he'd learnt growing up, making sure to unwrap the little paper liner first and taking a big bite. He almost instantly feels the frosting smear over his upper lip as his teeth sink further down than imagined, and sparks of stars dance across his tongue as the sugar melts into his tastebuds, a smooth blend of chocolate and buttercream, chewy and soft, a hint of crunch between his teeth from the sprinkles and chocolate chips that were hidden away in the batter.

It truly was a Heavenly Delight. It was all he could do not to moan out load.

A small choking noise and cough startles him, and he blinks open his eyes to see Azira thumping his fist on his own chest.

"You alright?" He asks through a mouthful of cupcake, unwilling to rush this experience for the sake of being 'polite'.

"Ah- y-yes, um-" he clears his throat, recovering. "Just gone down the wrong pipe, as it were."

Crowley nods, he's done that before. He feels a smudge of frosting along his lip that he'd missed, and he flicks a tongue out to sweep it up. Behind his sunglasses, he notices Azira watch him in a wide eyed wonder as a blush appears the flush his cheeks. He smirks.

"Are you sure these are heavenly?" he asks, and Azira blinks back into focus.

"What do you mean? Are they no good?"

"Good? Absolutely not -" Azira begins to frown, so Crowley quick leans closer with a wider smirk. "It's fuckin' sinful , Angel."

The blush comes back in full force, causing the stuttering baker to take a couple steps back as he flusters for a reply. Crowley takes the opportunity to mentally pat his own back and finish the rest of the cupcake, even going so far as to lick his fingers clean. It was just that good, after all.

Azira clears his throat after a moment. "R-right, well, as you paid the deposit on the order already, that leaves only £7.50 to pay, if you're ready..?"

Crowley glances at his watch: about 7:30am. It'll take him at least twenty minutes in the morning traffic to drive to work if he doesn't want Gabriel on his ass about punctuality and whatnot. Plus he does want to set up and make sure everything is ready for the day. He sighs quietly to himself and digs his wallet out from his back pocket.

"D'you take card, or is cash better?"

"Both are fine!" Azira chirps, heading around the counter to the cash register. "The system's still a little old fashioned so it won't take any of that contactless nonsense, I'm afraid, but it'll do the job."

Crowley hums and fishes out a ten pound note. "Don't worry about the change, Angel."

"Hm- Hey! No, you're not doing that one again!" Azira lifts his head and frowns. "That is far too generous and you've already spent so much for your first purchase here!"

"It's just a couple of quid, Azira." He shrugs.

"That won't do!" The blonde opens the till and digs out the change, trying to hand it back, but Crowley dances out of range. It causes the other man to pout. Pout. Jesus Christ, Crowley thinks, wondering if this man was even real.

"Well if you aren't going to take your money back, you'll at least have to take something else." Azira insists, and before Crowley can say another word he dives under the counter and comes back with serving tongs, clacking them together gleefully and nipping back into the kitchen with surprising swiftness. He comes back with a small white paper bag, folded neatly at the top to preserve the contents.

"Here, my treat." He places the bag on top of the cupcake box and lifts it up to him. "I think it'll be suitable for your lunch break at work."

"Okay..." Crowley rolls his eyes behind his sunglasses, but smiles all the same. "Best get going, gotta beat the traffic." He goes to take the box, momentarily brushing fingers with the shorter man and feeling a buzz of something warm snaking up his hands and wrists, and he quickly takes a step back, giving the other man a nod and wave.

"I'll catch you next time, Angel!"

He doesn't hear a reply as makes an embarrassingly quick exit from the shop.

Chapter Text

As Crowley walks down the hallway, boots clicking on the squeaky-clean floor, he feels a grin form on his face as he reaches his classroom, hearing excited chattering coming from inside. He pauses just before the door, glancing in quickly and seeing a few familiar faces at the front. He adjusts the box under his arm, turns the door handle, and kicks the door open in his usual flair for dramatics.

“ Gooooood morning, Hellspawns!” he cackles as a few kids jump up in surprise; kids who clearly weren’t in his class the year before. The kids at the front of the class don’t get shocked, in fact they light up in joy.

“Mr Crowley!! Good morning!” The ringleader of the group, Adam Young, stands up and rushes up for a high-five. Crowley accepts, turning the move into the weird little handshake Adam makes him do every time, not that he minds. 

“Scoot your ass back to your seat, kid. I gotta take attendance.”

He strides over to his desk, setting the cupcake box down in front of the very-curious eyes of the students. Leaning back, he takes a quick peek at the itinerary the school board wanted him to cover for the first day, then flipped to the next page with the list of his students. 

“Good to see my favourite brats have made it to the top set class once again…” He hums, noticing over his sunglasses that The Them, Adam and his friends, grin and nudge each other. “Alright, from the top. Carl Allen..”

He ticks kids off the list as he goes, noting that there was a name he’d never seen before in the list, one Walter Dowling, who was also absent as he read his name aloud.

“No Walter? Hmm, not off to a good start there..” he frowns, then continues. He ticks off each of The Them as he gets to their names, then stands up in front of the class again.

“Alright, now that that is done, I’ll introduce myself to those of you who are new to my class. My name is Mr Crowley, and I will be your homeroom teacher as well as your science teacher. I specialise in chemistry, but believe me the other two subjects are close behind. Those of you who were in my class last year know that I expect you all to give me 110%.” He paces slowly, hands behind his back, smirking slightly at the intimidated faces of the students. “I do not tolerate failures. Anyone not giving me their all will be sent to lower-level classes. My classes are tough. I will work you hard, and any disrespect or anti-social behaviour will be punished even harder.”

There were definitely a few scared looks now. His no-nonsense policy is the talk of the school, and it was the reason why the kids called him The Snake. He squeezed the potential out of every kid by squeezing and pushing them to their limit.

He goes to a standstill beside his desk, placing one hand on the cupcake box and catching the students attention.

“That being said… hard, honest workers are also well rewarded. As a welcome and a congratulations for making it to the highest-level and frankly, the roughest class of your year group, I’ve brought you all some cupcakes. There is enough for all to have one each.”

Surprised and happy murmurs break out as he takes the box and opens it in front of the first kid, Adam’s friend Brian.

“ One, Brian.” He warns the gluttonous messy child. He nods and picks one up, eyes widening.

“Wow! Mr Crowley these look so good!” Pepper, next to him, praise happily as she takes one too.

“Only the best for my brats, after all.” He brags quietly, feeling smug at the reactions of his students. While most take the offer immediately, some of them more intimidated kids are slower, and for them he smiles softer and speaks more warmly.

“Take one, it’s okay.” He holds the box closer, smiling wider as one of the girls takes one finally. “There you go. Good job.”

Once every kid collected a cupcake, Crowley took the empty box to the front and tossed it into the recycling bin. The itinerary said that the kids had to go to their welcoming assembly at nine thirty, which was fast approaching. He picks up the papers from his desk and tucks them into his planning folder, tucking that under his arm as he claps his hands together.

“Right. You have two minutes to eat those cupcakes and clean up! Don’t even leave a smidge of frosting in sight! Can’t let the other kids know I’m bribing you all with desserts to work hard.” He receives a few giggles. “That, and we all have to go to the assembly. Line up and eat as you go, chop chop!”

As the kids stuff their faces and chatter together about how delicious the cupcakes were, Crowley’s mind flickers back to this morning, with Azira in the bakery. The happy smile the baker had greeted him with, the light hearted chat and banter when he refused his change, a hint of curiosity at whatever the blonde had packed him for lunch. It brings an unusually soft smile to his face, and he shakes it off quickly.

“Right, Hellspawns, quick and quietly! March on!” He points down the hall, leading his line of students off to the most boring hour of the morning.

Azira is restless.

Not in the way that he's bored and needs something to do, because he has plenty he could be doing. The shopfront is quiet and all of the freshly baked goods have cooled enough to go out on display, and the kitchen could do with a clean now that the counter-tops were clear, but his mind is going around in circles.

He keeps thinking about Mr Crowley.

Rather, why it is that the man intrigues him. He was just the same as everyone else who's visited the shop so far - polite and kind and smiles nicely, and compliments his baking-

'-fuckin' sinful, angel.'

He shivers as his mind replays the tone Mr Crowley spoke in, low and harmonious and with that dreadful, dreadful smirk that made his insides twist and pull. The way he'd leaned in and smelled faintly of apples and how one canine visible in his smirk seemed far too pointed to be natural and even with the closeness he still couldn't see his eyes, and why did he always where those sunglasses anyway? It wasn't particularly sunny out that morning, nor the first time they'd met. Maybe he was shy.

He realises he's been cleaning the same spot over and over now, and quickly rushes to clean the rest of the tables and counter-tops. He was in a French mood today, so on the little chalkboard he'd purchased for such occasions, he'd listed a couple specials for the day, coffee and a croissant or eclair for £3, or a box of 10 macaroons for £5. He still wasn't sure how to price his goods, his head wasn't quite made for the business side of things honestly, but he didn't want to overcharge either. Macaroons aren't his speciality when it came to French pastries but he was pleased with the few he'd made the night before, so the limited amount of boxes he'd put together deserve the special treatment, stacked elegantly on a display tray on one side.

With all the cleaning and organising out of the way, Azira turns the radio up a little louder and hums along, gathering up the ingredients needed for the next batch of baking. He won’t let himself think about trivial things for too long. He needs to keep up the appearance of actually knowing what he's doing, even with nobody else around. If he keeps busy there's no time for distractions and mistakes. And so, he gets to baking.

Baking is one of his favourite hobbies. He enjoys the sense of routine it gives him - there were recipes to follow, rules and methods to stick to - but still gives the baker enough freedom to add their own creative touches. He's by no means a professional, but over the years it was one of the few hobbies that earned him praise with many of the adults in his childhood, despite the upbringing his parents gave him. He still keeps a box of all the little ribbons and certificates he'd won in his teens and young adult life.

His skill lay in the details. He could follow a recipe by the letter and it will turn out exactly as it should, but it was form, decoration and small hints of something extra that would give his treats a winning edge. Something as simple as a little lemon zest, a pinch of cinnamon, a bit of coconut oil, something that one might not think of adding necessarily but nothing too wild, often granted him a few praises.

