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Chapter Text

“Order for Aziraphale!”

The barista pushed a mug across the counter that contained a steaming, unearthly purple liquid that was topped with a high peak of whipped cream and dusted with blue and pink glitter. Aziraphale blinked at the ghastly beverage, which was decidedly not the Earl Grey tea he had ordered. It was a simple mistake that nevertheless sent panic sparking through his nerve endings like an electric current. 

The barista noticed his hesitation, “Is everything alright, sir?”

Aziraphale started to wring his hands in an attempt to jumpstart whatever part of his mind was responsible for rational thinking, “Um, I just wanted to make sure this was the order for ‘Aziraphale’?”

Pulling the mug closer, the barista checked the ticket, “Yes, it says ‘Aziraphale’. Is that what you ordered?”

He paused for a moment as he nervously looked around at the other patrons as they waited for their drinks. The past year had been a difficult one, to say the least. As much as Aziraphale tried not to think about it, the evidence of the seismic changes constantly bubbled up around him. For one, his brain started to register small inconveniences as life-threatening situations. Just last week he’d had a panic attack after forgetting to buy milk at the grocery store. Another time he started hyperventilating after a handsome stranger had tried to strike up a conversation with him on the tube. It’s not that he didn’t find the man attractive or that he didn’t want a companion, it’s just that he felt pliable and raw and he couldn’t understand why anyone would look at him and find anything worthwhile.

And the very last thing he wanted to do was inconvenience someone else. Since the line for the counter stretched all the way back to the door, he arranged his face into a reassuring smile and reached gingerly for the drink, “Oh y-yes! It’s perfect. Thank you, my dear.” 

Carrying the drink back to the table, Aziraphale drew air into his lungs to stave off the residual unease of the whole exchange. Focused breathing was often the only thing that helped him feel grounded and kept him feeling like he was in control of his own body. By the time he re-joined Anathema, he no longer felt like he was falling from a great height. 

“That’s not your usual,” Anathema noted, pointing to the ridiculous concoction in his hand. 

Aziraphale sighed, “I’m afraid they must have misheard my order. I suppose I’ll be trying something new today.”

“You could just tell them they got your order wrong.”

“No no no,” Aziraphale waved his hands, his chest clenching uncomfortably at the thought, “It’s quite alright my darling, it’s no trouble.”

Anathema shrugged, her gaze one of patience with a touch of concern, “Suit yourself, maybe you’ll love it.”

“Perhaps I will,” he chuckled weakly.

Aziraphale hadn’t seen Anathema since she’d left for university, although he’d been a friend of her family for years. He’d been close with her mother when they both worked in the pediatric wing of St. Joseph’s Hospital. The Device family often invited Aziraphale over for dinners and birthdays, their warmth and generosity in stark juxtaposition to the cold indifference of his own family. Aziraphale always cherished his time with Anathema, who possessed the brilliance and mindfulness of someone much older. She was an excellent listener, at moments her eyes would twinkle with familiarity and perception that Aziraphale was never able to explain rationally. 

That metaphysical glimmer was present today, as they spent the better part of an hour catching up. Against all odds, the mysterious drink Aziraphale received turned out to be delightful, he sipped it enthusiastically as Anathema talked about college, her partner Newt, and her recent promotion to director at Camp Eden. 

When it came time for Aziraphale to discuss what he’d been up to he expertly maneuvered around the fault lines of trauma from the past year, making vague references to things without providing elaboration. From the way that Anathema gazed at him with her sage brown eyes, Aziraphale suspected that she already knew. 

“So,” Anathema inhaled after a natural pause in their conversation, “I’m here with a secret agenda.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, bringing his mug to his lips to polish off what he deduced must have been a lavender hot chocolate, “Oh, a secret now? Well go on, do enlighten me.”

“I want to offer you a job.” 

Aziraphale didn’t move. Comprehension evaded him, slipping through his grasp like sand through his fingers, “I’m sorry, what?”

A confident smile spread to Anathema’s lips, “We need a nurse onsite to work with the campers this summer. I’m offering the position to you.”

Now that he understood what was being asked, a new confusion flooded him, “I-I-I don’t– Me? You want me to work there?”

“Of course, who better?”

An incredulous laugh escaped him, “There must be others who’d be better suited for–”

“Nope,” Anathema shook her head once, her tone even and certain, “You’re an amazing nurse. I’m reaching out because you are my ideal candidate.”

The compliments floated around Aziraphale for a moment but dissipated when he refused to accept them, “My dear, I-I-I’m flattered by the offer, truly I am. But I still have my job at St. Joseph’s. I’ve been there for so many years now. I’m–” 

Happy here.

The words were right there, queued in his mind. Aziraphale opened and closed his mouth, trying to will them forth. 

He furrowed his brow as he tried again, “I think it’s wonderful you’ve thought about me for this, but things have been fine. London is my home and I-I-I really am, um, I really am–”

The moisture in his mouth dried up, the words retreating hastily before they made it to his tongue. 

Anathema regarded him calmly, “I understand, Aziraphale. I wouldn’t ask you to make a decision as big as this one immediately.”

Aziraphale grasped for something to say something– to politely decline, to dismiss the offer outright. With no words or pleasantries within his reach, he swallowed around the barbs in his throat and nodded instead.

Sensing his discomfort, Anathema leaned onto her elbows smiling warmly, “Can I share something with you from my own experience?”

There was relief in knowing that the spotlight was no longer on him. Aziraphale felt the muscles in his shoulders relax, “Yes, of course you can.”

“When I finished my senior year of college, I had it all planned out: graduate school, career, where I was going to live, when I was getting married, what my kids' names were going to be. All of it was laid out on this iron-clad timeline I made for myself. I worked tirelessly on my grad school application to Oxford because that’s where I was always going to go. I waited and waited to hear back, and on the day before graduation I got my rejection letter.” 

“After that,” she leaned back with a sigh, “I basically gave up. My parents let me have my time to grieve, and there were days when I didn’t even leave my room. It felt like all my hard work and planning were for nothing. I was so sure that I was supposed to be at Oxford that I foolishly hadn’t applied anywhere else. Then one day, I’m huddled in my room and doom-scrolling online, and I see this job posting. I was incredibly tempted to ignore it– but something told me to give it a second glance. The listing was for a camp counselor position at this summer camp in the middle of nowhere. When I read through the job posting, I felt this sense of calm wash over me. The job wasn’t anything I had thought of doing before, but there was this indescribable pull to it as if I was meant to go there. So I applied, and it turned out to be the best decision I could have made. Nothing about it was according to plan, yet everything fell into place.”

Anathema clasped her hands together, “My point in telling you all this is that bad things happen all the time, and it hurts like hell. Sometimes, though, the universe will send you a different path. That’s our chance to start over. I don’t claim to know everything about what you’re going through, but I think it could be a good change of pace. If it feels right for you.”

Aziraphale cleared his throat, “Thank you, Anathema, for sharing that with me. I’m sorry you had to go through such a difficult time, but it’s wonderful that it led you to an environment and career that are fulfilling for you. As far as the offer I-I-”

He hesitated. On one hand, he was deterred by the thought of more change. The foundation of his existence had caved in, and he was still reeling from the aftermath. When it came to making choices, he was a man who needed considerable time to process and weigh all his options. For one of this caliber, he could fret about it for weeks, maybe months, if given the opportunity. 

On the other hand, he’d been stepping cautiously over the debris of his life for months now. It required constant vigilance, and god was it draining . It was a type of exhaustion that sat heavy in his soul, the type that sleep did little to alleviate. Not even his books could fully assuage the anxiety that haunted him from the moment he opened his eyes in the morning. 

If the volatility of the past year had taught him anything it was that he could no longer live a life that wasn’t meant for him. The stories he read each night, the ones he hung onto like a life raft, were all about life happening for other people. Existing had become so difficult in the present that he’d inadvertently shrunk back – become a spectator to his own life.

No longer. 

“I-I- yes. I could probably use a change,” There it was, out in the open. Energy pulsed throughout his body. It was the risk and excitement that went along with not knowing exactly what was coming next, what was behind the corner.

That knowing glint in her eye sparked briefly as Anathema grinned widely. 

He was falling, he was flying. 

“I’d like to know more about the position if you have the time to tell me about it. I’m interested.”

“Of course, I can,” Anathema readjusted in her seat excitedly. “Ready?”

Aziraphale held up a finger as he fished in his satchel for scratch paper and a pen. Once retrieved, he smiled impishly, “I’m ready.”

—-

Towering pines lined the gravel road as the taxi lurched down the gravel path. The driver had gotten lost twice in her attempt to find the place, but Aziraphale thought that the seclusion was part of its charm. ‘CAMP EDEN’ was engraved on an enormous wooden sign that hung between two dark wooden posts. 

The gravel road entrance led to a wide clearing. A prominent log structure sat squarely in the middle, it must have been what Anathema had referred to as the ‘lodge’. The front was decorated with patches of native grasses and accented by flowers. 

Aziraphale rolled down his window as the taxi slowed. He shut his eyes and inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma of pine trees and freshly cut grass. When the fresh air permeated his lungs, a deep-seated tension inside his chest eased slightly.

Since accepting the ‘camp nurse’ position three months ago, Aziraphale’s existence in London occupied a liminal space; he was within and without. Each day he would dutifully complete all the tasks needed to survive as a shadow continued to cling to his heels and trail behind him. The difference this time, however, was the faint light at the end of the tunnel, a promise of a new start ahead. For the next few weeks, he’d kept his eyes set on the dull glow and pushed forward against the manacles that shackled him to the life that no longer suited him.  

A high-pitched squeak issued from the brakes as the taxi slowed to a stop in front of the lodge. Aziraphale stepped out and crossed the threshold into his new start, into the unknown. 

The tranquility of his arrival was followed by a rush of introductions. Anathema first led him into the lodge, which was grand in scale and whose walls were made of dark wooden logs. Inside he met Eric and Muriel, both camp counselors. Eric had a firm handshake and a wide elfish grin, he mentioned offhandedly that he had a habit of getting injured and that he may be stopping by to see Aziraphale often during the summer season. Muriel was cherubic and delightfully sweet, she discussed that she was in charge of the younger kids. Before Aziraphale was whisked away to view more of the lodge, they graciously offered to deliver his bags to his cabin. 

Once in the main office, he met the secretary, Tracy. She was an older woman with dyed hair and elaborately painted nails. Her voice was soothing, her demeanor eccentric and mysterious. Aziraphale took a liking to her immediately.   

Connected to the main office was the nurse’s quarters, a small room that contained the required staples: a cot, cabinets filled with supplies, and shelves lined with sunscreens and ointments. The best feature was the large window that faced the campgrounds behind the lodge. Anathema pointed out a locked cabinet where the camper's medication and inhalers were stored as well as a drawer where the confidential files were kept. 

“After our tour and once you’ve had a chance to settle into your cabin,” Anathema started, “I’ll have you do an inventory for anything you might need to start the summer. We have a lot on hand but there may have been things that expired that will need to be replaced. I believe Crowley, our groundskeeper, is going to town later this afternoon. You could carpool with him to get any of the supplies you’ll need.”

Aziraphale nodded and vocalized an affirmative as he perused the office, pleased to have an area of his own to work. He scrunched his brow at the name Anathema had mentioned, which set off a distant bell from the recesses of his brain. Unable to place it, he waved the thought away.  

Continuing the tour, Anathema led him through a large gymnasium with a built-in stage at one end. They made their way to the opposite end of the lodge which housed the cafeteria. The high-ceiling room was lined with dozens of long wooden tables. Once they reached the kitchen, Aziraphale was introduced to Nina and Maggie. Maggie was the remaining camp counselor, her presence was warm and particularly kind as she welcomed Aziraphale to the ‘Eden family’. Nina, on the other hand, seemed more guarded. She exchanged a few pleasantries but remained focused on a pot boiling on the stove. They said their goodbyes and Aziraphale was ushered away. 

Once outside, Aziraphale entered another realm entirely. Behind the lodge was a wide grass clearing surrounded by giant trees. Under the shade of the copious tapestry of leaves was the playground. Its slides, jungle gyms, and swings were interconnected over top of deep brown mulch. Further to his left were several rows of garden beds, each containing various types of vegetation. Small wooden markers poked up from the earth crookedly with labels such as ‘turnips’, ‘strawberries’, and ‘mint’.  Dotted further behind the grass clearing were the student cabins, each made from the same dark wood as the lodge. 

Aziraphale’s mouth hung agape, none of the parks in London could remotely compare to the majesty of the land before him. Naturally empathetic, he could often read the emotional energy of people and environments – it was a helpful tool when he worked with his patients. Often he wondered if the skill was innate, or if it had been learned as a survival tactic for navigating a rigid family. Either way, he noticed an aura from the moment he’d arrived at the camp. Love. The whole area was saturated with it. The staff and the children must really love this place.

“Anathema,” he breathed, “Oh this is, this is heavenly .”

“Eden’s a fitting name then, huh?”

Aziraphale clasped his hands to his chest, “It certainly is.” 

Anathema beamed, “I’ve been working with our counselors and groundskeeper to integrate nature into our programming. These gardens are going to be here for our kids to tend to the herbs, vegetables, and flowers we’ve planted. You can’t see it from here but on the other side is the peace garden. It’s a shaded quiet space for the campers who get overstimulated. And that path between the middle cabins takes you to the lake.”

“Well, it’s simply breathtaking, and I think you’ve done an excellent job.”

Anathema hugged the clipboard to her chest, “Thank you, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale noticed a small path that veered off to the left and into the trees, “And where does that path go?”

“Oh! That leads to the staff cabins which are detached from the main campground. We are going there next actually so you can see where you’ll be staying.”

They set off onto the narrow path while Anathema discussed the camp schedule for the first week. Distant, rhythmic ‘ thunks’ ’ could be heard as they neared their destination. After a few minutes, the trees parted to reveal a small clearing with five tiny cabins. The middle cabin had Aziraphale’s bags neatly set in front of the door. Except for the cabin on the far left, which had a few potted plants lining the steps, most of the other cabins looked empty. 

“Not many people are staying in the staff cabins currently,” Anathema commented. “Newt and I stay in the apartment above the lodge, the counselors have rooms connected to the camper’s cabins. Everyone else commutes in from town.” 

As they walked further into the clearing, the source of the ‘ thunk ’-ing was revealed. In the distance was a tall, thin figure standing next to a large stump. The man was shirtless, holding an axe in one hand and wiping his forehead with the back of the other. Heat rose to Aziraphale’s cheeks, which he dismissively blamed on the blinding sunshine that had begun to peak through the clouds overhead.

They continued toward the man when Anathema brought her hands to her mouth and called, “Crowley!” 

There it was again, that name. It resonated dimly but fell short of true recognition. 

The man, Crowley, looked up, his chest heaving from exertion. He let the axe drop next to him and reached to pick up a water bottle that was set off to the side. “Hey, witch girl.”

Morning sunbeams illuminated the gardener's red hair that was gathered in a loose bun atop his head. The sunshine flashed on the tattoo of a snake that started at his left shoulder and wound down to his wrist. His features were angular, freckles scattered across the edge of his chiseled cheekbones.

The nurse felt eclipsed being in the presence of such rugged, untamable beauty. A creation sculpted by the gods, one which grew wild in the refuge of the forest. Azirahpale thought of fae folk, and how willingly he could be lured into the dark thickets of a strange wooded area if Crowley were the one beckoning him. Follow me, yes come closer…

Aziraphale watched as the gardener brought the bottle to his lips. The sight sent a jolt of something primal and wanting through him. He attempted to swallow it down, the torrent of feelings bubbling to the surface. Instead, he cast his eyes to the earth and allowed the familiar ache of shame to ease into him, but even it couldn’t calm the fluttering of his pulse. 

That fiery hair, why did the sight of his hair further rattle a memory from long ago? The inability to connect the dots made him feel feverish. 

The rapid palpitation of his heartbeat was thunderous in his ears when Anathema sidestepped and gestured toward him, “I want you to meet Aziraphale. He’s filling the nurse position this summer.” 

Crowley raised an eyebrow over the rim of his sunglasses and pulled the water bottle away from his lips, his breathing still heavy. 

“Hi.”

It took Aziraphale a monumental amount of willpower to not watch the beads of perspiration lazily move down the gardener's chest. His eyes widened when he noticed the line of copper hair that trailed from his belly button to the top button of his tight black jeans–

Oh lord, he had to stop. 

Aziraphale desperately hoped that the redhead’s stylish black sunglasses obscured the sinful direction of his gaze. 

Forcing himself back into the moment, Aziraphale gave a smile and held out his hand, “Hello! It’s lovely to meet you, Crowley.” 

Crowley lowered his head to examine his free hand, “I’m uh….” Sheepishly, he held it up, waving it slightly to accentuate the splotches of dirt.  

Aziraphale brought his hand back, clasping it awkwardly in front of him, “Oh! That’s quite alright.”

Anathema tilted her head towards Aziraphale, “Crowley started the same year I joined as a camp counselor. He worked with me to add in the gardens and all the native plants this year. An incredible help, even though he can be a pain in my ass at times."

“You know for a second there it sounded like you were going to pay me a compliment,” Crowley teased. 

“Not a chance, can’t have it going to your head,” Anathema shot back smiling. “Anyway, Aziraphale will be your only neighbor this summer. Nina’s officially decided she’s commuting.” 

“Really? No Nina? That’s too bad,” Crowley mumbled, removing his sunglasses. “Well,” he continued with a centering sigh. His eyes, deep pools of amber and honey, met Aziraphale’s. “Neighbors then.” 

Recognition hit him heavily, the puzzle piece turning and snapping into place.

“I’m sorry, um, b-but, is your first name Anthony? ” Aziraphale asked tentatively. 

Crowley stiffened.

Chapter Text

–32 years ago–

When you have four older brothers, alone time is a luxury commodity. Crowley discovered that by skipping 3rd-period Algebra he could reclaim some time for himself. Most often he and Hastur smoked under the bleachers. Crowley thought cigarettes disgusting at first, but started to like the way the smoke filled his lungs– the burn made him feel dangerous. One time he snuck out of class with a group of guys and one of them brought a porno magazine to look at. Crowley took one look at the sultry, bare woman on the front and realized he had no interest in that particular endeavor. 

Which, in hindsight, should have been a sign. 

There was no one here to skip class with him today, which was upsetting because he really needed some to blow off steam. Crowley hid in one of the stalls in the 2nd-floor bathroom until the bell rang for class. He waited until the sound of footsteps stopped before pulling out a pen from his pocket. 

Ever since puberty, Crowley was always a little angry. Mostly in a punk rock, anti-establishment sort of way. He was secretly delighted when his parents yelled at him to turn his music down or when the nuns fussed over his untucked shirt and gelled hair. Little acts of rebellion made him feel alive. 

But today was different. Today wasn’t the low-grade anger that propelled Crowley to draw anarchy symbols in his notebooks. Today he was furious . He couldn’t even make it through the morning prayer without rage kindling inside him. It was with sharp bitterness that Crowley realized his prayers were going unanswered, even the ones he fervently whispered before falling asleep. If God was listening, then why had his father started emptying glass after glass of whiskey each night? Why had he become loud and tumultuous when anyone tried to approach him? If God was listening, then why had the doctors stopped checking up on his mum? Why had they left her to her bed? Every day her breathing slowed and her skin paled as if the life was being leached out of her.

Today Crowley was beyond angry. He hated that his father was drinking. He hated that his mom was sick. And most of all, he hated the God who demanded his praise but fell silent in response to his desperate pleas. 

Hatred surged through his veins as he began to write on the bathroom wall. He started with the ‘F’ and was particularly proud of how it looked. When he went to start the ‘U’, however, the tip of the pen broke off, foiling his attempt at vandalism. Crowley groaned and threw the pen to the floor. He clenched his fists and felt hot tears well in his eyes. 

At home he couldn’t cry, not around his brothers. But there was nothing to stop him here. He sank back against the stall door and covered his face with his hands.  A few moments into his sobbing he heard the door creak open. 

“Um, hello,” a soft voice called. “Are you, um, okay in there?”

Crowley sniffed and wiped his eyes roughly with the back of his hand. 

“Piss off.” 

It was all he could manage, although his voice didn’t sound very intimidating at the moment. 

“Ah, s-sorry.”

There was silence, and then he heard soft hesitant footsteps make their way to the stall on the other side of the room. Once the stall door closed Crowley got up and left, he’d find somewhere else to hide out for now. 

As he stepped outside of the bathroom door a passing Nun spotted him. 

“Anthony J. Crowley,” the shrill voice froze him in place, “Do you have a pass to be out of class?” 

Sister Theresa approached, her face pinched and her posture imposing. Scowling, she crossed her arms reproachfully. 

Fucking hell, Crowley thought. He sighed, looking down at his feet in response.

“What has gotten into you boy?” She spoke in a fierce whisper. “This is the third time you’ve been caught skipping class this semester, and it’s only September. We are going to talk with Father Jim about this at once because I’ve had enough of—”

“Um, e-excuse me, Sister Theresa?” A soft voice came from behind him. 

The Nun looked past Crowley's shoulder. “Don’t interrupt, Aziraphale, I was just–” 

Aziraphale stepped forward to stand beside Crowley and wordlessly held up a pink slip of paper.

Sister Theresa narrowed her eyes and grabbed the slip from him. She scanned it as Crowley flashed the boy next to him a look. He recognized Aziraphale from some of his classes. He always sat toward the front with his nose in a book, a real teacher’s pet. Standing together like this was like holding up mismatched socks. Where twelve-year-old Crowley was tall and lanky, Aziraphale was shorter and round. Where Crowley’s complexion was a smattering of freckles, Aziraphale’s was clear and rosy. Crowley’s coiffed red hair starkly contrasted with Aziraphale’s curls, which were so blonde they were almost white.

Aziraphale kept his eyes on Sister Theresa, his posture tall and rigid. “The pass was for both of us. We were just on our way back to class.” He nudged Crowley with his elbow. 

“Um, yeah-yes,” Crowley added, “Sister Grace was busy so she sent us both with the same pass.” 

Sister Theresa eyed them both carefully. Her jaw set as she handed the slip back to Aziraphale. “On your way then. Quickly now.” 

The two boys needed no further direction, they set off quickly for the side corridor. Aziraphale wrung his hands nervously as they turned the corner, out of the sight of Sister Theresa. The rage and fear from the exchange flooded Crowley as he turned quickly and grabbed Aziraphale by the lapels, pushing him back against the wall. 

“Why the hell did you do that?!” he growled through clenched teeth. 

Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut and held up his hands, “I-I-I didn’t want to see you getting into trouble!” 

“Oh please!” Crowley dropped his hands, keeping his face close. ”You’ve never so much as set a toe out of line, and here you are lying to a Nun to cover for me? You hardly even know me!” 

“Well, I h-heard you-” 

Panic rose in Crowley’s chest. “ Don’t, ” he snarled, “You heard nothing.”

“I’m-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–” Aziraphale’s voice quivered as he opened his eyes, they were filled with worry and sincerity and novas of blue. “I’m so sorry.” 

Crowley held his classmate’s gaze, transfixed by the hue of his eyes and their hypnotic draw. He opened his mouth, ready to argue and say something inflammatory but closed his mouth when nothing came to mind. Aziraphale noticed the hesitation, his expression softening into concern. Crowley dropped his hands, took a step backward, shot his eyes downward embarrassed. What right did this boy have to look at him like that? Like he mattered. As if he actually cared about–

Crowley attempted to swallow after a sudden dryness spread to his throat. He kept his head down and took a few deep breaths, letting the air wind its way into his lungs and cool off his simmering temper. When it felt like he was no longer overheating, he let out a sigh, “Fuck . ”

The word came out shakey, unsure of itself. Aziraphale visibly relaxed, but at no point did he take his eyes off Crowley.

“I’m– real sorry. Shouldn’t have done that,” Crowley murmured, “It’s just that– things aren’t going well. Mom’s been sick, and I’ve been um, having–”

He ran a tremoring his hand through his hair as he looked up at Aziraphale in desperation. He searched for a sign that his classmate made some sense of his incoherent ramblings. Mercifully, Aziraphale nodded as he adjusted his lapels and softly brushed the front of his shirt.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want. I’m, um, sorry to hear about–” Aziraphale looked away as he trailed off. 

Crowley ignored the tightness in his chest and the pressure behind his eyes that warned of more tears. Instead, he cleared his throat and nodded. They stood awkwardly for a moment, neither looking at the other. Crowley readjusted and gestured with his thumb down the hall, “Should probably…”

“Yes,” Aziraphale agreed, “Let's.” 

They walked in silence the rest of the way. Crowley shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his eyes trained on his feet. If his gaze wandered to his left to take in more glimpses of Aziraphale, he refused to acknowledge it. Once outside the classroom, Crowley paused before pulling the door open. 

“Um. Thank you for that. Back there,” he murmured sheepishly. 

A warm smile spread to Aziraphale’s lips as his eyes made contact with Crowley’s. “Of course, that’s what friends are for.”

His eyes were the color of an unclouded sky, endless and welcoming. Crowley could spend hours, days perhaps, lost in their rich pools of cornflower blue. Somehow he managed to shake free, nodding in response as he opened the door.

After that, Crowley had difficulty attending to the lecture. Sister Grace's mouth emitted syllables and sounds that spun uselessly around him. Instead he watched the boy with the platinum curls at the front of the classroom as he fidgeted with his pencil and raised his hand to answer questions.

That’s what friends are for. 

Crowley wracked his brain, and he couldn’t recall if he saw Aziraphale spending time with many other people. He usually lounged in the courtyard during recess, his nose in a book. During lunch, he sat at the end of a table away from most of the other kids. It made no sense to Crowley why he would consider them friends, but maybe Aziraphale didn’t have any friends. 

And that seemed– well, lonely. 

Crowley had friends, Hastur and Beez. They were the type that were good for a laugh or a smoke. But they weren’t ones you could discuss something as mortifying as feelings with. The same was true with his brothers, who communicated more with wrestling and punches than with actual words. 

Crowley was surrounded by people, surrounded by noise , and he too felt lonely.

The sharp metallic ring of the dismissal bell sounded, waking Crowley from his daydream. As Aziraphale stood up and collected his things from his desk, he paused to look back at Crowley. He raised his hand to wave shyly, a pink hue blossoming at the apples of his cheeks. The redhead waved back, the corner of his mouth pulling into a smile. 

When Crowley arrived home after school, his mom had taken a turn for the worse. His father’s face was hauntingly ashen as he gathered them around her bed. They took turns talking to her and watching the shallow rise and fall of her chest until a doctor arrived and ushered them out. The next morning his mother’s bed was empty, and Crowley’s father downed glass after glass of amber liquid while on the phone, his words slurred. 

The next two days were a blur of people stopping by the house with casserole dishes and hollow platitudes. The funeral was both beautiful and horrific in a way that only funerals can be. Upon arriving home, Crowley’s father declared that they were moving and needed to pack their bags. 

Within a week, Crowley’s life was completely uprooted. He sat in the back of his father’s Bentley on his way out of London with his head pressed solidly against the cold glass of the window. He thought mostly about his mom, sometimes about God, and every so often about the boy in the hallway with stunningly blue eyes.

They moved into a weathered bungalow in a sleepy town somewhere in the countryside. Despite putting some distance from the city, things in Crowley’s life never quieted. His brothers continued their lives, playing sports and getting into trouble. So too did his father carry on, finding a job and holding the household together. Most nights after a few drinks, another man arrived and settled into his father’s skin. Loud and unpredictable, the man sulked around the house. Crowley and his brothers learned to walk on eggshells and to stay quiet and hidden. There were many times were Crowley couldn’t escape his wrath and, as he grew more rebellious and bitter, times he’d even tried to provoke it. Burned into his memory was the feeling of the man clutching the front of his shirt. He could smell the whiskey on his breath, and could never forget the low gargling way he screamed his name: “ANTHONY!” 

–Present Day–

“I’m sorry… but, is your first name Anthony? ”

Crowley stiffened, wincing at the sensory memories brought back by hearing his first name unexpectedly. He put his sunglasses back on, a layer of protection, “Yeah. Go by Crowley now, though.”

“Oh! My apologies, I didn’t realize,” Aziraphale shifted uncomfortably. 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” 

“Um, I thought I recognized you though. I’m not sure if you remember, but we went to school together at St. Michael’s when we were younger.”

Realization connected the wires from the dusty recesses of Crowley’s brain. That explained why Anathema’s introduction had rung with a vague sense of familiarity, why the sight of the man sparked something tucked away. 

Aziraphale – the boy from the hallway.

“Yes,” Crowley responded, “It’s- been a long time but yes, I remember you.” 

Since he’d been exhausted and distracted during their initial introduction, Crowley allowed himself a moment to take in the man before him. Aziraphale wore a plaid shirt, neatly pressed cargo shorts, and fresh-out-of-the-box hiking shoes. His figure was round and the considerable muscles of his arms flexed slightly as he fiddled with his hands. The features of his face were cherubic, the ridge of his nose slopped and his clear skin accentuated by rosy cheeks. He smiled, the thin lines of age crinkled at the corners of his vibrant, world-ending blue eyes. Aziraphale’s head was topped with gleamingly bright blonde hair, made even brighter by the direct rays of the sun. He was practically glowing as if he’d been plucked from a Renaissance painting and forced to wear something modern. 

Simply put, Aziraphale was absolutely beautiful . It left Crowley without words, his head reeling as if the air around him had started to thin. He crossed his arms in front of him, self-conscious of his bare chest and the thin veneer of sweat and dirt he was covered in. 

“Wait a minute,” Anathema clasped a hand over her mouth. “So you two know each other? What are the odds?”

Crowley ran a hand through his hair and looked down, sheepishly. “Small world.”

Anathema turned to Aziraphale with wide eyes, “You need to tell me all about little Crowley!”

Aziraphale chuckled, “Now, Anathema, I couldn’t possibly divulge such privileged information.” 

Heat rose to Crowley’s cheeks as he sucked air in through his teeth, “Yeah, I was a bit of a bastard back then.”

“Well, the nuns certainly didn’t take it easy on us that’s for sure.”

Crowley shuddered slightly, “Ngk. Don’t need to remember Sister Doris pinching me to sit up straight.” 

Aziraphale nodded empathetically, “Almost as bad as the bell Sister Harriet would ring if you talked out of turn.” 

Crowley guffawed, “Hell, I got the bell a few times. I heard she rang herself deaf though. Karma’s a tough one to outrun.”

“Oh, well,” Aziraphale giggled. “Now, I couldn’t possibly agree.” 

The sound of his laughter made something unfamiliar racket strangely in Crowley’s chest. 

Anathema’s head pivoted between them both, her brow scrunched in concentration. After a moment she cleared her throat. 

“So,” she enunciated exaggeratedly. “That concludes the tour. Aziraphale, we are so excited to have you here. You have my number right? In case you need anything today?”

Aziraphale turned toward her, “Y-yes, I’ll be sure to text you if anything comes up.”

Anathema nodded her head once, “Great. Crowley, you’re still going into town this afternoon, right? Could Aziraphale tag along? He needs more supplies from the store.”

The thought of spending time in close proximity to Aziraphale was equal parts thrilling and terrifying. Crowley pushed the conflicting emotions from the spotlight and let cooler reasoning prevail. “Um, yeah, that’s fine. Planning on leaving at one if that works for you.”

Aziraphale checked his watch, the straps a worn mahogany leather, “Yes, I think that will give me plenty of time to get some of my bags unpacked and get a headstart on reviewing the files.” 

“Perfect. Well, I’ll leave you two then,” Anathema checked something off her clipboard and winked at Crowley. “Lots to do before the first day tomorrow.”

They watched as she started down the path and disappeared into the trees. A peaceable quiet settled around them filled only with the sporadic calls of unseen birds.

Aziraphale adjusted the collar of his shirt. “So, um. It’s been great to see you again, Crowley. I appreciate the ride into town.” 

“Course, course. Going that way anyway.” 

A smile sat cozily on Aziraphale’s lips as he tilted his head toward his cabin, “I should probably get started then. I’ll leave you to your-your um, sharp cutty thing,” he tilted his eyes upward in thought, “Oh, axe! Goodness gracious, busy morning. I apologize.” 

The gardener eased into a crooked grin, “No worries. We’ll see each other later then.” 

He watched captivated as Aziraphale retreated and disappeared into his cabin. 

“Huh,” he muttered to himself, “What are the odds.”

—-----

By eleven thirty, Crowley had finished his morning to-do list of chopping firewood and weeding the flower beds. Although he was bone tired it was a satisfied exhaustion, one in which you could sit back and appreciate your handiwork. There was something about working with his hands, digging in the earth, that soothed the rush of his fractured thoughts. A quiet nobility in tending to the earth that was equally as nurturing to parts of himself that had been neglected a majority of his life. 

He savored the warmth of the shower and dressed quickly before grabbing the keys to the Bentley. His father hadn’t left him and his siblings much when he passed. His older brothers received the house and what little money lingered in a savings account. When it came to his inheritance, Crowley was given the Bentley. Previously an outdoorsman, his father spent most of his time after the move either drinking or working on the car under the dim overhead light of the garage. During most circumstances, Crowley kept his distance, but he would edge closer when his father craned over the engine. Although he’d never been a conversationalist, his father would point out different parts and explain what he was repairing. It was one of the few things they shared before Crowley left home for good.

Checking the time, Crowley made his way to the lodge for coffee. He also wanted to catch up with Nina, who, as he’d just learned from Anathema, was no longer staying in the staff cabin.

“Oi, Nina!” Crowley called as he rounded the corner into the kitchen.

“Hello to you too, Crowley,” she replied, distracted as her fingers ran across a spice shelf. 

“You’re not staying in the staff cabins? What’s that about?”

Nina grabbed a spice bottle and turned to face him with a sigh, “Maggie and I adopted a cat, remember? Can’t leave Simone by herself all summer.”

Crowley groaned, “Fuck.”

“Sorry, mate.” She shook the jar over a large simmering pot, “We can still do Tuesday lunches together and pop into town to get a drink.”

“Yeah, I know. Still, though, it’ll be different without you there.” 

Nina nodded as she reached for a wooden spoon. “I’m still here all summer though, so you’re not escaping me that easily.” 

Crowley poured himself a cup of coffee and leaned against the metallic countertop. “Certainly not.” He savored the bitterness and warmth of his initial sip. “How’ve you been? Haven’t properly talked since… last Wednesday?”

A waft of cinnamon and clove emanated from the simmering pot as Nina started to stir, “Good, things have been good. Maggie’s been working non-stop prepping for the kids to arrive. I finally finished installing the new bathroom sink, so we can stop running to the kitchen to wash our hands like savages. Simone’s been tearing up every toy we get her but at least she’s stopped destroying our couch.”

Crowley gave an amused hum, “That’s good then. If she kept going at the rate she was, you'd have no couch left.”

“She’s a lively one.” Nina let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head with the hint of an affectionate smile playing at her lips “And you? How are you doing?”

Crowley sipped his coffee. “Fine.” 

“Mhm… and how are you really doing?” 

“Ugh,” Crowley let his head sag to the side in annoyance. “Fine. I’m fine.”

Nina kept her eyes fixed on the pot in front of her, “And there’ve been no visits to…?”

“No.”

“None since, when was that, six weeks – seven weeks ago?”

“Nope,” Crowley replied. He leaned back, trying to look nonchalant. “Haven’t heard from him. Deleted the app. It’s been only solo, sad wanks for me.”

Nina scrunched her nose, “Better than whatever his name was.”

Crowley’s phone dinged. Speak of the devil . He pulled it from his pocket and visibly winced when he saw the name on display. How had he not remembered to block his number? Nina’s eyes flashed at him, but she went back to cooking. 

Crowley quickly set his phone down on the counter and started to take a sip of his coffee when his phone dinged again. He tensed and shot it a glare. Traitor. 

Nina stopped stirring and closed her eyes in frustration. “That better not be who I think it is.” 

“ Fuck me,” Crowley grabbed his phone and shoved it in his pocket. “No, no, it’s— well, yes it’s him. No, I’m not answering.”

Nina crossed her arms. “Oh really? Because I’ve noticed the pattern now.”

“Pattern?”

“Yes, pattern. When you meet these guys online or through an app or whatever, you immediately bugger each other. Which is fine, great, it’s a free country you can do whatever and whoever you want. But these men that you meet don’t want anything more than that. But you do, Crowley. You start to get attached and develop feelings and as soon as you recommend something more than sleeping together, they weasel away. Although some of them,” she indicated with her eyes to the phone in his pocket, “like to keep you available for when it’s convenient from them , not the other way around. 

Crowley let out a guttural groan in annoyance. He knew though, deep down that she was right, of course. “Can we not talk about this now.” 

Nina sighed, “I know the dating scene is hard– “ 

“Easy for you to say,” Crowley cut in, “You have Maggie.” 

“Yes, and I found Maggie after I realized I was worth a damn and broke myself out of a loop of abusive partners,” Nina countered, “And I’m tired of watching you waste your time on arseholes.” 

Crowley lowered his head, wishing vaguely that the floor would rip open and swallow him whole so he could escape this conversation. “Right,” he murmured. 

“Look,” Nina’s usual firm tone softened, “You’re a grown man and you can make your own decisions. I’m not going to stop you from meeting whatever-the-fuck-his-name-was. But you are a sweet, talented, gentle man who deserves someone who thinks you’re the whole bloody package. Someone who,” she waved her arm in the air, trying to will the words to her, “who thinks you hung all the stars in the damn sky.” 

Compliments usually sat uneasily on his shoulders until he was able to shrug them off. But this one stuck a little, despite his protective layering. He nodded, looking up but avoided eye contact. “Thanks, Nina.” 

“Yeah well, you can thank me by thinking before answering those messages and by getting this cup of tea to Tracy. Forgot to run her one earlier.” 

Crowley stood up and gave a two-finger salute, “Yes ma'am.” 

Crowley downed his remaining coffee as Nina busied herself in the cabinets locating a mug and spooning some loose-leaf into a strainer. Tea in hand, he walked to the office to find Tracy on the phone when he arrived. He held up her tea and gave the mug a little wiggle, which perked her up considerably. She mouthed a theatric ‘thank you’ when he set it down at her desk. Crowley noticed the light was on in the nurse's office in the corner. He checked his watch, close enough to one. He made his way to the entrance and knocked on the doorframe. 

A bespectacled Aziraphale looked up from a manila folder. 

“Ah, Crowley! Is it that time already?” he asked brightly. Aziraphale took off his thin wire glasses and smiled at him with the sincerity one would reserve for close friends.

“I’m a little early,” Crowley replied, pushing down the internal stirring that such a look caused inside of his stomach. “I can come back if you–”

“No, no,” Aziraphale cut in as he put the files back into a drawer. “That won’t be necessary, I’m ready now.”

Crowley dared to make eye contact once again, and seeing the nurse’s expression was like was looking directly at the sun. It conveyed so much kindness and warmth that Crowley had to look away. 

What could he say? His eyes were adjusted to the dark. 

“Right,” Crowley gestured behind him with his thumb. “Follow me then.”

—---

Music spilled from the speakers as Aziraphale & Crowley made their way out of the deeper forest. Crowley had put on a random playlist from his phone as a way to cut down the tension of sitting next to someone else in a quiet car. 

“Thank you for letting me tag along,” Aziraphale expressed, his eyes half-glazed in awe as he stared out the window.

Crowley couldn’t blame him, it was beautiful out here. “‘Course, don’t mention it.” 

His Bentley barreled skillfully down the gravel road. Crowley watched Aziraphale from his peripherals at his hands fidgeting passively in his lap. The distraction caused him to veer off the road slightly and hit a pothole. Shit, shit, shit. 

“Sorry, missed that one,” Crowley murmured, embarrassed. 

“N--no worries!” Aziraphale responded, voice polite but slightly shaky. “A-a-a sturdy car you have.”

Crowley ran his hand over the steering wheel slightly. “Yeah, she’s a good one.” 

A few minutes passed in relative silence. Crowley was thankful for the music, it was familiar and put him at ease. Aziraphale seemed to enjoy it as well, at one point he started tapping his foot. 

“I’ve never heard this one before, it’s nice,” Aziraphale commented. 

“One of my favorites.” 

“Do you, um, is this the genre of music you like?” Aziraphale asked. 

He readjusted in his seat, “Yeah, ‘spose so. I go through phases though. It’s bluegrass, folk rock right now. Count yourself lucky you weren’t in my car for my punk phase. Don’t imagine you’d like those songs as much.”

Aziraphale nodded briskly, “You’re probably right about that.”

Crowley appreciated that Aziraphale found more ease in carrying the conversation. He wasn’t the best at it, even though he did want to keep talking. Not wanting to fall back into silence, he pushed a half-formulated question out of his lips. 

“What, uh, what do you like? Um… music that is.” 

“Hmm…” Aziraphale pondered. “Well, I love jazz. Billie Holiday and Miles Davis are some of my favorites.”

Crowley smiled slightly, “I have a few jazz records actually. Good for rainy days.”

Aziraphale clasped a hand to his chest. “Oh, and for dancing! There was a lovely jazz piano bar in Soho where I used to go dancing. My, um–” a cloud cast across his face, changing his expression “Um, my ex-fiance. Well, she didn’t find the same enjoyment in it I’m afraid. So it’s been a while since I’ve been.”

Ex-fiance? Crowley’s mind sparked briefly in curiosity. 

“Love dancing, me,” Crowley responded, pulling himself back to the present moment. “Afraid I’m not much of a dancer though. M’ all elbows, I knock people over.”

A surprised laugh escaped Aziraphale, “I’m sure that’s not true!”

“Well pray you never have to see it,” Crowley responded, grinning despite himself. 

“Oh, but I’m afraid I must,” Aziraphale pressed.

“Nope, not a chance.” 

Aziraphale chuckled, the sound lilted through the air. The joy was infectious, it permeated Crowley’s chest in an unfamiliar, warming way. 

“So is this where you moved to? After St. Michael’s?” Aziraphale asked.

The warm feeling vanished as quickly as it had arrived, slipping through his fingers like water. 

Crowley shifted uneasily in his seat, “Um, no. We moved up north to Grafham. Once I was old enough to leave I went back to London for a bit. I liked London well enough, it was just the people. I just um, hung around the wrong people.”

The icy grip of panic seized him. Why was he saying all of this? He was in a car for 10 minutes with Aziraphale and already he was sharing bits of his story that he had taken careful measures to guard. Only his close friends like Nina knew anything about his past. It was easier that way. 

But Aziraphale didn’t look phased, his eyes regarding him carefully as he listened. 

“So um, I moved to Tadfield about 16 years ago. Got my life together, opened a landscaping business shortly after. Started working here in the summer once I had enough staff to cover me.”

Aziraphale smiled. “Well, owning your own business? That’s impressive! And what a place for it, it’s simply stunning out here.”

Crowley took his eyes off the road to watch Aziraphale for a moment. His head was angled toward the window again, the sunshine played delicately across his face. An expression of dreamlike wonder effortlessly painted on his features. 

“Yeah, it is,” Crowley murmured. 

—----

Crowley loaded the last few bags of mulch into his car. He checked his phone, no message from Aziraphale yet. They’d swapped numbers before they split to do their separate shopping. 

Crowley eased into the driver's seat and sighed. He pulled up his phone again, going to the messages he received when he was with Nina earlier. They read: Hey, are you around? And Come over.  

Typical.

With a few taps, he deleted the conversation thread and blocked the number. God, he wished he had a cigarette. He sucked the summer air in through his nose slowly, held it momentarily, and exhaled through his mouth, a grounding technique a counselor had taught him once. 

Nina was right of course. Crowley was an optimist, and he gave away his heart too willingly, too fast. With this rose-colored naivety, he repeatedly chose the wrong sort of people to hand over his affections. Each rejection was a crippling blow that left him feeling wrung out and hollow. It was a lesson that he was slow to learn. Recently the pain of it all had begun to seep deeper through the scarred tissue around his heart. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take until it sliced through entirely, leaving him flayed, bleeding, and fragile. 

A figure appeared next to his window and startled him out of the darkening fog of his thoughts. The shock caused him to lurch in his seat, heart racing. The figure, Aziraphale, gave an apologetic smile from the other side of the glass. Crowley’s fight or flight was still activated when he lowered the window.

“You could have given me a warning! Texted or said something!”

Color rose to the nurse's cheeks as he looked away. “I-I’m sorry. I was going to text you but once I finished at the till and got my bags my hands were full. And I thought about knocking on the window but again, I’m holding too much.” He frowned at his shoes, “I should have said something, I-I-I apologize for startling you.”

Crowley exhaled, letting the air filter through his lungs and settle his activated nerves, “No, I’m sorry. Spooked me is all. Let me give you a hand with those.” 

“I’d be most grateful,” Aziraphale replied warmly. 

They made quick work of loading the bags into the back seat. As Crowley closed the side door he noticed Aziraphale was distracted, looking off behind them. 

“Go ahead and start the car,” Aziraphale held up his hand. “I’ll just be one moment.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Uh, okay.” 

He turned as Aziraphale hurried past him. Behind them was an elderly woman as she attempted to carry two large grocery bags. Aziraphale’s pace slowed slightly as he approached her. Crowley couldn’t make out what was said, but he saw Aziraphale’s expression light up as the woman handed over her bags and pointed toward her car. 

Crowley blinked in disbelief as his gaze followed the nurse and the woman. There goes Aziraphale, positively glowing in the summer sunshine, proof of goodness in the world, a living and breathing angel.

A fluttering affection stirred inside of him, his wretched heart swelling against the hard line of his ribs. It strained against the cartilage in a desperate call: him, you want him.  Crowley gritted his teeth but could do nothing to stop it. 

Not again, it’s too much.

The familiar pull in his chest elicited latent panic, a learned response from times before. Crowley slid back into the driver’s seat and attempted to put the key into the ignition with shaking hands. Unsuccessful, he lowered his head to rest against the steering wheel, feeling lightheaded. 

He breathed in. He breathed out.

Checking himself in the rearview mirror, he hurriedly put on his sunglasses. Sweaty palms gripped his knees as he audibly exhaled. Get it together. Swallowing down the bile in his throat, he turned the car on and adjusted himself into an upright position. He continued to focus on his breathing, letting his chest rise and fall evenly. Despite everything, his ridiculous heart refused to be tethered to the ground. It flipped exuberantly at the thought of Aziraphale’s return. Always optimistic, always willing, always going too damn fast.

Chapter Text

Aziraphale was utterly, hopelessly lost.

All he could remember was walking down a long hallway. The area itself was unremarkable, a narrow stretch of black tile floor with plain white walls on either side. After several long minutes of walking, he discovered two identical doors made of textured grey wood. 

He paused to consider his options. Having nothing to go off of, he eventually selected the one on the left. Upon stepping through the frame, he realized that he was back where he’d started- the end of the long hallway. Unsettled, he turned to look through the door he had entered. Behind him only a vast expanse of blackness. Aziraphale felt his heartbeat quicken as he stared into the abyss. Something out there was making noise, out of the emptiness came whispers . 

Unintelligible at first, the voices slowly morphed into ones that he recognized. Gabrielle, his family, his priest– their susurrations began to increase in volume and clarity:

…such a disappointment…

…stuttering through the lord's prayer…

…letting himself go...

Aziraphale’s throat tightened painfully as he tried to swallow. He flexed his hands, the cold sweat of panic began to bead across his forehead. The hushed voices overlapped each other, competing to get through. Brief phrases managed to cut through the clamor:

…choosing a lifestyle of depravity…

…breaking Gabrielle’s heart…

…breaking your mother’s heart…

…falling to sin…

The pace of his pulse quickened, the air leaving his lungs in shaky audible gasps. The voices began to swirl around him, coming from all directions.

“N-n-no, please. S-stop it.”

Aziraphale hands clamped over his ears, in response the voices increased their volume.

….NO SON OF MINE…

…A STUTTERING FOOL…

…GOING TO HELL…

…PATH OF DAMNATION…

…FILTHY SINNER…

A desperate wail escaped from the pit of his stomach as Aziraphale turned sharply to sprint down the expansive hallway. His attempt to escape the disembodied voices and their accusations proved in vain, as they trailed after him like a shadow. After several minutes of running, he began to taste the iron of exertion on his tongue. Finally, he approached the end of the hallway where two doors sat in wait. This time, he pulled open the door on the right. Without looking, he stepped through the threshold and–

Falling

He fell through the air, the nothingness– the colorless void devouring him. Air slipped through his grasp as he tried hopelessly to grab onto something, anything to slow his fall. The volume of the voices was deafening, his teeth chattered with the tremor of their tirade. Aziraphale’s jaw wrenched open to scream—

BRING BRING BRING

The familiar trill of a phone alarm sounded, jolting him awake. Aziraphale snapped his eyes open, his body quivering as he drew in the air in uneven breaths. White knuckles gripped the sheets surrounding him which were damp with his sweat. He forced himself to swallow around the dryness in his throat. 

I’m safe. Aziraphale pushed the declaration to the forefront of his mind, orienting himself to reality as he silenced his alarm. I’m lying in bed and it was only a dream. He inhaled through his nose, the musk of the wood log interior grounding him. It can’t hurt me. Just a dream.

The hammering beat of his pulse slowed slightly as he studied the branching wooden veins in the ceiling above him. Ever since he dared pull at loose threads and unravel his own life, the dream came to him a least a few times a week, sometimes more when he was particularly stressed. It was always the same, each time he was lost in the infinite hallways being haunted by the ghostly choir of voices that wore against him like a wire brush on raw skin.

They welcomed in shame, his constant companion, allowing it to ease so comfortably under his skin. 

The nightmare was never easy to bear no matter the number of nights it stalked him. Aziraphale allowed himself a few moments to recover as he sank back against his pillow and adjusted to the reality of his surroundings. A flock of starlings sounded in the distance, their muffled chirps heralding the new dawn. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d awoken to hear birds and not the sound of traffic, sirens, and car horns. The novelty of it was enough to rouse him from his previous dream-induced panic. 

Aziraphale roughly rubbed his eyes, scrubbing the last of his night terror from his vision. Slowly he got up out of bed and opened the window next to his front door. Through the screen wafted the smell of grass carried in by the cool air. The vibrant colors of the morning painted the horizon and peaked above the forest line. Aziraphale gave himself over for a moment, to the safety of the ground underneath his feet as he marveled at the morning as it stole across the sky. 

—

Although he would have liked to, he couldn’t allow himself to dwell in the peaceful refuge of his cabin all morning. Since it was the first official day of camp, he had an incredibly busy day mapped out for himself. The spark of excitement crackled through him as Aziraphale went through his routine of showering and dressing.

Before leaving the cabin, he took a moment to glance at himself in the mirror. He attempted to shape his curls to a more pleasing arrangement but watched as they bounced back to the shape they preferred. Sighing in resignation, Aziraphale made eye contact with his reflection. On the whole, he didn’t think he was bad to look at. He likened his look and general appeal to an overstuffed reading chair: welcoming, comfortable, and familiar. Words like ‘sexy’ and ‘alluring’ were not ones he could claim for himself.

A memory flashed through his consciousness, dragging with it the ache of embarrassment. Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut as he unwillingly recalled his disastrous stint with a dating app he’d tried once. The men on the app, with their sultry and dramatic poses, were so incongruous with his own profile picture, smiling in his favorite bow tie, that he quickly deleted his account. Unsure of how to navigate the dating scene, especially a queer one, Aziraphale hunkered down and let the vibrant bustle of London skirt around him, worried that his fear and inexperience were a detriment to anything good that might otherwise come his way.

A chubby, 44 year old virgin. What am I to expect?

Aziraphale turned away from the mirror and bit the lining of his cheek, the sharp pain staving off the unwanted thoughts. Enough, that’s quite enough. 

He decided to leave before he had the opportunity to ruminate on anything else that was eating him. Grabbing his keys, he stepped out of his cabin and into the morning sunshine. 

Shortly after he locked the door behind him, he heard the sound of a phone alarm going off. It was faint, but he heard a muffled “fuck off” coming from the direction of Crowley’s cabin. The alarm stopped seconds after.

An amused smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He gazed at Crowley’s cabin for a moment before setting off in the direction of the lodge.

—--

When Aziraphale entered the cafeteria, the smell of something baking hit him immediately. He gravitated toward the long table closest to the kitchen where Maggie, Eric, and Muriel were already gathered and engaged in an energetic conversation. 

“You did not!” Muriel giggled as she stared at Eric wide-eyed in disbelief. 

“Oh I most definitely did,” Eric replied. “Look!” He pulled up his sleeve to reveal two small rounded abrasions. 

Muriel covered her mouth and squealed. 

“Oh for goodness sake, Eric,” Maggie scolded, an amused smile on her face. “You know we aren’t supposed to swim there!” 

“I jumped in for like 3 minutes,” Eric whined. “Didn’t think leeches could get to me in 3 minutes!”

“Morning!” Aziraphale greeted as he approached the table. “I hear my services may be required?”

Eric looked sheepishly towards him. “Yeah… well the thing is I might have gotten a few leech bites this morning. Went for a dip in Willow Pond after a run, right? And when I got out, there were these two leeches on my arm. I was able to get them off and wrapped up my arm to stop the bleeding.”

Aziraphale pulled the chair out next to Eric and sat down. “May I take a look?”

“Sure. Appreciate it, man.” 

As Aziraphale started to inspect Eric’s arm, Anathema walked into the cafeteria with Newt by her side. 

“Hello, hello everyone!” she called. There was a chorus of ‘mornings’ called back in reply. 

Aziraphale scanned the abrasions. “These don’t look to be infected, which is a great sign. Nevertheless, we should still go to my office so I can clean these properly.” 

Anathema approached the table, she looked toward the two men and raised an eyebrow. “Are you alright there, Eric?”

Eric blushed and mumbled, “Just, uh, you know. Leech bites.”

“We are going to pop to my office to get them cleaned, but he will be just fine,” Aziraphale chimed in.  

Anathema crossed her arms. “How on earth did you get leech bites? There are no leeches in the lake.” 

Eric cleared his throat, “It was in, um, Willow Pond.” 

Anathema sighed, “Yup, that’s the reason we don’t let people swim there. Thanks for patching him up, Aziraphale.”

“Of course, it’s no trouble,” Aziraphale replied. 

It took no time at all for Aziraphale to clean and patch up Eric’s arm. He recalled Eric’s warning on his first day that he would be in his office frequently. He didn’t mind though, Eric seemed like a kind fellow.

When they returned to the cafeteria, there were a few plates of scones, two carafes, and several mugs in the middle of the table. Maggie, Muriel, Anathema, and Newt were now joined by Nina and Tracy.

Eric took his seat next to Muriel who looked at him, beaming. “All better?” she asked.

“All better. It’s gonna take more than a few leeches to knock me down, love,” he smiled widely at her.

She blushed, turning her face to the mug in her hands.

“Earl Grey in the silver one, coffee in the black one,” Nina announced. “And spiced walnut scones with browned butter glaze.” 

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up, his hands clasped excitedly in front of him. 

“These look delightful, Nina, thank you.” Aziraphale poured himself a cup of tea and set two scones onto a small plate. He took a seat across from the others.

As Aziraphale sipped his tea his attention kept slipping from the conversation to the entrance of the cafeteria, wondering when Crowley would arrive. It wasn’t like he had any right to worry about a grown man who didn’t need anyone fretting over him. 

To distract himself, Aziraphale plucked a scone from his plate and took an indulgent bite. He closed his eyes and was met with flavors so heavenly that he inadvertently made a small sound. His eyes snapped open quickly realizing the noise he just made. To his relief, the only person who noticed was Maggie, who smiled, raised her own scone, and mouthed an empathetic: ‘I know right?’ Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically in response.

Anathema checked her watch and stood up from her spot at the end of the table. “Well, I should probably get started. First of all, happy first day! Thank you all for meeting here so early. The first day and last day are the only days we will meet this early, I promise.” She picked up her clipboard, “The first–”

The door to the cafeteria opened abruptly, the sound of the hinges echoing through the room. Through the doors jogged an out of breath Crowley.

“M’ sorry I’m late,” he called, quickly approaching the table. He slid into the seat next to Nina, who wordlessly passed him a cup of coffee. 

“No worries, glad you’re here. Lucky for you we were just starting,” Anathema replied. 

He smirked and leaned his head towards Nina to whisper conspiratorially, “Lucky bastard, me.”

Nina snorted and elbowed him in the side playfully which caused coffee to slosh over the side of his mug. Crowley chuckled under his breath and snatched a napkin from the middle of the table. 

Anathema started going over staff expectations for the first day, her voice slowly faded into the background as Aziraphale’s train of thought derailed. 

All of his surroundings dissolved as he gazed longingly at the redhead from his peripheral vision. 

Crowley wore black tight jeans and a dark grey t-shirt whose logo was so faded it was indecipherable. His auburn hair was still wet and hung in waves framing the defined edges of his face. A rouge desire to run his fingers through it was quickly pushed away. 

There was no denying the fierce attraction that crackled and stirred within him whenever he stole a glance at the gardener. Aziraphale felt drawn to him, pulled in like a ship changing course to venture closer to the unearthly beautiful sirens as they lounged on the rocks. 

Anathema’s lips moved, and thankfully some part of his mind followed along. Words ‘ protocol’ and ‘ summer interns’ floated in and out of his consciousness, milkweed seeds floating on a breeze. Most of the nurse’s processing power was focused on other matters entirely. 

Crowley leaned back in his chair, crossing his lean, muscular arms with his eyes fixed forward. Not only was he incredibly attractive, Aziraphale reasoned, but he was also cool in an effortless way that couldn’t be taught. He was just as cool back when they were in elementary school together. Young Crowley had spiked hair, an untucked shirt, and the attitude of someone who didn’t care what others thought of him. 

This sat juxtaposed to Aziraphale’s experience, who spent most of his life living by other people’s standards. Those of his family required designer clothing and social ladder climbing that Aziraphale never cared for. At school he was a star student, heavily investing himself in his studies and gaining the approval of the nuns. Even at church, which for years he’d attended at the behest of his family, he’d sang the hymnals, recited the lord's prayer, and kneeled in reverence twice a week. Aziraphale didn’t care to tally up the number of years he’d lived for other people, the pieces of himself he gave away to stay included and safe. 

But even with the safety of it, it had still been stifling. The humidity of it suffocated him even as a boy, clouding his vision and blocking his throat.

And then there had been rebellious and carefree Crowley, his classmate with constellation freckles and wit as fiery as his hair. Aziraphale remembered listening to him laugh with his friends and stealing glances at him over the top of his books. All those years ago he’d wanted to approach him, but at the time it seemed like they spoke two different languages. That was until Aziraphale heard him crying in the bathroom. In that moment he felt he knew Crowley well, as if maybe he wasn’t as carefree as he let on. Perhaps the parts of themselves they kept hidden were congruent, unlike their outward appearances were. 

It was quite joyous now, to see the man Crowley had become. Still cool, still living unapologetically as himself. Perhaps his authenticity was the reason for the unexplained magnetism. 

Anathema hummed in concentration for a moment. “I think that covers it. Oh, wait!” She snapped her fingers. “Aziraphale, are you still good to do the safety presentation for all the campers at two? We should be able to have it in the gym so you can use the projector.” 

Pulled from his daydreaming, a jolt of anxiety shot through his chest. 

Aziraphale had stuttered from a young age. It had mortified his parents, who dragged him to numerous speech-language pathologists to try and ‘cure’ his ailment. The professionals gave him strategies and tips to ease his disfluencies but, to his parent's dismay, none of them fully eradicated his errors. One speech therapist Aziraphale worked with integrated acceptance and commitment techniques into therapy once his stuttering had become milder. This approach enraged his parents, who accused the therapist of ‘teaching their son to give up’. Professionally and bluntly, the speech therapist pointed out that their strict and unrealistic expectations of their son’s speech were causing him distress and, in turn, could cause more disfluencies. Following that meeting, his parents stopped dragging him to outpatient clinics and said nothing regarding his occasional errors. 

To this day, Aziraphale still stuttered on occasion. It was something that he’d come to terms with, accepting it as a part of himself as you would a scar or birthmark. During moments of stress, however, his disfluencies became more pronounced. He’d been initially eager about the presentation when Anathema had pitched it. Now that it was quickly approaching, the insidious ache of apprehension was starting to creep in. 

Aziraphale nodded with as much confidence as he could muster, “Um, yes, everything is tickety-boo.” 

Anathema smiled at him. “Wonderful, thank you.” She consulted her clipboard and made a few checks before setting it down. “I think that covers everything I planned to go over. Does anyone have any questions, comments, or anything they want to share before we scatter to the wind?”

There were a few remaining questions that Aziraphale tried to attend to, but he was preoccupied with the warmth starting to rise to his skin. Perhaps his blush was the reason why Crowley’s eyes had settled on him. His soft gaze did nothing to quell Aziraphale’s nervousness, but it did stir up something fluttery and foreign inside his chest.  

—-

The arrival of campers was an exuberant burst of chaos punctuated by hugs and tears of both the happy and sad variety. Aziraphale was called to assist with one child’s sore tummy that manifested once their dad’s car drove away. While walking the child to his office, they stopped when they recognized their friends playing on the playground. They informed the nurse that their stomach was all better actually, and skipped over to join their mates on the monkey bars.

After check-in, Aziraphale spent the time leading up to his presentation by organizing and documenting all the medications, inhalers, and EpiPens that the campers had brought with them. Before he knew it, the clock on the office wall read 1:30pm. He collected his wits and notes before marching toward the gym. 

The volume rose steeply as the campers funneled in. Aziraphale stood at the front near the projector screen, clutching his notes and watching the pandemonium of 86 children housed in a confined space. Anathema, the camp counselors, and the interns were intermixed among the children, answering questions, putting out fires, and keeping things together as much as possible. The other staff, Tracy, Newt, and Crowley, stood off to the side as extra support to help with the group. Anathema waved at Aziraphale and gave him the thumbs up to start. 

Anxiety buzzed indiscriminately through Aziraphale as he stepped forward to speak. He cleared his throat assertively, “Um. Hello everyone!” 

A few heads turned toward him, but his message didn’t capture the attention of most of the crowd.

He tried again louder, “Hello there campers. Can I have your attention please?”

There was some shushing as the camp counselors tried to direct the camper’s attention toward the front of the room. 

Aziraphale swallowed, wondering vaguely if clapping his hands would help draw eyes to him. As he pondered this, a shrill dog whistle sounded from the side of the room. Aziraphale winced at the sudden noise and few students covered their ears in surprise. 

“Oi!” Crowley called, taking his fingers away from his lips. “Who here is excited to go hiking?”

There was a boisterous chorus of ‘me!’ from the onlooking children.

“Right,” Crowley answered. “And who here is ready to go swimming in the lake?” 

The question was met with a louder response and a few cheers.

“I thought so,” Crowley nodded, amused. “Well, before you get to do any of that, Nurse Aziraphale is going to go over some very important information with you all. So I need everyone to turn toward him and listen up, yeah?”

And with that, the room was silent and all eyes were on him. 

“Take it away Aziraphale, they’re all yours.” 

Gripping his notes with sweaty palms, Aziraphale nodded diffidently toward the gardener. Crowley winked in response, a crooked smile playing at his lips. 

The subtle gesture sparked an excitement in his brain, an emotion he was quick to push aside. A wild seed, quickly covered by damp soil. 

Despite the initial false start, the presentation went surprisingly well. Aziraphale managed to get through it easily and clearly, and the campers didn’t appear bored to pieces by it. He congratulated himself after with a celebratory oolong tea in his office. In the afternoon he dispensed medications and bandaged one scraped knee from a particularly chipper boy from Muriel’s group. His office hours ended at 6 PM, but he was required to keep his radio on him at all times in case of emergencies. Typically Aziraphale would eat dinner with the staff at 6:30, but feeling exhausted after a long day, he asked Nina to package his up to-go. He appreciated the interaction and enjoyed spending time with people, but he needed his time to recharge. 

Aziraphale spent his evening reading in his cabin. It was a cooler night, so he kept one of the windows open. At about 8:30, he set his book down and went to sit on the front step. The sounds of the insects buzzing in the night air lulled him into a sense of ease. He craned his neck to look at the stars as they eased into focus with the dimming light of the sun. So caught up in his star gazing, he jumped slightly at seeing the gardener enter the clearing. 

“Evening, Crowley!” he called.

“Hiya,” Crowley responded, making his way toward Aziraphale’s cabin. He paused about 20 feet away and stuffed his hands in his pockets, “Um, successful first day?”

Aziraphale nodded, “Yes, it went rather well. The kids are wonderful so far, I’m liking it a lot. And you?”

Crowley audibly exhaled, “Good, good. Just busy. Exhausting, really.”

“I agree with you completely, it was quite the day.”

The redhead nodded, kicking at the pebbles near his boot. A warm breeze picked up, the rustle of branches and leaves intermixed with the hazy chirping of crickets. The clearing suddenly felt like its own corner of the world, cut off from society, from the camp. It was just him and Crowley nestled amid the forest and the cabins and the unending twinkling of the stars above. The intimate proximity of it washed over Aziraphale, whose heart seized up in panic. Despite the fear, he let his eyes flash toward Crowley, whose toe continued to scuff at the exposed rock. The cornstalk leanness of him looked tense, his body poised to leave although his feet held firmly in place. 

Perhaps he doesn’t want to leave. 

Aziraphale broke the silence, clearing his throat out of nervousness,  “Thank you, by the way.” 

The gardener tilted his head, his brow scrunched, “For what?”

“For getting the camper's attention for me this afternoon. I was having a difficult time, um, starting out.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, don’t mention it.”

The darkening sky and the 20-feet of distance made it difficult to make out Crowley’s features with any certainty, but the nurse spied a slight change of color on the softness of the gardener's cheeks. With a hint of bravery, Aziraphale looked back up towards the night sky, “The stars are beautiful out here.”

Crowley turned his gaze upwards, “Aren’t they just? A clear night for it.”

“Just marvelous.”

“Um,” Crowley looked back towards him, he shifted slightly before managing to finish his thought, “Mind if I sit?”

The question was a match strike, sparking dueling trepidation and want within the lining of his chest. Aziraphale could feel the boundaries of the clearing close in further, cocooning them in this moment of gentle flame. 

The unusual courage persisted, and the nurse wet his lips, “Y-yes, go right ahead.”

Aziraphale adjusted himself on the step to make room. Crowley hesitantly approached and eased next to him, his hands still pocketed, his body still tense. He ran a hand through his hair, keeping his eyes fixed above. The blonde drew his eyes upward as well, the two of them sharing a moment of contemplation of the heavens above. Precious moments spun by, the symphony of the forest somehow drowned out by the breathing of the man beside him.

Crowley tugged on his ear before pointing a slender finger toward the night sky “Do you see that cluster of four stars that leads to a windy bit, right there?” 

Aziraphale squinted in the direction Crowley was pointing. “I’m afraid I don’t. Is it that bunch,” he indicated skyward, “just over there?”

“Not quite, it’s,” Crowley scooted closer, his arm grazing Aziraphale’s own. He gestured to the sky once more “Just there, can you see it now?” 

Aziraphale followed the direction of his point, craning his next and scanning the stars. “Is-is that it?”

A triumphant smile played at Crowley’s lips as he nodded, “Yeah! That’s the head of Draco. It’s a dragon constellation.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows furrowed, as he indicated upward, “That’s a dragon? That cluster of four?”

“Well, it’s not just those. There’s a line of stars that make up the rest of it.”

Aziraphale narrowed his eyes in concentration toward where his finger was pointed. He chewed on his lip, slightly frustrated he wasn’t seeing it. His breath hitched when his fingers brushed against his skin. Crowley’s hand sat gently on his forearm. 

“Look, just there,” the gardener pulled his arm softly to the right,  “There’s the next few, it makes the arch of his back.” 

Adjusting to the touch was easy, sugar cubes dissolving in a teacup. Aziraphale dared not turn his head, his heart racketed against his ribcage as he followed his finger and watched as the dragon started to form. 

“And these next few,” Crowley led Aziraphale's arm slightly downward. “make up a curve of his tail,” 

“Those,” Crowley murmured quietly, “right there, are the end of it.”

“Wow,” Aziraphale could visualize it, the dragon made of glimmering starlight. “I see it now, it’s-it’s beautiful.” 