That being said, he can admit that he can be a bit stubborn, especially if a particularly difficult recipe gets the better of him. He can humbly accept defeat from other bakers but a recipe? He must perfect it. It was one of his less admirable traits, though he doesn't dwell on it. Before he knows it, he has several bowls of batter, ready to transform into croissants once he gets ready for it. He decides to do additional flavours, berry mixes and chocolates and vanilla cream, so he busies himself with grabbing the supplies. He hears the front door chime open and gasps, setting everything down and eagerly goes to greet the customer.

"Good afternoon my dear!" he hums happily, turning the radio down slightly to a more respectable level. The woman who had entered is quite stunning, with long, dark chocolate waves of hair in bohemian style, large glasses and an even larger smile on her face. She clutched a couple books and papers in her hands and a tote over one shoulder.

"Hello!" She replies equally cheerfully, and Azira notes her slight accent. She rushes up to the counter with an elegant sway of her hips, making the dress she wore flow around her. She seemed almost ethereal in every sense of the word, and even for a man of Azira's... preferences,  he had to hold back a blush as she leaned over the counter top.

"You must be Mr Azira Fell!" She sets her books down and quickly swipes up the papers from on top of the pile, thrusting them towards him and continuing before he could even reply - "I remember seeing you on TV! The Great British Bake Off, about five years ago?"

Now he really blushes, wiping his sweaty hands down his apron and straightening his bakers hat.

"I- I- er, y-yes, that was indeed me five years ago... erm, I must say, I don't know h-how you've come to find me?" His voice lowers with a slightly sadder tone. "I didn't even make it to the finals that year.."

"Oh, I just knew." She smiles; in a calm, confident way that's slightly unnerving. "You said in your final interview that you hoped to one day open your own bakery - and what do you know! A small blog I follow mentioned this place, with your photo and a review of your time on that show. It's so wonderful to really meet you!"

Azira has to look down as the redness consumes his face awkwardly. At least she discovered him in a positive manner, as embarrassing as it is. Honestly, he didn't even know that there were blogs or reports about his time on that old show to be found online, let alone about his more recent adventures.

She thrusts the papers at him again, and he takes them, now realising it was a cover letter and CV, applying to work in the store.

"You... y-you'd like to work for me..?"

"Yes!" She laughs, calm and soft like balm against his awkwardness. "That season of the bake off, watching you bake so passionately, it was really inspiring! I started baking because of you."

He can't help it, he can feel the tears building up in his eyes as he blinks them back, so he takes a shaky breath and murmurs a genuine thank you. She seems to understand him perfectly, reaching over to pat his arm.

"It's been great to meet you. I have to go back to college now for my afternoon classes, but I hope to hear from you soon." She had a knowing look again, as if certain it will happen, but Azira doesn't mind it now. He was already quite fond of her. 

Chapter Text

Azira is closing up for the day when he hears his phone ring. 

It’s short, indicating a text. Whilst he doesn’t have too many people he talks to regularly, it still strikes him as odd to receive a message at this time in the evening. He calls his mother every Sunday, which was the day after tomorrow, so it likely wasn’t her. Most of his old college friends and past co-workers tend to use social media nowadays, which he had a different ringtone for. Any customers wouldn’t have access to his personal number, unless….

He picks it up, breath hitching as he recognises the number saved under the name Mr Crowley. 

Sent:[5 days ago] - Good evening Mr Crowley! Your order is complete and will be ready for you in the morning! :)

 

---1 New Message---

 

[8:13pm] - Hey, are you busy?

Azira huffs. So the man won’t reply to his message about his order but will text him out of the blue? He shakes his head as he types out a reply. With the front door locked, he shuts the lights off and heads upstairs, popping the kettle on as he waits for a response, which takes a surprisingly short amount of time.

[8:15pm] - I’ve just closed the shop for the day. I’ll be open again tomorrow!

 

[8:16pm] - m’not lookin to buy anythin right now

 

[8:16pm] - Oh? Are you alright?

The kettle boils, and he busies himself with making a cup of tea while he pretends not to be waiting for his reply. He adds milk and sugar, stirring and humming as his curiosity builds and the chime of his phone has him a little too eager to rush back to his favourite armchair.

[8:19pm] - was wonderin if you wanted to go for a drink? 

[8:19pm] - could introduce you to a couple friends from the college

Azira’s heart lifts and falls within moments of the second message coming through. Of course he wouldn’t be inviting him for a drink alone, that was just silly. Did he even want to drink with him alone? Lord knows his tolerance is terribly low for a man of his age, and yet he can’t help but feel a little sad. At the same time, meeting more new people that he might not be comfortable with is a little daunting as well, and his awkwardness and nervousness will only get worse with alcohol. He puts his phone down for a moment, slowly sipping his drink as he debates internally at what to do. He must’ve lost track of time, because a few minutes later his phone chimes again.

[8:28pm] - some other time? Doesn’t have to be tonight

 

[8:29pm] - Sorry, maybe another night. Have a good evening, Mr Crowley :)

He feels oddly embarrassed and guilty for declining, but also can’t hold back a sigh of relief as he settles back into his chair. He’s not mentally prepared to make plans on the spot like this, he’d rather have some warning in advance. He still can’t shake the sadness though, at being unable to see Crowley again. He could’ve asked him about the cupcakes, if he liked his lunch, how he was doing.. See him smile, laugh, anything… Sighing to himself, he takes his tea with him to read in bed.

“He said nooooo~” Thump.

“There, there.” Anathema pats Crowley’s back sympathetically as he presses his face to the bar-top. “It was unexpected, after all. Maybe he had other plans.”

Crowley just groaned pitifully.

“Come on, Anthony. Sit up and have another shot.” 

The redhead sighs and does as he’s told, despite being a good few years older than his friend. The brunette passes him a shot glass of golden amber liquid and they toss them back at the same time, both enjoying the burn with soft sighs.

“Maybe he’s not interested.” Crowley mumbles, cradling his almost-empty rum glass as he pushes away the empty shots. “M’not exactly sunshine an’ r -ngk , rainbows.” 

“You’re an acquired taste, certainly, but not a demon, Anthony. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Yes, but you also hit me with a broom.”

“That was once! You broke into the college’s Botanical Gardens!”

“I was just talking to the plants!”

“And who wouldn’t use a broom against a strange old man fondling their garden plants in the middle of the night?” She quirks an eyebrow at him, pointed elbow digging him in the ribs as she forces a chuckle from him. 

“Alright, alright. In my defense, that Head of Biology, Hastur, failed to inform me that he'd finally hired a new Botany Professor.”

“He does like to see you squirm uncomfortably.” Anathema agrees, and they both fall silent to sip their drinks. They’d already had a few each, but the younger woman remained as poised as ever, and Crowley… well, he was sinking further and further onto the bar. They ordered another refill and Crowley momentarily takes off his sunglasses. Anathema politely looks away for a moment, but catches glances of him squinting in the bar’s back wall mirrors as he cleans his lenses with his sleeve. 

“Would you like to sit somewhere darker?” She asks quietly, to which he shakes his head.

“Nah, s’alright. Just feel a migraine comin’ on.” He slips his sunglasses back on and their drinks arrive. Crowley pays for this round, to the pouting protest of the young professor.

“Well, let’s make this the last one and get a cab after. You’ll need to sleep off that migraine if you don’t want to be sick tomorrow.”

“Yer not my mother…” he mumbles into his glass. She snorts and Crowley smirks at the unladylike noise. He’s glad to have a friend like her, really. She always seems to know the right thing to do or say. She has a way of just... knowing . Anything and everything. And whatever she doesn’t know will drive her crazy until she understands it. Even with 5 or 6 years between them in age, they get along like the siblings Crowley wished he could’ve had when he was a kid.

He tips back the last of his drink, sighing and resting his head on his folded arms. He’s still thinking about Azira too. He’s probably messed it all up now, inviting him out of nowhere to come meet with people he barely knows. The man was probably confused as hell, and wary no doubt. Is it strange to have a customer you’ve barely spoken to invite you out for drinks less than a week later? He can’t think straight anymore.

“Still moping?” Anathema pokes his cheek. He groans, eyes drooping shut as weariness kicks in. She’s still poking him, annoyingly. “Tell you what, if you’ve recovered enough by tomorrow afternoon, I’ll pick you up and we can have an afternoon lunch date at the bakery. It’ll be my treat.”

He swats her hand. “Sure, sure, whatever.”

She smirks, standing up. “Excellent. Now, let’s get you home, AJ.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Chapter Text

Crowley absolutely regrets drinking so much the night before.

He feels it in every shift of heavy limb as he turns over in bed to peak at his phone. Even with the black-out blinds over every window, he can see cracks of light making its way in. The time reads 9.38am. Thank fuck it’s Saturday, he thinks. 

He lets his body adjust slowly to waking up, stretching slowly and testing out for any phantom pains in his joints. Chronic pain is a bitch most days, but after drinking it can get worse. Smoking too, but he needs his vices. His right knee seems to be feeling the worst of it today, so he takes his time sitting upright and digging out his knee braces from the box next to his bed. He has different ones for varying levels of pain and discomfort, though he loathes wearing the bulkier ones with the metal supports. Always made him uncomfortable. For now, he tugs on his simple elastic braces and straps them on securely. 

He shuffles his way slowly into the bathroom to relieve himself and wash his face; keeping his eyes mostly shut to block out the sunlight; afterwards he washes down a couple of painkillers to numb the hangover headache. He should shower, but he doesn’t feel like it. He also has a nagging feeling in the back of his mind that he’s forgetting something, but he also doesn’t care about that either.

Making his way to his kitchen, he smacks the coffee machine on and puts a couple slices of toast into the toaster. As the whirring of the coffee machine stirs some life into him he settles into the soft plush of his armchair to read the messages on his phone, swiping away unnecessary notifications and vaguely deciphering the others.

A text from Anathema reminds him to be ready to go out for lunch at about 11.30ish, and he sighs as he vaguely remembers her saying something about it the night before. He sends her the thumbs up emoji, which he knows she hates, and goes to retrieve the toast before it burnt.

“You’re a big baby, you know that?” 