The nurse relaxed the muscles of his hands and let his arm return to his side. Despite this movement, Crowley’s hand remained tenderly cradling his forearm. The gardener was too preoccupied with the vastness above to notice, his eyes mirroring the twinkling of the distant suns.

Aziraphale carefully regarded the way the moonlight illuminated the fine details of Crowley’s face. The sharpness of his cheekbones was accentuated while the lovely freckles that dotted his skin shimmered in the darkness. His eyes lingered on the gardener’s lips, pink and slightly parted in wonder. Dizzy with fascination the nurse imagined how they’d taste, perhaps butter soft and honeysuckle sweet. Crowley must have felt the heat of Aziraphale’s gaze, his head turned and their eyes met. The moment hung between them amid the summer air. 

The moment ended like the abrupt snap of a twig underfoot.

“It’s um,” Crowley removed his hand and adjusted himself, putting painful inches between them. The loss of contact and proximity hollowed out Aziraphale’s chest, leaving it barren and empty. 

“Yeah, it’s um,” the redhead returned his hands to his pockets and cast his eyes down toward his feet. “It’s a good one.”

“Well, I-I-I-I’d never seen anything like that before,” Aziraphale stammered quickly. “We can’t see the stars in London.”

Crowley nodded, his eyes closed as he leaned his head back and sighed, “Lots out here London doesn’t have.”

“Indeed.”

They remained sitting, neither of them looking at the stars, neither of them looking at each other. Aziraphale started to wring his hands and tap his foot nervously against the concrete step.

“Um,” Aziraphale gestured to his cabin behind him. “I-I-I should probably– It’s just that it’s been such a full day and all.”

Crowley stood up and took a few steps away. “Yeah, right, right. Sorry. Um. I’ll let you get going.” 

“No, no need to apologize,” Aziraphale stood, stepping back toward the door of his cabin. “Just wanted to get some reading done before bed. I’m afraid I’m not one for staying up late.”

“I understand,” Crowley replied. “I’ve got emails from work I should probably, um, should probably go over.”

Aziraphale nodded in affirmation, “Yes, I’m sure you’re busy with,” he gesticulated with his hands, “all of that.” 

Crowley rubbed his shoulder, looking self-conscious. “Yeah, um. Have a good night, then.” 

“Yes, and a good night to you as well, Crowley.” 

Aziraphale wrenched open the door, retreating quickly to the sanctuary of his cabin. He fell back against the door, sliding down until he was seated on the floor. Covering his face in his hands, he tried to keep his breathing even despite the ice rime of unease that had formed around his lungs when Crowley pulled his hand away. 

The sleepy sounds of dragonflies funneled through the open window. Aziraphale grasped his forearm where the gardener had touched him; invisible fingerprints singed against his skin. Through bittersweet tears, he mourned the loss of contact and crumpled with the stark reminder that he was terribly alone. 

—--

Once again, Aziraphale found that he was lost.

All he could remember was walking down a long hallway. After several long minutes, he discovered two identical doors made of textured grey wood. He selected the one on the left and stepped through. He was back where he’d started- the end of the long hallway. Behind him only a vast expanse of blackness. Aziraphale felt his heartbeat quicken as he stared into the abyss. Something out there was making noise, out of the emptiness came whispers. 

Oh god, he thought, please not this again.

The disembodied voices started their tirade as Aziraphale sprinted down the hallway. He finally reached the end where two doors sat waiting for him. He pulled open the door on the right, stepped through the threshold and–

Fall–

“Ah!”

The blonde’s forward moment was suddenly arrested, the fabric of his sweater tugging him backward. Chest heaving, Aziraphale stumbled onto solid ground. There were hands on his shoulders, holding him steady as he clutched his arms shaking. 

This dream had previously ended the same way every time: falling into the abyss. Aziraphale braced himself to turn around, to face whatever had stopped him from his fall, to endure whatever new torment his mind had decided to conjure. 

He spun hesitantly on his heels, his face coming within inches of a man with amber eyes and hair the color of Prometheus fire.

Heart seizing, he let out an audible gasp.

“Shhh,” Crowley gently set a slender finger against Aziraphale’s lips. “It’s okay, you’re safe now.”

There was nothing Aziraphale could say in response, he was transfixed by the redhead’s eyes and the ghost of his breath against his lips. 

“You’re safe now,” he repeated as he tenderly grasped Azirahpale’s chin between his thumb and forefinger. Crowley’s eyes flicked hungrily to the blonde’s mouth as he leaned closer. “I’ve got you, angel.”

Aziraphale’s gaze softened, his eyes fluttering shut in anticipation.

BRING BRING BRING

Aziraphale wacked at his nightstand indiscriminately until he hit the off button on his phone. Adjusting himself in bed, he could feel the wet fabric of his underwear clinging to his painful erection. He rubbed the heel of his palm into his eyes and let out an audible groan.

“Oh… fuck .” 

Chapter Text

The first week of summer camp was over, and already Crowley was profoundly fucked . 

The night he’d spent with Aziraphale looking at the stars was carved into his mind like splintered initials dug into the wood of a picnic table. Crowley couldn’t help himself that night, sitting next to his neighbor, scooting closer, guiding his arm. It wasn’t until he ripped his eyes away from the heavens that he noticed he hadn’t removed his hand and that Aziraphale’s water-blue eyes were fixed on him. They’d looked at each other for a moment, and Crowley shrunk away with the dual realization that he wanted to kiss this man and, if he did, he’d fuck everything up. 

Too fast, always too fast. 

Their proximity had lulled him into a trance, and he had been unable to stop himself from approaching, for prolonging their moment together. Then had come the gardener’s fatal mistake of touching him, the sin of letting his fingers run over the silk expanse of Aziraphale’s arm as he pointed out the constellations. Afterward, as he lay awake cursing himself, his fingers hummed for hours, nerve endings sparking with a strange exhilaration. 

Despite his proclivity for optimism, Crowley kept his brain on the tight leash of a simple truth: he didn’t even know if Aziraphale was single, let alone if he was attracted to men . All he knew conclusively was that there was an ex-fiance that used ‘she’ pronouns. Believing that Aziraphale was taken or straight was easier than letting his brain play out hideously romantic scenarios between the two of them. Thoughts of Aziraphale whizzed past him like mosquitos, annoyingly persistent. 

For the rest of the week, he tried to keep his focus on the usual business: tending to the gardens and maintaining the grounds. He completed his tasks on his own, chatting with coworkers when they passed by and engaging with campers who would approach him with questions about plants. 

But whenever he got the opportunity, he also talked with Aziraphale. 

Their discussions weren’t about anything substantial, but Crowley was endlessly amused by Aziraphale’s wit. Sometimes in the evenings after the staff ate dinner, they would walk back to their cabins together, the trail crunching underfoot as the blonde’s lilting laugh echoed in the vast forest around them. The past few nights, the gardener found they were walking slower, standing in the clearing long, trying to prolong their time together even when they’d run out of things to say. 

Crowley also had the chance on several occasions to watch Aziraphale as he worked. It filled him with adoration, seeing the nurse turn tears into laughter by using sleight-of-hand magic to pull a bandaid out of a child’s ear. Crowley saw panic attacks eased with the nurse’s patient presence and soothing words. The sunlight illuminated the man’s platinum curls as a homesick camper threw their arms around him, his returning embrace gentle and steadying.  

On the nights when they didn’t walk back together, Crowley would try to catch a glimpse of Aziraphale through his window, although he could usually make out his silhouette holding a book or bringing a mug to his lips. Crowley wondered what it would be like to be invited inside, to share a glass of wine and while away the night in each other's company. Would his hands feel soft against the calloused pads of his own fingers? Would he taste deliciously sweet, when Crowley traced his tongue along the pink edges of his lips?

All Crowley could do was squeeze his eyes shut and force those impossible, traitorous thoughts into the recesses of his mind. It was often an exhausting and pointless endeavor as they continued to spring up unannounced, pushing through the soil with their roots already firmly anchored below. 

His daydreaming was so pervasive that on Wednesday morning of the second week, Crowley had a literal run-in with the man. He blindly turned a corner, causing them to collide head-on.

“Oh!” 

“Fu-”

Stacks of files slipped from Aziraphale’s grasp, scattering on the floor around them. A flash of feverish heat crossed Crowley’s face, he wished he could wither away to save himself from the embarrassment.

“Shit- I mean, shoot. I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, just a tad startled.” Aziraphale chuckled bashfully. “And you, my dear? Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, m’ fine. Just um, wasn’t looking I guess.” Crowley dropped to his knees to sweep the papers strewn on the ground into a makeshift pile and to avoid the nurse’s gaze that held so much concern and fondness. Aziraphale bent down and joined him.

“No no, it’s quite alright. I’m afraid I wasn’t paying much attention to where I was going either.”

For a few moments, there was only the sound of pages rustling as they worked, Crowley worried that the tremor of his heart would be audible in the relative quiet. As he reached for a file folder to his left, his fingers brushed against the smooth skin of Aziraphale’s hand. 

“S-sorry,” the blonde breathed. He scooped up a makeshift stack of papers and stood up. 

Crowley mumbled something in reply, the mortification overwhelming in its intensity as he stood and tried to straighten the jumbled documents. “Here. I’m– damn it, I’m so sorry. It’ll take ages to sort these outlets, I'd imagine.” 

“Well, the good thing is these were all heading to the shredder. So no harm done.” 

Fifty pounds of pressure lifted from Crowley’s shoulders as he sighed, “Good, that’s–that’s– well, good. I’m glad I didn’t ruin your day then.”

Aziraphale shook his head, his platinum curls jostling lightly at the movement. “Oh Crowley, you could never ruin my day.” 

He smiled as he said it, the draw of his gaze hypnotic as all else around Crowley blurred around the edges. The gardener felt his skin warm as if the rays of the sun were caressing his skin. How long he could live here, basking in the warmth of Aziraphale’s presence? The moment tilted and spilled from its overfilled saucer as Crowley looked down, breaking their eye contact. 

“Well, um. I’m just on my way to see Anathema for the check-in thing. So I should probably–” Crowley motioned towards the office.

“Oh yes! I wouldn’t want you to be late. She has some updates for everyone, so I wish you the best.”

Crowley put his hands in his pockets,  “Okay, right. Well, thanks Aziraphale. I’ll see you later then, I ‘spose?”

“Yes, I suppose so.” Aziraphale grinned again, “Have a good rest of your day, Crowley.” 

Aziraphale walked past him and turned the corner. Crowley stood in the hallway for a moment and tried to remember how to breathe. 

—-

Anathema didn’t notice Crowley leaning against the door frame to her office, her brow was furrowed in concentration as her eyes scanned her computer screen. Crowley knocked on the door to grab her attention. Her eyes shot to him.

“Hey, sorry I didn’t see you. Come on in and shut the door behind you.”

These bi-weekly check-ins were new, something Anathema put into place after taking over as director. Crowley was mostly a status quo kind of guy when it came to work. In his business, he hired reliable people and trusted them enough to get their work done independently. Most of the time it ran like a well-oiled machine, so he hardly ever needed to micromanage. When Anathema was promoted at the camp she shook up a lot of things. The changes were a slight annoyance at first, but he had to admit that things were going more smoothly this summer than they ever had before. 

Crowley obeyed Anathema’s instructions and took a seat in one of the chairs across from her desk. “Seems a bit formal, all of this.”

She shrugged, “Maybe. But I thought it would be good to have regular check-ins with staff, at least in my first year. The door’s closed though, so you can code-switch back to being your lovely uncensored self.”

Crowley relaxed into his seat and sighed dramatically, “Fuck, that’s better.”

“There he is,” Anathema laughed, “that’s my Crowley.”

They eased into talking about the day-to-day operations and teasing each other. After a few minutes, Anathema leaned back in her chair and raised an eyebrow inquisitively. 

“How are you feeling, by the way?”

This question again. Crowley shifted in his seat, “I’m good, nice to be back out in nature again. I do miss spending time with Nina in the evenings.”

“Well, have you and Aziraphale spent any time together?” 

“Um, a little.”

“Oh?”

 Crowley furrowed his brow, “Is there something you’re trying to insinuate?”

Anathema held up her hands, “No, no! Nothing at all. Just wanted to see how you were getting along with your neighbor, that’s all.”

“Mhm.”

“And your aura looks different.”

Crowley groaned, “Ugh, that witchy shit.”

Anathema smirked, “Witchy shit or not, I’m just looking out for you. You know you can always come talk to me if you need to, right?”

“Right, right. I know.”

“Good,” she asserted with a soft smile. “Getting us back on track then, the last thing I wanted to tell you about was the plan for the rest of this week.”

Crowley was relieved he was out of the hot seat. 

“I’ve been keeping an eye on the weather and starting this afternoon it’s going to be stormy the rest of the week. So our plan for taking the students to camp at Jasmine Point isn’t going to happen.”

“That’s too bad.”  

“I know, it’s a bummer. So we will most likely have to keep the campers inside for the next few days. But, I had a wonderful idea,” Anathema’s eyes widened in excitement.

“Oh?” Crowley vaguely remembered Aziraphale mentioning something about ‘big updates’. 

“Two words,” Anathema leaned closer. “Talent. Show.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow and nodded, “Campers will like that.”

“I know right?” Anathema clasped her hands together. “So it will be on Sunday. I already talked with the camp counselors about it, and they’re going to coordinate with the kiddos to come up with the acts and make decorations. Nina is going to make popcorn and punch for refreshments, Tracy has offered to work backstage to help with the line-up, and Aziraphale is going to be the Emcee.”

Crowley whistled, “I’m impressed, that’s going to be quite the event. Anything you need my help with?”

“If you’d be free, could you help out in the gym on the night of the talent show? Just there as an extra set of hands if needed.”

The gardener gave a two-finger salute, “That I can do.”

“Thank you, I do really appreciate all your help.”

“Ah,” Crowley scoffed, “Now don’t you go getting soft on me.” 

Anathema grinned, “Guess you’re gonna have to deal with it. Now get out of here.” 

Crowley guffawed, “Right away, madam Director.”

—----

Sunday

Crowley strained as he reached under his bed to retrieve his guitar. God, I’m getting old.  He didn’t play often anymore, but he liked having it nearby for when the mood struck him. He was quite good at playing, although he could never really stand the sound of his singing voice. In an emergency, however, he could carry a tune without scaring people away. He needed it today because Nina had recruited him to play the background music for one of Maggie’s talent show groups and he just so happened to owe Nina several favors.

The weight guitar felt comfortable in his hands, and he lightly strummed a familiar chord. The tips of his fingers were perpetually calloused from the hundreds of hours they spent pressed against the strings. Crowley winced when the chord came out sour. Setting his guitar to the side, he fished in an external pocket of the case for his tuner. His fingers brushed something unfamiliar, and he pulled it from the pocket out of curiosity. To his surprise and amusement, it was a tube of eyeliner. 

Several years ago, more years than he would care to admit, Crowley was in a punk band in London. They wrote some original songs, but mostly they played covers at small venues and dive bars. Playing music had been fun enough, everything else about the band was a bit of a trainwreck. It was a time when he’d been young and careless with a group of other young and careless people. For a few years, it was an endless cycle of late nights, drinking, drugs, and strangers' beds. Burned into his mind was a morning he woke up feeling particularly wretched. 

Crowley’s hand closed around the eyeliner, remembering. 

[16 YEARS AGO:  

Crowley grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut against the sunlight that streamed in from the window. He gripped the edge of the bedsheet, attempting to cover his face from the light. The sheet wouldn’t budge, weighed down by the person lying next to him who groaned at the movement. Crowley pushed upward on his elbows, realizing through the fog in his brain that nothing about this room looked familiar. He squinted to look at the clock next to the bed: 11:29 AM August 9th. 

August 9th? No that’s not possible, he thought to himself. Wasn’t it just the other day he’d called his brother Ezekiel on their birthday, although they hung up when Crowley couldn’t stop slurring to get out a clear sentence, and that was on July 6th. No, no, no, the clock had to be wrong. 

His breathing quickened as he looked around for his mobile. In the corner of the room, he spotted his black pants in a crumpled heap next to his other clothes. Moving out of the bed took effort and triggered a significant wave of nausea but he was able to manage it, propelled by the panic coursing through his veins. After fishing his phone out of his pants pocket, it confirmed what he’d feared- the date read August 9th. A quick search revealed he’d ignored several missed calls from his brothers, but he’d made several calls to his bandmates. There were messages sent to odd numbers asking about pick-up times and locations. Fragments of memory started to come back to him as cold sweat beaded across his skin. 

He’d been high or drunk for the better part of month –

He’d lost an entire month –

He, oh god, he was–

He was going to be sick. 

Luckily the bathroom was attached to the bedroom he was in, otherwise he wouldn’t have made it. With the contents of his stomach emptied, he stayed on the floor for a bit before he felt steady enough to stand back up. Shakily, he rose to the sink.  

A pale and dangerously thin specter with bloodshot eyes greeted him from the mirror. He blinked, and so did the phantom. With trembling hands Crowley touched his face, the ghost mimicked his movements, his fingers touching the hollows of his cheeks and pressing into against his paper-like skin.  

He’d become unrecognizable, living as a shadow in himself. For a month he’d hovered above the ground unable to perceive sensations besides the intense highs associated with living a dangerous, hedonistic life. The demon’s face– his face– twisted as he wiped at the tears flowing down his cheeks. 

Crowley splashed cold water on his face, and brought water to his lips, rinsing the acrid taste from his mouth. A small voice, the one Crowley worked so actively to drown out, spoke to him as he studied the stranger in the mirror. It wasn’t a kind voice, but it spoke a simple, harsh truth: he was not going to survive much longer like this. There must have been an ounce of self-preservation left in him because on this occasion he listened.]

Crowley loosened his grip on the eyeliner, watching it as it rolled slightly in his palm. After that morning he’d left London and didn’t look back. He did all the monotonous, dreadful things you do to get clean and keep your body alive. He went to meetings, talked with counselors, drank water, and ate actual food. It wasn’t until he started digging in the earth that he felt connected to his body again, no longer hovering outside of himself. Growing things, smelling the fresh air, and being outside– all physical sensations that were worth the occasional pain and hurt. Something worth living for. 

A deep sigh escaped his lips as he toyed with the idea of tossing the old makeup in the bin. Ultimately he decided to return it to the pocket of his guitar case. If he’d learned anything from counseling, and god did it take him ages to learn, it was that the past could never truly be buried or thrown away. The only option he had was to acknowledge, make peace, and move on. He would keep eyeliner as a reminder of where he’d been—a reminder of where he never wanted to end up again. 

—-

Crowley had planned on heading straight to the lodge, but Tracy sent him a message asking if he’d seen Aziraphale. So he stepped out of his cabin with his guitar and umbrella as he tried to ignore the fluttering inside his stomach. From his front step, he could hear faint jazz playing over the sound of downpouring rain as he approached the nurse’s cabin. Setting his guitar down, Crowley paused before he knocked to straighten his jacket and fix his hair. 

With an exhale, he gave three solid taps on the door. 

“Just a moment!” 

The music stopped and the door swung open. Aziraphale stood before him in a full black suit with a cream-colored vest and white bowtie. His platinum curls were coiffed elaborately and a thin stick-on mustache hung precariously on his top lip. 

Aziraphale stepped aside and gestured with a flourish, “Enter!”

Crowley didn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. He cleared his throat, “Um, uh, th-thanks.”

He stepped inside awkwardly, wiping his feet on the mat. Azirahpale’s cabin was identical to his own but in the nurse’s dwelling, most of the surfaces were covered in books, quilts, and mugs.

“Didn’t mean to intrude, uh, but Tracy messaged me and asked me to check in on you.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened slightly as he fished out his phone. “Oh! Yes, I missed her messages. I’ve been busy getting ready. Where did the time go?”

The nurse trotted over to the bed, pulling forward a large leather trunk. “Well, I do appreciate you relaying the message.” He opened the clasp, and a flurry of bright white feathers burst forth. 

“Oh, this is marvelous ,” Aziraphale squealed as he pulled out a comically over-plush boa and swung it over his shoulders with dramatic flair. “How do I look?” 

The whole ensemble was quite impressive, very flashy, and ‘showbiz’. Crowley mostly cycled through the same few articles of clothing, preferring comfort over anything elaborate. Aziraphale was positively glowing, somehow outshining the glamor of his outfit. The corner of his mustache peeled off as he grinned, and it still looked quintessentially ‘Aziraphale’. The redhead’s heart swelled affectionately. You’re beautiful, you’re stunning. I’ve never swooned in my life and yet…

“You look very nice, it suits you well,” Crowley blushed, “The mustache bit is coming off though.”

Aziraphale face fell as he let out a huff, “Oh, this darn thing,” he pressed the mustache into his top lip again. 

“Did you just have this suit on hand? Can’t imagine this is the customary dress for nurses.”

Aziraphale chuckled, “Oh no, no. Once I heard we were having a talent show, I asked my neighbor to send me my box of things.” He gestured to the leather box laying opened on the bed.

Crowley inched closer to get a better view. Inside was littered with colorful items: decks of cards, feathers, bouquets of fake flowers, long stretches of handkerchiefs, metal rings, and knotted ropes.

“Magic stuff, yeah?”

“Well spotted!” the nurse clapped excitedly. “It’s a hobby of mine. I performed at a few of Anathema’s birthday parties when she was younger.”

“I’ve never seen a magic act, I don’t think.” 

Aziraphale gasped audibly, “Oh, well you’ll see one tonight, my dear! Anathema was so kind to let me intersperse my tricks between the camper's acts. This suit is the newest addition, watch this!” 

Aziraphale raised his right arm, wrist turning in a circular motion. On the last twirl, sparks shot out of his sleeve. Crowley’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. 

“Wow, wasn’t expecting that.”

“Isn’t it marvelous? I’m going to open with that trick, I think it will set the stage perfectly.” The edge of Aziraphale’s mustache detached once more and hung limply above his lip.

“I’m at the end of my rope with this mustache I tell you,” he groaned, moving to the mirror.

“Maybe it would be easier if you didn’t wear it?” Crowley suggested.

“No, no, no, I’ve always worn a mustache. It’s part of the ensemble.” Aziraphale removed his hands from his face, and his mustache immediately fell again. The blonde started to look panicked, an expression that didn’t sit well with Crowley. 

“Do you have another you can wear since this one isn’t working?” 

Aziraphale shook his head, “Only this one I’m afraid.” He carefully reapplied it to his upper lip, but this time the entire accessory fell onto the floor. His face darkened in disappointment. 

It physically pained Crowley to see Aziraphale in such a state, especially after he had been so joyful moments before. An idea flashed briefly through his head, “I, um- I might have something.”

Crowley lifted his guitar case onto the bed and reached into the external pocket. Aziraphale turned, watching him with interest. Once the gardener found the item he was looking for, he held it up, “We could draw one on.” 

Aziraphale let out a breath, his features softening into a hopeful expression, “Yes, now that-that could work.”

Crowley stepped closer to hand it over, and Aziraphale looked at it uneasily. “I’m not sure I could, um. Do you think you could draw one? I’m not very practiced with um make-up or-or drawing. I would hate to m-make a mess of things.”

Crowley's chest clenched, but he shrugged as casually as he could manage, “I haven’t done one before either. But I could give it a shot though, if you want.”

Aziraphale nodded with eyes wide, his expression tender and hopeful, “I-I’d appreciate it.”

Anything, Crowley’s wretched heart called out, anything you want . 

The moment was as delicate as glass. Crowley swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry as he inched forward, “Can I, um, touch your face? To make sure I don’t–”

“Yes.”

His fingertips gently took hold of the Aziraphale’s chin, tilting his head upwards. Aziraphale’s eyes scanned his face as a rose blush bloomed across his cheeks. Some deep and selfish part of Crowley relished the sight as he wondered what reaction he’d get by bringing both hands to cradle the blonde’s cherubic face. How might he respond to Crowley’s long fingers brushing the soft skin of his cheeks? How might Aziraphale’s expression change if Crowley let his lips brush against— 

Crowley bit down on the inside of his cheek, the jolt of the pressure cutting off his amorous daydreaming. The sensation of pressure brought him back to the present moment and kept him tethered to the ground. 

“Ready then?” he asked in a hushed voice.

Aziraphale nodded.

Crowley’s hand was unsteady as he brought the eyeliner to the top of Aziraphale’s lip. He started the black line at the ridge under the nurse’s nose, slowly and meticulously dragging it to the right. Aziraphale only breathed in gentle exhalations that brushed against the redhead’s fingertips, it set his heart at a rapid and percussive pace. Despite his worried tremors, Crowley managed a finish with a decent curl on the right side. Leaning back slightly, he examined his handiwork. Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered closed, the lines of worry on his forehead smoothed. 

“Looks decent, I’m- Um- other side, now.” 

“Mhm.” Aziraphale hummed lowly and sweet, honey dripping from a comb.  

Adrenaline coursed through Crowley’s veins as eased the nurse’s head slightly to the left side. It took a monumental effort to ignore the proximity, the feeling of Aziraphale’s skin, the intoxicating smell of his cologne–amber and musk. He raised the liner once again, his eyes flicked back and forth from the left to right side, making sure things looked even. Once he shakily finished the curl, he tilted Aziraphale’s head to either side to get a full view.  

“I-I think that should work.”

Aziraphale opened his eyes, his pupils expanding against piercing blue irises. Crowley’s breath caught painfully in his throat, he dared not remove his hand. For a brief moment, they stood incredibly still. Aziraphale parted his lips as if to say something, but no words came out. His gaze flicked down to Crowley’s mouth, then back to his eyes. Crowley felt untethered, and it took all of his willpower not to pull gently upward on Aziraphale’s chin, bringing him to his lips. To kiss this silly, passionate, beautiful man. 

It was Crowley, though, who looked away first. He dropped his hand and shuffled back slightly. 

“Um, why don’t you give it a look in the mirror? Tell me if I need to redo it.”

Aziraphale gave a hard blink and nodded. Once in front of the mirror, his expression shifted and lit up his entire face as he examined his upper lip. Crowley felt a trickle of relief. 

“It’s excellent, I could never have managed something this precise on my own. I’m so thankful you were here to help.”

“Anytime,” Crowley replied, his heart beat quick and dizzying, “anything you want.”

—--

Crowley held the umbrella as they made their way to the lodge. It was hard fitting both of them under, especially when Aziraphale was lugging his large magic trunk. They said little to each other on the way, letting the sound of the rain settle around them like a cloak. Once they arrived, they shook off their slightly damp clothes and stored their respective equipment behind the makeshift curtains of the stage. 

“I, um,” Crowley looked at Aziraphale, the gym lighting making him luminous and grand. “I just want to wish you good lu-” 

“Ah, Aziraphale!” Tracy scurried over with a clipboard. “So glad you’re here, lots to go over before the campers get here.”

“Oh, yes, good idea.” Aziraphale gave an apologetic smile as Tracy started prattling off the agenda. 

Crowley gave a small wave before turning away. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he actively ignored the feelings bubbling to the surface. He swiftly decided that keeping busy would be the best way to keep his mind off things. Subsequently, he put himself to work helping the kitchen interns set out snacks. Following that he helped show campers to their seats and directed traffic as they arrived. Once the kids had arrived, he leaned against the wall to take it all in. He was thankful for the loud chatter of the kids and the anticipatory energy that worked to drown out what his brain and heart were trying to ruminate on. It was only partially successful, the image of being close to Aziraphale was seared into the back of his eyelids. 

“Earth to Crowley,” came a voice directly next to him. He moved back slightly, surprised by the sudden noise. It was Nina, her head cocked to the side. “I’ve been calling over to you, everything alright? You look glazed over.”

He sighed, “Think I’m just tired, is all.”

“Mhm,” she replied, gazing at him intently. He shifted uncomfortably and changed the topic.

“All of this looks great, huh?” 

“Yep, really came together. Anathema wanted me to ask you to lower the lights so the show can start. You up for it?”

“Nope,” he attempted a sarcastic tone, but it came out stiff. 

Nina crossed her arms, “Tea tomorrow, yeah? It’s about time we catch up.” 

“Yeah, tomorrow works.”

She nodded and walked to her seat next to Maggie. Crowley dimmed the lights which elicited some cheering from the kids. The stage sat empty for a few moments, the campers began to whisper excitedly. 

Out onto the stage stepped Aziraphale, the shockingly plush boa around his neck. He dramatically approached the microphone. 

“Good evening ladies and gentlemen! It is so wonderful to be here with you. It is I, the Amazing Mr. Fell,” he bowed deeply with a flourish of his hands. “And I will be hosting tonight’s soiree. Now, my dear campers of Eden, answer me this: are we going to let a little rain spoil our fun tonight?” 

A loud chorus of ‘No’s’ erupted from the audience. 

Aziraphale clasped his hands together, “Exactly, no we are not! After all, what’s that lovely expression? April showers make,” a quick motion and a bouquet appeared in his hand, “May flowers!” 

There was a bit of laughter, Aziraphale’s face brightened even more. Crowley crossed his arms, unable to hold back an affectionate smile. 

“Oh thank you, thank you! You’re too kind. Now, our first act will be four campers from the Muriel’s Group doing a gymnastic routine. As they make their way to the stage, I want to remind everyone to clap loudly after each performance. There is so much talent in this room and tonight everyone is going to shine bright !” 

On the word ‘bright’ Aziraphale raised his right arm and twirled his wrist. When nothing happened he looked at his sleeve, worry flashing across his face. Crowley realized he must be trying to do the sparkler trick he had been shown earlier.

The crowd was silent and Aziraphale laughed nervously, “Haha, well what I said was, that there is so much talent in this room and tonight everyone is going to shine bright !” He made the same exaggerated motion with his hand, and again nothing happened. 

The gym was silent, a few campers looked at each other in confusion. 

The realization hit Crowley then– the sparklers in Aziraphale’s sleeve had gotten damp when they walked through the rain. His stomach churned as Aziraphale gave another nervous laugh.

“Oh, you know how, um, fickle magic can be!” Even from the side of the gym, Crowley could see the sweat start to bead on Aziraphale’s forehead. “Sometimes it only works in three’s. So on our third attempt, I’m going to need help from all of you. When I say the word ‘bright’ I want you all to hold your arms up like this!”

Crowley covered his face with a single hand. Of course, Aziraphale was going to try again, he’d been so excited about performing with his new suit. Crowley shifted closer to the switches and leaned against the wall. 

“Okay, I say again! Tonight everyone is going to shine bright ! ” On the word ‘bright’ Aziraphale once again twirled his wrist, and the campers and staff all raised their arms upwards.

And Crowley flicked the light switches. 

Gasps and squeals echoed throughout the gym, and the younger campers jumped and wiggled excitedly. Even the older campers laughed and looked at each other in disbelief. Aziraphale looked confused as he stared at the lights. He cleared his throat and gave a wide grin as he wiped his brow with the back of his hand, “Ah, see, I knew the magic was working!” 

Crowley let out a sigh of relief. 

Following the introduction, Aziraphale brought the first group of campers on. In between each act he would say a joke or two and do tricks. Most of them went well, although he did drop the metal rings and the trick rose he attached to his shirt pocket sprayed himself instead of Newt. The kids liked that bit the best.

Maggie’s group that Crowley was playing for was scheduled to be towards the end. They made their way backstage after the performance directly before them started. As Crowley stood near Maggie and the kids, Aziraphale pulled him aside out of the view of the others. 

“Was that you, the bit with the lights?” he whispered hurriedly.

Crowley shrugged, “A magician never reveals his secrets.” 

Aziraphale stared at him incredulously. 

Crowley relented, “After the second attempt, I realized your suit must have gotten wet. Thought I could lend a hand.”

“Ah,” Aziraphale slapped his forehead, “So that’s why it didn’t work. Why didn’t I think of that? Foiled by the rain. Oh, I just–”

Crowley was suddenly pulled against the magician in a crushing embrace.

“My dear, I can’t thank you enough.”

Their bodies pressed against each other, creating a magical, fearful symmetry. The hug was short, but for Crowley it went on endlessly. It pained him when Aziraphale pulled away, like prying bark off a tree. For a moment they were as close as they were earlier, and Aziraphale’s features were rounded and flushed and Crowley wanted nothing more than to whisk him away. The song playing over the speakers ended in a crescendo and applause started. Aziraphale looked to the stage, the moment severed. 

“Ah-the show must go on! We can talk later, yes?” 

“Um, yes-yes” 

Aziraphale quickly made his way back to the sidestage and congratulated the campers leaving. 

Head spinning, Crowley tried to breathe as he moved back to the group.

Maggie shuffled over to him, “Ready to go on, boss?”

Crowley nodded distractedly. He didn’t look toward Maggie, as he was transfixed by the man on stage. Aziraphale laughed heartily as he began to pull increasingly absurd objects out of a hat. 

God, Aziraphale was beautiful. But until tonight, Crowley hadn’t realized that he was also magical .

“I’m ready.” 

Chapter Text

Aziraphale was quite good at a great many things. For example, he could polish off a novel in the span of a day and knew every lyric to the musical ‘Sunday in the Park with George’. Once he even managed a particularly delicious batch of chocolate croissants. At age 44, he liked to think that he could take an accurate inventory of his strengths and weaknesses. 

Then along came Crowley, and Aziraphale realized that coping with a crush was a skill he’d never had a chance to develop and was therefore woefully unprepared. 

It all made him feel incredibly young, the flips his stomach did whenever the man was around, the way he spent each day wishing he could run into him more frequently. They started to chat more often when they passed each other, and after the staff meal they walked back to the cabins together, both of them lingering after they’d run out of things to say. Even in dreams Aziraphale was unable to escape, his subconscious playing out a myriad of amorous fantasies that made him blush when he thought about them in the light of day. 

But being forward was not one of his specialties either and, even though color rose to Crowley’s cheeks and his gorgeous amber eyes widened whenever they spoke, Aziraphale was too hesitant to give this evidence any credence. When Crowley had assisted him with his make-up before the talent show, Aziraphale had been flooded with a torrent of desire, and knew that his face must have been pathetically readable: lean in, kiss me, I’m here, please . But Crowley didn’t, even though there was a dizzying second when their breath ghosted each other's lips and the rest of the world faded away and he’d looked like he was going to– like he wanted to. 

A logical and antagonistic part of Aziraphale’s brain would speak up whenever he tried to read into things: Maybe he’s not gay. He’s probably not. And even if he is, maybe he has a partner. He probably has a wife, kids even. 

The possibility was enough to halt most of Aziraphale’s daydreams before they became more wistful and substantial. Although he was typically adept at making conversation, he wasn’t sure how to casually inquire about someone’s relationship status and, god forbid, their sexuality, so he remained unsure. 

Despite the immense beauty of Camp Eden, despite the joy of working with the campers, and despite the ease with which he settled into his new start, the pull toward Crowley was becoming more encompassing. 

Aziraphale found himself passively fretting about it one overcast afternoon as he made notes in a camper’s chart. Static cut through the tranquility of his corner office, he pulled his walkie from the clip on his belt expectantly. 

“Nurse Aziraphale, are you in your office?” The intonation was light, bubbly, and characteristically Muriel. 

“Yes, I’m here. How can I help?”

There was a bit of a pause before the response came through, “I’ll come to you. Stay there.” 

This voice was distorted by static but it unmistakably belonged to Crowley. 

Aziraphale quickly tidied up his desk which presently overflowed with stacks of files. With a glance in the mirror, he adjusted the collar of the flannel polo and wrangled his unkempt curls. 

Seconds ticked by as he waited impatiently for Crowley to arrive, wringing his hands and checking his watch. He admonished himself for feeling excited, knowing that he was most likely bringing a sick or injured child to his office for care. Nevertheless, the butterflies persisted. When three knocks came from the frame of his door, his head turned sharply to their source. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale was surprised to see that he was here alone, “is everything alright?”

“Hi. Um, not really.” Crowley held his left forearm, keeping it tucked into his side. There was an angry red flush to his face and his eyes kept darting from Aziraphale to the floor. 

The nurse stood up quickly as he worriedly scanned to see if he could locate the problem. “What’s wrong?”

Crowley gritted his teeth, “I was tilling the soil in one of the herb gardens and must have hit a yellow jacket’s nest. I got stung a few times on my arm.”

Aziraphale’s professionalism and years of nursing experience kicked in, overtaking his previous jitters. “Oh my, I’m so sorry to hear that. Have a seat and let me take a look.”

Crowley shut the door behind him and shuffled to the examination table, looking embarrassed. Aziraphale moved to the small sink in the corner and began to lather his hands. 

“How many times do you think you were stung,” he asked over his shoulder. 

“No fucking clue, afraid to look.”

The crunch of paper towels cut through the quiet as Aziraphale dried his hands. He slid on his latex gloves before approaching the redhead, who looked uncharacteristically unguarded and vulnerable. 

“May I see your arm, my dear?”

‘My dear’ was a hackneyed staple of Aziraphale’s vocabulary that he sprinkled in during most conversations and exchanges. This time, however, it appeared to have a particular effect on Crowley, whose deep marigold eyes raised to meet his own. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out but a soft exhale. Resetting, he swallowed, nodded, and presented his arm to the nurse.

Aziraphale put on his glasses and examined the skin carefully before taking the appendage gently in his hands. Even though this was the arm with Crowley’s coiling snake tattoo, the stings were fairly pronounced, appearing as swollen welts peppered from his mid-forearm up to his shoulder. 

“I spy about 6 stings in total.” Aziraphale shifted Crowley’s arm tenderly as if it were a piece of spun glass. “Typically I’d prescribe ibuprofen & ice but,” the nurse lifted Crowley’s arm and shook his head, unable to hide the glint of mischief in his eye, “Given that you have this intricate and lovely tattoo, I’m afraid the whole arm will have to come off.”

Crowley’s left eye raised and the corner of his mouth curled in amusement, “Is that so? And here I thought I still had a few good years to spend with lefty.”

Aziraphale chuckled as he collected a sterile cloth and ran it under warm water. “No, no I’m afraid this must be done as soon as possible. I’ll give you time to say your goodbyes.”

Crowley’s grin widened, his body relaxing slightly as the nurse started to gently cleanse the skin of his arm. Aziraphale was thankful that he had something to focus on because if he allowed his eyes to meet Crowley’s he was afraid he’d get lost in them, sunlight reflecting off slow amber sap. There was relative silence in the tiny office for a few moments, the only sounds were of cloth against skin and the hypnotic, even pattern of Crowley’s breathing. 

Eventually one of them broke the silence and they started discussing the chaos that was the upcoming parent weekend. Conversation flowed easily between them, a natural back and forth that Aziraphale couldn’t recall having with anyone else. Being close to Crowley always felt a bit like that – milkweed seeds carried lazily by a summer breeze.

A hidden, selfish part of Aziraphale wished that he wasn’t wearing latex gloves so that he could more easily feel the heat of Crowley’s skin under his fingertips. Perhaps he could lovingly trace the tattoo on his arm, starting from the tender surface of his wrist and gradually making his way up to the smooth expanse of his shoulder. The nurse blinked hard, admonishing himself for getting carried away in such risque daydreaming.

He typically found great joy and fulfillment in being of service to others, but there was a curious swell in Aziraphale’s chest as he tended to Crowley that wasn’t the usual fluttering that he attributed to having a crush. No, this feeling was deeper and foreign, a wild seed taking root in the dark soil of the untilled earth. 

As Aziraphale cleansed the skin of Crowley’s upper arm his focus honed in on the sight of a small scar. It was rounded and raised, cloaked by the ink of the tattoo. From the way that it was stretched slightly around the edges, it had been there awhile, possibly decades. The nurse had seen them before, but it never got any easier.

A cigarette burn. 

Aziraphale paused only briefly, but it was enough that Crowley noticed. He responded by tensing and pulling his arm back slightly. 

“S-sorry,” Aziraphale took a step back and held up his hands. Panic splintered through him as his eyes darted worriedly across the other man’s face. 

“Ngk, it’s–” Crowley swallowed and readjusted himself on the table, “It’s just an old thing.”

Aziraphale nodded, suddenly aware of the hummingbird pace of his pulse. They stayed apart for a few seconds, both unspeaking as Crowley looked anywhere but his face. 

“Are–”

“You can, um, keep going. It’s okay.” 

The oxygen was sucked out of the room, the ground below them was eggshell-thin. Aziraphale let out a skittish exhale before closing the space between them. His hands tenderly finished cleansing Crowley’s upper arm and shoulder. His brain flashed warning signs that he’d overstepped somehow and that he’d ruined everything. In autopilot, he shakily discarded the wipe and began to open the mini fridge to retrieve an ice pack. 

“It wasn’t easy being a queer teen.”

Azirahpale froze, his head turning sharply toward Crowley, whose fingers gripped the edge of the table tightly, the skin white from the pressure. His wide, golden eyes scanned the nurse’s face for his reaction, whatever emotion he saw there caused him to look away briefly. Aziraphale could hardly breathe, let alone speak. The redhead cleared his throat and continued. 

“My uh, dad. He wasn’t too happy when I told him.” 

Aziraphale pulled the image of Crowley from his memory, the one with his untucked shirt and his constellation freckles, that young boy he’d heard crying in the bathroom all those years ago. It was painful to imagine that such violence had befallen him, the knowledge of it sent ripples of grief throughout his whole body. 

Aziraphale’s hands moved over his heart, which had been reduced to a raw, tender thing. “Crowley, I-I-I-”

God, what can I say ? He shook his head and started over. 

“I’m-I’m so unbelievably sorry. I’m sorry that you weren’t accepted as you were. I’m sorry your parents didn’t keep you safe.”

Crowley’s eyes flicked ahead as he breathed in slowly and let out an audible sigh, “It’s- it’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay . But I’m okay now. Still alive and kicking, so you know. Lucky in that aspect.”

“You’re safe, with me, you know.” Aziraphale stepped forward carefully, “I-I-If you want to talk about it.”

Crowley shrugged, “Naaah, I’m fine for now. Got years of counseling under my belt. I do appreciate the offer though. ”

“Well, I’ll always be here to listen.” 

A sad half-smile pulled at the corner of Crowley’s mouth, “Thanks, Aziraphale.” 

What the nurse wanted to do was to reach out and pull him into an embrace and tell him how much he mattered, tell him how thankful he was that he was here . But that was such a large step, the jutted, crumbling edge or a cliff, and he was already feeling shaken from the gravity of it all.

“Well, I believe there is something I can still help you with.” Aziraphale turned to retrieve the ice pack he had been searching for. He held it up, waving it slightly. 

The redhead gave a weak chuckle, “Yes, now that I do require assistance with.”

Aziraphale handed him the ice pack and went to the cabinets to retrieve the ibuprofen. There was an odd sensation tickling at the back of his throat as he withdrew a few tablets and placed them in a small plastic cup. As he moved to fill up a cup of water, his mouth began speaking without his brain’s careful review.

“My f-f-family wasn’t supportive,”

Oh god, what am I doing? 

“When I came out, either.”

The nurse avoided Crowley’s gaze as he handed over the pills and water, although he could feel the warmth of the other man’s eyes on him. 

Crowley didn’t take either cup.

“Aziraphale.”

His voice was gentle and hesitant, Aziraphale raised his eyes.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Did he? He’d never really talked about it before to anyone. When anyone did ask questions, he tiptoed over it lightly, sidestepping rubble and debris from the fallout. When he’d met with Anathema at the cafe a few months ago, he’d had the sneaking suspicion that she somehow knew, although she never said anything outright. It was as if she knew better than to dredge it up, because she could sense that Aziraphale hadn’t been ready to talk about it then. That was then , however, what about now ?

Crowley waited patiently as Aziraphale chewed uneasily on his lip. 

“I haven’t really, um. I don’t want to take up your time.”

Crowley pondered this for a moment. “Well, I think my injury has earned me the rest of the afternoon off anyway. So how about this,” he reached over and took both small cups in hand. In a fluid motion, he threw back the pills, followed them with the water, and swallowed with an audible gulp. 

“How about you fetch us something to drink and if you want to tell me about it, I’ll be here to listen. And if you don’t, we can always talk about something else. Whales, or um, gorillas or something.”

Aziraphale eased slightly, a faint smile spreading to his lips. “I think I’d be agreeable to that. You drink coffee, yes?”

Clutching the ice pack to his arm, Crowley smiled affectionately, “You got it. No sugar, black please.”

Azirahpale clipped his radio to the waistband of his pants, still reeling from the emotional rollercoaster of the past 15 minutes. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.” 

Crowley gave a two-finger salute before he reclined back on the small table. “Thanks again, I’ll be here.”

—-

Aziraphale returned from the kitchen with a black coffee and an oolong tea. He’d spent the trip mulling over Crowley’s proposal and was still undecided when he arrived back to his office. The redhead stirred once the door opened, pushing himself up to a sitting position. When he saw the steam rising from the mugs in Aziraphale’s hands, he let out a grateful moan. 

“You’re an angel.”

Angel.

Aziraphale had been called a great number of colorful things, but ‘angel’ had never been one of them. It sounded natural, though, rolling off of Crowley’s tongue in an almost devotional way. He could feel the heat of the fierce blush that spread across his skin as he briskly sipped his tea and avoided any and all emotions that the moniker unearthed. 

They sat together in the tiny room in relative silence as they enjoyed the warmth from their drinks. Aziraphale appreciated that Crowley gave him the time to process and make a decision he was comfortable with, despite his apprehensiveness his lungs filled easily with summer air. Eventually, he cleared his throat, “Would, it be okay if-if I talked about it now?”

“Yes, of course.”

He let out a shaky sigh, “Well, I’d known I was gay for years and years but being Catholic and all, I was very much in denial. Firmly planted in the closet, as it were. My parents were always concerned about their image, and I supposed being single for so long was a bad look for them. So one day they set me up with a woman named Gabrielle. Her family were wealthy, and prominent members of the church, so our pairing was more strategic, I believe, than based on any connection or commonalities. We were together for a few years before I was pressured by my family to propose. They even, um, bought the ring and everything.”

Aziraphale chuckled weakly at this, but Crowley surveyed him carefully with a look of sincere concern. 

“S-so one day it just hit me that I couldn’t keep living like this. Living a lie wasn’t fair to me or Gabrielle, even though she was-”

Azirahpale recalled that dour, pious woman who smiled so infrequently he wondered if she was capable of the expression. Some sort of smile did appear on her face when she was belittling him at social events, although it was dark and twisted in its construction.

“She was-”

He remembered how for months after their breakup he’d received text messages filled with hateful insults and bible verses about sin and damnation. Eventually he figured out how to block her number but since he was never any good with technology it went on much longer than it should have. 

“She was, um, not very kind. Before or after the break-up I suppose.”

Crowley nodded attentively, giving Aziraphale the space to breathe and have a sip of tea before he kept going. 

“When my family found out I’d ended the engagement they were obviously furious. For weeks and months after they were relentless in their questioning. I-I tried my best to give them reasons, but no answer seemed to satisfy them. So one day,” Aziraphale closed his eyes, bracing for the impact, the inevitable fall, “I told them I was gay. Just blurted it out at dinner.”

Crowley nodded, breathing evenly.

“And I’ve never seen my father get so red. He started yelling, just saying the worst things you could think of. My mother was despondent, she sat there saying nothing. Wouldn’t even look at me. I’ve never heard my father speak like that. The-the things he said.” 

Aziraphale’s vision blurred as tears welled in the corner of his eyes. Quickly he swiped at them with the back of his hand. Crowley got up from the table and retrieved a box of tissues from a small side table before offering them over. 

“Th-thank you.” 

“Of course.” 

Aziraphale pulled a few tissues from the box and dabbed them at his eyes. He sighed deeply, Crowley lingering by his side. 

“Are you still feeling okay? You know you don’t have to tell me anything you aren’t comfortable with.”

Aziraphale sniffled, feeling a bit more grounded after having a second to collect himself. “Yes, yes I think I’ll be okay.” 

Crowley looked him over carefully before moving back to the table. Aziraphale swallowed around the dryness in his throat.

“After that, I went back to my flat. It was owned by my family so I shouldn’t have been surprised when I received a letter a few days later telling me to vacate the premises. So I packed up everything I could and moved out. I didn’t really have anywhere to go, and I felt too ashamed at the time to even ask for help. So I stayed in a hotel for a while until I found my current apartment in Soho. That was about a year ago.”

“Have you talked with your family since that night?”

“No, they haven’t called. Neither have I.”

Crowley nodded slowly, “Aziraphale, I’m so fucking sorry you had to go through that.”

Aziraphale sighed deeply, “It’s, well, as you said before. It isn’t okay, but I’m doing better. Especially after taking this job. I think I needed to get out of London, at least for a little while.” 

“Yeah, definitely understand that. It’s comforting to know you’re doing better and I hope you know that I’m happy– well not just me really – I think everyone is happy you’re here.”

“Th-thank you, my dear. I really do appreciate you listening.”

“Always, anything you need.”

Crowley’s eyes were on him again, but this time his gaze held more than sincerity and concern. His expression melded together an affection and fondness, he looked at Aziraphale like he was something to marvel at. Typically Aziraphale would shy away from such attention, but he felt raw and Crowley was patient and kind and beautiful.  

Radio static cut through their intimate moment like a sharpened knife. 

“Nurse Aziraphale, could you bring a few bandaids to the playground?” 

Crowley smiled crookedly, “Duty calls, eh?”

The nurse gave a dramatic sigh, “No rest for the, um, good.” He unclipped the radio from his waistband and pressed the side button. “This is Aziraphale, I’m on my way.” 

As he stood and gathered a few bandaids and lollipops from a side cabinet, the gardener shifted off of the table, standing with the ice pack still firmly pressed into his arm. 

“I should probably update Anathema on my arm situation. Would you like me to come back afterward?”

“You’re more than welcome to come back if you’d like, but there’s no obligation. I imagine that you might want some rest after incurring so many stings.”

“Yeah, I could go for a nap if I’m honest. Unless it’s 6 shots of espresso, coffee doesn’t have that much of an effect on me anymore.”

“If you drank 6 shots of espresso in front of me I’m afraid that I’d have to refer you to a doctor right away,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I should be off to the playground now but let me know if you need anything, alright? And, um, thanks again for listening.”

Crowley shrugged bashfully, “Well, as my classmate from my stuffy Catholic school once told me, that’s what friends are for.”

Any response Aziraphale had prepared was ripped sharply from his mind, stolen too was the air from his lungs. His astonishment didn’t appear to phase Crowley, who beamed at him with that uneven grin and a reverent glimmer in his gaze. 

“I-I,” Aziraphale chuckled timidly, feeling inexplicably hot, as if his skin had been exposed to too much sunshine, “Yes, friends, absolutely. I, um, off to my bandaid delivery. I’ll see y-you later then?”

“See you later, Angel.”

—-

It had been a few days since he’d attended to the wasp stings that dotted Crowley’s right arm. Aziraphale had been sure to check in with him regularly, but thankfully the swelling went down and he was recovering nicely. The area with the wasp's nest was sectioned until Tracy’s pest control husband Shadwell arrived to deal with it. 

Each day Aziraphale waited impatiently for the evenings when they would walk back to the cabins together. They continued to talk about a little bit of everything, the redhead endlessly amused with Aziraphale’s rants regarding Rodger & Hammerstein’s musicals. The sky would darken and the crickets would chirp lazily as they stalled outside their cabin doors, neither of them wanting the conversation to end. It was clear something had changed between them since that day in the office, it was as if the air between them had thickened in a dizzying, heady way. Aziraphale found it harder to cloak his obvious affection and, although he was painfully unpracticed with identifying this sort of thing, suspected that Crowley was as well. 

It was a humid afternoon, and Aziraphale was daydreaming about Crowley in various hopelessly romantic scenarios while mindlessly dragging his tea bag in slow circles around the edge of his mug when a muted knocking came from his door frame. 

As Aziraphale turned around, he was greeted with a colossal assortment of vibrantly colored flowers. Tucked among the allium, daisies, and phlox were dainty feverfew and fern leaves, all tied together with twine. He recognized the slender fingers holding the stems even before the face peaked out from behind the bouquet. 

“Hi,” Crowley’’s expression was sheepish, the rose color of his cheeks an accent to the flowers in his hands.

“Oh, my heavens!” Aziraphale stood and scurried over to the arrangement, “What on earth? Did you- are these from the gardens?”

“Yep. I figured they might be a good way to um, thank you for the other day. For your help.”

Crowley held out the arrangement which Aziraphale graciously accepted. Their fingers grazed in the exchange, the simple touch enough to make golden ribbons lace around his heart and squeeze tightly. 

“These are simply stunning, Crowley. You-you didn’t have to do all this for me!” Cradling the bunch carefully in his arm, Aziraphale raised the blooms to his nostrils, drawing in their sweet, earthy aroma. 

The gardener shoved his hands in his pockets as he carefully studied the floor, “Well, glad you like them. Should have gotten you a vase, fuck, sorry I didn’t even think of that.”

Aziraphale shook his head, “No, no, you’re just fine my dear! I think Tracy may have one somewhere in the office. I’ll check with her later. Do you, um, would you like to stay and chat for a bit? I could get us some tea and coffee?” 

There must have been something fantastical about the pattern of the tiles because they still had Crowley’s full attention. “No, no, just um, should probably head back I think.”

Aziraphale attempted to hide the disappointment in his voice, “Alright, um of course. Well, these are just magnificent, thank you again, my dear. I’ll see you at dinner then?” 

Crowley tore his gaze upward to glance at him briefly. He gave a single nod and mumbled something of a farewell before he turned to leave. After a few steps, his hand shot out and grabbed the door frame.  

“Actually, I um. I did have something else to uh, ask you.” 

Aziraphale tilted his head, “Oh?”

The white of Crowley’s teeth dug into his bottom lip and his hand moved upward to fuss with his hair, “Well the campers and counselors are hiking to Hogback woods and camping there the whole weekend right? And usually when the kids are out camping the rest of the staff does a little bonfire the first night they’re gone.”

“Ah, I think Tracy mentioned something about that the other day actually, that does ring a bell.”

“Good, okay so yeah. You’ve heard about it then.”

“Yes, I have,” Aziraphale wasn’t sure what else to say in response. Crowley’s nervousness was palpable, it pained him to see the man in this state. 

“So what I was- this is just, you know a thought , not as if it’s a requirement or anything like that. But, um. Would you like to go, um, with me? To the uh, bonfire thing. It’s okay if not, I’m just– yeah just a thought.” Crowley squeezed his eyes shut and exhaled as if winded by the effort of getting his words out. When his eyes did reopen, they were just as golden and practically dripped with anxious anticipation. 

Is he- is he asking what I think he’s asking? A sliver of shame jabbed into Aziraphale’s side at the fact that this was all so new, and it was difficult for him to comprehend and trust what he was hearing. His fingers flexed around the stems of the flowers, “Are-are you, asking me as a date?”

“Um, well, yeah. Um yes,” Crowley stuttered, “But only if you want! There’s no pressure or anything like that. We can just go as friends, otherwise. Or maybe as enemies, depending on how badly I’ve fucked this up.” 

Aziraphale was surprised by his own laugh, “No my dear, you haven’t messed anything up. I’m just not well practiced when it comes to-” he cleared his throat, “I-I asked simply for clarification, not out of an unwillingness to go.” 

Crowley's expression was still taut and expectant, “Is, is that a- you would like to go with me then?”

It was puzzling that something Aziraphale had dreamed about for weeks was happening and yet he was still terrified. The idyllic refuge of the camp had lulled him into a sense of safety and groundedness and, even though this was not at all unwelcome, it was still unexpected. There was a quote that came to him then from a book whose title he could no longer remember: Nothing magical is safe, nothing safe is magical.

In books bravery was usually associated with self-sacrifice and heroism, but Aziraphale recognized that he was trying to summon all the bravery he could muster to disregard the protective layering he’d applied to his own heart. 

“Yes,” he breathed, “I’d be delighted.”

Chapter Text

“So, are you bringing your guitar tomorrow?”

Crowley groaned and shifted back in his chair, Nina.”

She held up her hands defensively, “One song is all I ask.”

“Playing my guitar always makes it seem like I’m some self-absorbed arsehole who's trying to be the center of attention!”

“Everyone knows you’re not like that!”

“Took a survey, did you?” Crowley chided before leaning back and drinking deeply from his mug. 

Nina shot daggers his way before she shrugged assuredly, “Anyway, I still have favors to cash in.” 

Fuck. “You do.”

“Well, I’m using one for this.”

Crowley sighed dramatically, “Can I pass on this one? I’m trying to keep things low-key and relaxed.”

Nina leaned forward with her elbows on the table, “Since when is fireside guitar music not low-key and relaxing? Look, if you’re really not up to it I’m not going to make you. I’m just confused because you’ve played at these bonfires plenty of times before.”

Typically skilled at avoidance, Crowley found it hard to come up with an excuse that would satisfy Nina’s curiosity. Ever since Aziraphale agreed to accompany him to the bonfire a few days ago, he hadn’t told anyone, preferring to keep the intimate joy of a fledgling relationship close to his chest. But Nina had an expert bullshit meter and was already suspicious of his improved mood over the past few days. Perhaps it was better to rip off the band-aid as it were. 

Then again, it was just a month ago that she’d admonished him about taking things too fast with his previous partners, and Crowley was remiss to dredge up that topic again anytime soon. With her warning ringing in his ears, he’d made sure that each step forward with Aziraphale was thoughtful and careful, even when there were moments when he wanted to touch his hand or tell him how beautiful he was. It had been difficult holding back but he knew if he messed this up he’d probably stop breathing. 

Besides, his connection with Aziraphale felt different from his previous relationships in a way he found difficult to comprehend. The sweetness and gentleness were not something he thought he’d want or even deserved until Aziraphale waltzed into his life and he realized that he would never want anything else. 

Crowley leaned back in his chair, put on a nonchalant air, and summoned some courage, “Well, it’s just that… I’m bringing Aziraphale.”

“You’re bringing… Aziraphale,” Nina’s brow scrunched. “He’s staff, he’s already invited.”

Crowley sighed, frustrated that he had to explain it further. “I asked him to join me as, um, as a date.”

Nina’s let out an exasperated huff, “God damn it.”

Ouch. He could feel his defensive barriers going up. 

“Glad to see you’re–”

Nina held up a finger to cut him off, pulled her phone out of her pocket, and began to type.

Confused, Crowley stirred in his seat, “What are you-”

The ping of a sent message interrupted him, followed by the smack of Nina’s phone meeting the table, “Well, that’s me out twenty quid then.” 

Error messages spawned in Crowley’s brain, “I-I don’t… twenty quid?”

Nina rolled her eyes, “I had a bet with Anathema. I guessed you two would be together by the end of camp, but she said you’d be together before July. It’s July tomorrow, so she bloody won.”

Oh.

“You- you were placing bets on us ? Was it really that obvious?”

Nina crossed her arms, her expression one of playful derision, “Let’s put it this way, I think you and Aziraphale were the last to know.” 

A grumbled noise escaped Crowley’s throat as he laid his head on the table, “Brilliant. The whole camp knows. All over the news.”

“Oi, listen, jokes aside, this isn’t a bad thing! Aziraphale’s an incredibly kind, silly man who obviously fancies you.”

Crowley pushed back to an upright position, the heat from his skin undoubtedly leaving a bright blush across his cheeks, “I-I’m um, yeah. I like him, too. A lot.”

“Yeah, we could tell,” she teased. “Seriously though, I’m fucking thrilled you’re happy. Maggie is too. We both think this is really healthy for you.”

Crowley never sought Nina’s opinion on his relationships before, mostly because he knew she’d never approve of them. Therefore he was surprised at how reassuring it felt to have a close friend accept and praise his choice of partner. 

“Well, thanks, Nina.” 

Nine interlaced her fingers and let her chin rest gently on top, “Which is why I think there is even more reason to play a song at the bonfire.”

Crowley laughed and shook his head in disbelief, “I can’t believe this, you’re incorrigible!”

“Now, wait, hear me out! This isn’t just for selfish reasons now. Has Aziraphale heard you play before?”

“I played for Maggie’s group at the talent show remember? He undoubtedly heard that.”

Nina rolled her eyes, “Yeah but that was with you off to the side while kids were doing cartwheels and somersaults. He’s never really heard you perform. And, at the risk of letting this go to your head, you’re actually pretty talented all things considered. It would be awkward for you to pull out a guitar on a first date with just the two of you, but at the bonfire, it’d be more of a natural setting.”

Crowley stared at her incredulously but nodded and allowed her to continue. 

“So when you pull out your guitar with the bonfire mood lighting, it’s going to be impressive as hell.” 

Now this certainly wasn’t something he’d considered. It seemed a bit flashy, but Crowley had spent most of his youth wearing make-up and performing on stages so he’d always been a bit of a flash bastard. It was a hobby he’d never really shared with anyone aside from the few times he was coaxed into playing for the odd talent show or bonfire. Maybe it would mean more, sharing it with Aziraphale. 

And then again, maybe the whole thing would come off as a bit gauche. Nina flattered him, but the truth was he was a bit rusty, a bit out of practice. There was also the fact that he would also be expected to sing as well…

“It–” he chewed uneasily on the inside of his lip, “It could be.”

Nina shrugged, taking a sip of her tea, “It’s up to you though, honestly. Not my place to go meddling, but I couldn’t resist pointing out the opportunity.” 

Crowley’s head lolled to the side as he exhaled audibly, “Tell you what, tonight I’ll practice a bit and see if there’s anything in my repertoire I’d feel comfortable performing. If there is and I don’t completely chicken out, I’ll play something. If not, I’ll play whatever you want at the end-of-the-year bonfire. Sound like a deal?” 

A pleased smile played at the corner of Nina’s mouth, “Deal.”

—-------

The three knocks on Aziraphale’s door seemed to echo impossibly loud in the clearing, or perhaps the nervousness was playing tricks on Crowley’s senses. 

He’d already spent an inordinate amount of time getting ready, digging through his typical work clothes until he found something unstained, unripped, and somewhat presentable. After a lengthy shower, his hair mercifully decided to hang across his shoulders in a manner that wasn’t aversive to the eyes. Following a long mirror pep talk (it had been a while since he’d done this sort of thing) and with a dash of cologne, he was finally on his way. 

Through the cabin walls, he could make out the sound of hurried footsteps as they approached the door. It creaked on its hinges as it opened, “Hello, Crowley.” 

Despite all of his previous mental preparation, Crowley’s eyes widened. Seeing Aziraphale was like seeing a sunset: it didn’t matter how many times you’ve seen it before, it was always captivatingly beautiful. Although there was nothing particularly out of the ordinary about his outfit – a red and green plaid shirt and khaki shorts – he still radiated an aura that Crowley could marvel at until the Earth stopped turning. 

Crowley’s delayed response caused the blonde to smile bashfully, he clutched his hands in front of him as he scanned the red-head’s face expectantly. 

“Yes, yes, sorry. Um, hello Angel.. You look- damn , you look great.”

Blush bloomed across Aziraphale’s cheeks, “Thank you, I could say the same about you as well.”

Crowley shifted and chuckled uncomfortably, “Well it’s the first time you’ve seen me that I haven’t been coated with seven layers of dirt.”

Aziraphale shook his head his platinum curls bouncing slightly, “Oh no my dear, you were beautiful then, too.”

If the initial compliment was an electric shock, this one felt like being struck by lighting. It sent Crowley reeling for a moment as if his soul had been knocked free and he was swimming through the air trying to return to his body. When he did come to his senses, he could feel the heat radiating off of his skin as if he’d been scorched by the sun. 

Aziraphale smiled coyly, his eyes flashing down to the guitar case, “Have you come to serenade me?”

Relief slightly thawed the tension in Crowley’s muscles as he chuckled, “It’s for the bonfire actually, Nina insisted on a song and I owe her too much to refuse. So it’s less of a romantic gesture as it is being chased onto the stage with a broom.”

“Well, I’m delighted to hear you play either way.”

Once again Crowley’s heart pattered madly in his chest, unsure of how to proceed and overall rusty when it came to dating like this. But as he observed Aziraphale with his tentative glances and the way his hands gripped together, his fear abated and a clear path forward solidified in his mind. 

He held out his hand, “Shall we then?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he regarded the gesture with nervous hesitation. Tenderly he reached out, the contact of the warm, silk skin of his fingers caused Crowley’s heart to swell. As their fingers interlinked, his eyes drew back to Crowley’s.

“Yes, let’s go.”

—--

They held onto each other's hands until they arrived at the bonfire where they both let go before approaching the group. Already gathered around a large, unlit pile of logs and kindling were Anathema and Newt, Tracy and Shadwell, as well as Nina and her two kitchen interns. They said their hello’s, and Crowley actively ignored the obvious stares of Nina and Anathema as they walked past. Once they took their seats next to each other, they relaxed into making conversation with the group. It was pleasant enough, although Crowley wished that he hadn’t picked an outing that required so much mingling with other people. He kicked himself for not coming up with something more intimate, something for just them.

After a few attempts to light the fire on his own, Newt eventually asked Shadwell for his lighter, and once procured, the flames quickly engulfed the wood and illuminated the entire circle. 

Crowley stole glances at the blonde whenever he thought he could get away with it, and every so often was treated with the sight of Aziraphale looking back at him with those impossibly gorgeous blue eyes. Tracy was going into details about her new tarot card deck when Nina cleared her throat loudly.

“So Crowley brought his guitar tonight…”

Crowley sighed dramatically, “Yes, yes I did. I’m afraid I’ve only got one song though.”

Nina gestured to a large stump at the top of the circle, it had been avoided because it was likely more uncomfortable than the camp chairs they’d grabbed from storage. “Best seat in the house waiting for you.”

Aziraphale whispered a hurried “good luck” as Crowley reluctantly retrieved his guitar from his case and rose to leave, his palms suddenly feeling clammy. 

As he sat on the wood stump and tuned his guitar, Anathema cupped her hands around her mouth, “What are you playing?”

“It’s a little song called: wouldn’t you like to know,” he quipped in response, eliciting laughter from the others around the circle. 

Unable to delay it much longer, he plucked out the first few notes which harmoniously coalesced with the crackling of the fire. Crowley closed his eyes, knowing that it was better for his focus but also knowing that if he looked at Aziraphale now he’d likely lose his confidence. 

Here goes nothing–

“So this is Mother Nature’s Son. It’s by a small band called the Beatles. You probably haven’t heard of them, they never went anywhere.”

There was more scattered chuckling as the chords started to take shape under his fingers, easing gently into the opening lyrics. Crowley cleared his throat and breathed, letting the summer night air rush into his lungs. 

“ Born a poor young country boy, Mother Nature’s son… ”

He kept his eyes closed, surprised at how quickly the cobwebs were dusted off. It was coming back, the feeling of performing and sharing music with others. 

“ All day long I’m sitting singing songs for everyone… ”

At this he opened his eyes, rolled his head toward Nina and raised an eyebrow at her in jest. She cackled along with a few others. It was going well so far, and there was energy in the night air that beckoned him onward. 

The song didn’t have many lyrics, but it was a perfect one to play by the campfire. The familiar feeling of the stings beneath his fingers and the vibration from his chest as he sang lulled him into a bit of a trance. He eased into the music as he started to tap his foot, his body swaying in time. 

“ Find me in my fields of grass, Mother Nature’s son. Swaying daisies, sing a lazy song beneath the sun… ”

He was so lost in the song that he’d forgotten to avoid looking at the man across from him. When his gaze reached Aziraphale, his heart seized euphorically and his vision blurred, everything else falling out of focus.

The light of the fire danced across Aziraphale’s face, illuminating his features with an ember-like glow. Amongst the golden hue of the flames, his eyes were still nebulas of blue and they sparkled with the stolen shine of the stars above. One of his hands rested against his chest, it rose and fell with the even movement of his breathing. The gentle brushstrokes of his expression revealed venerated wonder as if Crowley were a Renaissance fresco and not the lanky disaster puppy that he actually was. With his lips slightly parted, Aziraphale gazed at him with such magnetism that Crowley was certain he’d never be ever to look away.

And Crowley continued to sing because the song was for him now. All of them, every song he knew were all for Aziraphale if he wanted them.  

“ Oh-ah, Mother Nature’s son… ”

He held out the last chord, unsure how he had continued to play and sing as if he wasn’t on a different plane of existence with his eyes firmly locked with Aziraphale’s. 

As if he didn’t just fall completely, inexorably in love. 