Crowley glares at Anathema from the passenger seat of his Bentley. Normally he would never let another soul drive his car, under any circumstances, but when she saw the limp in his walk out of his apartment she all but shooed him out of the way for the driver’s side. And she can be a little intimidating when she wants to be, plus he’s pretty out of it still. He’s fine with it just the once. 

He takes a drag of his vape pen and blows the apple-scented smoke towards her as a petty revenge, smirking as she wrinkles her nose. “You better not put a scratch on her, I WILL hurt you, female or not.”

“Thank the lord, he’s a feminist.” She mutters with a roll of his eyes. She pulls into a small parking lot and parks the car expertly for someone who was used to driving on the other side of the road.  “C’mon, let’s hope it’s not too busy in there.”

“In where? I forgot where we were going.”

She smirks softly and exits the car instead of answering. He follows with a huff.

His knee still gives him grief as they walk, so Anathema links arms with him as support, and he thanks her by not blowing smoke at her again. They turn the corner onto a slightly busier street and Crowley becomes more aware of where they are.

“Oi… don’t tell me we’re going to-”

“Yes. Yes, we are.”

He curses under his breath as he is now forcibly gripped by the arm and dragged into Heavenly Delights Bakery.

The bakery is marvellously busy today! Azira enjoys the flow of work and rarely pauses to even wipe his brow. Flour and sugar are everywhere. In the back room, the timer for the oven is going off noisily and he’s mentally telling it to shut up, I’m aware of you, I just have to give this lady her change- before rushing in and nearly burning his fingers as he takes the trays of cupcakes out of the hot machinery. He flicks the timer off with more annoyance than he intended to, but he’s not bothered by it at the moment. He sets everything down to cool and dashes back out the front as the bell rings again, signalling more customers entering the shop. 

“Good morning! How can I help- oh!”

“Mornin’ Mr Fell!” Anathema waves cheerily with her free hand, the other a vice on the arm of none other than Mr Crowley. His cheeks were luckily already red from the rushing around, so he merely has to cover his shocked surprise. 

“Miss Device! Mr Crowley! Lovely to see you both again!” He smiles happily, grabbing a cloth from under the service counter and wiping his face and his hands, beckoning them over. “What can I do for you, my dears?”

The brunette takes a quick look around. “Is there a table free where we can sit?”

“Of course, give me just a tic!” 

He whirls around, scanning the room with sharp eyes before spotting a small 2-seat table at the far end of the bakery, which he scurries to and cleans up quickly, picking up the used napkins and empty coffee cup of a previous customer.  He motions them over and notices, with a slightly crestfallen smile, that they walk together arm-in-arm, almost like--

-that’s none of your business, Azira. So what if they’re together? He does notice Mr Crowley’s frown and slight limp, so he moves to pull back the nearest chair for the redhead to sit on.

“Thanks.” He murmurs softly, sinking into the chair with a sigh and giving him a curt nod. Anathema slides gracefully into the other seat. 

“It looks like business is really picking up, Mr Fell!” She praises, making him blush and stammer.

“Y-Yes, indeed. I’m very certain that I’ll be able to accumulate the funds in order to hire another staff member soon, so I’ll make sure to give your Curriculum Vitae another look over.” He smiles as he gains a laugh from her. 

Crowley however, doesn’t look as pleased. “Your what? Ana, did you do something sneaky again?”

The young woman shrugs and innocently bats her eyes at him, resting her chin on her joined hands as she leans her elbows against the table. “I only applied for a job, Anthony. After all, I only teach at the college three days a week. It simply isn’t enough hours to cover my rent!”

“You live on campus.”

“Yes, and I don’t plan on living there forever.” She retorts back quickly, and Azira makes the wise decision to back away and leave them to bicker. After all, he had other customers to worry about too. He can’t give them all of his attention (as much as he wants to). He serves a few more to-go customers and makes a fresh pot of coffee before heading back to check on the cupcakes, which have finally cooled enough to be iced and go onto display. He could do with more doughnuts and sandwiches too, but the former takes too much time for a one-staff crew to do whilst the store was open, and he was low on the supplies for any fancy sandwiches. He sighs and puts together some measly ham and cheese brioche rolls and takes those out on a tray along with the cupcakes.

He’s almost done with arranging them in the display cases when Anathema appears again in his vision, so he gives her a warm smile. “Yes, my dear, what can I get you?”

“I’d really like an herbal tea and a cinnamon bun, please! And Mr Grumpy over there would like a strong coffee, quote, ‘as black as my soul’.” She lowers her voice dramatically and impersonates the sneer Crowley seems to be wearing at rest. Azira chuckles quietly.

“Would he like anything to eat?”

“Nah, he doesn’t normally eat a lot of sweet stuff…” She trails off as she sees the brioche sandwiches he’d just put out. “Although he might have a sandwich. I’ll go ask him!” She twirls around and her dress swishes around with her as she heads back over to their table.

Azira busies himself with making their drinks while he waits, as he’d already plated the bun for the young lady and set it on a tray up on top of the display case. He adds spoons and a couple packets of creamer and sugar in case they are wanted, as well as a complimentary biscuit suited for each hot drink. The brunette woman returns in a flurry of hair and smiles.

“Yes, I think we’ve managed to tempt him into one of those sandwiches!”

“Excellent!” He plates up the sandwich and adds it to the tray. “Is the bill separate or together?”

“Together, today’s my treat.” She fishes out a dainty, sleek purse from the many folds of her dress and provides a card. 

“Right, well that makes five pounds and ten pence in total. Your drinks are on the house as my treat.” He adds, enjoying the happy surprise on her face.

“Mr Fell! You didn’t have to do that, let me pay for it all properly.” She pouts, but he simply points her to the card machine and asks her to input her card. 

“Now, you two enjoy your lunch together, and call for me if you need anything.” He pats her hand gently as he gives her her receipt, and then watches her carefully take their tray back to where Crowley was still sitting, one leg stretched out, and looking decidedly interested in his phone. He watches as the other man gives Anathema a smile as she places the coffee and sandwich in front of him, and he feels a knot in his stomach twist. 

Of course. Of course he would be taken, wouldn’t he? And none other than by the beautiful young woman he’d met just a few days before, who applied for a job here. Could he even still take her on, knowing she was with him? Well, yes, technically there was absolutely no reason not to. But it lingers in the back of his mind that if she were here, Crowley would visit more… and it wouldn’t be to see him. It would be to see her. With a sigh, he goes back to cleaning and organising.

“Remind me why we’re here , of all places?” Crowley hissed through a fake smile as the smirking witch of a woman sits down opposite him with their tray. She doesn’t answer straight away, idling by providing him his coffee and sandwich and then taking a sip of her tea.

“Oh, this is delicious.” She hums, taking another sip and ignoring Crowley altogether.

“Ana.” Crowley leans forward, glaring over his sunglasses. “Why. Are. We. Here?”

“Because you nearly drowned yourself in alcohol last night over this man, whom you’ve barely met, let alone talked to, and I’m making connections in order for you to have more reasons to come here and fix that!” She jabs a pointed toe in his good shin, making him hiss. “If I work here, you can come by more. Since we’re friends , remember? It’ll make things easier instead of showing up randomly and spontaneously buying all of his apple pie.”

He glares. “I wasn’t going to do that.”

“It was all you talked about in the taxi home last night.”

“Shuddup.”

He turns his glare to his coffee, which was admittedly, perfect. He nearly drinks the whole thing in one go. He only pauses when he feels his stomach rumble and he sets it aside to take a small bite of his sandwich, humming at the simple yet fresh quality of it all. 

“He bakes the brioche rolls himself, I bet.” He mutters to himself, steadily ignoring Anathema’s smirk.

“I’ll find out for you, if you want.” She wiggles her eyebrows at him. “I’ll be your undercover agent.” 

That bit makes him snort in laughter. “Do whatever you want, Ana. It’ll never work out, anyway.”

“You never know.” She winks at him, and the two continue their lunch, unbeknown to them that their smiles and laughter were being watched.

Chapter Text

By the time the end of Azira’s first month of being open for business comes around, he can well and truly say he’s off to a good start. He’s made plenty of profit, though most of which will go to utility bills for the shop and the flat. (Luckily for him the building itself was paid for, thanks to his inheritance from his late grandfather, whom he’d spent many summers with reading old books whilst his grandmother baked.) By the looks of things, he’ll be able to take on two part-time staff members soon enough.

He sits in the back room of the bakery, a reformed office of sorts, updating his bookkeeping in preparation for the next month of stock orders and sales, when his phone chimes on the desk next to him. He pushes up the small glasses on his nose and adjusts the lamp to see the screen better: (1) New Message: Mr Crowley. He unlocks the screen to read it.

[6:39pm] - Hi Angel, I don’t suppose you want to meet for dinner? I’ve got reservations for a little sushi place and Anathema had to cancel on me 

He blinks in surprise, realising now that he was, in fact, quite hungry and hadn’t had anything to eat for a couple of hours since starting his bookkeeping. He chews his lower lip nervously; once again it was an impromptu invitation, and one that made him feel a little like second best - Anathema had been his dinner guest first. Inviting Azira was an afterthought after realising she had cancelled. As he debates this, Crowley sends another text.

[6:43pm] - Please? I don’t like going out to eat alone… And I’d like to see you again, it’s been a little while.

Well. He’d said please - he can’t deny the man now. Plus, it has been a while since he’d last seen him, it would be nice to get to know him better.

[6:44pm] - Well, that sounds lovely! I’ve just realised I’m starving :) What time shall we meet?

 

[6:44pm] - Reservations at 8. I’ll swing by and pick you up

 

[6:45pm] - Excellent!

 

[6:46pm] - See you soon, Angel

 

Humming, he feels the smile bloom on his face, sighing gently at the nickname, Angel. He’d written it twice, now. It was rather sweet, for such a bad-boy-esque man to use pet names. A small part of him notes that he doesn’t use a pet name for Miss Device, which adds a tally to the side of his brain that modern kids would call his ‘gaydar’ , for lack of a better word, and thinks that maybe Crowley was not dating the young woman. Sliding his phone into his pocket, he hurries to finish his bookkeeping so that he can get ready. At least this time, he has a good forty-five minutes or so before he has to worry about the other man picking him up. 

A quick shower and a blow-dry for his hair later, and his only conundrum is what to wear. This isn’t a date, Azira, no need to go all out. He’s aware that his fashion sense is a little outdated for someone his age, having been told by his father many a time that he looked like a 20th century librarian than a thirty year old. Nevertheless, Azira was quite fond of his clothes, so he eventually decides on dark ochre chino pants - a bit tight on the thighs, but otherwise suitable enough - a simple white collared shirt, French tucked at the front, and a soft woollen sweater that was a lovely muted shade of red. Slipping his socked feet into his favourite pair of loafers, he notes that it was now seven-thirty and he was slowly heading into the mindset of ‘oh heavens am I forgetting something?’ as he fumbles for everything he’d need to take with him. Phone, wallet, keys - as a last minute thought, he dashes into the bathroom and adds a touch of cologne, a simple sandalwood scent, and runs a hand through his unruly curls once more. He chews his lip, a dreadful habit, as his phone chimes.

 

[7:39pm] - Outside, Angel.

 

[7:39pm] - Just a tick!

He grabs his jacket and makes sure to shut off all the lights and lock his doors - the one that leads to the bakery as well as the ‘back’ door that leads outside to a back alley set of stairs, which he takes and hurries out to the main street. He nearly gasps when he spots the other man, leaning on a classic Bentley with ankles crossed and hands dug into hellishly tight jeans pockets. The sunglasses were on, despite the sun setting already, and his cheeks darken as he appreciates the other man’s appearance, all casual temptation. He clears his expression and walks over, trying not to overreact as Crowley spots him and stands up straighter with a grin.

“There you are! Hop in, we might be running a tad late.”

“Oh dear, I hope it isn’t because of me.” 

“Nah, there’s been a car accident in the city centre so they’re diverting the traffic, but I’m sure we’ll be fine.” He waits for Azira to climb into the car before he gets in himself, and the blonde marvels at how well-kept the interior is as well as the exterior.

“Mr Crowley, your car is simply stunning.” He praises, and the redhead hums happily as he pets the dashboard lovingly.

“She’s my pride and joy.” With a fond sigh, he starts the car. “And just Crowley, you know. Or Anthony if you want, but only Anathema really calls me that.” His lip curls. “She does it to piss me off, I think.”

“Oh… Well in that case, I’ll go with Crowley.” Azira smiles softly.

Which soon changes into a high-pitched squeak as Crowley slams the accelerator and speeds off towards their destination.

“-so as it turns out, there was this big ‘ole shebang about this Dowling kid’s parents divorcin’ over in New York,” Crowley leans back in his chair as he talks, focused on his little sake cup, which housed Amazake, the non-alcoholic version of the drink. He takes a sip. “The kid’s dad is some sort of Politician, and made a big show of stopping their plane and forcin’ them to get back out of it.”

“No!” Azira gasps, dabbing a napkin to his lips as he feels traces of sticky soy sauce cling to his skin. He gives the other man his full attention, already feeling a little overwhelmed by all the new information he’s learned about him. He’s a science teacher, of all things. An eccentric science teacher with a rather tsundere personality, he thinks, given their location currently being a Japanese restaurant. The cupcakes he’d made for his order had been for his homeroom class’ first day back. It was rather sweet, and Crowley had grumbled and hissed his way through the compliment when he voiced it. 

“Yes!” He quips back in the same shocked tone as Azira. “He made this big declaration of the ‘sacrifices’ he was making by lettin’ them leave, all for the paparazzi. The whole thing freaked them out so badly Ms Dowling has been keeping Walter out of school for a couple extra weeks. He’s not shown up yet at all - some assistant of his mother’s comes in and collects his work at the end of each week, and by the following Monday the kid’s all done with it - so at least he’s not falling behind.”

“Likely he’s had private tutors and a strict, home-schooled life.” Azira murmurs. He dips his last piece of katsu chicken roll into the soy sauce with his chopsticks and eats it up quickly with a delighted hum. He cleans up with his napkin as he feels eyes burning into him. “What? Have I got something on my face?”

“Nng, no. Just interesting, watchin’ you eat. You really like sushi, huh?”

“It is one of my favourites.” He admits. “I even took to learning Japanese, in case I ever get the chance to go see the real thing.” He blushes a little out of embarrassment. “As unlikely as that might seem.”

“How so?”

“I’m quite terrified of flying.”

The response so matter-of-fact has Crowley tipping back his head in laughter, which makes Azira smile quite fondly at him. This evening has been more than a success, in his opinion. They’ve been chatting easily. The food had been exquisite, and he was impressed with Crowley’s friendship with the head chef, who he seemed to be on first-name terms with, though his Japanese was very minimal, limited to please and thank you . They’ve managed to fill over an hour and a half with pleasant conversation, food, and laughter, and it’s the first time in a while that Azira found himself wishing to spend more time with someone, as their company was more intriguing than the books waiting for him at home. 

When the bill came, the blonde insisted on paying for half of it, which fell on deaf ears as Crowley flashed a slim card so quick he could hardly process it. His protests turned to pouting, which Crowley teased him for all the way back to the car.

“You shouldn’t be pouting, Angel. I already told you it was my reservation.” 

“Yes, but I was a last-minute guest, I should have helped pay!”

“I wouldn’t have made Ana pay, so why would I make you?” Crowley opens the driver’s side door and raises a brow at him from over the roof of the Bentley. 

“Because I’m not your-”

Azira mouth clicks shut with a sudden clack of teeth, surprising himself and the other man, too. I nearly said boyfriend. I NEARLY CALLED MYSELF HIS BOYFRIEND. He panics and continues. “I-I mean! Clearly you had meant to go with Miss Device, and you had meant to pay for her meal as part of your date--”

“Date!?” Crowley practically falls onto the car. “Angel, I am not dating that witch.”

Azira gapes, cheeks reddening. Much like a goldfish, his mouth opens and shuts silently. Crowley sighs and stands up straight again, running his hand through his hair, rather nervously?

“Anathema is a friend. One of my only friends. I respect her; I am also terrified of her, but I’m in no way interested in her.” His voice is quiet and awkward, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Azira realises he’s also not looking anywhere near him, for the first time that night.

“I… I see.” He murmurs softly, watching him with a small frown. He supposes it was a little rude of him to make accusations without gathering the facts first, just because he was a little insecure about his feelings himself. “I’m sincerely sorry for my assumptions. I didn’t mean to cause any upset.”

“Mrh, it’s okay. M’not upset.” Crowley gets into the car and Azira hurriedly follows suit on the passenger side. “Just disturbed by the thought of dating Ana.”

“Don’t you both get along rather well?”

“Yes, but like I said, she’s a witch. She knows far too much about me than I’m comfortable with.”

The two of them go silent for a moment, the discomfort of their conversation fading as Crowley drives him home at a more reasonable speed than before. Azira feels a sense of relief wash over him slowly, knowing now that the two of them weren’t dating. Granted, this by no means he wasn’t dating anyone at all , let alone with a preference towards other men. As it was, a smile forms small and soft on his face, and he steals glances at the other man from his peripheral as street lamps flicker over his features. The hazy golden-orange lights suited him. 

All too soon, he was once again outside of his bakery and Crowley was shutting the engine off. The gloom of the dark building was rather unsettling at this time of night; he normally never sees it this way as he’s usually inside, reading a book with a hot tea and biscuits.

“You have reached your destination.” Crowley imitates a butler rather poorly, with a smirk. He smiles back and thanks him in his poshest accent, which makes them both snicker childishly.

“Thank you. For all of this, tonight. It’s been rather fun, more so than I’ve had in a long time.” He hums as he unbuckles and opens the door. He isn’t even fully out of the car before Crowley speaks again.

“Angel?”

“Yes, dear?” he replies automatically, blushing on instinct. Crowley’s expression is unreadable in the dark, especially with his sunglasses.

“....I’m not dating Anathema for another reason,” he starts, slow and quiet and rather hesitant. “Because she’s not my type.”

There’s a small pause. Azira realises he’s waiting for a response and startles.

“Ah! Well, I see. Then all is well. I’m glad you two are good friends all the same.”

Crowley nods slightly and the corners of his lips quirks up.

“Mn. G’night, Angel.”

“Goodnight, dear.”

With a little wave, Azira watches him drive off into the night. He wonders, obliviously, what exactly was Crowley’s type, and how to become more like it.

Chapter Text

October is Crowley’s favourite time of the year. Spooky shit, good movies, and an overload of shitty sweets and costumes. The kids in his class are excited too; Crowley usually lets them listen to spooky-ish music in the homeroom hour every morning, and they talk about their favourite horror movies (within reason, some movies are banned for inappropriate themes). Halloween wasn’t nearly as extravagant an experience as it was in the States, but being in the centre of London had some perks to it: events hosted by The Natural History Museum, London Zoo, even the beginnings of a hay bale maze being built in one of the wide open areas of Richmond Park.  The Them’s own neighbourhood, which backed into a decent sized park full of trees and woodland undergrowth, and was often the set location to many stories Crowley had listened to over the school term, was also set out to be the location of some obscure Halloween party the kids were planning, and the child in him couldn’t wait to hear all about it. Adam and The Them are particularly fond of the group's costume planning.

Crowley decides he needs to wear even more obscene dark clothing, though his wardrobe doesn’t actually change that much. Plus, on bad days his walking cane is aesthetically fitting, with its intricate carved designs and silver serpent handle. A little old fashioned, but at least it doesn’t stand out more than it does with his normal teacher clothes. It makes work a lot easier too, and the kids love it. 

Speaking of kids, Crowley thinks back to his first meeting with the Dowling kid, which was a few days ago, when he had finally shown up. The kid was…. Interesting to say the least. He’s fifteen, and thoroughly immersed in his gothic phase, by the looks of things. His hair parts down the middle, long for a boy (not that Crowley can say much, considering his past choices) and a deepset scowl that isn’t just from hating everything on a superficial level. The kid’s been through a lot, so at that first meeting he let the kid know he was doing great so far with his work, and not to worry about attendance. He also gave the kid his academic email so he could email in his work or ask him about stuff if he needed it. Walter had brushed it off with a sneer, but he knows he’ll get through to him eventually. At his first introduction to the class he immediately insisted that everyone calls him ‘Warlock’ - he’ll fit right in. He’d probably get along with Adam and his lot of weirdos. 