When the clapping started it sounded distant and faint as if he was floating somewhere in the stratosphere. Aziraphale exhaled shakily and swiped at his eyes before joining the others in applause. It was enough to pull Crowley unwillingly back to Earth, where the grit of self-consciousness eased him back into his shoes. He studied the ground, the heat of a burgundy flush spreading across his cheeks.

“Thanks guys, you’re too kind.”

Gripping the neck of his guitar he moved back to his seat, he nodded at Nina who pushed his shoulder affectionately as he passed by. The nettles of worry clung to him once again as he returned his guitar back to its case, not sure what he would say to Aziraphale after something like that . Nina announced it was time for s’mores, which elicited some cheers and started the chatter and side conversations up again. 

Easing back into his seat as casually as he could, Crowley tentatively looked sideways and met Aziraphale’s wide eyes with a sheepish smile. 

“Crowley…”

“Mhm?” He took a long sip from his bottled water as his leg bounced nervously, he tried to actively ignore the swell of his heart in his throat. 

There was a feeling of warmth and softness, Aziraphale’s hand sat gently on his forearm. “My dear, that was– you were wonderful .” 

“I–” Crowley met his eyes, and the air rushed out of his lungs. The subtle drag as their fingers interlaced sent ripples throughout his body. Crowley’s smile was a sincere, fragile thing, whereas Aziraphale’s expression was powerful enough to topple entire civilizations. 

“Sorry to break up an intimate moment, but will you two be wanting s’mores, then?” 

Nina held out a tray overflowing with an assortment of different chocolates, graham crackers, and marshmallows. 

Aziraphale turned, breaking the makeshift sanctuary of their proximity and audibly gasping when he saw the food, “Oh absolutely!”

He looked apologetic as their hands came apart, but Crowley understood and gave him a nod of approval. The readhead leaned on the arm of his chair, watching the delight on Aziraphale’s face as he selected the ingredients for his dessert.

It was odd, the way time was moving. On one hand, it was moving achingly, agonizingly slow as he reverently watched Aziraphale lick the melted chocolate off his fingertips. Seconds slowly ticked by as he waited for the moment when they could be alone, when he could hold his hand without distraction. It was a tad torturous, the waiting. 

And on the other hand, time was also moving breathlessly fast amid the buzzing conversation and the crackling of the fire. If only he could bottle it, the vibrant energy of the evening and the irresistible way Aziraphale’s features were illuminated by the flames. 

So with the competing paces of time, Crowley planted himself firmly in between, relishing the warmth of the fire, the melody of the boisterous laughter, and the unparalleled delight of being close to someone you love. 

—-

“I don’t think I’ve ever had such delectable s’mores in my life. I can’t believe Nina made those marshmallows from scratch! I’m not sure what she added, but it was either vanilla bean or pure magic.”

The ground crunched mutedly underfoot as they arrived at the clearing. Crowley was a bit dizzy with emotion, he loved listening to Aziraphale, loved the warmth exchanged from their connected hands, and loved the way the moonlight caught in his platinum curls. 

Loved him , every part of him. 

“Yeah, she’s an excellent cook for sure.”

As they slowed to a stop, worry ebbed into his otherwise besotted state at the realization that their evening was drawing to a close. How should he proceed? At this point in his previous relationships, his partners would be pulling him into their flats with the taste of cigarette smoke and whiskey on their tongues. 

No, wouldn’t be that way with Aziraphale.

“My dear,” Aziraphale turned to look at him, heartbreakingly bashful. “Thank you for asking me to accompany you tonight. I had such a wonderful time.” His free hand reached to take hold of Crowley’s. They stood parallel, connected by their intertwined fingers in the pale light of the moon. 

“I did too.” 

Internally Crowley’s head and heart engaged in a bitter civil war about what to do next. The pull to step closer, to reach out and touch the man next to him was becoming unignorable even with the desperate protests from his brain to slow down, to hold off for just a bit more. 

“I really had no idea just how talented you were as a musician.”

Freckled cheeks aflame, Crowley had to look downward, the weight of Aziraphale’s gaze suddenly too heavy for him to bear. “I, um, well I had a good audience tonight. That helps.”

The silence that settled over them was woven with tangible anticipation and hesitation, the heat between their connected palms sparking a deeper want that Crowley struggled to extinguish. When he was able to look towards Aziraphale once more, the blonde’s eyes were scanning the sky, reflecting the light of the stars. 

An angel. 

“Oh! Just there, a shooting star!”

Aziraphale pointed upward, the loss of contact hurting more than Crowley would have anticipated. He tried his best not to show his disappointment as he gazed upward. 

“Oh, you just missed it!” Aziraphale clutched his chest excitedly. “I’ve never seen one before. It was right there.”

The redhead craned his neck upward, “Must have been near Lyra. That’s the constellation that looks like a cabin – it even has a little chimney rising from it.” 

Aziraphale shook his head, “I’m honestly so new to this. I knew nothing of the constellations until you. Who taught you about the stars and constellations?”

The question caught him off guard, he cast his eyes down for a moment, “My dad.”

Aziraphale blinked, noticing the change in Crowley’s demeanor, “I- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up anything uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay,” He dug the toe of his shoe into the dirt, dislodging a pebble. “He used to take me and my brothers camping when I was younger.”

“Oh, really?” 

“Yeah, he used to load me and my brothers in his car with all our camping gear and take us deep into the woods. He’d do the whole nine yards – cook over a fire, tell us gnarly ghost stories, but the best bit was on clear nights he’d point out the stars. Each one had a story attached, every constellation. When I look up now, I can hear them, even after all this time.”

Crowley paused, “We went every summer until my mom passed.”

The blonde nodded solemnly, “I-I heard about that. I never got the chance to say anything at the time, but I’m so very sorry.”

“She was in a lot of pain, at the end,” Crowley felt the lining of his heart unraveling, pulling on a loose string. He shoved his hands in his pockets, “I miss her.”

Aziraphale looked back to the sky, several moments passing over them before he spoke again, “That must have been difficult, growing up without a mother.”

He felt Aziraphale’s gaze on him. It made him feel exposed and raw in a way that he would normally fight to avoid. Crowley shut his eyes. “It was. My dad didn’t make matters easy, either. You’ve seen–”

When he drew his eyes back toward Aziraphale, the gentleness and sincerity that looked back at him felt like a punch in the gut.

“S-s-sorry.”

“No,” Aziraphale replied firmly, “Don’t be, you haven’t anything to apologize for.”

Crowley exhaled shakily, “Still, not really a first date conversation,”

Aziraphale moved closer, gripping Crowley’s hand and interlacing their fingers, “And yet here we are, on our first date talking about it anyway.” The corners of his mouth turned up in a weak smile, “We have time to catch up on the other things later, if you want to tell me your story now, that is.”

Swallowing hard, Crowley willed the tears queuing at the corners of his eyes away, “Fuck.” 

Aziraphale’s thumb made slow circles on the back of Crowley’s freckled hand, waiting.

“I hated him.”

The admission was spat out venomously, “I didn’t talk to him for years and years. Then one day he calls me to tell me he’s sick and dying and wants to see me. Hearing his voice, it was like I was that scared kid again, but I still went. When I got to the hospital he was sitting in the bed, and he was so much smaller than he had been before. Shriveled and sunken. Nothing like the monster I remembered. And–” 

Crowley’s throat tightened, it felt like he was choking. He looked to Aziraphale who was watching him intently with boundless concern and warmth. Crowley breathed shakily and raised his eyes back up to the sky. “And when I sat down with him. H-he he fucking apologized .” 

The tears he tried so hard to banish welled in his eyes, it dimmed the moonlight and blurred the edges of the treeline. “He apologized for it all. And he said-he said he was wrong. And that man, he said he loved me. I never heard him say that before in my entire life. But there he was in a hospital bed with IV tubes and a heart rate monitor hooked up to him, looking like he would crumble if you touched him. I was too shocked to say anything, and after a moment he looked at me and said that he didn’t expect me to forgive him, he just wanted me to know. And–” 

His voice caught again, he swallowed it down. “I knew that I hated him. But in that moment, what could I do? How could I not forgive that monster who showed me the stars?” 

The sob that escaped him echoed traitously in the night air. The stitches finally unraveled, his heart lying bloody and open under the night sky. Aziraphale exhaled deeply, his hand holding on solidly. 

“Crowley, I-I’m so sorry.”

Crowley opened his eyes and forced himself to take a deep breath. The intake of cool night air and the warmth of Aziraphale’s hand managed to steady him slightly. 

“Can I hug you? Only if you’d like that is…,” the blonde trailed off. Before he could decide against it, Crowley wrapped his arms solidly around Aziraphale, whose embrace was encompassing and solid.

Although his chest felt cracked open and tears still fell from the corners of his eyes, Crowley’s breathing deepend, mirroring the steady rise and fall of Aziraphale’s chest. 

Aziraphale whispered assurances next to his ear, “It’s alright, my dear. I’ve got you, it’s alright.” 

They stayed pressed against each other until Crowley’s body sagged and his breathing slowed. Aziraphale rubbed soft circles on his back and Crowley let the weight of his eyelids pull his eyes close. This openness was uncharted territory, and unease started to weasel its way into him. His brain quickly formulated a plan: he would pull away soon, thank Aziraphale, and walk back to his cabin.

But for a moment, he let himself breathe in the smell of pine and Aziraphale’s cologne intermingling. He let himself feel the fabric of the plaid shirt under his fingertips. He listened to the breeze and the way it complemented the soft inhalations and exhalations of Aziraphale’s breathing. 

Eventually, he mumbled into the blonde’s shoulder.

“M’ sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, my darling.”

“I ruined it, the evening.”

Aziraphale clicked his tongue in dissent and pulled back to look at him, “Nonsense, you’ve ruined nothing, I promise. I had the most wonderful time. I’m still having a wonderful time.”

Crowley felt too emotionally wrung out to argue about it any longer, “Thanks for listening, for being here.” 

“Always, anything you need.”

The blonde smiled gently, his features soft and achingly, unbearably beautiful. Crowley’s vulnerability had weakened his defenses, and this time when his wounded heart seized with affection and desire and unparalleled want , he knew he wouldn’t be able to put up a fight. 

Aziraphale’s eyes flicked between Crowley’s eyes and lips. 

Oh god. 

The thunderous beating of his heart flooded his ears. Crowley didn’t dare breathe, as he took Aziraphale’s hand and brought it to his waist. His own fingers moved to carefully cradle the soft flesh of the blonde’s cheek. 

Although Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered as he exhaled shakily, his gaze was unfaltering in its intensity. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered, surprised by the faint quality of his voice. “Can I– mhm! ” 

Aziraphale tilted upward, the sudden, gentle press of his lips effectively cutting off and responding to Crowley’s unfinished question. 

He’d thought often about this moment, but not even his hideously romantic daydreams could not prepare him for the waterfall of sensory delight. The arrhythmic beat of his heart rattled his ribcage, as the velvet of Aziraphale’s lips slotted against his own, alining as if they were always meant to fit together. When he pulled closer, Aziraphale hummed in approval as his fingers gripped at the defined edges of Crowley’s hips.

God, yes. 

He could have stayed here endlessly with their chests pressed together, savoring the vanilla and honeysuckle taste of Aziraphale’s lips. Crowley wasn’t normally one of desserts or sweets, but when it came to the taste of him, he found that he couldn’t quite get enough. Perhaps he did have a sweet tooth after all. 

Amongst the chorus of nighttime crickets and the slight whisper of a breeze rustling through the treetops was the sound of their lips colliding and parting with each impassioned kiss. 

At some point their pace slowed and Crowley pressed a final delicate kiss before resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s. They stayed there as they held each other and caught their breath. 

“That was–”

“Okay?” Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, his muscles tensing in preparation. 

“ Incredible. ” 

The tension abated as Crowley pulled back slightly. He let his head hang back as he inhaled deeply the cooler night air, “Fuck that’s a relief. Afraid I was a bit out of practice.”

Something flashed across Aziraphale’s face, he looked away briefly before he looked back, “I’ve um, I’ve ne-” 

He stopped suddenly and shook his head with a weak chuckle. “Um, sorry. I mean to say that I, too, am out of practice.” 

Crowley felt like he was floating in that dreamlike state from earlier as he brushed his nose against the tip of Aziraphale’s. 

“Could’ve fooled me.” 

Aziraphale kissed him again, slowly and coated in honey before pulling him into an embrace. Crowley could feel the flutter of the blonde’s heartbeat held against him. 

Amongst the closeness and the joy, a splintered and wretched thought entered Crowley’s atmosphere: When was the last time you were held?

Through gritted teeth he shooed it away, inhaling deeply the night air and the intoxicating smell of the man in his arms. He let his senses savor this gentle moment as the unyielding presence of the stars above bore witness. 

Chapter Text

Aziraphale shut the cabin door behind him and pressed his back against the door. He lingered in an enchanted daze before he pressed his fingers against his lips, recalling the euphoric sensation of Crowley pressed against them. 

His muscles and limbs felt oddly relaxed, juxtaposed to the pattering of his heart, which rapped against his ribs like someone tapping on a door. There was a clarity that cleared through the ever-persistent static of anxiety, like fitting the last puzzle piece into place that completed the entire image. 

It was–

It was the thunderous release of kissing someone wonderful and feeling the dam of 44 years of compulsory heterosexuality break open and spill forth. Aziraphale smiled against his fingers, unable to contain his rapturous joy. 

Admittedly, it wasn’t his first kiss, that would unfortunately always belong to Gabrielle. It had come unexpectedly when she grabbed his lapels after one of their morose dinners together. The kiss was a dry and mercifully short endeavor that made him feel sick to his stomach. Their subsequent attempts weren’t any better and Aziraphale had tried his best to avoid them at all costs, often defaulting to kissing the back of her hand.

But the first kiss that mattered , would always belong to Crowley. 

At one point he almost confessed that he’d never kissed another man before, but he changed his mind halfway through the admission. His insecurities and shame still lurked under the surface, and even in the presence of a man he trusted, even after the rush of delight after their first kiss together, it was too big of a risk, a leap he didn’t dare take yet. 

Collapsing on the bed, Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut as he replayed some of his favorite moments from the evening: how the firelight glow played across the freckles that scattered across Crowley’s cheeks indiscriminately like the stars above, the mesmerizing way those warm honey eyes held his gaze from across the bonfire as if the song being played was just for him. Aziraphale reminisced on the tender moments he held Crowley in his arms, swept away by his openness and bravery. He’d wished he’d been more courageous in that moment, that he would have cradled Crowley’s head and conveyed how immeasurably wonderful and loved he was. 

Was he in love with Crowley?

Aziraphale exhaled and opened his eyes at the realization. Romantic love was more something he’d read about and understood from a logistical standpoint rather than something he’d ever experienced. He’d never come across clear guidelines on how one could recognize they were in love, since in stories that he enjoyed reading the characters typically figured it out after some formal dancing. 

Although he could confidently label the fluttering he’d felt during his initial interactions with Crowley as a crush, the feeling had evolved into something radiating and passionate that was unlike anything he’d experienced before. While the logical part of his brain desperately reached for a concrete definition and searched for an organized list he could check to label the emotions bubbling within him, he quickly abandoned his mind’s search for an explanation and decided that love had to be something you felt rather than something you could logically parcel out and comprehend. 

Aziraphale closed his eyes as he pressed his fingertips to his mouth once again. He sighed longingly as he recalled the smoky brown sugar taste of lips against his own, the vibrant copper hair illuminated in the moonlight, and the glimmering golden eyes of Crowley, the man he was falling in love with. 

—-

“Here you are,” Aziraphale carefully placed the mug in front of Tracy, “Jasmine green tea.” 

“You have no idea how much I’ve needed this today,” she blew over the top before taking a small sip, “I was falling asleep ordering arts and crafts supplies just a moment ago.”

Aziraphale chuckled, “Well this should help. It’s been rather a slow day for me, I think the kids must be exhausted from their camping trip, I haven’t had a single call all day.”

Tracy nodded emphatically, “Very true, it’s been quite quiet, hasn’t it?”

“Indeed, I won’t complain about that.”

After the second week of camp, Aziraphale and Tracy discovered they took their afternoon tea break at approximately the same time each day. Sharing their breaks together was something Aziraphale looked forward to each day, especially with such an endearing and eccentric friend like Tracy. 

“Remember the tarot reading I did the other night,” Tracy leaned back in her seat. “The one that told me I was going to find something I’d lost?”

“Oh yes, I believe you mentioned that.”

“Well, this morning I was sweeping the kitchen and found this,” she flipped her left hand, adorned with jewelry and elaborately detailed nails, for presentation. “My sapphire ring! A gift from my Aunt Bertie that I’d been looking for for eons. Just turned up out of the blue.”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, “Wow, that’s– definitely unexpected.” 

Tracy’s mouth curled into a smile, “Ah but my love, not unexpected at all! The cards predicted it days in advance.” 

“Ah, I see. Foretold by the cards.”

“Precisely.” Tracy began to bring the cup to her lips before pausing, “Now are you going to tell me about your date with Crowley or am I going to have to weasel it out of you?” 

“It was,” he paused, unable to repress the giddy smile that drew his mouth up at the corners, “Incredible.” 

Tracy squealed, “You have to tell me everything ! I was barely able to hang on this long without the news. I had half the mind to march into your office first thing this morning and shake you down for details.”

The skin of Aziraphale’s cheeks brightened to a pink hue, “Well, after the bonfire, we walked back together, and he opened up to me about some personal things in his past. He started to become emotional so I offered to hug him.” 

He shook his head, struggling to find the words, “Holding him felt like-like everything made sense. And I wish I had the vocabulary to describe how gorgeous he was at that moment, but I’m afraid whatever words I string together would fall woefully short. But as we were holding each other, I-I-I um, I kissed him.” 

Tracy gasped, clutching her hands to her chest, “Oh my darling, congratulations!”

Aziraphale chuckled awkwardly, “Thank you.”

“Oh, I’m so chuffed for you both. Now, tell me,” her eyes swept the office before leaning forward conspiratorially, “Was he a good kisser?”

Aziraphale covered his mouth to hide his bashful grin, “I couldn’t possibly divulge that information now could I?” 

“Ah, bless me, of course not,” she winked and waved her hands, “I’m just ridiculously happy for you two.”

“Thank you, Tracy.” He went to sip his tea, realizing that he hadn’t stopped smiling during their entire conversation. 

“I do have one small question for you,” Tracy leaned back, a mystical shimmer in her eye. “Given that you are embarking on this new journey – this new stage in life – will you let me read your tea leaves?”

Aziraphale gazed at his Earl Grey tea and the small leaves that floated idly at the bottom of his cup. “I-I don’t see why not. I’m not sure you’ll be able to make anything out but you’re free to try.” He pushed his cup across the desk. 

“Oh, I’ll be able to read them,” she reached gingerly for the cup. “You forget that I’ve had years of practice with this sort of thing.”

Tracy held the cup close to her face as she mumbled to herself, every so often turning it and cocking her head to the side. 

“Well, a-a-anything interesting?” A sudden worry gripped him, that perhaps she’d see something maleficent. 

She scooted closer and held out the cup for Aziraphale to see, “Right at the top of the cup, I see a bouquet, which is not a surprise, since you are in a new, happy relationship. But see that little cluster of leaves on the other side? Now I think those look awfully like an axe to me. Axes usually refer to problems that will be overcome, although I’m not sure what sort of problems the leaves are indicating. Does an axe mean anything to you? I’ve never seen one before in a reading, but this one stands out.”

He scrunched his nose in concentration, “N-not that I can think of at the moment.”

“No worries then, it will all reveal itself in time. The last thing I see closer to the bottom is a crescent moon, a very good sign. Those stand for connectedness and happiness.”

Aziraphale could vaguely make out the images she mentioned, and was relieved that they didn’t indicate an early grave or something of the sort, “And you inferred all that, just from tea leaves? Very impressive indeed.” 

Tracy pushed the cup back toward him, “Of course, I do so enjoy my forays into the metaphysical realm.”

“These, um ‘problems to overcome’, is there anything I can do to prepare or stop them from happening?” 

Tracy shook her head, “Afraid not, my dove, they just have to happen.” 

—-

Following their first date, Aziraphale and Crowley found more little moments during their day to spend time with each other. Aziraphale took periodic walks around the grounds in hopes of running into the gardener to strike up a conversation or, when he was particularly busy, just to catch a glimpse of him. Crowley started walking by the office on his coffee breaks in the hope that the nurse was free for a quick chat. The moment that Aziraphale most looked forward to each day was their walks back to the cabins, where they would sit on Aziraphale’s front steps for hours talking, looking at the stars, and holding each other under the expanse of the summer night sky. 

Their parting kisses had started to get progressively more passionate with each passing evening. Aziraphale found himself flicking his tongue between Crowley’s lips, prompting him to open his mouth wider as those long slender fingers wound into his curls of platinum hair. It never went further than kissing, even though there were heavy, breathless moments after they parted that he wanted desperately to invite the redhead inside, to fall into bed with him, to share every part of himself. The barriers of his inexperience and insecurity continued to hold steady, and despite the scorching way Crowley pressed his lips against his own, he wasn’t able to work up the courage to take the next step. 

One night as Crowley started to pepper kisses against the line of his jaw, he hesitated before pulling back, “I’ve been doing some thinking.”

Aziraphale had to pull himself from the clouds to respond, “Is that something new you’re trying?”

The jab elicited a wickedly handsomely crooked smile, “Ouch, Angel. Such harassment from you. And here I thought I was being good.” Crowley’s nose brushed against his own before he pulled Aziraphale close again, kissing him deeply.  

A moan escaped Aziraphale’s lips when the redhead finally pulled away again, “You’re always so good, my darling.”

Crowley's eyes widened at this, “ Fuck. ”

Aziraphale grinned, pleased at the response, and pressed his lips against a freckled cheek, “You were saying?”

Crowley shook his head as if trying to will his mind back online, “Right, um. Well, I was thinking, what about a picnic tomorrow evening? I was going into town anyway and thought I could pick up a few things. I know a place not far from here we could walk to if you’d like.” Those amber eyes were filled with beautiful anticipation as they scanned Aziraphale’s face, awaiting a response. 

“That sounds wonderful, is there anything you’d like me to bring?”

“Nope, I’ve got it covered,” the back of Crowley’s fingers brushed across his cheek, “Just bring yourself, yeah?”

The touch sent a shiver through him that was out of proportion to the lightness of the touch, “Of course, my darling.”

—-

The next morning Aziraphale awoke to a dappled red and orange sky painted above the rugged tree line. As he showered & prepared for the day, his thoughts drifted into daydreams about his upcoming evening plans. Each of his senses felt heightened somehow, the waters of his shower particularly warming, the quilted fabric of his towel unusually plush. 

Time seemed to move particularly slowly as Aziraphale watched the clouds lazily pass by his window as he sipped his afternoon tea. Tracy was swamped today so they’d canceled their usual afternoon tea together. The sluggish ticking of the wall-mounted clock marked the maddening pace of time. 

A sharp ring of his office phone sliced through the quiet, Aziraphale grasped the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Hi there dearie,” the familiar intonation was unmistakably Tracy’s. “I have a call for you on line three.” 

He suspected the call must be a parent, there were a few who called for updates every so often. “Thank you, Tracy, I’ll take it now.”

“Not a problem. Toodles.”

Aziraphale pressed the rounded three that blinked red, “Hello there, this is Nurse Aziraphale.”

An authoritative, sickly sweet voice responded, “It took me a while, but finally I tracked you down.”

The world tilted and slammed back into place, sending shockwaves in its aftermath. 

“Or have you forgotten me already?”

Aziraphale’s mouth opened and closed, unable to produce any sound. He’d forgotten how terrified and tongue-tied he got around Gabrielle. 

Swallowing around a dry tongue, Aziraphale effortfully pushed a response forward, “I-I-I, how did you- what are you–”

“Still struggling to get a word out, eh? Some things never change.”

The blood drained from his face, the taunts hauntingly familiar despite all of the time and distance he’d attempted to put between them. 

“But then again, other things do. In fact, I heard through the grapevine that you’ve decided you’re gay now. Is that true?”

Aziraphale attempted to ignore the bile that rose in his throat, “I’m h-hanging up now.”

Gabrielle chuckled humorlessly, “Well in any case, it’s always a pleasure to chat. Good luck with your pathetic little existence, now that you’ll never love properly. Not that you ever di–”

The staccato slam of the phone hitting the receiver severed the connection, yet the hammering of his heart against his breastbone and a high-pitched ringing in his ears persisted. For several moments Aziraphale held still as he tried to calm his reeling mind and convince his body that he wasn’t under threat. His efforts had little effect and, not knowing what else to do, he clipped the radio to the waist of his pants and made his way outside.  

Aziraphale tried to avoid the main paths as his feet carried him forward, but there were always campers nearby the lodge. A group of bright-eyed pre-teens brandishing pool noodles as makeshift swords acknowledged him with a small wave, but thankfully didn’t seem to notice the redness of his eyes. The trees and other flora he passed appeared to blur into a singular green mass either due to the speed of his pace or the tears welling in his eyes. Eventually, he slowed to a stop, his chest rising and falling as he attempted to catch his breath. Since he’d traveled here mostly on autopilot, he took a moment to look around, taking in the towering pine trees and the forest floor covered in greenery. With his awareness returned to him he lowered himself to a sitting position, gripped his arms, and let himself cry.

—

Mercifully, there were no calls on his radio when he had his moment in the forest. It was cleansing, in a way, to be able to emote in such a peaceful place as if the woods were listening – holding a space for him. When he finally arrived back at his office, his limbs felt heavy with exhaustion. Not wanting to spoil his plans with Crowley, he splashed some cold water on his face and procured a thermos of tea from the kitchen before leaving for the day. 

As he changed clothes and freshened up, Gabrielle’s words weaved insidiously into his thoughts. Each time the memories crept up, he envisioned shoving them into a box, tying it up, and setting it aside for later. There would be plenty of time to fully process it later. By the time Crowley arrived at his door with a wicker basket in hand, smile crooked, and eyes glowing with infectious adoration, Aziraphale had successfully put the events of the afternoon behind him. 

—-

“No, no, no–it’s gotta be whales ,” Crowley gesticulated wildly, “Brain city whales!”

Aziraphale nearly choked on his lemonade from his surprised laughter, “My dear no! That doesn’t mean they are the smartest animal in the ocean, Elephants have bigger brains than humans do and yet they don’t possess the same level of intelligence as we do.”

Crowley shrugged defiantly as he popped a grape into his mouth, a fiendish glint in his eye, “Wouldn’t know – never spent much time around them. And besides, there are different types of intelligence, anyway. Humans have a tendency to be quite stupid.” 

White curls bounced as Aziraphale shook his head, unable to suppress the amused smile that played at the corners of his mouth, “You’re simply impossible.” 

“Aren’t I just,” the redhead winked playfully, the gesture stirring something deeper in the pit of Aziraphale’s stomach. 

“Quite decidedly so,” Aziraphale polished off his last cracker topped with aged parmesan. Crowley managed a particularly impressive picnic for the two of them, which was surprising, given how little he’d seen him eat. The meal was complete with various cheeses, fruit, and mini chocolate cupcakes which Aziraphale had made quick work of. There hadn’t been wine, although that was due to the strict no alcohol on campgrounds policy. It didn’t matter though, each time Crowley leaned over to kiss him it left him feeling a bit tipsy in all the best ways.

A comfortable silence settled between them as they took in the scenery, a small clearing at the base of a sloping hillside that was covered with pink foxglove. Crowley had mentioned that he’d stumbled upon this place a few years ago and, although the trail was a bit overgrown, it was only about a 10-minute walk from the staff cabins. 

Aziraphale glanced over at Crowley whose eyes were cast upwards, his features relaxed and dreamy. It had been overcast when they first arrived, but darker clouds in the distance had begun to move across the sky. The rumble of distant thunder echoed in the clearing. 

“Unfortunately,” Crowley grumbled, “I don’t think the weather is going to hold out much longer. Think it might be best to pack up now before we get caught in the rain.” 

The blonde cast his eyes down, “Yes, we probably should.”

Crowley paused, noticing the change in Aziraphale’s demeanor. He reached over to take Aziraphale’s hand before bringing it to his lips. “Everything okay, Angel?”

“Oh, yes-yes. I’m sorry, I’m just having such a good time and I’m not quite–” 

His response was cut short by a large raindrop hitting the bridge of his nose, followed by several more as they started to fall with quickening regularity.

“W-we should definitely start to pack up, I think.”

They swiftly cleaned up their picnic, shoving the remnants into containers, and loading them into the basket. As they walked hand in hand on their way back to the cabins, Aziraphale found he couldn’t take his eyes off Crowley, the small details like the fiery waves of his hair or the definition of the muscles of his arms sent sparklers off inside of him. Every so often Crowley would catch him staring and his freckled skin would rise in color. Aziraphale found it impossible to hold back his amorous thoughts – the excitement of it pulsed through his veins.

Three-quarters of the way back to the cabins the rain started to pick up and, despite the overhead coverage of branches, their clothes started to get wet. Thunder echoed above them as a flash of a lightning strike illuminated their surroundings.

Aziraphale furrowed his brow, “We aren’t too far away now, I think, should we make a run for it?”

Crowley adjusted the basket on his shoulder and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand, a playful smile playing at his lips, “Think you can keep up with me?”

The blonde chortled at the proposed challenge, “Oh, I’ll have no trouble with that I assure you.”

Hands interconnected, the men took off down the expanse of trail with cool rain dampening their clothing, thunder continuing to boom throughout the sky and ridiculous grins painted on their faces.

Their pace slowed when they finally arrived at the steps of Aziraphale’s cabin and took shelter under the small canopy above the front door. For a moment they caught their breath as they watched the downpour they were mercifully no longer caught in. 

Crowley shifted the picnic basket to his other shoulder, “Well, that went down like a lead balloon.”

Aziraphale nodded, the movement causing water droplets to fall from his weighted curls, “Yes, it did rather.” 

Crowley set his hand gently on Aziraphale’s hip, “Thank you, for joining me this evening.” He placed a brief, delicate kiss on Aziraphale’s lips. “I had a great time. Sorry we got rained out.”

“It was a delightful time, rain and all.” The blonde cupped Crowley’s cheek, unable to fight the magnetism drawing him closer. “Thank you, Crowley.”

“Anything for you, Angel,” his voice no more than a whisper, his gaze affectionate and liquid gold.

Aziraphale pulled forward for another kiss, gentle as it had been moments before. As he moved back and their eyes met, the air between them changed, settling over them heavy and raw. It was Crowley who leaned in the second time, tilting his head and slotting their lips fully against each other with a breathless urgency. Aziraphale hummed in assent, both hands cradling Crowley’s jaw before they moved back to curl into his hair.

A muffled thump of the picnic basket hitting the ground was followed by slender fingers gripping Aziraphale’s hips, closing any space between them and creating friction between their damp clothes.

They’d kissed passionately before, but this – this was different. 

The taste of Crowley's tongue kindled a carnal heat between Aziraphale’s legs that flooded through every nerve in his body. Hands still twisted in copper curls, Aziraphale shifted his body backward, and let Crowley crowd him against the door. The redhead's hands started to move up his chest when the sky brightened with light once again, a deafening thunderclap jolted them apart in surprise. 

“I-” Crowley’s chest heaved, his eyes looked frantically everywhere except Aziraphale, “It’s getting– I should–” 

“Don’t.” 

Don’t leave, don’t stop kissing me, don’t take your hands off me for one moment more. 

“Don’t go.”

Crowley’s gaze raised to his once more, his pupils wide with anticipation and his breath coming out in unsteady bursts, “Are you sure?” He looked like he wanted nothing more than to move forward, and yet he stood frozen in place. They were still close beneath the canopy while the torrents of rain fell all around them, and somehow the space between them was agonizingly far apart.

And for all his indecisiveness and worry, Aziraphale had never been more sure about anything in his entire life. “Please, Crowley,” he whispered. 

Crowley closed the distance between them, capturing his mouth with a little indrawn breath of anticipation. Aziraphale wrapped his one arm around the redhead’s waist, while his other searched behind him for the door handle. When his fingers finally gripped the metal knob, he opened the door and pulled them both into the refuge of his cabin as a crash of thunder sounded above. 

—-

They stumbled backward, their lips colliding desperately as their hands gripped at each other and they kicked off their shoes.

The springs of the mattress creaked as they fell onto the bed, Crowley broke away to take off his shirt, his wet hair spilling across his shoulders after it pulled over his head. 

Aziraphale’s eyes widened as he fussed with his buttons, “God, you’re beautiful.”

“I don’t come close,” Crowley pressed wet kisses against Aziraphale’s jaw, his hands moving to help rid Aziraphale of his shirt, “when compared to you.”

Aziraphale’s erection pressed painfully against his trousers as he finally pulled off his shirt, feeling a sudden urge to cover himself and hide away the newly exposed skin. Before he had the chance, Crowley’s hands ran reverently across his chest and down to his stomach. 

The pupils of Crowley’s eyes were wide as he took in the sight of Aziraphale’s naked torso, “Just look at you,” the redhead leaned forward, his breath hot against his mouth, “You’re gorgeous. ”

It was almost too much, the combination of adoration and sensory pleasure, it was better than anything Aziraphale dared to fantasize. And yet here he was, entangled with an incredibly sexy, incredibly kind, and incredibly impossible man who looked at him as if he were sculpted by the gods. There wasn’t time for his anxiety to pick it apart, he was caught up in the intensity of it, dizzy with lust and hopelessly in love.

Aziraphale moved further back on the bed, pulling Crowley on top of him, the skin of their torsos hot against each other. Crowley smiled wickedly before gripping Aziraphale’s shoulders and rolling his hips, the feeling enough to send stars into his vision. 

“ Fuck- ” 

“Oh, yes…” Crowley moved again before he leaned back, fire in his eyes, “Haven’t heard you use language like that before.” 

Aziraphale laughed breathlessly, “I think – oh God– perhaps you’re a bad influence.”

“Mmm,” Crowley’s fingers curled in his hair, his cock hard and pressing against the tight fabric of his pants as he dragged it against him again, “Wouldn’t want to corrupt an Angel…” 

Aziraphale moaned and slid his hands to cup Crowley’s arse, perfectly tight and rounded, pressing them together as they rolled their hips in unison. 

“Jesus fuck, yes -- that’s it,” Crowley bit his lip before he buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck, kissing up to his ear. “How do you want me, Aziraphale?”

A gasp escaped his lips when Crowley’s hand reached between their bodies and worked to unfasten the button on his trousers.

“I-I want–” 

Still struggling to get a word out, eh? Some things never change.

The memory was so unexpected and unwelcome that it sent ice through his veins. No, no, no, god no, Aziraphale squeezed his eyes shut, shooing away the thought with all the force he could muster, “I want- -”

Crowley kissed the skin of his clavicle, his voice raspy and his touch scorching against his skin. “Yes, Angel, what do you want? I’ll give you anything.”

Good luck with your pathetic little existence.

Aziraphale’s stomach seized and twisted. With a grit of his teeth, he pulled his hands away. Crowley sensed the change, sitting upwards with a jolt. 

“Aziraphale,” the redhead's eyes were clouded with desire, yet his gaze also held concern and his brow furrowed in worry. 

“I-I-I I’ve never–” his voice caught off in the back of his throat as he sat upright. He should have done this earlier, laid out his shortcomings for Crowley to see, and let him leave before they both fell too far downward. It was selfish of him to hide something like this for so long, and now…

Now it was going to hurt.

Crowley didn’t move, he was still straddling Aziraphale’s hips as he scanned his face, looking for some sort of sign, waiting for Aziraphale to finish. It wasn’t of any use, Aziraphale felt like stone, unable to make a sound, unable to emote. 

Eventually, the redhead spoke gently, tentatively, “You’ve never… with another man before?”

Now that you’ll never love properly.

The thought was the chisel to his marble facade, leaving him shattered. Aziraphale felt the corner of his mouth twitch, his eyes cast downward against the wetness that welled in the corners. The box that Aziraphale had so carefully tied up burst open, its contents spilling over the edge. 

The emotion of it flooded his chest and he knew there was no turning back now. He could feel the tears stream down his flushed cheeks as he finally replied in a broken, small voice, “I’ve never with a-a-anybody.”

It was out now, rolled off his tongue, and left lingering in the space between them. Like squeezing ointment from a tube, there was no undoing what was done. All that was left was to brace for the fallout of his sins – his shameful inexperience. 

Crowley’s face did something complicated and painful before he moved off of Aziraphale and shifted to the edge of the bed. 

“Oh, God. Right, okay.” 

The redhead’s chest started to rise and fall as his breathing quickened, his hands shook as he brought them to cover his face, “I’m… fuck. I’m so sorry.” 

Alarm bells sounded in Aziraphale’s mind as he tried to comprehend why Crowley was apologizing. The confusion was enough to propel him forward, “No, Crowley. No, it’s not – you didn’t –”

“I have to go.”

A gunshot would have hurt less.

He thought he was ready for it, he’d been braced for the worst: the anger behind a ‘How couldn’t you tell me’, or the disappointment of a ‘This isn’t what I wanted’. But Crowley didn’t look angry or disappointed, he looked wounded . It caused Aziraphale’s pulse to quicken with a feverish need to explain, to soothe the pain that was now painted on the redhead’s face. He swiped at the tears on his cheeks and set his hand on Crowley’s arm. 

“My darling, please, just-” 

The skin of his fingertips had barely made contact when Crowley flinched against the touch and stood up, “I’m sorry, Crowley, please– come back.”

Crowley turned, his face ashen as he hesitantly brought his gaze upward. Aziraphale wished he knew what he was doing with his face, what expression he was displaying, because whatever Crowley saw brought such self-recrimination that his body recoiled, his breath coming out in short bursts.

“I can’t –” his voice cracked, “Aziraphale, I’m sorry I can’t.”

It was like hitting the ground from such great heights, and yet it felt all too familiar. The rejection had lived here once, after all, knew the layout of Aziraphale’s heart well, dwelled in the nooks and crannies. It had taken a sabbatical, sure, but it had come back with tenacity. 

Welcome home. 

Tears continued their slow tracks down Aziraphale’s cheeks as he sat motionless on the edge of the bed, grasping his arms as he watched Crowley retrieve his shirt from the ground and step roughly into his shoes.

Losing him, losing everything. 

“Wait, C-Crowley I –”

A rush of air came as the cabin door swung open and closed with an abrupt slam. Crowley was gone. 

Chapter Text

“How do you want me, Aziraphale?” Crowley breathed next to Aziraphale’s ear, his eyes half-lidded, as he rolled his hips. 

The feather softness of the blonde’s hair brushed against his fingertips, the silk expanse of his stomach pressed against his skin, and the heat of his arousal dragged against his own. A bountiful ocean of sensory pleasure and Crowley was immersed. 

“I-I want–” 

Say the word and it’s yours. 

“I want -”

Crowley pressed his lips against the exposed skin of Aziraphale’s clavicle, laying bare his devotion, his unbridled need, “Yes, Angel, what do you want? I’ll give you anything.”

Aziraphale pulled his hands away from Crowley’s hips, the loss of contact like a shock of cold water. It was such a drastic change that he stopped all movement and quickly sat up.

“Aziraphale?” 

Strange emotions played across Aziraphale’s face, and Crowley felt pulled down from the clouds, no longer dizzy with lust as he had been just moments before– every beat of his pulse funneling in more worry. 

“I-I-I I’ve never–” Aziraphale’s voice was a fragile thing, and it caught in the back of his throat as he pushed himself upright. 

Crowley stayed very still, worried that any movement would shatter the careful space between them. He studied the blonde’s face carefully, watched as he cast his eyes downward, as his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. When Aziraphale drew his eyes back to meet his gaze, his expression was unrecognizable, hardened in a way that was so unlike him. Crowley’s brain desperately tried to make sense of what happened, what this all meant. He’s never what?

The silence was overpowering, and Crowley ventured a guess, tentative and with as much care as he could convey, “You’ve never… with another man before?”

There was a faint tremble of Aziraphale’s lower lip, a flash of tears that gathered at the corner of his eyes before he looked away. 

Crowley had been in a few fights before in London when he was young and stupid, and he remembered what it felt like to brace for a punch – the way the whole body tenses as your hands fly to cover your face and your stomach drops with the sick realization that there’s about to be pain. 

It felt a bit like that, watching Aziraphale look at him again, tears rolling down his lovely rosy cheeks. 

A shrunken, injured voice responded, “I’ve never with a-a-anybody.”

Once the words were spoken, the earth splintered and a chasm opened up underneath him. 

No, no no no no no….

He’d been so careful every step of the way to take things slowly, moving things along by inches instead of his usual steel foot down on the gas pedal. And yet here he was on the second date, tongue down Aziraphale’s throat and grinding into him like a goddamn whore. 

And his Angel – oh God, this was not what his first time should be. There should be downy pillows, soft music funneling from a record player, gilded touches, and gentle kisses. Not what Crowley had given him – a frenzied rush of passion, climbing on top of him half-dressed, his erection jutting against his pants that were still damp from the rain. 

He could have walked in after Aziraphale asked him to stay. They could have dried off over a cup of tea, but no, Crowley had crowded him against the door again, lips fiery and wanting, taking things just over the line that they had been skirting for days now. 

Everything – all of it was all his fault, of course. His ruinous habit of taking things too fucking fast . 

Crowley felt the blood drain from his face, moving off of Aziraphale as the guilt unfurled sickeningly inside his stomach. He sat on the edge of the bed, unsure if he had the balance to stand up.

“Oh, God. Right, okay.” 

He’d had panic attacks before, so he wasn’t surprised when his breathing became shallow and labored, when his hands started to shake. Despite his world crashing around him, he felt Aziraphale watching, and it was too much. He covered his face, too ashamed to look back and meet his eye. 

But still, he needed to apologize. Apologize and leave. He finally choked, “I’m… fuck. I’m so sorry.” It sounded feeble and pathetic in his ears. 

The bed shifted as Aziraphale moved, “No, Crowley. No, it’s not – you didn’t –”

“I have to go.” 

He hadn’t meant to interrupt, but he couldn’t bear to hear Aziraphale make excuses for him, couldn’t let him take the fall when Crowley was the one so clearly at fault. His pulse fluttered rapidly under his skin. 

“My darling, please, just-” 

Crowley's face was still covered when the tender brush of Aziraphale’s fingers made contact with his arm. The touch came as such a shock that he flinched and jolted upright, his thoughts colliding in a horrid frenzy. 

“I’m sorry, Crowley, please – come back.”

Despite his impending panic attack, it was still Aziraphale asking for him, and he’d be damned if he’d do more to let down that man tonight. The blonde’s voice was layered with such genuine concern that he felt the ice in his veins thaw slightly. Crowley turned and tried to steady his breathing as he gradually drew his gaze toward Aziraphale. 

And he –

He’d never forget the look on Aziraphale’s face. The way his pink lips were parted, his breath coming out in shaky bursts, the tears that were flowing freely down his cheeks which were now more chapped red than rosy. But what hollowed out Crowley’s chest was his eyes – those gorgeous blue eyes that would shine brighter when he smiled were now dim, flooded with tears, and stricken with grief. 

Crowley recoiled, unable to face the weight of Aziraphale’s gaze any longer, unable to manage the disgust he felt for himself. The panic attack was cresting, a high-pitch tinnitus drowning out the sound of the rain outside, and he knew he had to escape.

“I can’t –” it came out disjointed, as if it splintered in his throat, “Aziraphale, I’m sorry I can’t.”

As he gathered his damp shirt from the ground and shoved his feet into his shoes he saw Aziraphale fold in on himself, grasping his arms as his head lowered. 

Crowley was ruining him, ruining everything. 

His hands were shaking and it was hard to grasp the doorknob. Aziraphale said something as he flung open the door, but between the thunder and the ringing and the cacophony of his own thoughts, he couldn’t make it out. Crowley stepped out of the cabin, and let out an impatient, trembling sob from the cage of his chest. 

—-

Unlike the rain, the water of the shower was warm as Crowley sat huddled in the basin of the tub. 

It shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was, really, because this was just the way he was – an utter fuck up. It was his unrelenting optimism that was his true Achilles heel. How many times had he taken his heart carefully in his hands and offered it whole, just to have it handed back to him, bruised and arrhythmic?

Somehow it was still beating, powered by the sharp iron edge of hope that filled his veins with blood and longing. 

He hadn’t been ready for it, falling in love with Aziraphale, hadn’t expected the softness to rip him open, the kindness to cut deeply into his chest, the gentleness to gut him. He’d unknowingly opened himself so completely that when he inevitably ruined everything, there was no scar tissue to protect him from the onslaught of pain.

And I deserve it.

Crowley's crying tapered off, the panic attack leaving him numb, the space between his ears filled with static. He sat still for an indeterminate amount of time, watching despondently as the water swirled lazily around the drain. Eventually, the water turned frigid and brutal against his skin, the feeling enough to bring some of his brain back online. Turning off the water, he shivered naked and alone in the bottom of the tub, his red hair hung thickly around his face as water dripped from the ends. 

He didn’t want to get up, but what other choice did he have? He stepped out of the shower, dried off, and put himself to bed. Somehow he slept. 

—

The next morning Crowley awoke feeling as if he’d spent the night before drinking heavily. A fog settled around his head and his limbs felt stiff and weighted down. There was also the nausea, accompanied by a dull pain that burrowed in the right side of his stomach. Instead of the aftertaste of alcohol on his tongue, there was the faintest hint of vanilla and honeysuckle that made his chest seize painfully, confirmation that last night wasn’t just a horrible dream.

Reaching for his mobile, Crowley squeezed his eyes shut in reaction to the bright LED screen that read 6:17 AM. He groaned before dropping it by his side as the realization hit that he would have to get up and carry on with work as if he weren’t a fragmented bleeding mess. Of course  he could text Anathema and tell her he needed a sick day, but then he’d be stuck inside his cabin all day, and what if she sent the nurse to check up on him? No, no he needed to be outside, away from people, and busy.

After several minutes of mental preparation, he managed to push himself out of bed and get dressed without having a complete breakdown. When Crowley left his cabin he kept his eyes trained forward, not daring to look at the neighboring cabins. 

Crowley skipped breakfast, he didn’t typically eat much anyway, but with the way his nausea continued to ebb in and out he wasn’t going to risk it. He spent most of the morning pulling weeds and clearing the trail that led to the lake because it was something that needed to be done but also so he could also avoid a majority of the campers. Normally he loved interacting with the kids, they were so inquisitive about the world around them in a way that adults had lost somehow. But today he knew he wouldn’t be able to match their energy. Only a few older kids came by on their way to the kayaks, but they didn’t pay him any attention. 

For the bulk of the afternoon, Crowley used the riding mower to cut the grass. Although this activity was closer to the lodge and he ran the risk of seeing him , no one tended to bother him while he was operating loud machinery. The sound of the engine worked to drown out his own thoughts, almost. 

Crowley grabbed a piece of toast and a cup of coffee after the lunch rush, thankfully Nina was preoccupied and didn’t see him as he tiptoed through the kitchen. He also snuck an orange and a packet of crisps for later, that way he didn’t risk running into anyone during dinner. 

For the rest of the working day he spent on his knees, tilling soil in an unused planter bed and transferring new herbs that he’d picked up a few days ago. Normally, working in the dirt was grounding for him, the smell of earth was usually enough to soothe his anxious thoughts, but when he heard Aziraphale’s voice on the radio responding to a call, he had to bite his lip to keep himself from tearing up again. 

Crowley finished for the day and went straight to his cabin, where he ate his crisps and orange, thankful that his nausea had somewhat subsided. The pain in his side, however, had not. 

The ping of his phone came as a surprise, and when he opened the display and saw Aziraphale’s name he winced in response. He hesitantly opened it.

“Crowley, my darling, I’m so sorry again about last night. Can we please talk soon?”

His wretched heart blocked his throat as he set his phone down. Why was Aziraphale apologizing to him, when it should be the other way around? It was too much to wrap his head around, that he’d somehow manipulated that wonderful man into believing he was at fault, his guilt twined painfully through his chest.  

Crowley showered, lingering for several long minutes as the water washed over him, feeling mentally and physically exhausted. Despite his best efforts, he kept getting flashes of the night before – hands splayed across his chest, the impatient, sloppy kisses pressed against the side of his lips. He was too tired to fight it, and he soon became lost in the memory of it, his pulse quickening as his fingers gripped sharply into the skin of his arms. It was pleasant for a fleeting moment until he pictured Aziraphale’s face at the end of the night, his expression wounded and his eyes dull and watery. The image was enough to snap him from his daydreaming, a stab in his heart that sent a chill through his body. He pushed all thoughts from his head and collapsed into bed a damp, wrung-out mess.

Crowley had a difficult time falling asleep, his racing mind made it difficult for him to relax. When he did finally drift off, it was fitful and light. He woke frequently, his dreams strange and incomprehensible. 

In the middle of the night, Crowley awoke with a gasp, sitting upright as he breathed heavily. He’d had another dream, but unlike the others that conveyed a general sense of unease, this one was glowing, vivid and alive– because this dream brought him Aziraphale.

The fragments he could remember were gilded and downy soft, Aziraphale reclined, surrounded by creamy white linens, and illuminated with the golden light of divinity. Crowley remembered the pleasant sensation of melting as he approached the angel in front of him, hand outstretched and lying naked in repose. 

As hard as he tried, he couldn’t recall what happened next, the details fading in the air like smoke. What he could recollect was the gentleness and ease that overtook his body when Aziraphale touched Crowley’s skin. There were flashes of them intertwined, lips pressed against sweat-dampened skin, whispers of encouragement as pleasure overtook him. Even in the dream, Crowley didn’t want it to stop, didn’t want to let go, didn’t want it to ever end. 

But when Crowley awoke there was only emptiness, darkness, and the sound of rain trickling intermittently on the roof over his head. His chest rose and fell, his forehead beaded with sweat. As he rubbed roughly at his eyes, his painfully hard cock rubbed against the fabric of his boxers.

Of all the things in creation he could have dreamed about, of all the twisted nightmares his subconscious could have tortured him with, and his traitorous brain chose to send him . 

And god damn it, he just wanted to sleep. 

There was no way Crowley would be able to ignore the throbbing ache between his legs if he wanted to sleep again soon. With an exasperated sigh, he eased onto his back, squeezed his eyes shut, and reached into his boxers. He shivered at the contact as he slowly drew his hand up and forced himself to create someone else to think about who was decidedly not the man a few cabins over.

Once he’d conjured an image, his hand moved rough and quick – there was no reason to draw it out.

Crowley's eyes fluttered shut as he swirled his thumb over his head, spreading the moisture that gathered there. As his pleasure deepened and he felt himself getting closer to the edge of the cliff, it got harder to control the fantasy that played out in his head. The appearance of the stranger his mind had created started to shift, his features rounding, his hair curling and fading into a platinum white. 

As his breathing deepened and a moan escaped through Crowley’s clenched teeth, he knew he couldn’t stop – couldn’t hold back the image of Aziraphale from re-entering his thoughts. His toes curled when he pictured his Angel underneath him, eyes foggy with lust as he held onto Crowley’s angular hips and pushed himself deeply inside again and again and again.

And he imagined Aziraphale’s eyes rolling back, his skin beautifully flushed as he spilled into him. He visualized the way his breathing would come out stuttered and erratic, the way he’d say Crowley’s name, how lovely it would be to hear it roll off his tongue in the throws of his own ecstasy. He envisioned the way Aziraphale would watch him finish, the ethereal blue of his gaze bearing witness to all of Crowley, all of his love laid out for him to see. 

“G-God, fuck me – f-fuck.”

Crowley’s heels dug into the bed as his pleasure crested, shuddering under the weight of his orgasm. With his free hand, he covered his mouth to muffle his moans, hoping they didn’t carry across the night air. 

Crowley whimpered through the aftershocks of his release. As he came down, he felt a horrible, familiar vice tighten in his chest. He tried taking a deep breath, but it caught painfully in the back of his throat. It was pointless to try to fight against it, he felt his eyes burn with impending tears. When Crowley exhaled, a buried sob escaped from him. Covering his face with a pillow he let himself unravel after an entire day of keeping it together.

It didn’t help that his brain kept cheering him on, with its chorus of shouting pathetic pathetic pathetic at him.

It took a while, but his tears eventually stopped and his breathing slowed. When Crowley’s mind was hollow and he felt detached from his body, he slept once again.

—--

Crowley approached the next day similarly to the last, pouring himself into his work and avoiding all other human contact. He lugged 30-pound bags of mulch to the many garden beds that were scattered all throughout the campgrounds and actively ignored the pain that continued to flare in his side, chalking it up to a pulled muscle. 

The physical effort was nothing compared to the mental effort it took to fight off his darkening thoughts. His brain oscillated between berating him mercilessly and showing him every soft image of Aziraphale it could conjure, a reminder of the beautiful man he’d hurt. Despite years of counseling and positive coping strategies, he could feel the itch creep back in. And God, it was getting hard not to give in to that certain type of self-destruction. 

But today he didn’t. He got back to his cabin, laid on the bed, and tried to remind himself that nothing lasts forever, not even pain. 

That evening as he stared blankly at the ceiling, Crowley realized that it wouldn’t be long until Nina noticed he was avoiding her. He knew he couldn’t isolate himself from everyone long term, but having a conversation with Nina, Anathema, or anyone really, was not something he had been in shape to do the past two days. He contemplated how he was going to talk about it without breaking down when he heard a gentle knocking at his door. 

Crowley sat up, startled, staring at the door for a drawn-out moment before he made his way over and opened it. 

Since he’d just been thinking about Nina and Anathema, he’d sort of expected one of them to be at his doorstep, ‘speak of the devil’ and all that, but when he opened the door and saw the man before him it blocked all brain activity and froze every muscle fiber in his body. 

“Um,” Aziraphale’s blue eyes widened and flashed quickly away from Crowley’s face. “H-Hello.”

Crowley’s mouth was dry, but he managed a weak and breathy, “Hi.”

They stood parallel and in silence for a few moments.

Aziraphale bit his lip, “Did you, um, get my message?” 

The ground underneath Crowley’s feet started to heat up, like he was on the beach in bare feet. He shifted uncomfortably, “I did.”

“Oh, I-I see,” Aziraphale looked down at the basket in his hands, attempting to hide the crestfallen expression the response elicited.

Seeing Aziraphale like this and knowing he was the cause was its own caliber of hurt, a scathing and jagged wound. Crowley’s mind cued up the right things to say – ‘ I’m sorry, Angel, I couldn’t respond to your message, not right away, because every moment I’m breathing I’m being eaten alive with guilt. It’s all my fault, can’t you see that? I’m sorry, please please forgive me.’ – but they wouldn’t move past his lips. It was almost easier to let the anguish wash over him because, as horrible as this was, it was familiar – the continued decay of the necrotic tissue of his wasted heart. 

So he stood and said nothing, like a coward. 

Aziraphale cleared his throat and lifted his head, “I-I-I won’t bother you then, I just wanted to get this back to you.” 

When Crowley reached out to take it their fingers brushed in the exchange. The touch was an electric shock, enough to draw their avoidant eyes to meet each other. Crowley felt exposed and wished he had his sunglasses to hide from Aziraphale’s gaze and his remarkable blue eyes that glowed like light shining around a closed door. 

Aziraphale studied Crowley for a moment before the emotion started to brim over on his face. He turned around and began to walk away. The palms of Crowley’s hands were clammy, his heart stuttering and seizing at the sight of the man he loved walking away, possibly for good, all because he was too afraid to reach out, apologize, and be vulnerable. 

“Wait–”

The blonde stopped. 

“Aziraphale I’m-. I’m, shit . I’m fucking this all up . ” 

With this Aziraphale turned around, his cheeks flushed and eyes wide.

“I’m– I just–” 

Finding the words was like trying to grasp water. Crowley sighed deeply and tried again, “I do want to talk. I just, need more time.”

 “A-alright,” he replied with a shaky breath. 

Crowley chewed the inside of his lip, “Can you give me two more days? Two days and then we can talk about it.”

Aziraphale considered it and scanned his face with watery eyes before he swallowed and nodded, “Yes.”

—-

Despite his conversation with Aziraphale the day prior, Crowley really didn’t want to interact with anyone else as he tried to sort his shit out and figure out how best to explain and apologize. His appetite was non-existent, due most likely to the pain in his side that radiated with greater intensity each day. As he snuck into the kitchen to grab something to force down, he saw Nina raise her eyes before he turned the corner to make his escape. 

“Oi! Crowley!”

Shit, shit, shit. He pondered briefly about making a run for it, but he thought better of it and stayed frozen in place. She rounded the corner and crossed her arms.

“Where the hell have you been the past few days?” 

Crowley raised his hands defensively, “Hey- I’ve been here! I’ve been around. Just been busy, you know, lots to do.”

“Right, so you’re telling me that you haven’t been slinking around and hiding from everyone, then?”

“N-no.” 

He tried to make it sound assertive, but it came out pathetically unconvincing.

Nina stared at him, the temperature of her gaze increasing, “You look awful.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Nina huffed defiantly, “No really, you look like you haven’t slept in days, you’ve got dark circles under your eyes and everything. Have you been eating? You look thin, well, thinner than usual.”

Crowley held up the scone in his hand, “I’m eating, alright? Just pulled a core muscle or something, aches like anything and it’s messing up my appetite.”

“Can’t you have Aziraphale check it for you?”

Crowley dropped his gaze, which was as much of an answer as any actual response he could have provided her with. 

Nina sighed and her face softened a bit, “I was worried about that. Aziraphale seemed a bit off recently. Crowley, you can talk to me. What is going on?”

Crowley shook his head, “It’s been– I might have–” 

What explanation did he have? That he’d fucked up the advice she gave him and broken the heart of a perfectly lovely man? It hurt too much to say out loud, and he couldn’t handle Nina’s response, “I’m getting it figured out.”

The words hung in the air for a moment before Nina tilted her head, “You know I care about you, yeah?”

This wasn’t the usual tough love, ‘pull yourself together’ type of speech he usually got from Nina. 

“I-I know.”

“Are you safe?” 

Ouch . If it was anyone but Nina, the question might have pissed him off. But Nina knew him well, and knew a bit about his past, so she was right in asking. She waited for his response with unflinching concern and care. 

“Yeah.” 

If Crowley could feel another emotion besides the negative swirl that was currently occupying his mind, he might have felt a bit proud at the fact he was telling the truth – that he wasn’t falling into old habits and coping in a way that was more harmful than helpful, but it didn’t register then. 

Nina nodded, “I want you to promise me you’re taking care of yourself, and you’ll let me know if you need someone to stay with you for a bit while you get things sorted.” 

He cared about Nina a lot, but even being offered help was difficult. For most of his life, it was just him on his own, pushing his body forward, keeping it alive. Crowley’s throat tightened, tears threatening to well at the corners of his eyes, “I promise.”

“Right.” Nina stared at him for a moment longer before she moved forward and wrapped her arms tightly around him. This came as a definite surprise, Nina was not a touchy person. 

It was nice. Felt nice to be held for a bit. 

She pulled away, straightening her cardigan and transitioning back to the no-nonsense, tough-as-nails Nina he was used to. “We are long overdue for tea anyway. I’ll make that spanakopita you were obsessed with last summer.”

Crowley smiled, it was small and fragile but it was the first time he’d made that expression since everything happened, “Yeah I’d like that.”

“Good. Well, I’ve got to make sure the interns won’t set the camp on fire. I’ll text you soon though, yeah?”

“Sounds good, thank you, Nina.”

—

The next afternoon was oppressively hot. The humidity was so high that you could feel the air around you, like you were breathing in mist. The campers were brought to the lake midmorning, but were given popsicles and whisked inside the lodge for crafts and a movie before the temperatures started to climb to the mid-nineties. 

Crowley, however, needed to stay busy. Tonight was the night he was meeting with Aziraphale, and he was nervous in a way that left his body feeling jittery and unstable. He had planned out what he was going to say, even laid out an outfit on his bed in preparation for after work. The difficult thing was the time in between, the waiting.

As Crowley gathered his ax to start chopping wood near the lodge, he felt oddly cold. Still he didn’t think much of it. His body was still reacting appropriately to the heat, sweat was already beading across his forehead and neck before he even stepped out of the tool shed and into the midday sunshine. 

Chopping wood was usually an activity that he enjoyed, the way he could put his whole body into it, the rhythmic and satisfying ‘thunks’ of splitting the logs, but today he found that he was getting exhausted rather quickly. If he hadn’t had so much on his mind, he might have noticed the edges of his vision blurring. 

He did notice the searing heat that flared in his side, a sudden stabbing that replaced the dull ache that he’d become accustomed too. Bending over with a groan, he grit his teeth against the razor edge that bore into him. Crowley tossed his ax and clutched his side, forcing himself to take deep breaths. He started to move towards his water and radio, but with his first step he felt the world shift unsteadily under his feet, black dots starting to burn in his field of vision. 

Fuckohfuckohfuck

Stumbling forward he managed to reach his radio, but he could hardly hear his own voice as he made the call, it came out muffled as if he was speaking through a pillow. Crowley sat on the ground, too dizzy to stand upright, and reached for his water. Maybe he could pour it on his face and keep himself awake, shock his system back online. When he tried to unscrew the top his fingers were too uncoordinated and weak.

His vision flashed black when he fell backward. Everything was slipping, and he realized that he might be the only person outside right now. God he hoped someone heard, he hoped he said the right thing– 

The sun was blinding overhead, but even it started to blur out of focus. He thought he heard someone shout, but it was faint, as if he was underwater. 

It certainly felt that way, like he was drowning. 

Crowley blinked slowly, when his eyes opened again, the light was eclipsed by something rounded. He fought to focus his vision and could just make out Aziraphale – his lips moving but no sound coming out, his eyes wide in panic, his curly hair framed by the sun like…

Like a halo. 

His eyes shut again, everything went black.  

Chapter Text

The waiting room was painted a sickly green color and was decorated with unremarkable photographs of flowers that Aziraphale had all but memorized. He didn’t have many apps on his phone, and although he tried initially to read a magazine he found that he was too unsettled to dedicate any real focus to that particular activity. Instead he stared at the wall and watched the people go by, bouncing his leg with his pent-up nervous energy. 

Nina flipped a page of a magazine, “Much longer you think?”

They hadn’t spoken much on the ride here or during their time in the waiting room. It wasn’t an awkward silence, rather, the acceptance and understanding of a mutual worry that didn’t require small talk. 

Aziraphale checked his watch, “It’s hard to say, really. I-I don’t think it should be much longer.”

Nina sighed, “Well I’ve been trying to hold it but I really need to go to the bathroom. Would you like tea? If you stay here I’ll grab us both some, yeah?”

“Yes, that would be lovely. Thank you, Nina,” Aziraphale replied. Once she’d walked away, he leaned back in his seat and chewed on his lip. 

Once the ambulance had left with Crowley, they had to decide who was going to the hospital with him. Aziraphale volunteered, or more accurately insisted that he would go, but the problem was he didn’t have a car to drive himself. Nina offered to drive since she commuted to camp each day and had a car quickly at her disposal. Anathema wanted to go, but since she was the only other person with advanced first-aid training, she opted to stay behind as long as they promised to give her frequent updates. 

When Aziraphale and Nina finally arrived, the nurses in the ER informed them that Crowley had been admitted to the ER with appendicitis and dehydration and that he was being prepped for an emergency appendectomy. 

And it was… a lot to process.

Aziraphale was pulled out of his rumination and the whirlwind of his own thoughts when a younger nurse with black hair approached him, “Excuse me, sir?” 

He sat upright as they approached, “Yes, hello.”

“I wanted to let you know that Crowley’s surgery went well. There were no complications. He’s been in recovery but is just now waking up.”

His hand fluttered to his chest as relief flooded him, “Oh, oh that’s wonderful news, thank you.”

The nurse nodded, “Would you like to see him?”

Aziraphale turned to look for Nina, but she’d only just left. He thought briefly about waiting, but he didn’t want to miss his opportunity to check in on Crowley. 

“Yes, I would like that very much.”

Aziraphale’s heart was in his throat as he and the nurse approached the room, wringing his hands tightly together. 

Would Crowley even want to see him? Ever since their ill-fated tryst, the redhead seemed to be avoiding him, the distance was such a contrast to their previous closeness that it made Aziraphale nauseous. Going about his day knowing that Crowley wouldn’t pop into his office to say hello or kiss him goodnight as twilight settled overhead was already difficult. Knowing he caused it? Unfettered agony. 

Was it his failure to communicate his lack of experience or just the fact that he was inexperienced that had scared Crowley away and wounded him so greatly? Aziraphale still wasn’t sure. He’d been fretting about it endlessly for days – the guilt and shame of it was his constant companion eating at him from the inside out.

The one thing that had been keeping Aziraphale going was their agreement to talk this evening. But that was far from the priority right now.

It dawned on him as he sat in silence while Nina drove to the hospital that Crowley must have been in pain for days and he hadn’t felt comfortable asking him for help. Now that – that chipped at the lining of his heart even further. If he hadn’t acted so thoughtlessly, hadn’t ruined their momentum with his mistake, Crowley would have come to him for help. He could have done something.

But he hadn’t been there to help, and he’d barely made it there when Crowley needed him most. The call on the radio had been faint, but he heard a raspy voice call for help and say something that sounded awfully like ‘West lawn’ followed by a whispered and almost imperceptible ‘Aziraphale’ before the call ended. He’d run faster than he thought he was physically capable toward the west lawn. When he arrived and saw him it was – 

It was almost too painful to recall, yet the image of Crowley on the ground, alabaster pale and beaded with sweat was burned into his retinas. There was a fleeting moment before he approached and his years of nursing experience kicked in that he thought he’d lost him.

When Aziraphale crossed the threshold of the hospital room, Crowley was lying on the bed with an IV attached to his arm. His head lolled toward the door as Aziraphale entered, and his eyes opened groggily. Recognition flashed across the redhead’s face, his mouth curling into a wide grin. 

“ Aaaaaaaangel , you’re here.”

Aziraphale paused in shock. 

“Didn’t know you were coming,” he slurred, “would’ve put on a better house dress ‘n unplugged all m’wires.” 

Of course, Crowley’s state shouldn’t have come as a huge surprise. He was post-operation, after all, so it was only natural he’d be confused and, by the sound of it, very medicated.  

“I-I wanted to make sure you were alright,” the blonde managed as he took a step closer. 

Crowley giggled and gave Aziraphale a smitten, doe-eyed look as he tried to sit up.

Aziraphale quickly moved to his side, “No, no, my dear, don’t sit up. You just got out of surgery.”

“ Did I?” his intonation rose in genuine surprise. 

“Yes, they had to do an emergency appendectomy.”

“They wot? Nooooo – can’t just take organs without asking –” he parted the medical dress, revealing a small line of black stitches on the right side of his abdomen, “Ooooh.” 

Aziraphale smiled softly at the child-like way Crowley’s eyes grew wide with realization.

“Eh,” Crowley shrugged and covered his torso again, “Been hurting for ‘while anyway. Better they took it, wasn’t using it.”

Guilt twinged in his chest, a quick and sharp reminder that Crowley wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Aziraphale’s ineptitude. 

He looked down and swallowed, “Nina’s here too, I’m afraid she just stepped away to get tea when the nurse came to get me.

“Nina’s here, too? Oh, Nina’s sooo great!” 

Aziraphale eased into the seat next to the bed. “She is, isn’t she?”

“She’s making spana- spanana-” he trailed off. “It’s good, she’s making it soon.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but chuckle, “That sounds delicious, whatever it is.” 

Crowley hummed in affirmation before he rolled slowly on his side, a crooked smile pulling at the side of his mouth, “Hi.”

It warmed his heart seeing Crowley carefree and uninhibited. Aziraphale genuinely smiled – an expression that had felt almost impossible thirty minutes ago. “Hello again.”

He leaned forward resting his hand on the edge of Crowley’s bed, “How are you feeling, my dear? Can I get you anything?”

“Nah, feel great actually,” Crowley reached over and rested his hand on top of Aziraphale’s. “Especially with you here. Everything feels so good when you’re around.”