At the bakery, Azira has had his hands full with training his new part-time staff.

Anathema was a blessing to him; picking up the sales register, cleaning and some of the easier baking recipes easily; as she mentioned cooking at home. The blond is truly thankful to have her three mornings a week. 

His other part-timer, on the other hand….

Newton Pulsifer is trying his best, he really is. Azira can say wholeheartedly that the boy is trying to do everything exactly as instructed. However, within a day of working at the bakery, the poor boy had several burnt fingers, dropped a tray of cookies whilst taking them out of the oven, and caused the cash register to shut down. It seems any kind of electrical or modern appliances causes him an uncertain amount of discomfort one way or another. He’s away on sick leave until his hands recover. 

Azira has also been enjoying the turning of the season. The crispness of the air, the changing colours of the leaves, the exchange of short sleeves for sweaters, flip-flops for boots, sunglasses for scarves. And of course, the changes of weather that affected the sales of baked goods. There were many new recipes to try, which he spent an admittedly long time researching and testing to see what would work best in large batches. He had slowly integrated his selection of autumnal flavours over the last couple of weeks into his regular routine: autumn fruit pavlova, pear and manuka honey tarts, spiced wild plum teas, pumpkin cheesecake, pistachio cheesecake, apple and brown butter tarts, apple and cinnamon buns, sausage and apple pies - he couldn’t help but blush as he realises that more and more of his selection included apples in some shape or form. It can’t be helped, he tells himself, since apples were a prominent staple of autumn after all. It certainly wasn’t because of a certain redheaded delight that snatched up every freshly baked apple turnover he could on a Friday morning, with a claim of ‘stocking for the weekend’.   The still-donning-sunglasses-stunner who waltzes into his bakery on Monday mornings with all the grace of a dancer and the attitude of an angry wet cat as he all but begs for some spiked coffee. Azira would tut and tease him, then sweeten his bitter coffee with a pinch of cinnamon before handing it over. And if Anathema gave him a few raised brows and questioning smirks because of it, well, clearly he hadn’t been giving her enough work to do. 

The school was also approaching the first half-term; a week’s break at the end of the month; though a week of tests came first. His students were fast approaching their GCSEs, and he wanted to make sure they studied hard, so they could get the best results. Being the top set class for science, most if not all of his students would be on track for STEM based GSCEs and exams. It was a difficult choice to make, but one the school - especially Gabriel, as the principal after all - pushed for so that the school looked good in statistics. It made Crowley’s lip curl in distaste often; though there was little he could do about the way the exams were held. He simply tried his best to have a little fun with it where he could, and easy to understand where he couldn't. He stayed longer after hours to hold study sessions in his homeroom, helping kids with their homework and giving advice where he could. For all the rumours about him going around, he’s pleased to see them coming for help when it gets difficult for them. Speaking of which..

Adam has been bringing Dog with him a lot more lately, which indicates to Crowley that he’s getting a little stressed. Maybe rearranging the tables in his classroom so that Adam and The Them sat on their own would help? It would give Adam a little more space to do his own thing. Plus, his friends were always amazingly supportive throughout any episodes he might have, and Dog being there will help too. He’ll have a word with the deputy head.

The biggest downside for Crowley personally, was that all these later finishes at school meant that he had less time to pass by the bakery. And yes, he was quite aware that going in the morning and afternoon could be seen as ‘stalking’ - his students would have a fit and The Them would no doubt come up with wild imagination - but he was only a man and a weak one at that, in more ways than one. 

He’d found that since eating together at the sushi restaurant that Azira was nice , and thoughtful, and eager to learn about anything new, no matter how mundane or frivolous. He loves stories; books especially; diving into great detail about some special editions he’d inherited. And he’d seemed fond of kids, too, as Crowley told him stories about his students. He hadn’t said anything about the fact that he’d kept his sunglasses on despite the dimness of the dining booth they’d sat in. Or when he’d snuck a quick drag of his vape pen between the restaurant and the car. 

There was something so easy in the way they fell into conversation with each other, despite their acquaintanceship being so new. Like something old and familiar between them took residence in his ribs somewhere, taking his breath away when Azira laughs at one of his quipped remarks or hums pleasantly at a bite of food. The noises at their table were both of pleasure and pain: Crowley had to bite down on his cheek hard to not let the angel hear his choked response to him moaning in delight over sushi. The suddenness of it surprised him, that was all. But he’d continued to order the baker more plates nonetheless.

He wonders if maybe he should send him another text as he leaves school in the sunset hours of six o’clock, roughly; sleek black briefcase much fuller than usual due to an abundance of papers he still had to go over when he gets home. His phone was depressingly bare of notifications most of the time, minus a couple of messages from Anathema here and there. She’d taken to relaying him with details of her shifts at the bakery throughout the week, teasing him in text form with insider information that Crowley can’t help but be envious of. At least he’d been strong enough to turn down her suggestion of sneaking pictures of the blond haired man when he wasn’t looking. That would definitely be stalking.

His text chain with said baker was essentially non-existent, since Azira had never once initiated a conversation with him aside from the very first one, to say his cupcakes were ready.

His eyes grow wide. Of course. That’s it! He fires off a new text before he could overthink it:

[6:24pm] - Hey Angel, still open? Need a special order before the end of the week.

He’s not expecting the text, but nonetheless Azira feels his whole mood shift to something brighter as he unlocks his phone and reads the text from Crowley. It’s a request for another order, rather than an invitation to meet again, and it does dim the shine in his eyes a little, but his heart still thuds in anticipation. 

[6:25pm] - Oh, hello! We closed a little while ago I’m afraid, just after 5pm. I can make a note for you though and figure out the details tomorrow if you’d like?

[6:25pm] - I kind of need it for Friday, will that still be okay? I’m sorry its short notice.

 

He huffs, a little indignant at the indeed short notice. It was Wednesday evening, after all. An idea comes to mind and he sends the reply before he can think much of it.

[6:27pm] - Mind if I call you? We can discuss it over the phone, then!

[6:27pm] -- Incoming call: MR CROWLEY --

“Oh! H-hello?!”

“Angel.”

Oh. Oh . His voice was just as lovely over the phone. Azira takes an abrupt seat in his armchair, leaning into the cushions heavily. His eyes close automatically, and he takes a deep breath as he lets the sound echo in his mind. 

“Angel? You there?” Ah yes, he was also supposed to reply. 

“A-ah yes? Yes. Good evening, Mr Crowley. I hope you’ve been well.”

“Just peachy. Mmn, well. It’s testing week for the kids and I was wonderin’ if I could get some cookies or whatever.”

“What a wonderful idea, dear boy! You must be very proud of them.”

“Tch, it’s not like that.”

“You always speak fondly of the children in your care, Crowley, you can’t deny it.”

“Mnnh, I-I mean, I guess. I just don’t like their tired little faces.”

“Oh dear. I imagine this testing period has been particularly difficult?”

“Quite. And it’s not like I can help ‘em like I usually do - can’t help on exams.”

“Of course. You don’t want to jeopardise their results by influencing them too much.”

“Mngh.” There’s a deep sigh on the other end, and Azira can hear the frustration in it. His free hand turns his growing-cold-tea on its saucer idly as he listens to the other man voice his frustrations. “The higher ups are pushing for all sorts of exam rules that make it worse too. Standardised testing is absolute bollocks, thank you very much.”

“Quite. Now, about those biscuits--, erm, cookies.”

“Oh, y-yeah. Just some chocolate chip ones or something.”

“Oh that won’t do! Halloween is during the school break is it not? Why not something special? I’m sure I have a collection of themed cookie cutters somewhere. I could even ice them in fun colours.”

“I wouldn’t want to put you out, Angel. After all this is extremely short notice.”

“Oh nonsense, I don’t mind at all. The lovely Miss Device will be in charge of the shop for me tomorrow morning so I’ll have plenty of time.”

“Right.”

“A-anyway, erm, I hope I didn’t inconvenience you by asking you to call.”

“Nah, you’re always welcome to inconvenience me--”  

What a perfectly timed moment for Azira to take a sip of his tea; he nearly chokes on it, coughing roughly. He can hear a startled Crowley continue talking in a rushed voice.

“I-I mean, well, you’re welcome to text whenever, a-and I usually go to a bar on Friday nights, which, I suppose, you could join me at, i-if you drink! I drink, but you- you don’t have to. I just think it’d be nice to talk more, and, mnnh, Angel, are you okay?”

“Y-yes, I’m alright, just a little flustered. B-by the tea! I got a little worked up from coughing, that’s all. I did hear everything you said,” the blond takes a steadying breath. “And well, I think it’d be lovely to speak to you more often, I just hope I don’t bore you to death.”

“I don’t think that’d be possible.” There’s a note of amusement, and he blushes at the tone. “Anyway, Angel. I’ll let you get on with your evening. Just a big box of spooky cookies for the kids, charge me whatever you want for the order and rush fee the shit out of it.”

“Oh nonsense! All the prices will be the normal, regular price, ready for Friday morning.” He can feel Crowley about to argue, so he adds, “if you try to discuss this with me further I will make even more cookies and hide them in that fancy little car of yours when you’re not looking.”

Crowley laughs loudly at that. 

Chapter Text

[4:28pm] - you still open? 

The text alert comes through over the noise of the automatic dishwasher Azira had recently installed. A great invention, truly, and it was industrial sized too. With the onset of November’s winter chill, Azira had been closing early during the slower days of the week to help Newton learn some skills in the kitchen without the pressure of an open shop and customers. It seems to be helping greatly, even with the decrease in sales. He wipes his hands on his apron and opens the text, instantly smiling as he recognised the contact.

[4:30pm] - Newton has just gone home for the afternoon, he has a night class tonight. I’m still in the bakery if you’d like to come by! I have some apple turnovers still warm :)

[4:31pm] - say no more Angel.

Chuckling knowingly, Azira pockets his phone and goes back to cleaning up. He did indeed have a few pastries left that hadn’t been sold, and he knew the teacher had a weakness for anything with apples in it. 