Crowley squeezed Aziraphale’s hand once, gazing at him fondly. As much as he wanted to return his affections, to hold his hand, caress his face, kiss his forehead, touch him in any way that was reassuring and grounding, he knew it wouldn’t be right given Crowley’s condition.  

Aziraphale moved his hand away to awkwardly fuss with the collar of his shirt. He could feel the heat rise to his cheeks when he responded, “That w-would be the medication from the surgery, that may be why you feel so, um, elevated.”

“Ooh makes sense,” Crowley laid his head back on the pillow and closed his eyes, looking blissful, “Good stuff.”

“Knock knock,” Nina called from the entrance of the room, two cups of tea in hand.

“Crowley, you gave us quite the scare there.” She moved to stand next to Aziraphale, handing over his tea. “So glad to see you’re okay.”

“Niiiina,” Crowley reached out a hand, “You’re my favorite one.” 

Nina laughed and squeezed his hand, “Ah, the truth comes out when you’re high on pain meds, eh?”

Crowley pointed at Aziraphale excitedly, “I was telling him! You’re making span-pita wot again  for me?”

Nina raised an eyebrow, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Aziraphale turned his head as it clicked into place, “Do you mean spanakopita?”

Crowley’s whole face lit up, “Yes, yes spankatopica!” 

Crowley turned his gorgeous amber eyes toward Aziraphale, his face painted with reverence, “See you’re handsome and smart, you’re all of it, allll the things. That’s why I love you, I love –”

Aziraphale choked on his tea, spilling it over his shirt, and felt it burn the inside of his nostrils. 

“Whoa, okay so,” Nina took a step back, “Crowley you’re saying a lot of things right now. Things I think you don’t normally say. 

He turned to look at her, confused, “I am?”

Aziraphale stood up and took a step backward towards the door, “I-I-I think I better let you two have a moment to catch up. I need to, um-” he touched the damp stain on the front of his shirt, “t-tidy up a bit.”

Nina nodded emphatically at him, “I think that’s a great idea.”

His pulse quickened as he took a step backward, nearing the entrance of the room, “I’ll let you get some rest, my dear, I’m so thankful you’re okay.”

“ Awww, ” Crowley moaned, his lips pursed in a visible pout. “I’ll miss you, Angel.”

—--

“And you’re sure you’re okay with that?” Anathema asked, eyeing him carefully.

Anathema had visited Crowley a few hours after Nina and Aziraphale left the hospital.  While she was there, the two of them worked on a plan for his return, considering Crowley would need to rest for several days post-surgery and wouldn’t be able to return home since most of his belongings were still in his cabin. This plan involved Tracy’s husband, Shadwell, lending a hand with landscaping and a few staff bringing food and keeping tabs on him. With Aziraphale being the resident healthcare professional, Anathema asked if he’d be willing to bring Crowley his evening meals and tend to him in his cabin.

And of course, Aziraphale said yes. He’d do anything to help Crowley recover. Still, there was a blend of excitement and worry that fluttered behind his rib cage, since he didn’t know what Crowley’s reaction to him would be. Would he remember anything he said in the hospital?

Did he mean what he said, or was it merely the effects of being on pain medication?

“Yes,” Aziraphale nodded, “Of course, I’d be happy to help.”

“Oh good, thank you,” she leaned back with a relieved sigh. “I was hoping it wouldn’t be too awkward.” 

Aziraphale shifted in his seat and chuckled uncomfortably, “Awkward, w-w-why would anything be awkward?”

Anathema’s brown eyes glinted as she waved her hands in feigned nonchalance. “Oh, no reason. It’s just that I’m asking a lot of you, adding an extra task outside of your normal work hours. I didn’t want you to feel obligated.” 

As usual, Aziraphale suspected Anathema knew more than she was letting on. 

The facade he’d painted for himself over the past several days allowed him to carry on, tending to campers and interacting with coworkers without raising questions or drawing undue attention. It was a practical survival tool that took every ounce of his energy to maintain. 

Underneath, however, he was barely holding it together. His heart was in tatters while his mind was a torrent of dark thoughts. Each evening he collapsed into bed the minute he returned home and cried until he couldn’t anymore. Despite the mental and physical exhaustion, he slept very little. The nightmares were back, and this time Crowley wasn’t there to catch him.

So he just fell, waking up breathless and empty and alone. 

On top of that, he hadn’t told a soul about the incident with Crowley, not even Tracy. Perhaps Crowley mentioned something to someone, or perhaps this was Anathema as usual – wise, and inexplicably perceptive. 

Aziraphale shook his head, “No obligation. Like I said, I’m happy to help.”

“I’m picking him up from the hospital at two this afternoon. Nina mentioned that she’ll have his meal packed for him before staff dinner. You let me know if you or he needs anything okay?”

“Alright.”

—-

Birds chirped in the tree tops above and gravel crunched underfoot as Aziraphale approached the Crowley’s cabin. He carried with him a bag of nursing supplies and Crowley’s dinner while mentally preparing himself for the task ahead. 

Professional. You’re professional and you’re here to help. Not scare him away or make him feel uncomfortable in any way. 

With his heart pounding in his chest, Aziraphale knocked gently at the cabin door. After a few moments, a muffled voice responded.

“Come in.”

Crowley was in bed, wearing an oversized t-shirt and boxers, his red hair loose across his shoulders. His eyes were half-lidded when Aziraphale initially entered but widened slightly when he registered who was coming in the door. 

“Hello, my dear.” 

Aziraphale felt himself putting on his facade again, his pleasant and professional exterior that showed nothing to indicate he was nervous to be here.

“Hi.” 

Crowley pushed himself upward slightly, leaning back on his head board, watching as Aziraphale set down his things. 

Crowley’s cabin was brimming with plants. Dozens of pots were scattered on windowsills and end tables while a few larger ones sat on the floor, all of them lush with various vegetation. His guitar case sat propped up in the corner, a vintage record player stood atop his dresser, and a stack of records sat alongside it. Aziraphale thought briefly it made sense that Crowley's cabin would be so beautiful on the inside, he was beautiful after all.

“We are all relieved you’re back safe,” Aziraphale called as he washed his hands in the tiny kitchenette sink. “How are you feeling this evening?”

Crowley sighed, “Shitty.”

“I’m so sorry to hear it,” Aziraphale chewed the inside of his lip as he walked over to the bed. “What exactly is bothering you?”

Crowley met his gaze for a moment, before he cast his eyes downward. He looked so vulnerable at that moment, and it broke Aziraphale’s heart to see that he couldn’t look at him for more than a few seconds. 

“The stitches ache pretty badly – itch a bit too. I’m also just, really fucking tired.”

Aziraphale nodded, consciously standing up straight and arranging his expression in such a way that was professional and confident, and concealed the guilt-ridden love-sick mess that he was on the inside.

“I’ll make sure I’m quick so you can get back to resting, then. Do you mind showing me your wound?” 

Crowley swallowed, his eyes cast down as he lifted up his shirt to reveal the bandages that were placed over his incision. 

Aziraphale leaned down to inspect, “Can you recall when they last changed these?” 

“I think last night.”

“Mhm, they’ll need to be changed, then. I’ll take a look at the wound, and put some new bandages on you. Did they prescribe you pain medication?

“I think so, Anathema set it on the counter. I took some this morning, but it wore off an hour or so after I got here.”

“I’ll give you a dose with your meal then. I also brought some melatonin that should help you sleep.” 

Aziraphale reached for his bag, fishing out the proper bandages and antiseptic wipes. He walked back over, sitting just on the edge of the bed. 

They were so close now and, as much as he tried, he couldn’t stop the color from rising to his cheeks.

“Um, l-lift up your shirt again for me? I’ll get those old bandages off for you.” 

Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s eyes on him as he worked to peel off the bandage, sanitizing the area and redressing the wound. His heart hammered loudly in his ears as he touched Crowley’s skin, hoping he didn’t notice how his fingers shook. 

“There. All patched up and healing nicely.”

Aziraphale moved off the bed and busied himself tidying up the wrappers. “The slight itchiness is a good sign that you’re healing. I’m afraid it’s uncomfortable nonetheless.”

“That’s, um, good I s’pose.”

“Right,” Aziraphale lifted up the other bag he’d brought with him. “Nina has packaged dinner for you, quite a lot by the weight of it, but I know you might not have much of an appetite right now. It should be better tomorrow – just eat what you can and keep drinking plenty of water. ”

“Okay.”

He set the to-go box, plastic utensils, and napkins on Crowley’s nightstand. “I’ll fetch your pills and top off your water, and then I’ll be on my way.”

Aziraphale got everything together as quickly as he could and avoided looking at Crowley. When he glanced in his direction as he refilled his cup with water, Crowley had opened the to-go box and was poking around at its contents. 

“Spanakopita,” he murmured. “Bless you, Nina.”

Aziraphale almost spilled the water, knocking the cup with the pitcher with a loud clang. Crowley turned his head with a wince.

“S-sorry about that, haha, clumsy me.”

He hurried back to the kitchenette to procure the pills, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. Aziraphale placed them in a tiny cup and returned to set them at Crowley’s bedside table. 

“You can take two more of the beige pills tomorrow morning. Try one if you’re feeling less pain,” Crowley nodded, his eyes lingering on the pills.

“Is there, um, anything else I can help you with,” he clasped his hands behind his back.

“I don’t think so, no.” Crowley looked around, “You thought of pretty much everything.”

“Well, I’m happy to help,” Aziraphale smiled softly, an expression that felt like a betrayal of how quickly his heart was rattling against his rib cage, of how much he wanted Crowley to talk to him, to look at him. “I’ll let you get your rest.”

“Aziraphale.”

He locked eyes with Crowley, his breath caught in his throat.

“Thank you, for-for um, well for all of this today, um,” Crowley rubbed his neck uneasily, “and for coming when I fainted. I would have been out there for god knows how long if you hadn’t come when you did.”

Crowley looked up at him, his expression tender, sincere, and open. It chipped away at the stone wall Aziraphale was using to protect himself. 

“Of course, my dear, I’m–” Aziraphale could feel his mask slip, the sting of relieved tears threatening to give him away. “I’m just so glad you’re okay.”

“Me too,” he sighed. 

There was a lot left unsaid, and it swelled tangibly in the room. Aziraphale hated this, hated that he struggled to find the right things to say, hated that he was so anxious. 

“If-if anything happens and you need anything Crowley you call me right away, okay? I’ll have my phone and radio on me at all times, I’m right across the way, and I–” Aziraphale swallowed, “I don’t want you to be in pain.”

Crowley blinked slowly before looking away, as if he were ashamed, “Promise I will.”

Aziraphale nodded and wrung his hands together anxiously as started to turn toward the door. 

“Crowley,” he called, pausing right before turning the handle.

“Mhm?”

“If you’re feeling up to it, maybe I could bring my dinner with me as well when I check on you tomorrow? I could, um, stay for a bit. If y-y-you’d like some company?” 

The corner of Crowley’s mouth turned upward, his face brightening ever so slightly. 

“I’d like that.”

—-

The next day, they shared dinner together in Crowley’s cabin and it was a bit awkward at first. Neither of them jumped at the chance to speak, instead opting to focus on the to-go boxes in their laps. Eventually, Aziraphale brought up that the older campers started to teach some of the younger campers football, which was enough of a conversation starter to roll things forward. 

Things started to thaw a little. At one point Crowley laughed, a hearty sound that warmed the entire cabin. It was better, like they were finding their rhythm again. 

Over the next three days, the ice continued to melt as conversation flowed more easily. They started to take short walks around the clearing since Crowley was feeling better, the color returning to his cheeks, his energy improving with each passing day. Aziraphale noticed that he, too, was faring better. His insecurity and guilt was assuaged slightly by a lightness and ease. 

They started to talk later and later each night, even teasing each other as they had before. Aziraphale watched Crowley smile again, cherishing the way his mouth curved crookedly and his eyes crinkled at the corners. 

Aside from when Aziraphale was changing the bandages, they didn’t touch. Both of them kept a cautious distance, looking at each other over the chasm that neither of them dared speak about.

It was becoming more difficult to ignore his feelings and the way his heartbeat quickened when Crowley looked up at him. Whenever Aziraphale’s fingertips met his skin, it sent electricity through his veins and his body reacted disproportionately to the lightness of the touch. Aziraphale did his best to bury all of his romantic desires and his amorous thoughts despite how they continued to spring up from the ground like weeds. He and Crowley were finally talking like friends again and he’d do anything he could to hold onto that. He would repress his affections to keep their friendship going, even though it felt sickeningly dishonest in the pit of his stomach. 

One night they were bickering lightheartedly about something inane when Aziraphale yawned and looked at his watch, it surprised him to see that it was a quarter to twelve. He didn’t want to leave, but he had work the next day and knew he shouldn’t keep Crowley up any longer when he still needed his rest. 

“Goodness me, almost midnight already.” 

Aziraphale raised his arms upward to stretch out, slightly uncomfortable from sitting in a wooden chair for the past few hours.

“Hmm,” Crowley murmured, “Time flies.”

“It certainly does.”

Crowley lay reclined on his bed, his hair in waves over a black t-shirt and complimentary forest green boxers. Even in his loungewear, Aziraphale thought he looked beautiful, the dark colors made him look mysterious and majestic. The redhead’s previously pleasant expression shifted slightly as he tilted his head back and sighed. 

“Don’t have to leave already.”

It almost looked like Crowley was disappointed. 

“I-I should probably get going,” Aziraphale replied. “Let you get some rest.” 

Crowley pushed himself upright, wincing slightly at the movement, “You could stay.”

Aziraphale froze, “I’m sorry, what?”

Crowley tried to shrug nonchalantly, but the sincerity of his eyes betrayed his efforts, “I can make room here if, well, if you felt too tired to make it back.”

This wasn’t anything he expected or prepared for. Aziraphale's thoughts flurried around in his head as he tried to make sense of what exactly Crowley meant.

Crowley ran a hand through his hair as he studied the ceiling, “Sorry, sorry I’m not– not suggesting anything like that , it’s just, um–”

Aziraphale studied him carefully, utterly confused and not wanting to interrupt.

“I’ve been having– it’s been really– damn it, ” Crowley audibly exhaled and shook his head. 

Aziraphale took a brave step closer, “What’s wrong my dear?”

Crowley’s Adam’s apple bobbed with a deliberate swallow, “It’s just been really hard being by myself all day. Isolated here away from everyone.”

Aziraphale’s heart clenched painfully as Crowley visibly tried to keep his composure. 

“When you’re here it’s okay, better than okay, really. And it’s fucking selfish of me but I-” his voice broke, cutting off his thought. Crowley exhaled shakily, squeezed his eyes shut, and pushed ahead, “I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

Those golden eyes rose to his face, gentle and wet with impending tears. It shattered something inside of him to see Crowley this vulnerable and to know that he’d be having a difficult time on his own. Aziraphale would stay, absolutely he would.

Anytime, anything for him. 

Aziraphale pushed away the selfish and wretched part of his heart that flipped at the thought of lying next to him in bed, so incredibly close. There was still a boundary between them after all, and right now Crowley needed a friend. So that was exactly what he’d be. Aziraphale had regretted not being there for him before. He wasn’t going to let it happen again. 

He sat himself on the edge of the bed, his hands resting on his thighs so they wouldn’t do something foolish like caress Crowley’s face. 

“My darling, of course I’ll stay.” 

Crowley swiped roughly at his eyes with the back of his hand, “You sure?”

“I’m sure, anything I can do to help.” Aziraphale smiled warmly as Crowley met his gaze again, “Mind if I take the right side?”

The question elicited a surprised chuckle from Crowley, “Course, course – like the left side better anyway.”

Aziraphale nodded, “And do you think I can sneak home to brush my teeth first?”

Mischief sparked briefly across the redhead's face before his nose scrunched, “I was going to suggest that actually.”

Aziraphale’s jaw dropped and his hand flew to his chest in exaggerated shock, “Oh, how dare you!”

Crowley’s cheeks flushed as he smiled crookedly, “Only kidding, Angel.”

—-

There was a long hallway, and voices saying horrible things and running and running and falling –

Aziraphale sat upright gasping for air, his eyes searched around the room as the realization settled in that it was only a dream and that he was not in his own bed. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley asked groggily, “You alright?”

“I-I-I um,” he swallowed, “I had a nightmare.”

“Ugh, ‘m sorry,” Crowley mumbled. 

Aziraphale clutched his chest, trying to center himself and slow his breathing. Crowley pushed himself upright with a yawn as he rubbed his eyes. After a few moments, Aziraphale felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“You’re safe now,” Crowley’s hand made slow, reassuring circles against the fabric of his shirt. “I’ve got you, Angel.”

Aziraphale's heart swelled, his mouth opened and closed – unable to say anything as Crowley’s words floated specter-like between them. He wished he knew what expression was on his face because the redhead’s features softened in response, and his eyes briefly flashed to Aziraphale’s mouth. 

Oh.

Something like bravery flickered inside him, and Aziraphale inched forward hesitantly. Crowley didn’t move, his tongue darted out quickly wetting his lips as he exhaled shakily. 

Aziraphale kissed him, pressing his lips against the corner of Crowley’s lovely mouth, soft and bashful. He pulled back slightly to gauge the reaction, the redhead’s lips parted and his eyes were wide. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed.

Aziraphale responded by kissing him again, letting their lips slot together slowly, feeling the barbs of worry and insecurity that were buried within him for so long start to fade away. After a few moments, only the quickening beat of his heart remained. 

“ Angel- ” Crowley whispered as he moved his hands to cradle either side of Aziraphale’s face, pressing their mouths together again. 

They eased back, laying parallel as they captured each other’s lips, sinking deeply into the bliss of it, getting lost in the utter relief of it. Crowley hummed from deep within his chest, the sound vibrating and unlocking a deeper heat within Aziraphale’s core.

Time stretched out before them as Aziraphale savored every kiss, every caress of the redhead’s fingertips. It wasn’t that long ago that he thought he’d lost this forever, and it was only a week ago that for a brief yet horrific moment, he thought he’d lost Crowley entirely . 

Aziraphale tugged at his shirt, easing it over his head as Crowley’s hands ran reverently across the newly exposed skin,  the taste of desire on his tongue.  

It was all so lovely, being passionate and close again, and yet the yearning that pulsed through Aziraphale’s veins was not sated. A flame kindled as he took one of Crowley’s hands and guided it between his legs, his erection pressed hard against the fabric of his pants. 

Crowley paused and peered at him through his eyelashes his eyes serious, “Aziraphale, is-is this what you want?”

“It is.” 

Aziraphale was sure. He wanted it more than anything, but a cloud of worry passed over him as he remembered last time. “Only if, um, you want to, that is.”

Their eyes locked, Crowley’s pupils were dilated and his irises molten gold, “I want to.”

The intensity of his gaze made Aziraphale lightheaded. He had to look away, opting to bury his face in his neck, “Please, my darling, touch me .”

They both worked to push down the fabric of Aziraphale’s pants and boxers. Crowley kissed the side of his neck and gently wrapped his fingers around the length of his hardness. The contact sent a shiver of delight through his body as he closed his eyes. 

Crowley bit his lip as he started to move his hand slowly upward, running his thumb over the top. Stars burst across his field of vision and Aziraphale pushed his hips forward chasing the heat and sensation. 

The cabin was silent except for the sound of Aziraphale’s breathing and occasional whimpers. Crowley was not in a hurry, drawing out every upward movement of his hand, twisting slightly at the end which made Aziraphale squeeze his eyes shut from the joyous intensity of it. 

Crowley watched him – watched as his chest heaved and his hips writhed with warmth and hunger in his eyes. He pressed tender kisses against his lips and jaw, his freckled cheeks aflame as he bore witness to Aziraphale’s pleasure as if it were something immaculate. 

There had been nothing to prepare Aziraphale for the ecstasy of being touched this way. He’d done so alone, obviously, but his solo efforts paled in comparison to sharing such warmth with another. 

A thought flashed through his mind. 

“Can I-” Aziraphale gasped as Crowley’s grip tightened slightly on the upstroke, “c-can I touch you ?”

Crowley’s hand halted, and Aziraphale’s cock twitched at the loss of movement.

“I don’t know, actually, can you?” He spoke hesitantly as his eyes searched Aziraphale’s face, “The doctor was pretty clear about no sex for two weeks post-surgery, but he didn’t say anything about–” his eyes indicated downward to complete his thought.

Aziraphale tilted his head as he mentally counted the days since Crowley’s surgery. “The two-week mark is for penetrative sex. For masturbation or–or, um, this , you should be fine as long as we are gentle about it.”

Crowley’s eyes smoldered when he whispered, “I like gentle. Show me that, Angel.”

Aziraphale carefully pushed down Crowley’s boxers, the wet mark on the fabric further evidence of his arousal. He took a moment just to take it all in, following the line of copper hair from his lower stomach down to the stiff curve of his cock. 

Jesus fucking christ–

With anxious fingers, Aziraphale took hold of his length, which caused Crowley to let out a satisfied sigh as his eyes turned hazy with lust. 

Aziraphale swallowed nervously, “Promise to tell me if–”

“Yes.” 

He took an unsteady breath before his hand started to move carefully. Aziraphale had been worried that he wouldn’t know what to do, that his inexperience would render him unskilled and therefore unable to satisfy anyone else. But from the way Crowley rolled his hips and groaned on every downstroke, he must be doing something right. 

Crowley kissed him, a breathless press of their lips before he took Aziraphale in hand again. The return of the pressure made his toes curl as he struggled not to tip entirely over the edge. 

They panted deeply, their breath ghosting each other's lips as they matched one another’s pace and tempo – easy and deliberate. Crowley’s nose caressed Aziaphale’s own before he pressed their foreheads together. 

It wasn’t long before his pleasure started to crest, the weight of his orgasm hanging unsteadily over him. Crowley’s eyes were fiery and eager as he watched Aziraphale’s body tense. He kept his hand moving as he gasped, shaking through the absolute ecstasy of his release. 

He wanted to say something as he rode through the waves of his orgasm, but there was still too much unsaid. He buried his benediction in the back of his throat, his cries coming out as choked-out syllables instead of calling out Crowley’s name.

Crowley followed him quickly over, shuddering as he spilled hotly over Aziraphale’s hand and stomach. 

They locked eyes as they came down, their breathing slowed as they regarded one another under the silent cloak of a dark summer night.

He wanted to say it, he wanted it to roll off his tongue with confidence and conviction: Crowley, I’m in love with you. 

But he couldn’t say anything. 

Instead, Aziraphale ran his fingers longingly through Crowley’s hair ( I love you ), quietly kissed the line of his jaw ( I love you ), and admired how the moonlight shone across his freckled skin ( I love you).

Crowley also didn’t say anything as he kissed him again, his lips brief and petal soft as he nuzzled closer. Aziraphale’s limbs fell heavy with contentment, his eyelids easing closed as he drifted back to sleep. 

—-

Streaks of sunlight warmed Aziraphale’s skin as he stretched, his muscles felt light and refreshed. He turned on his side and blinked tiredly at the man next to him. 

Crowley was already awake, his expression was an odd blend of worry and adoration, the corner of his mouth curled into a small smile. 

“Morning.”

“Good morning,” Aziraphale managed through a yawn.

Crowley studied his face carefully, Aziraphale could almost see the cogs and gears turning inside his head as a few seconds passed, neither of them saying anything.

Eventually, Crowley looked away and let out a small sigh, “I s’pose should probably talk about it. What happened last week, shouldn’t we?”

Aziraphale’s stomach churned. 

“Yes, I-I think we rather should.” 

Chapter Text

“Yes, I-I think we rather should.” 

Early morning sunlight streamed in from the windows, illuminating Aziraphale’s features with a divine glow. Crowley gazed deeply into his ocean-blue eyes, they were so easy to fall into and get lost in. 

Last night was… 

incredible …

and unexpected. 

He hadn’t intended to ask Aziraphale to stay over, but when he started to leave a fevered panic racketed through him. The isolation that he’d cultivated before his trip to the hospital had been intentional, it functioned as both an opportunity to process his emotions as well as a self-punishment for fucking everything up. 

After the surgery, however, the isolation was wreaking havoc on his mental health. The only moments of his day that he looked forward to were when people visited to deliver his food. Often they’d stay to chat for a bit, but once they left he was alone again in a quiet cabin. He’d mess around on his phone for a while, but usually, he’d end up just doom-scrolling which left him feeling worse. 

He slept often, which would have been fine, but his dreams were twisted and dark and he didn’t have anything to distract him from them once he woke.

Spending time with Aziraphale, though, was the one silver lining of this whole bloody thing. Passing out from pain and having an emergency surgery kind of puts things in perspective, and although he was initially guarded, they fell quickly back into the rhythm they had before there was any romantic inclination between them. Their comradery came easily, as if they were old friends. 

Which in a way, they were.

And then last night Aziraphale pressed his lips against him, and Crowley knew there was no coming back from it- he knew he’d never be okay with ‘just friends’ again. 

Aziraphale watched him, waiting as Crowley tried desperately to form the right combination of words before he spoke. 

“I’m so sorry–”

“--I’m sorry, my dear.”

The words had scarcely left his mouth before Aziraphale’s lips were moving. 

“No, Aziraphale, you don’t–” Crowley sighed, “You have nothing at all to be sorry about.”

“My dear, yes I do,” Aziraphale replied firmly. “All of this happened because I-I-I didn’t tell you that I was– that I hadn’t– been with anyone before.”

Crowley shook his head, “That doesn’t matter to me.”

“It scared you away.”

“No, no I wasn’t– that isn’t what bothered me. It’s just that one minute it seemed like you were okay with what was happening, and the next minute you were–” Crowley’s voice cut off as he recalled Aziraphale’s expression from that moment in vivid detail, the dullness of his eyes, his chapped red cheeks. It continued to linger like it was haunting him.

He swallowed and forced the image out of his head, “I thought I’d overstepped. Took things too fast, pushed you too far.”

Aziraphale’s expression softened, “Oh, my darling, no that wasn’t the case at all.” He reached out and set his hand on Crowley’s arm, “I wanted to be with you in that way, I’d been dreaming about it for days.”

There was some relief hearing that, but not enough to put him at ease. Aziraphale’s fingers were warm and reassuring against his skin as Crowley touched his hand, “Then I don’t understand, did I do something during that made you uncomfortable? Was it too much?”

“No, not at all. You did everything just right,” the blonde’s eyes were sincere as they held his gaze. 

Crowley nodded slowly, savoring the warmth of Aziraphale’s hand on his. “Then what happened?”

Blush rose to Aziraphale’s cheeks as he cast his eyes down, “Well I suppose I was embarrassed and worried I wouldn’t be able to- to um.” He looked upward, tears welling in his eyes, “I liked you so much and I just didn’t want to disappoint you, and I-I-I-”

Aziraphale's voice audibly hitched, his face twisted as he started to cry. Seeing such a pained expression caused Crowley’s heart to seize. He immediately pulled him into his arms, “Angel, hey, it’s okay, shhh–”

Aziraphale’s body shook, and his sobs damped the fabric of Crowley’s shirt as he held on tightly. He let his fingers brush through platinum curls as he whispered reassurances. There was something particularly awful about seeing someone you love hurt so deeply. It cleaved into his chest, and he wished idly that he could talk the pain away, let his body absorb it instead. 

Eventually, Aziraphale’s breathing slowed, his body relaxing into Crowley’s embrace. Crowley pressed a soft kiss against his forehead, leaning back to look at him before he spoke. 

“Angel,” Crowley whispered. Aziraphale’s eyes lifted to his, puffy and red, “Trust me when I say you have nothing to be embarrassed about. I-”

I love you.

“I care so much about you. You’re unbelievably kind, and smart, and sexy and just a bit of a bastard, all things considered.”

Aziraphale laughed, it sounded like music.

“Your past does nothing to detract from the wonderful human you are now. Everything else we can figure out together, on your own time when you’re ready.”

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale's smile was a fragile, precious thing. 

“I should’ve–” Crowley paused and looked away, “should’ve stayed that night, like you asked me to. It’s just that, I could see how upset you were and I started to panic. I thought I’d ruined everything.”

The blonde kissed his cheek, “I understand. I got emotional quite suddenly, it makes sense you were worried.” His eyes flashed downward, “I-I-I’d gotten a call from my ex, shortly before we went on our date that night.”

Crowley felt his muscles start to tense defensively, “What?”

Aziraphale bit his lip, “Somehow she tracked down where I worked. She said some horrible things, and I-I-I think it put me in a negative headspace and made my anxiety skyrocket. Another factor as to why I was so emotional that night, I’m afraid.” 

Crowley set his jaw and tried to keep his tone even despite the fury that sparked inside him, “Do you want to tell me what she said?”

Aziraphale sighed, “Better not.” 

Crowley swallowed around the anger that bubbled up from the pit of his stomach, “Promise me something?”

“Yes?”

“Promise me that if she ever calls again, you’ll hang up the second you hear her voice. And if she ever calls while I’m around, you hand the phone to me. I have a few things I’d like to say.”

Aziraphale nodded, his expression was without a hint of humor, “I promise.”

“I don’t mean to be controlling or anything like that. It’s just that you deserve to be treated well and cherished by someone who thinks the world of you. If your ex doesn’t see that, then fuck them.”

“I know, my lovely. You’re right.”

His platinum curls felt like silk as Crowley continued to card his fingers through. Neither of them spoke. The whir of the air conditioner failed to drown out the birds as they alerted to the start of a new day. Aziraphale sighed and shut his eyes, pulling himself deeper into Crowley’s arms. 

“We’re okay then, yeah?” Crowley asked tentatively as he rested his chin on Aziraphale’s head.

He felt Aziraphale nod against his chest, “Yes, we’re okay, my darling.”

“God that’s a relief.”

“Mhm,” Aziraphale's face nuzzled into Crowley’s chest. “I missed you.”

Crowley planted a soft kiss on the top of his head, “I missed you too.”

It felt like Crowley could breathe for the first time in days. He drew air in his lungs and relished in the way they filled fully without the sting of guilt. He felt the rise and fall of his chest match Aziraphale’s as his eyelids drew shut. 

He floated somewhere between sleeping and waking when Aziraphale shifted underneath his arms.

“What time is it?” he murmured groggily. 

Crowley stretched to reach his phone, “Half past seven.”

“No,” Aziraphale groaned, “I don’t want to leave.”

“I know, Angel. I don’t want you to either.” Crowley rubbed circles idly into his back, as a half-formulated idea flashed into his mind, “I could always come to visit you at the lodge today.”

Aziraphale pushed himself upward to look at him, “Are you sure you’re feeling up to it?”

Crowley shrugged, “My energy’s been improving every day, and I’d do anything to get out of the cabin for a bit.” 

The corner of Aziraphale’s mouth turned up in a smile, his eyes were blue and vivid and impossibly fond, “I’d like that.”

Crowley felt better than he had in days, “Good, good, it’s a plan then.” He laid back on the bed and stretched, “Perhaps I could bring you some tea when I visit?”

Aziraphale chuckled, “You know me too well.” 

—-

Spending time outside of the cabin was a breath of fresh air that Crowley desperately needed. He didn’t do much in the afternoon besides share tea with Aziaphale and putter around the lodge for a bit. When Maggie saw him walking through one of the gardens, she brought her campers over to deliver get-well-soon cards decorated with crayon, pipe cleaners, and an ungodly amount of glitter. Looking through them Crowley couldn’t help but feel a knot of emotion tighten in his chest. He thanked them profusely as he swiped roughly at the corners of his eyes.

After that, he popped into Anathema’s office. Anathema was so thrilled to see him that she almost pulled him into a hug. Crowley put up his arms and pointed at his stitches, after which she opted for a high five instead. They chatted for a while about how he was recovering, and Crowley mentioned that he was tired of sitting in his cabin all day. Anathema asked if he wanted anything to do to keep busy the next few days, since the end of camp was rapidly approaching, and there were plenty of things in the lodge he could assist with. Crowley jumped at the opportunity.

That evening he had dinner with the staff, who loudly and excitedly welcomed him back and wasted no time asking about his surgery. Eric teased him, saying that getting seriously injured at work was his job. Everybody laughed at this, although Aziraphale declared that no one was allowed to have any more incidents for the rest of camp. Crowley thought vaguely of how much he’d taken this for granted previously, how lucky he was to have this type of community. 

While everyone chatted and ate, Crowley would furtively glance over at Aziraphale, for no other reason than to look at him. Often he was met with a small, knowing smile that made his heart flip in response. 

By the time he was back at his cabin, Crowley was exhausted from all the movement and socialization. Aziraphale stayed over again, but that night they just held each other underneath the covers and whispered about nonsensical things as they drifted off to sleep. 

Over the next few days, Crowley’s energy was almost back to normal and he was thankful that Anathema found tasks for him to do. One day he helped out in the main office, making copies, shredding things, and fetching tea whenever anyone asked him. Another day he assisted during an arts and crafts project with Muriel and her younger campers, which was loud and busy and somehow resulted in glue getting stuck in his hair. He went on a grocery run for Nina when the food shipment had forgotten the soy sauce they desperately needed for the egg rolls that were on the menu for dinner. 

Crowley was happy , an emotion that was unfathomable just one week ago. His feet felt solidly planted on the ground, his brain no longer fighting him at every turn or torturing him about the mistakes he’d made. While being active at the camp again and interacting with his friends and the campers was certainly one aspect of it, Crowley suspected that most of the credit belonged to Aziraphale. 

They continued to share a bed each night, an arrangement that neither of them had discussed but rather something they both settled into like the warm waters of a bath. Some nights they would lay awake talking for hours until they fell asleep in each other's arms.

Although they tried to take things carefully as Crowley continued to heal, there were other nights where they couldn’t hold back – their mouths collided with frantic urgency as they desperately stroked each other through their releases.

One night they moved things a bit further. Aziraphale’s fingers tangled in Crowley’s hair as he drew his tongue lasciviously up the length of his cock. Knowing it was his angel’s first time with such an activity, Crowley took his time pulling him into the warmth of his mouth, moaning as Aziraphale filled him completely. He gripped Aziraphale’s hips, pulling him deeper forward as he swallowed around him. Aziraphale made little choked-off noises as he pulled Crowley’s hair.

“Oh, that is– Crowley yes - yes I-”

It wasn’t long until his whole body shuddered as he spilled hotly into Crowley’s thankful and needy mouth.