He doesn’t have to wait long, not even twenty minutes. Given the time of year, the shops nearby are already shut, so he has the pleasure of watching the sleek Bentley pull up directly in front of the bakery. Crowley peels himself out of the car in one smooth movement, locking the car and wandering up to the front door. Azira admires the way he runs a hand through his hair - he’s been growing it out, or rather, as he’s been told, he’s been purposely avoiding Anathema’s attempt to cut it herself. The longest waves are just starting to reach past his jaw, and the blonde can’t help but feel attracted to the way it frames his sharp cheekbones. 

Crowley is just about to take out his phone, presumably to tell him he’s arrived, when he exits from his hiding place in the back and hurries over, unlocking the door and almost coming nose to nose with him.

“Crowley!”

He can’t hide his excitement. It’s been so long since he’s had time alone with him, after all. 

“Azira.” The redhead’s grin is lopsided, showing a sharp canine. “Please tell me ya got those apple puffs ready and waitin’ for me.”

“Of course my dear! I kept them warm in the oven for you.” 

“You’re a saint.”

Azira scoffs, turning quickly to hide his blush and lets Crowley shut the door behind himself as he goes to get the promised baked goods. He adds a couple of fresh apple slices to the plate and pops the kettle on, ready to make tea or coffee for his guest.

“How was your day?” 

Crowley leans against the open frame between the kitchens and the bakery counters, having wandered around. He’d shed his jacket, leaving him in a thin black hoodie over his equally thin frame. Azira resists the urge to scold him about not eating enough. 

Instead, he says “Quite busy! I think Anathema’s social media thing she made for the business has spread a lot faster than I anticipated!” The blonde grins wide, handing the other man his plate of goods. The sharp grin relaxes into a softer, more fond kind of smile as he takes it with a quiet ‘thanks’.

“Oh? She made you a website?”

“Something like that. A page on… erm.. Facebook? I’ve never been good with that stuff. According to her, the Bakery now has 300 likes?” He shrugs and wrings his hands a little. “I don’t really know what that means though.”

“It means 300 people like the stuff you make. Though like you, there’s a lot of people who don’t look at that stuff online.” Crowley takes a huge bite of a pastry, scattering crumbs across his cheeks like a child. It’s unfairly endearing. 

“I see.” The kettle clicks and Azira holds up the jar he keeps the teabags in. “Tea?”

“Sure, thanks.”

“Hmm~” He goes through the motions and listens to Crowley munch through his pastries hungrily. He knows how he likes his tea by now, so he allows a moment of quiet between them as he makes their drinks. By the time he’s done, Crowley is swapping the plate, now empty, for his tea, which he drinks eagerly. 

“How have things with your students been? They’re studying enough?”

Crowley scoffs. “Of course they aren’t.” He’s grinning, however, so Azira understands he means differently. “They’re doing okay though. The exams are horribly difficult; even I wouldn’t want to take them at their age.”

The baker hums into his tea, frowning, remembering his own past exams. “I never liked the environment around exams. I loved to learn, but the curriculum was just so… tedious. They took the fun out of everything.”

“I only got through them due to special accommodations,” Crowley agrees himself, though he catches Azira’s quizzical look. He shifts from foot to foot, and Azira realises he’s about to address something personal, so he guides him to a small table and chairs set in the corner of the kitchen reserved for staff lunch breaks. It’s not much, but Crowley looks relieved to sit down and hunches over his tea for a moment.

“You don’t have to explain it to me, my dear.” Azira assures quietly. He debates putting a hand on the teacher’s arm, and decides it’s not too far out the realm of friendship to do so, so he does. Crowley tenses for a split second, then relaxes with ease.

“S’alright Angel, would’ve gotten around to it eventually,” he smirks, though it’s a tired one. He looks down at Azira’s hand on his forearm, and the expression softens. “I was diagnosed with poly-articular juvenile arthritis when I was ten years old. In order of the most painful, it mostly affects my knees, ankles, and hips; but also my wrists and fingers, and on really bad days, my neck and jaw get pretty painful as well. I wasn’t necessarily a sickly kid, but I was often in too much pain to attend school on a regular basis, so I was homeschooled for most of it. Only went to school a few days a month, so it was hard to make friends at all.” Crowley chuckled mirthlessly. “Made exams totally shit, too. But they made it so I could take them in a room by myself, and for however long I needed. And they let me keep the room dark, too, seeing as on top of this my body decided I needed to have another weakness.”

“You are not weak.” Azira interrupts Crowley’s monologue, surprising them both. The hand on Crowley’s arm tightens in empathy, and the baker tries to channel reassurance and understanding through his touch.

“Technically I am Angel, and that’s okay. I’ve had a long time to make peace with it.” Crowley lets go of his tea to rest his hand on Azira’s, sandwiching it against his sleeve. He feels warm. “Anyway, to continue: I also have a genetic condition in my eyes. The unusually pale colour of them makes me more sensitive to photophobia and migraines, so keeping things dark tends to help with that.”

“I see, that makes sense and-- Oh!” Azira shoots up, pulling his hand free in order to rush to the wall and flick the light switch off. The room is swallowed into late evening darkness immediately, dark blues and greys covering every surface. It’s not pitch black, but it makes the room more muted and intimate. The light of a lamppost through the window illuminates Crowley’s hair in a halo of red, and Azira hopes his blush isn’t visible in the dark. “Is -- is this better? I should have asked first, but I-I just thought--”

“--It’s great Angel, thank you. Come sit back down again.”

The blond obeys eagerly, sitting down and taking a sip of his cold tea, wondering if he could reach out again. Crowley himself seems to be lost in thought for a moment, before his hands reach up to his sunglasses.

“Oh, my dear, you don’t have to--”

“I want to.”

Azira falls silent, breath shallow and heart heavy as it thuds in his chest. In the weeks that he’s known Crowley, he hadn’t seen his eyes properly once, at all, not even by accident. His sunglasses have side visors that even shielded them from view even in profile, and he supposed now that it makes sense. They were specialty sunglasses designed that way.

Crowley takes a moment to keep his eyes shut as he pulls his sunglasses off, folding the visors (Azira didn’t know they could fold like that, interestingly) and then the stems, setting them carefully on the table. He takes a deep breath, then opens his eyes to stare directly into Azira’s soul.

At least, that’s what it feels like. It feels like all the air has been sucked from his lungs all at once, and then his body was set on fire. They were indeed pale; so pale brown they looked gold. The streetlight from outside added an extra reddish-orange tint to them too; dappled and gleaming and sharp. Azira took in as much detail as he could, knowing this was a limited exhibition.

They were nearly yellow around the edges, and browner towards the pupils. He could see hints of amber mixing with the gold and the brown, too, and a ghost of a smile pulled at his lips in awe. Crowley blinks, and it draws his attention to his long eyelashes, tinted red by his apparently natural hair colour. There were small wrinkles too; under his eyes and at the outer edges by his temples, strain lines and laugh lines combined. Though they did make him look a little more tired and a little older than he’d expected - Crowley had an air of rebellious youth to him, and acted that way too - they didn’t take away from his attractiveness. In fact, Azira hated to admit but he found him even more handsome, unfairly so.

Crowley clears his throat, and the moment is over as he decides to put his sunglasses back on, and he tries not to act disappointed. He notes that the other man’s cheeks were a little darker than they were before, and he wonders if he was embarrassed by his eyes. 

“So..”

“Beautiful.” Azira can’t stop the word from escaping his mouth, and the two stare at each other for a moment.

“Ssz’at so?” Crowley mumbles in response, then curses. “Oh yeah, can’t forget the speech impediment, that’ssz a thing. Ssslur my S’s sometimes, when I’m -- I get nervousss.”

“Oh dear boy, you needn’t be nervous of me.” Azira does reach over again, but this time he’s brave about it and touches Crowley’s hand. His fingers overlap the redhead’s just barely, and he can feel them curl up to meet his own. “Your eyes are most wonderful. They are possibly the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. Your ailments have no negative attribution to my opinion of you- that is to say, I only think positively of you, and our friendship.”

“Ngk,” Crowley chokes out. Even with sunglasses on in the quickly darkening room, he can see him looking at their hands. “Friendsship?”

“Yes, I’d like to think of us as friends, if that’s okay with you?”

“O’course,” came his hoarse reply, but there’s a small smile to accompany it.

“Thank you, by the way,” Azira adds, which makes the other man look up at him. “For telling me all this. I understand it’s very personal to you to speak about your conditions so freely, given how private a man you are. I promise I won’t speak about it to anyone else, not Anathema or any other.”

“S’nothin’, since we’re friends now.” Crowley smiles, crooked and gleaming in the lowlight. His fingers curl up and interlace slightly with Azira’s own, and he can’t fight the blush. “I trust you.”

“Right.” 

They sit there in silence for a moment, twined fingers in the darkness, before Crowley decides to pull away first this time.

“I- I should go,” he mutters, like he almost doesn’t want to. “School night, and all.”

“Early to bed, early to rise, for me,” Azira agrees, though he takes another moment before he stands. He keeps the lights off as he leads Crowley back through to the bakery’s storefront, where he watches the teacher pick up his jacket from where he’d left it on the counter. 

They share another pause as Azira unlocks the front door, the chime ringing out noisily in the silence of the evening. The wind outside is cold, making him shiver involuntarily.

“See you again soon, Angel.” Crowley murmurs, sounding hopeful.

“Yes, I should hope so.”

“Friday night, maybe? Get a drink with me?”

Azira blinks in surprise. That was twice Crowley had mentioned it now. “With your friends from college?”

“Well, it’s usually just Anathema, maybe Newt. But if you want it can be just us.”

“Alright.”

His agreement shocks the both of them, but there was no time for him to take back his words as an elated smile blooms on Crowley’s face and- well, he can’t say no to him now.

“Can’t wait. See you on Friday.”

“Quite. Goodnight, Crowley.”

“G’night, Angel.”

Chapter Text

“Ana, you’re making this more dramatic than it needs to be,” Crowley complains.

The two are in Crowley’s apartment, going through the redhead’s wardrobe and pulling seemingly every item of clothing he owned out and onto the bed to discuss. Crowley himself was still dressed in the clothes he wore to school that day; a crisply ironed black button-up and charcoal grey slacks. He hadn’t been planning on changing, but Anathema had other ideas.

“Don’t get me wrong, Anthony, you always dress great for every occasion.” Anathema praises him without really looking his way. “But pretty much all you wear is black and grey. You should wear some colour for tonight.”

“And why should I? It’s literally just drinks.”

“Drinks with Azira .”

“You’ll be there too,” Crowley mutters, sneering at the glittery gold and white blazer she’s pulled out of the inner depths of his closet. “Christ, when the hell did I get that?”

“I’m pretty sure it was a gift from that one girl, Muriel? That student of yours that went on to study in Spain for a semester and brought it back as a gift?”

“A term , yes, sadly I do remember.”

“Bless her, she really had no clue, did she?”

Crowley smirks softly at the memory, but still points the blazer to the rejection pile. Most of his clothes went on the rejection pile, with all of his usual options on the keep pile. Anathema isn’t too happy with it, until she finds one more shirt in the back.

“Oh, this is the one.”

“Ana…”

“No, seriously, shower and change right now.” She throws the shirt at him. “You can keep the slacks if you want, but this is the shirt.”

“I don’t remember the last time I wore this, it might not fit…”

“You haven’t had a growth spurt since you were sixteen, Anthony, don’t lie to me.”

“I meant more like I got skinnier..” Crowley trails off awkwardly, glaring at the brunette’s pitying look. 

“You’re fine, AJ, you are very handsome as you are.”

“Ugh, shuddup, I’m going to shower.”

Azira himself didn’t know how to dress, either. He’d seen Crowley in the morning as he picked up his Halloween themed cookies, dressed stunningly in black and grey and sharp as ever. Everything about him was sharp; sharp angles and sharp teeth and sharp cheekbones - and Azira was soft: soft hands, soft smiles, soft stomach. It felt a little odd trying to dress to the same standards as the other man.

His bakery closed at three today, having sold out of nearly everything far earlier than expected. As he was by himself today, he hadn’t had time to prepare any extra batches and so he had allowed himself to enjoy the extra time with a book and a hot chocolate in his favourite chair.

Now though, he was beginning to regret it. The assigned meeting time was at eight, and while he was freshly washed and mostly dressed, Azira had no idea what to wear out. He could wear his comfortable trousers, or the chinos he’d worn to the restaurant with Crowley before, or even some jeans he knew he had somewhere. But would it be enough? What about shirts? He almost always wears sweater vests and jumpers - though he knew they were kind of frumpy.

Still, he has at least a few good shirts, so today will be the day he wears one. With a good bow tie, of course.

He’s waiting outside the bar with his vape pen, leaning heavily against the wall and on his cane to take the pressure off his left leg, when Crowley spots him.

Azira is wearing a long, tan overcoat in the frosty evening chill. It’s partially open, and underneath is a sleek, satin waistcoat and matching shiny bowtie. The pale blues look wonderful on him; lighting up his angelic eyes as they lock with his own across the street. Even behind his sunglasses he can see the way his smile broadens, hurrying over the road quickly between cars. His slacks are a navy that looks nearly black, a surprising colour on the baker, and were held up with stark white suspenders that gleamed as brightly as the white button-up underneath his waistcoat. Azira looks so… professional. Clean. Smart. Designer. It was almost unreal.

And Crowley never felt irony hit him in the face so fast.

“Crowley!” Azira greets him with his name, and the redhead whips his vape pen away into his slacks pocket. He did indeed keep the grey slacks from earlier on, however, he’d changed his back button-up for a black turtleneck shirt, and a soft, red sweater over the top of it. He’d gone for soft comfort, to match Azira’s softness, as Anathema suggested. Azira had tried to match his sharpness.

“Well, ain’t this a surprise,” Crowley mutters as they take in each other’s appearances. Azira’s face was quickly growing red, the blush taking over his cheeks with gleeful abandon. He could feel his own face doing the same.

“It seems we both wanted to make an impression on the other, my dear,” Azira chuckles quietly, hands fidgeting over the buttons on his waistcoat. “I think I may have overdone it a little however.”

“Nonsense, ya look outstandin’, Angel.” Crowley impulsively brushes Azira’s hands away from himself, so he could smooth over where he’d been fidgeting. He flicks the bow tie for good measure. “There, absolutely spiffing.”

The blonde chuckles at the word choice. “You aren’t half bad yourself, darling. Very handsome and dashing.”

“Nghk, well.. The sweater is old, and a little too big for me nowadays..”

“Nonetheless, you look very warm, and inviting.” 

“Inviting, you say? Inviting you to what, exactly?” Crowley smirks and curses inwardly at his impulsive word choices. His own voice purring out the flirtatious implications makes him want to hurl, sometimes.

Luckily this doesn’t seem to be the case for Azira, who instead stammers and blushes in a way that makes Crowley want to believe that his advances were appreciated. He can’t really tell what the other man thinks but otherwise, they seem to be getting along.

A text alert buzzes in his pocket.

[08:02pm] - Me n Newt left out the back. Good luck on the date! A.x

Fuck you, Ana, Crowley thinks half-heartedly in his head.

“S-so, Anathema and Newt couldn’t make it,” Crowley lets Azira know. “It’s just, just us, i-if you still want to go in…”

“Well, it is terribly cold out here, wouldn’t you say?” Azira murmurs quietly, smiling a small, hopeful smile that does terrible things to Crowley’s insides. “A few drinks together won’t hurt us none.”

“I agree, Angel, I agree.”

As Azira leads the way into the bar, Crowley sends Anathema several middle finger emojis, followed by thanks.

Chapter Text

The winter months have been pretty hard on the students. Crowley understands, he does; the weather is depressing, and the amount of tests and mock exams he’s forced to dish out adds stress to his kids and to himself too. He’d never done well in test environments at school either, and he had been lucky enough to be allowed special circumstances when taking the exams for his teaching licence. 

At the very least, he now has a full classroom and the newer kids seemed to have gotten used to his eccentric personality - especially Walter. He’d shown up most of the time since the October break, sour-faced and distant from the others and definitely an arrogant child. Despite this, he seems to thrive under Crowley’s strict tutelage and hung on to his every word, seeming eager to get the best results in his classes and “prove” that he’s the smartest. The rest of the class hasn’t really made an effort to get to know him, but Adam and his little squad invited him to their Halloween party over the holiday, from what he’d heard. Not sure he went, though. 

Now with Christmas coming up, Crowley and his class were feeling those winter blues and he wasn’t sure how to ease their stress, nor manage their excitement for another break from school. Grades are slipping a little and it simply wouldn’t do. Maybe he could find a way to motivate them…

The cupcakes from Azira’s Bakery would be a great idea. He groans and slumps in his desk chair, ignoring the weirded out looks from his students, who have been working in mostly silence on some practice tests. His mind was on the angelic baker and his delicious food, and how much he wanted to see him again. His visits lately have been brief, often just to drop off or pick up Anathema for her shifts or picking up some coffee before work on Mondays. He’s there twice a week at least but rarely for longer than a few minutes, because any longer than that his hands get twitchy and he has to resist the urge to lean over the counter and take those soft cheeks in his hands so he can find out what his mouth tastes like on his—

“Mr Crowley…?”

He blinks, lifting his shaded glare at the student that interrupted his daydream. Adam had his hand up, waving it slightly for attention. 

“What, kid?”

“Dog needs to pee.” He points down at his feet, where his support dog was squirming slightly in place. Adam’s emotional support dog was probably the most well behaved hellhound he’d ever seen in his time as a teacher, so he must be desperate. 

“Alright.” He slides a hand under his tinted glasses and rubs his eyes. “Take him out and be back in a few minutes.”

“Can Warlock come with me?” 

“What?”

“Warlock is my friend now, I want to show him where I walk Dog.”

He raises a brow and looks over at the transfer student. Walter seemed to hide behind his long hair, glaring at anyone who tried making eye contact with him. An unusually shy response from him, so it must be true. He nods and waves them off, Adam instantly up and bouncing out the room and Walter following along quietly. He sighs under his breath, glancing at his watch and making note of how much time was left in the class. His students should be done with their tests soon, and then he’d have them swap papers with each other and go over the material while they grade each other’s work. Some teachers see that as laziness on his part, but Crowley found that the kids have an easier time understanding each other’s advice better than his own sometimes, and he’s taught them to give constructive criticism to their grading. It works best for all of them. A few minutes later, Adam and Walter return and surprisingly, the latter has a small smile on his face, cheeks slightly flushed and hair windswept, probably from running after energetic Adam. Crowley wonders if they’ll actually become good friends; he gets the feeling they might.

Azira was experiencing a dilemma.

The dilemma was as such: the bakery was going to close for Christmas. Closing meant not baking every day. Which meant that there would be no reason for Crowley to stop by in the mornings. Which meant no Crowley.

And he can’t have that.

There’s no real solution to this dilemma either; Azira has begrudgingly confirmed his attendance at his sister Michael’s Christmas day dinner with a promise to bring only one yule log for dessert, and only half a dozen mince pies (“I’m only one person, Azira, I couldn’t possibly eat these all on my own,” she’d chided last year). And he’d promised Anathema he wouldn’t spend the holidays alone, since she all but begged him to make plans.

As for Christmas Eve, he plans on being open for three hours in the morning to allow for customers who have placed orders for Christmas day to come and collect their confections and pay any outstanding fees upon collection. He’s going to attempt to be strict about this, but he knows he wears his heart on his sleeve and might sell a few extra goodies alongside his orders for anyone needing a last-minute treat. He’ll then spend the afternoon baking the desserts he’ll take to Michael’s house.

As the week to Christmas loomed ever closer, Azira continued to fret over what to say to Crowley. Surely it would be okay to make plans? To be the one to suggest them? They hadn’t had a date— or, well, plans , not dates— since they met in early November for drinks in that nice little bar. It had been something he continued to recall in his mind over and over since then; the witty charm of Crowley’s humour, the slender frame of his body sliding into the booth seat at their table, the way he listened to him, just listened, to his mundane rambling with the smirk that melted away into a smile after a couple scotches.

The problem there is that since then, they hadn’t made any plans. Or rather, it felt like it was Azira’s turn to make the plans and he’d been chickening out. Crowley’s invited him out to places more than once now, and though these instances were few and far between, it felt like they were due to hang out together one-on-one some time soon. That, or he was missing the redhead more intensely than before. He’s afraid it might be the latter.

There’s a sound of someone clearing their throat behind him and he realises he’s been sitting at his desk for a while now, staring embarrassingly at nothing but a blank notepad, so he turns and tries to hide the lack of notes to his visitor.

“Ah, young Newton, my boy, is everything alright?”

“I’ve finished wiping down the tables and floors,” Newton mumbles his way through his sentence, propping up his glasses with a finger. “And I’ve done all the dishes by hand since, um, y-you know—”

“—The dishwashing machine and yourself don’t get along.” Azira finishes for him with a chuckle. The accommodations for the young lad had been simple enough; as long as he doesn’t touch any of the appliances, he does fairly well as a beginner baker. Otherwise, he’s been showing great promise.

“Is there anything else you’d like me to do before I leave?” Newton asks, and the blonde realises that it must be around five pm now.

“Oh goodness, no, good home my dear boy! Take a few treats for yourself while you’re at it, I know you enjoy those shortbread biscuits.”

The younger man gives him a shy, appreciative smile and nod, calling out his thanks and goodnights as he turns to leave. A few minutes later, and the back exit of the shop rattled open and closed, the creak of the old wood a good tell. Azira rubs his eyes and props his reading glasses back on his nose. He’ll finish the account books for the day, and then maybe see what’s on the TV….

The rear exit door creaks open again. Newton must have forgotten something.

There’s a clatter as something solid bumps into the drying rack by the sink and a curse filters through the doorway that’s decidedly not Newton’s voice, which raises Azira’s hackles immediately. An intruder?! He hurriedly grabs a letter opener from his desk organiser, styled like an antique sword but still sharp and made of metal, and he rushes to his office door.

“Who’s there!?”

“Ack- J-just me, Angel!”

Chests colliding, Azira runs straight into the taller man, who catches the doorframe in his grip just quick enough to keep them both from falling. The letter opener drops from the baker’s hand in surprise to instead grip the teacher’s coat, and they collectively make noises of disgruntlement as they both come to a stop tangled together.

“I-I’m sso sssorry, Angel, I—”

“What in the heavens are you doing here, Crowley?!”

Said man winces, Azira can see that even in the gloom of darkness from the unlit kitchens. There was only a faint like coming from the office behind him, reflecting on the other's sunglasses. There’s a hint of apple scent on his breath, and he realises just how close they are, so he takes a step back. Crowley wobbles on his feet, but stays upright as he leans on the doorframe.

“I- I ran into that Newt boy as I was coming to ring your doorbell, and ‘e said you were still ‘round the back in the office, and to go in, as the door was unlocked…” the redhead shifts awkwardly. “Phone ran outta battery, otherwise I woulda text ya..”

Azira frowns, more of a pout really, as he huffs out a heaving sigh. He’d have to talk to Newton about announcing the state of the bakery’s entryways another time, regardless if it was only Crowley.

“I see, though that doesn’t really explain why you’re here , as it were.”

“Ah, well..” Crowley shrugs, taking a step back to stuff his hands in his pockets and wander around the kitchen, a little more carefully this time. “Just…. wanted to see you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I wanted to see you again.” Crowley says again, more loudly this time. He’s decidedly not looking in Azira’s direction, which annoys him slightly because he can’t read his expression in the dark but Crowley most certainly could read his.

“And this was such an overwhelming urge you had to show up and see if I was at home?”

“Where else would you be, Angel?” Crowley turns and smirks. “I do think I know you well enough to know that you like to curl up with a good book after you close for the night, and then sometimes forget about making your own dinner.”

Azira pouts a little more. “I don’t forget that often.”

“Often enough. Anyway, wanted to know if you’d like to order some Chinese with me, or we can go to the all-you-can-eat buffet together at the restaurant, if you don’t want me invading your home.”

“….” Azira hesitates from immediately saying yes, because there was a more pressing matter to address first.

“Why, though?” he asks quietly, hands wringing together nervously in front of himself. He can feel the crusts of flour and crumbs on his sleeves from the day’s work on his cuffs. “Why me, in particular? When you could ask anybody else—”

“Why would I even bother asking anyone else when it’s you I’m trying to spend time with?” Crowley quips back, taking a step closer again. “C’mon Angel, I’ve been trying my best here.”

“Your best with what, exactly?”

“With you! With trying to show you that I’m infatuated with you!” Crowley throws his arms up, spinning slowly in place as he gestures to the entire room. “I come to this damn shop nearly every day, spending my lowly teacher’s salary in here buying every sinfully delicious treat I can muster because it was made by you and that’s all I could allow myself to have of you! But the more I visit here, the more I talk to you, the more I’m simply in your presence, the more I want more of it. I just… want to be around you. I told you about my condition,” Crowley pauses there, taking a moment to pull his sunglasses down and off, and Azira’s breath hitches in his throat as those wonderfully golden eyes pierce his own blues.

“I told you and you accepted me without hesitation. Don’t you realise how hard that makes me fall for you?”

Azira could only fluster in place, cheeks aflame as he tries to figure out just what to say, what to do. “I-I didn’t know,” he tries to speak, but it comes out soft, always soft. “I’ve never.. that sort of attention, it’s never been directed at me before. I’m.. I’m just me.”

“Just you is all I want,” Crowley replies, equally soft. “Whatever I’m allowed to have with you: friendship, acquaintance, something else… something more..”

“More?”

“If you’re up for it,” Crowley’s eyes are glowing beautifully in the dim light as he steps closer. “I don’t know what you think of me, but there’s a part of me that hopes you feel the same… please tell me I’m right.”

“I.. I’ve never—” Azira bites his lip, his lack of past relationships suddenly brought to the forefront of his mind. “I mean, I am, er, inclined towards men, if th-that was ever in question, just.. well, I’ve never… never acted upon it.”

“Inclined towards men? How about me, Angel? I’m all but begging on my knees here, but we both know I’ll end up on the floor if I try that.” The redhead jokes weakly.

The statement brings out a small chuckle from him, and Azira realises this isn’t some miraculous piece of fiction happening here. It’s quite real. And daunting. But Crowley was trying his hardest to be forthright with him, so it would only be fair to bare his heart here too, right?

“Well, in light of the honesty we have going on here, I’d like to say that you, my dear, have been the only man I’ve ever been inclined towards. Romantically, as it were.”

“Oh thank fucking fuck!” Crowley exclaims with a pleased cackle. The way his eyes light up with joy brings out a breathless laugh of his own, and the two meet in the middle of the kitchen floor, eyes drawn to each other with wondrous joy. Crowley’s hands come to rest on Azira’s arms gently.

“I don’t care how slow we take this, Angel. I’ll do whatever you want, the slowest of snail’s pace. But I would dearly, dearly love to take you to dinner right now, to celebrate this moment. And also, because I’m famished, but definitely more the first point.”

Azira laughs, heart thrumming happily in his chest at all the wonderful sensations he could feel knowing that he and Crowley were finally on the same page on how they felt. He reaches to take one of Crowley’s hands and entwines it with his own.

“I do love the all-you-can-eat buffet,” he agrees amicably, and the pleased, near-feral grin on Crowley’s face makes him feel even more sensational.

“Then allow me the pleasure of taking you there, Angel.”

Chapter Text

For one unbelievable moment, Crowley wakes up warm. And pain free.

That in itself is a blessing, however, it’s not what makes him smile in this moment of waking consciousness.

It’s who is lying next to him that draws his sleepy smirk.

“G’mornin’,” the redhead mumbles, sleepily pressing his face into the comforting softness of his lover’s waist. A slightly cool hand goes to his hair and brushes through it, like with a cat, and Crowley nearly purrs just as such.

“Awake, are we?” Azira hums softly, putting down his book. “Did you sleep well, darling?”

“The best,” Crowley kisses his way up the soft firmness of Azira’s chest, crawling his way up until the blushing baker meets him at his mouth. He’ll never get tired of the way that blush spreads over the blonde’s entire upper body, never.

“W-well,” Azira clears his throat gently, hands leaving his book aside in order to hold Crowley gently at the waist so that he can rest atop of him comfortably. He tries not to stammer through his words as he’s distracted by the near love-sick stricken gaze he receives from the other man. He’ll never get used to those eyes either, it seems. “I’m glad that you are feeling so refreshed, my dear. What would you like to do today?”

“Well, given that this is our first holiday together, I’d say we should do whatever you want to do.” Crowley smirks and watches Azira pout away at him.

“I just want to make sure you’re able to do everything without pain first, that’s all.”

The redhead melts at the sentiment. “Angel, I’m fine. Today feels like a really good day, actually. Barely a two on the scale.”

Nodding, Azira gives him a light squeeze, reassuringly, and they both sit up properly. “Right, in that case I’d love to make a start on breakfast. You can have the shower first, and from there we can discuss where we’ll go today. There’s lots we haven’t seen of Paris yet!”

“As long as you take it easy, too, Angel. We can just buy the crepes, you don’t have to make them yourself.”

Crowley laughs when Azira scoffs at him and this already once-repeated conversation they’ve had before. It seems even when on holiday the baker can’t help but work on mastering recipes they’re tasting as they go.

Obediently, Crowley goes to shower and once returned is greeted by a pleasantly simple - yet appropriate, he supposes - French toast breakfast. He’s also endeared by the fact that his plate was garnished with his preferred savoury condiments.

“I still can’t believe you’ve been lying to me for so long,” Azira mock-sniffs. “Buying and eating all those sweets when apparently you don’t even like sweets!”

Crowley rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time on this matter. “I like you, Angel. It’s obvious I’d develop a sweet tooth.”

“Oh, stop it.”

Chuckling, he strides over and places an obnoxiously loud kiss on Azira’s cheek, then sits to enjoy the lovingly made food.

“I will eat anything you make Angel, as long as it’s from you.”

“You’re such a softie, darling.”

“Can’t be helped, it’s your influence. And food.”

“Sure, my love. Sure.”