Crowley didn’t stop moving until the cries of pleasure subsided. Aziraphale’s fingers relaxed their grip, allowing Crowley to move upwards to hold him. The blonde eyes were half-lidded as he kissed him gently on the lips before he started to press his lips down Crowley’s neck, then chest, then–

“ Angel ,” he moaned when plush lips brushed below his belly button, “You don’t- don’t have to-”

“I want to,” Aziraphale replied lowly before he dipped between Crowley’s legs. 

It wasn’t long until Crowley found out that his angel was an incredibly fast learner. 

They panted as they clung to each other after, the taste of Aziraphale still lingering on his tongue as they slotted their lips together in deep, unhurried movements. 

Through the rush of endorphins, Crowley wondered how this could possibly be his life, he’d done nothing to deserve this. 

“I was thinking,” Aziraphale murmured in a low, satiated voice.

“Dangerous thing, thinking,” Crowley countered quietly, as his hand brushed lazily across Aziraphale’s jawline.

Aziraphale huffed at him, his feigned annoyance betrayed by his blissful grin, “I was thinking that you should teach the campers about the stars. Tell them the stories that go along with the constellations and whatnot.”

“That is–” Crowley nodded as he took a beat to process, “not a bad idea.”

“Mhm,” Aziraphale tugged Crowley’s hand to his mouth, planting a kiss on each knuckle, “I bet Anathema would consider it.”

“Oh she’s obsessed with astrology, she’d go for it instantly.” 

Crowley closed his eyes as Aziraphale pressed a final kiss on the back of his hand. 

“A selfish suggestion really,” Aziraphale sighed as he nuzzled against Crowley’s neck, “I wanted to learn more as well.”

Crowley wasn’t sure how much more affection could fit into the lining of his chest – he was about to burst.

“Could have looked at them tonight,” he replied, “The sky looked clear when we got back.”

“Hm, but I had other things I wanted to do tonight.” 

Crowley grinned and pressed his lips onto his forehead, “You did, didn’t you?”

—-

As expected Anathema was all for the star idea, turning the suggestion into a full-blown event a few nights before camp ended. Most of the staff was in attendance as well, helping the campers complete the half-mile hike to a clearing that was far enough away from any light pollution. 

It was a bit intimidating if he was honest. Crowley had been in front of crowds before in London– but performing music stoned and drunk in front of an audience of equally stoned and drunk people was quite different than being stone-cold sober and entertaining a sea of 86 children on his own.

As the last of the students found their spots on the grass, nervous energy sparked through him. Right before he cleared his throat to start his introduction, Crowley spotted Aziraphale near the back. His presence alone was grounding and supportive. Even in the relative darkness, he could see the blonde wink and give him a thumbs up – it was a little boost of courage that he didn’t realize he needed. 

Although he was a bit stiff at first, Crowley quickly loosened up a few minutes in. He pointed out several constellations like Draco, Hercules, Cygnus, and Lyra, embellishing each with the little stories that had been passed down to him. The campers seemed to enjoy it, there was some laughter as he told the story that went along with the Big and Little Dippers.

At the end, he gave them a moment to themselves to create their own constellations and come up with their own stories. There was excited chatter throughout the clearing as they huddled in little groups and pointed emphatically at the sky. Several other kids ran over to him to ask questions, some of which Crowley had answers to.

A young boy with curly brown hair inquired, “How come there’s a whole universe out there and we can only see a little bit of it? Doesn’t make sense to me.” 

“You’re right, doesn’t make sense does it?” Crowley acknowledged. “If I were building the universe, I would put Earth in the middle, that way we could see it all properly.”

The camp counselors called for the kids to line up, Aziraphale walked over after the few campers around Crowley reluctantly left. 

“You’re so good with them, you know.”

Crowley shrugged, attempting to downplay how much the compliment warmed his heart, “Well so are you. I’ve seen the little magic tricks you do when you’re with them, the way their whole faces light up.”

Aziraphale looked up to the sky again, the starlight reflexing in his eyes, “Their joy is infectious, isn’t it?”

An infinite universe spread out against the night sky – stars and planets and supernovas – and Crowley couldn’t take his eyes off him. 

“It is.”

—

The campers leaving was equally as chaotic as when they arrived. Crowley helped out behind the scenes. The other option was helping carry luggage which given his condition was an obvious “no”.

Once the final few campers had filtered out, the staff gathered for the big end-of-the-summer bonfire. There was plenty of food – dozens of veggie dogs, potato salad, fruit trays, and s’more fixings all arranged neatly on the tables. The fire itself was massive, the tendrils of flame reached upwards toward the night sky with orange and luminous arms. 

Nina cashed in another favor and asked Crowley to play a song, which he grumbled about but agreed to nonetheless. 

It was wonderful getting to mingle with everyone, although his eye frequently sought out Aziraphale. It was silly really, that he still felt giddy and young every time he gazed at the man – but there was nothing he could do, he was hopelessly in love.

Crowley was standing close to the fire, he liked the heat, and snacking on pineapple slices when he overheard Aziraphale talking to Maggie. 

“So what's on for you after this, then? Any late summer plans?”

“Anathema was going to give me an extra day to pack up my things, but then I supposed I’ll go back to London. I still have my apartment there.”

“Oh, well all of us in Tadfield will miss you. Do you need a ride to the station? Nina and I would be happy to take you there if you need,” Maggie asked brightly. 

“That's very kind of you, but no, I’ve ordered a car for Sunday afternoon.”

The fruit between Crowley’s teeth went sour and unappetizing, but he managed to choke it down despite his sudden onset of nausea. The blood in his veins turned cold – the warmth from the bonfire in such juxtaposition that a shiver ran down his spine. 

They’d never discussed it, had they? Christ, they talked until midnight most nights and somehow they’d managed not to consider the huge roadblock that was rapidly approaching.

Were they experts at avoidance? Or were they just monumentally incompetent when it came to actually communicating with each other? 

Either way, Crowley had been so caught up in his recovery and savoring every second he spent with Aziraphale that he’d walked right up to a cliff edge without bothering to look down.

He flexed his fingers and reached to put on his sunglasses before he walked toward the food tables. To avoid the impending panic attack that he felt breathing down his neck, he focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Left, right, left, right again.

He approached Nina, who was holding a bottle of soda and whispering conspiratorially with Tracy. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Crowley said quickly without any real contrition in his voice, “Nina, do you need anything from the kitchen? I could do with a walk.”

Nina looked him over with her brow furrowed. Crowley hoped whatever face he put on was hiding what was prickling underneath. Nina looked suspicious, she knew him too well. 

“I suppose we’re getting low on tortilla chips,” she eventually responded, “there’s an extra bag in the pantry if you wanted to–”

“Great thanks, I’ll get them.”

Left, right, left, right.

After a few minutes of pushing forward, some logic started to trickle down from the fog of panic that currently engulfed his brain. 

Just because they hadn’t talked about it, didn’t mean they wouldn’t talk about it. 

Just because Aziraphale was going back to London, didn’t mean they would break up. 

He collected the chips, lingering in the pantry for a few moments and trying to reassure himself that he wasn’t falling from a great height.

The night wasn’t over, and his wretched heart chose to stitch itself together with hope. It was all he could do as he attempted not to pull apart at the seams.

When Crowley returned with the chips he didn’t eat anything else, the worry was still eroding the lining of his stomach. As he listened to Shadwell spin some yarn about a mermaid sighting on his last boating trip, Nina elbowed him.

“Holding up, yeah?”

“Yep.”

She looked unconvinced, “Well if you’d rather take it easy, you don’t have to play. I’ll revoke my favor.”

“No, still going to play. Need to work through these favors or I’ll never be free.”

Nina guffawed, “You’ll never catch up.”

“Guess you’ll never get rid of me then.”

Nina blushed, and dug the toe of her shoe into the dirt, “Well, wouldn’t want to anyway, would I?”

Crowley smiled, “Suppose not.”

They stood next to each other, crickets chirping and the fire luminous and tall in front of them. Crowley could have said something sappy to her here, but there was no reason for it. She already knew. 

“I’ll grab my guitar then, shall I?” 

Nina pumped her arm in the air and she cupped her hands to her mouth, “Hey everyone! Crowley’s going to play something now!”

She was impossible, and he loved her for that. 

Crowley gathered his guitar and tuned it idly as people gathered around. 

“I would play Chappell Roan,” he announced without looking up, “But it’s out of my range.” 

There was scattered laughter and he strummed the first few chords. 

“But really, I want to thank everyone for a wonderful summer. All of you work so incredibly hard to make a difference in our camper's lives and I’m lucky enough to call you my coworkers. But to call you my friends is just, a gift. You all–” his voice caught in his throat, but he swallowed and recovered quickly, “took care of me after my organs mutinied-”

There was more laughter at that.

“So this is for you. And an extra thanks to Aziraphale, for finding me out there. I- wouldn’t be sitting here today if it wasn’t for you.”

Aziraphale pressed a hand to his chest, his eyes wide and adoring. It pained Crowley to look away.

“This is called Long Blue Light by Leif Vollebekk.”

The melody took shape under his fingers. Crowley sighed, letting himself ease into the sound of it.

“ Mountain of worry, mountain of song, you ask how I’m doing like you knew what was wrong. ”

The strings were metal and solid underneath the tips of his fingers, as his voice carried in the night air. Performing forced him to be present, the static worry of his brain fading into the background. 

“ Tell me just one time what I knew all along, I’m on your side, on your side. Long blue light. ”

As the song continued, Crowley couldn’t help drawing his eyes up to Aziraphale, his expression wistful and besotted. In a sea of Crowley’s friends and still, he stood out the brightest- his impossibly beautiful angel. 

Crowley wasn’t certain what was to come next for them, but for the moment he was here . Thirty-two years later they found each other again, and wasn’t that a miracle in itself?

He strummed the last few notes, they faded into the air and the cheers and applause started. 

Crowley blushed as he stood up, “Thanks everyone, really.”

People were still clapping as Aziraphale nudged past a few others, making his way up to Crowley.

“Did you enjoy the sho–”

Aziraphale’s lips pressed against his, cutting him off. The kiss itself only lasted a few seconds, but it stretched out for hours and hours.

There were a few gasps and cheers as Aziraphale pulled away. If Crowley had to discern which people were cheering his money would be on Anathema, Nina, and Tracy– the usual suspects.

Crowley blinked at him, dumbfounded.

“S-sorry, I just-,” Aziraphale looked shocked, his cheeks were sunburn red. “My darling, your song was amazing.”

As Crowley's gaze flicked between Aziraphale’s cosmic blue eyes, a flood of affection rushed into him. Setting his guitar in the chair behind him, he threw his arms around Aziraphale.

The cheering was even louder this time, someone even whistled. 

“Alright let's give them a moment shall we?” Anathema called out. “We still have s’mores to do!”

People headed in the direction of the food table to gather their s’more supplies, but Crowley didn’t let go, letting his face rest against Aziraphale’s shoulder. 

“In front of everyone?” he asked in disbelief.

“I got carried away,” Aziraphale stated defensively.

Crowley laughed, full and hearty from his stomach as he pulled away, “Well, can’t say I minded.”

Aziraphale sighed in relief, “Well that’s- that’s good then.”

The light from the fire danced across the blonde’s face, his hands were soft as he held onto them. Aziraphale looked at him like he was the most beautiful thing in the world, and Crowley knew that they could survive whatever distance for whatever duration they had to endure. 

He’d fight for this, do anything for this. 

Crowley gestured with his head to the others as they gathered around the fire to start roasting their marshmallows, “Could I tempt you to a few s’mores by any chance?”

Aziraphale grinned impishly, “Temptation accomplished.”

—

The bonfire lasted late into the night, by the time they made it back to the staff cabins it was nearly two in the morning. Exhausted, they settled into bed, Aziraphale pulled Crowley to him, holding him beneath the covers. 

Crowley couldn’t sleep, his mind was still reeling. 

“You’re going back to London,” Crowley whispered against Aziraphale’s chest, stating it as the fact that it was. 

Aziraphale stiffened slightly, “I-I am.”

The man he was in love with was holding him and they were finally, finally together no longer hidden behind the doors of their cabins, no longer held at arm's length due to the splinters of their miscommunication. And yet, the threat of distance sat before them like a jagged rock parting a stream into two distinct pathways. 

Crowley didn’t say anything as he tried to quiet the flurry of anxious thoughts. 

“The couple I’m subletting to did ask for an extension on their lease for a few more weeks,” Aziraphale continued shakily after a few moments of roaring silence, “But I don’t have anywhere else to go in the meantime.”

“You could stay at my place, if you’d like,” Crowley offered without hesitation, without thinking. Stay with me, let me shelter and care for you now. Take my heart too, it’s yours if you want it.

“That would be– I would love–” Aziraphale shook his head, “My dear, I-I-I couldn’t possibly put you through the trouble–”

“It’s no trouble.” 

Crowley leaned back, to see Aziraphale’s mouth open and close, his brow scrunched in concentration.

“Perhaps a few days wouldn’t be trouble to you, but a few weeks? That’s such a long-”

“We think of it as a holiday, then,” Crowley offered. “A holiday from home. Could show you around Tadfield, we could go on picnics, stay home and just – just be an us . A few weeks of holiday to ourselves, before you go back.” 

Crowley could hear the knife edge of urgency in his voice, but he didn’t care. He was in love and they were just getting started and he wanted more time. 

“What about your work?”

Crowley shrugged, “I’ve got loads of time off. Plus I could always answer emails from home or pop into the office for a few hours if we are understaffed, it’s only a 10-minute drive.” 

Aziraphale gazed at him with wide, wondering eyes, “And you’re sure I wouldn’t be imposing?” 

Crowley lifted his hand to his lips, “I’m sure, Angel.”

Aziraphale smiled softly, and looked at the ceiling, wheels in his head turning as he considered the proposition.

Please say yes, please say yes.

The wait made Crowley lose some of his resolve, he nervously started to ramble, “Just a suggestion though. Really I–”

“Yes.”

Crowley blinked, “Yes?”

Aziraphale nodded, a wide grin spreading to his lips, “Yes, my darling.”

Crowley let out a breath, it came out audible and shaky with the joy and relief of it, “That– oh that’s–”

Aziraphale kissed him and kissed him and kissed him , and all his words and worries dissolved,  fading into the air of a late summer night.

Chapter Text

“Well,” Crowley murmured, looking over the top of his sunglasses, “Here she is.”

The gravel beneath the Bentley’s wheels crunched as they turned into the short lane approaching the cottage. It was set back from the road, a modestly sized structure made from stone with wood lining the windows. The top of a chimney peaked out over the darkly tiled roof. 

“Oh, my dear, it’s–”

Aziraphale’s eyes were wide as he surveyed the positively idyllic front yard. There was a large oak tree rooted in the middle, its limbs branched expansively and provided shade. Near the drive, there were a few smaller trees, their branches heavy with apples that were beginning to ripen in the summer sun. The stone fences that lined the perimeter were covered with thick tendrils of deeply green ivy. It was clear that Crowley put a lot of care and effort into planning the layout, with every bush and flower bed blending seamlessly into the picturesque landscape. 

They stepped out of the car, and Aziraphale drew the crisp country air deeply into his lungs. It was odd, the immediate sense of relaxation and ease he felt here. It was similar to what he felt when he first arrived at camp Eden – the love that permeated through the entire grounds. It was different here, more intimate and secluded. It felt like a personal welcome, drawing him into the refuge of Crowley’s home, his corner of the universe. 

“Bit small,” Crowley shrugged as he put his arm around Aziraphale’s shoulder, “But I like it just fine.”

Aziraphale looked up at him incredulously, “Small? You show me something like this and all you can say about it is ‘small’?”

Crowley blushed, “I was just nervous about, well, what you’d think I ‘spose.”

Aziraphale turned his head to take everything in before leaning against Crowley’s shoulder, “I already think it’s wonderful. You forget I live in a tiny flat in London. This is – it doesn’t even compare.”

There was movement as Crowley drew his arms around him, pressing their lips together softly, a dry leaf of a kiss, “Glad you think so.”

Warmth hummed through Aziraphale’s chest, as his eyes fluttered open, “Do that again.”

Crowley let out a huff in surprise before he grinned crookedly and kissed him again, deeper and assuredly, his head tilting so their lips could slot together. 

Through the haze of each dizzying kiss, the stone walls of the cottage and the beautiful garden faded into the background. Aziraphale realized he was home . 

—-

Time flowed with tranquility and gentleness while Aziraphale stayed at the cottage, like the water trickling through a babbling brook. 

The bliss of the first few days blended together – there were long walks through the garden, afternoon tea shared in the shade, and nights spent breathless and intertwined beneath the silky covers of Crowley’s bed. 

Aziraphale sometimes wondered when they would venture further, when they would indulge in that final pleasure they had yet to share. Crowley mentioned that he had a follow-up with the doctor soon, so perhaps he’d be cleared then. His stitches were gone now, all that remained was a thin pink line on his side that stood out from the rest of his pale, dotted skin. Whenever the redhead was bare before him, Aziraphale pressed his lips delicately along the length of the scar – you’re beautiful, all of you, every freckle, every tattoo, every mark. 

He was the most ridiculously, deliriously happy he’d ever been in his life, so there was really no hurry. 

After a few days spent sequestered in their own little world, Crowley started to introduce him to more of the countryside and Tadfield itself. It was a quaint little village that housed shops, cafes, and a particularly good bakery that Aziraphale requested to visit each time they were nearby. Things were quiet and sleepy compared to the bustle and noises of London.

It was positively heavenly .  

After dinner one evening Crowley suggested, with a bit of an unusual edge to his voice, that Aziraphale should take a walk outside and stretch his legs for a bit while he cleaned up the dishes. He considered it as he dabbed his lips with a napkin, still savoring the rich puttanesca Crowley had prepared for them. It was an odd request, usually they cleaned up together before going on their evening stroll. But since the redhead seemed more distracted today than usual, Aziraphale agreed.

The sun was setting and the air was cooling off as Aziraphale returned from his short trek. He let his fingers brush against the ivy and the quickly ripening apples that hung from the tree as he hummed something mindlessly. 

Crowley was sitting on the front porch waiting for him. 

“Hello my dear,” Aziraphale called as he approached. “Thanks for cleaning up. I did miss you though.”

Crowley grinned, a flash of something else in his eyes, “It was no problem. Missed you too, Angel.” 

They kissed briefly in greeting, Aziraphale noticed that music was playing from somewhere inside.

“Would you like some wine?” Crowley asked in an all too casual tone, “Picked some up in town the other day. You mentioned you like dry red, yeah?”

Something was happening, there was almost a palpable difference in Crowley’s energy. Aziraphale racked his brain but wasn’t sure what it could be. 

“Yes, that sounds lovely.”

Once Crowley’s fingers interlaced with his, he felt the muscles of his shoulders relaxed. 

When they entered the cottage, the source of the music came into view– a vinyl spun on the record player. It was jazz, something smooth and sultry and vaguely familiar, although Aziraphale couldn’t place the artist. It wasn’t one of the records that Crowley had in his collection last time he looked through it. 

Crowley poured wine into two glasses, noticing Aziraphale’s confusion. 

“Picked that up in town too,” he handed the glass to Aziraphale, their fingers grazing in the exchange. “Thought it might be, um, nice to try something new.”

“It is quite nice, I’ve heard it before I think.” Aziraphale sipped his wine, it was good. He took another sip. 

They eased into overstuffed lounge chairs, chatting idly about music and wine. Aziraphale could sense the gravity in Crowley's gaze, a sort of hunger and longing that made him feel hot under the collar.

It wasn’t at all unwelcome. Aziraphale blushed and bit his lip.

As the wine bloomed in his chest, he eased back into his chair, his limbs relaxed. Too soon their wine glasses were empty and the record reached the end of its first side. Crowley got up to switch it over. 

“I was wondering,” Crowley mused over his shoulder, his fingers carefully turning the record, “If you’d like to dance to this next song, um, with me?”

Aziraphale’s heart swelled and he chuckled in lighthearted disbelief, “You didn’t, I-I-I thought you said you didn’t want me to see you dance.”

“Well, that was before–” Crowley turned and his eyes flashed to the side, the words cut off in his throat. 

Before what?

The redhead abandoned the thought altogether, swallowing and extending his hand, “Join me?”

Aziraphale took hold of his hand, and let himself be pulled forward into his arms. Music funneled from the speakers as they started to sway and his hands found their way to Crowley’s hips. 

It was easy to get lost in their closeness, in the rhythm of their movement. When the song ended Crowley’s lips pressed against his neck, tender and drawn out. Aziraphale’s knees went weak, he exhaled audibly as he gripped the fabric of Crowley’s shirt.

“Take me to bed,” Aziraphale whispered. 

Crowley pulled back, his pupils were wide and dark.

“The doctor, um,” his chest rose and fell as he breathed shallowly, “Would you like to–”

“Yes.” 

There was a trace of a crooked grin before Aziraphale was being kissed. Crowley’s tongue flicked between his lips, and he tasted rich and full like fine wine. 

They didn’t stop kissing as Crowley led them to the bedroom, he knew the layout of the cottage well after all, knew where to step and where to turn even while he was otherwise preoccupied. Their mouths collided hungrily against each other, Aziraphale’s finger trembled with anticipation reaching for Crowley’s shirt as they reached the doorway. 

“Let me see you, lovely-”

Crowley pulled his shirt over his head, his red hair falling across his shoulders, “God, yes I–”

Aziraphale paused when he noticed the candles, lit and scattered on the end tables and dresser. Their light played across the ceiling, casting the room in a sensual glow. 

“Did you–” he scanned the room for a moment, before it clicked into place. “The wine, the music, the candles, was this all for me?” 

Crowley retracted a little and squeezed his eyes shut, “Too much?”

“No! No, it’s not that, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Crowley’s eyes opened, his features easing in relief. 

“It’s incredibly romantic,” Aziraphale reached for his hand. “This whole night has been.” 

“Wanted everything to be special for your first time,” the candles cast their light across Crowley’s beautiful features, his eyes wide with adoration. 

Aziraphale’s breath hitched. He must be dreaming, this couldn’t possibly be his life. 

“Hey,” Crowley cupped his cheek, “Angel?” 

“S-s-sorry, this is all just, so unbelievably thoughtful–” he blinked hard and attempted to swallow. When he looked back, Crowley's eyes were simmering golden. Aziraphale was done for, he’d fallen so deeply that it felt like a betrayal holding it back any longer. 

“Crowley, I’m in love with you.”

Crowley’s expression brightened, “Thats– wow, that’s great to hear. Because I’m, um, I’m in love with you too,” his breath stuttered. “Have been, for a while now.”

Aziraphale pulled him forward and kissed him, the man he loved, the man who loved him . 

“I’ve known, my darling.”

There was a chuckle in response “A bit obvious was I?”

Aziraphale grinned, “Well yes, but also you’ve told me before, I’m afraid.”

Crowley froze, his jaw dropped open, “I told– what? What do you mean? When? ”  

I shouldn’t have said that. 

“Y-y-you mentioned it when I visited you in the hospital,” Aziraphale felt his stomach twist slightly, “You were on pain medication at the time.”

“Oh,” Crowley nodded, looking more than a bit embarrassed, “Right.”

Fix this– fix this right now. 

“My dear, you have nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Aziraphale took hold of his hands, he needed to be touching him.  

“I-I also loved you then, that day in the hospital. I had been hopelessly in love for days and days before that, if I’m honest. But then we fell out and we weren’t talking. So when you said that you loved me after your surgery I didn’t know if it was something you meant or if it was just the drugs talking.” 

His eyes scanned the redhead's face, he was relieved to find that his freckled features were relaxing again.

“But this time you told me, well, I had no reason to doubt it.”

Crowley’s eyes rose to his, still golden and enchanting and Aziraphale felt everything else melt away. 

“Crowley, I love you, I-”

Suddenly he was being kissed again, Crowley’s hands moving up to hold his face as his lips slotted against his deeply. 

Thank god.

Aziraphale hummed in assent, opening his lips as licked into Crowley’s mouth – the fire rekindled. 

“I love you,” Crowley’s voice was low and gravelly as he pulled their bodies to the bed. “Aziraphale– my gorgeous–”

His voice was cut off as he pressed his open mouth against Aziraphale’s throat. Crowley’s slender fingers unfastened the buttons of his pants before reaching to undo his own. 

Aziraphale sighed when Crowley’s wet kisses trailed up to his jaw. He had to break the contact momentarily to take off his shirt, but once it was removed. Crowley’s hands were hot on him, pulling him closer.

The jut of his erection started to push against his pants as they fell back on the bed. 

“Touch me, please I need–”

Crowley’s palm cupped his cock, rubbing it through the layers of fabric. “Oh god, Angel, already hard for me–”

Aziraphale pulled down Crowley’s pants, his erection jutting forth once the layers of fabric were removed. He couldn’t help himself, wrapping his hand around it and drawing upward. Crowley’s body twisted lasciviously at the contact.

“Holy fuck–”

The redhead’s cheeks were flushed, and he whined when Aziraphale withdrew his hand to remove his own pants. Once completely bare, Crowley’s mouth was crowding him against the bed. 

“How would you like to do this, Angel?” Crowley asked in a husky voice, his hands spreading across Aziraphale’s hips and his eyes hazy with lust and patience and love. “Name it, it’s yours.”

Aziraphale’s heartbeat was thunderous in his ears. The only thing left in his body was the rush of his blood in his veins. 

“I want to be inside you.”

“Mmmm,” Crowley hummed in assent, his hips thrusting upward, “Hoping you’d say that.”

When he pulled away, Aziraphale’s body screamed with the loss of contact. Crowley reached into his bedside table and produced a small bottle and a condom. He ripped the wrapper open with his teeth and it was so sexy Aziraphale almost collapsed.   

“Let me,” Crowley kissed him tenderly on the lips as he rolled the condom down the length of his cock.

“Do you want to help with this next part,” Crowley asked, hesitating with the tube in his hand, “Or would you like me to take care of it?”

Aziraphale felt a hunger ignite in his chest but he paused, “I want to– but I– should probably–”

Crowley nodded, squeezing the contents of the bottle onto his fingers, “You’re a fast learner, so next time you can help. But this time,” he tossed the bottle aside, spreading his legs, “I want you to watch."

Aziraphale stared entranced as Crowley sank one finger slowly inside himself, letting his hips gyrate as he got used to the feeling. It took every ounce of his self-control for Aziraphale not to touch his own cock to the sight; he knew that it would be over too quickly if he let himself indulge too early.

It wasn’t long until Crowley used two fingers, pressing them in and quickening his pace. Eventually the redhead moaned out as he pushed back against the pillow with his eyes shut.

“Now,” he whimpered, removing his fingers and spreading his legs open, “Angel, I need you now.”

“Yes– yes, my dear.” 

Aziraphale climbed between his thighs, his hands shaky as he lined up the head of his cock with Crowley’s slickened entrance. His heart was in his throat as he pushed his hips tentatively forward.

“Oh, my god –”

It was incredibly, wonderfully, impossibly tight. Aziraphale’s eyes flashed between Crowley’s face and where they were now connected.

“Fuck me, you feel–oh fuck–” Crowley’s cock leaked as he made cut-off noises in the back of his throat.

“Am I hurting you?” Aziraphale panted.

Crowley’s head rolled back in ecstasy, but in response to the question he met his gaze, bringing his hand up to brush against Aziraphale's cheek, “No, Angel– no you feel amazing, please don’t stop–”

“I-I won’t–,” he shuddered, slowly pushing his hips as far as they would go. When he was fully seated inside, he exhaled shakily, “Oh god, oh god–”

“That’s it, fuck you’re amazing–”

There was a sudden stab of panic– Aziraphale worried if he started to move now, he would finish before they even got a chance to get started. The thought caused his breathing to quicken, the adrenaline of the fear surging through his nervous system, “I just– I just–”

“Just breathe, Angel,” Crowley’s hands were on his hips, rubbing soft circles against them, “I’m here with you, just breathe.”

He obeyed, squeezing his eyes shut and letting the air fill his lungs for a few grounding moments. It felt good, felt like he was in control again. When he blinked again, Crowley’s amber eyes were watching him patiently. 

“Can I- can I kiss you?”

“Always,” Crowley breathed. 

Aziraphale leaned down, their bodies pressed together as he kissed Crowley’s wet lips. It was gentle, lovely, like the first time they kissed. They stayed like that for a while, their mouths slow and tender against each other. When Aziraphale pulled away, he pressed their foreheads together before he thrust slightly upwards. 

Stars broke out across his vision. It was than anything he had ever felt. He did it again.

“Ah-” Crowley exhaled, his breath ghosting Aziraphale’s lips. His hands slid from Aziraphale’s chest back to his hips, “Yes, like that–”

Aziraphale moved his hips back further before he pushed again, a little harder this time. 

“L-like this?” Pleasure coursed through Aziraphale’s veins as he found a rhythm, steady and firm. “Is this good for you?”

“So fucking good–” Crowley started to roll his hips to meet each of Aziraphale’s thrusts, “Holy hell keep going–”

Aziraphale felt everything, every tight contraction of Crowley as he writhed on his cock. He could feel his orgasm building, rumbling like distant thunder as he started to speed up.

“You feel so good inside me Angel– yes,” Crowley called out, his fingers squeezing into Aziraphale’s hips as he pressed his lips along his jaw. Aziraphale reached in between them and started to pump his hand along Crowley’s dripping cock.

“Darling I-I-” Aziraphale gasped, his movements becoming more erratic, “Crowley– I’m going to–”

“Yes–” Crowley growled, “Come for me, I want you to.”

The distant rumbling was getting closer, lighting striking through his nerve endings as his toes curled in anticipation, “I will– I will I-I-”

With a clap of thunder Aziraphale came, crying out Crowley’s name as his body shuddered under the force of his release. 

“God yes, that’s it– I– l’m–” Crowley's voice cracked, his muscles tightening as he moaned through his release, his spend spilling over Aziraphale’s hand. It was beautiful, seeing Crowley’s body flushed pink as he cried out in pleasure, his amber eyes rolling back in his head, the entirety of him coming wonderfully undone. 

Once Crowley’s cries of pleasure subsided, Aziraphale collapsed forward. They were still connected as their chest heaved in unison, the sweat of their skin intermingling. They were silent for a moment, basking in their shared contentment as one of Crowley’s hands began to card lazily through Aziraphale’s hair and his lips pressed lightly against his neck.

“I love you,” Aziraphale whispered breathlessly.

Crowley kissed his forehead, his voice low and sweet. “I know, my Angel.” 

—-

The second week of their at-home holiday could be split into two categories: the time they spent outside, engaging with friends, and exploring more of Tadfield, and the time they spent in each other's company, drinking, listening to music, and rutting against each other like the world was about to end.

There were days filled with hiking through the forests, exploring the old library in the center of town, and visiting Anathema and Tracy for tea as they read his palm and discussed his birth chart. There were also days when Aziraphale and Crowley were tangled around each other before breakfast, arguing over the proper way to cook eggs by lunchtime, and making out unhurried on the couch as a Velvet Underground record spun in the background by dinner. 

When the third week started, a bit of unease set in. Every meal they shared together, every kiss, every breathless and passionate moment they spent in bed or the shower, or, on one particularly memorable occasion, the Bentley, felt like a countdown to his return to London. 

He noticed a change in Crowley as well, a soft melancholy that settled around him. Aziraphale noticed it in the way he would wistfully stare at him while he was reading or the way he would sometimes stop while they were making love to hold onto him tightly and whisper sweet, adoring words in his ear. It felt like they had borrowed some time with their holiday, but it still wasn’t enough– could never be enough. 

One mid-morning Crowley got a call from work and had to leave to sort things out in the office. Aziraphale was alone in the cottage for the first time, and although he was more than comfortable there, he fretted that the impending clock of his departure was ticking down with each passing minute. He wrung his hands as he walked through the yard that afternoon, his brain sending him a flurry of worries and thoughts. He stopped moving when one of the thoughts resonated and started to grow. It was a shot in the dark, but worth a try nonetheless. 

Hurrying back to the cottage, he opened up his laptop and went to the search engine. He typed in the phrase, ‘nursing job search’, and after a few clicks, he was on a reputable site for job listings. He adjusted the scope to be within a driveable range of Tadfield and waited with bated breath as it loaded. There were several results, but the top one read ‘Nursing position, Family Practice, Tadfield’. 

Aziraphale's eyes went wide in disbelief, he researched it further and confirmed that the posting was accurate. It had only been posted in the last few days and they’d actually driven by it several times. The doctor's office was in an unassuming brick building a few blocks from main street. He checked and rechecked the qualifications, and he met every criteria and checked every box. He would have to update his resume, compile a list of references—

He would have to talk to Crowley. 

—

When Crowley arrived back home that evening, he brought with him takeout from the Indian restaurant that had a pumpkin curry so delicious that Aziraphale had moaned the first time he’d taken a bite. He’d been a bit mortified after, but Crowley loved it – loved when he ate, loved watching him enjoy his food. 

Loved him, all of him. 

“Hiya Angel,” he called as he stepped through the door, “Got your favorite and some fried paneer as well.”

Aziraphale was sitting in the kitchen, and Crowley noticed something was off as soon as he stepped in the door frame. His expression turned serious. 

“What is it, what’s happened?”

God why does my face have to be so readable…

“Hi, my darling,” Aziraphale stood and greeted him with a kiss. “Thank you for getting dinner. Could we, um, t-talk for a minute before?”

“Um, of course,” Crowley pushed the food onto the counter and took a seat in the chair next to Aziraphale. 

“S-so um,” Aziraphale started uneasily. He’d played the script over and over in his head, he even went so far as practicing it in the mirror. It didn’t matter though, all his resolve was gone, and his nervous system sparked with worry. “I’m due to leave in a few days to go back to London, as you are well aware. But I’ve been having the most wonderful time here. I mean, Tadfield is gorgeous and I’ve made friends and–”

Crowley didn’t move, his amber eyes were on him as he listened patiently.

“And I’ve fallen even more in love with you than I could have imagined possible. Your cottage is, well, it’s lovely, but after being here and spending all this time with you, it’s become clear to me that you– you’re my–” Aziraphale could feel tears welling in his eyes, “I’m home when I’m with you , Crowley.” 

Crowley smiled, genuine and warm and impossibly beautiful. He took hold of his hand and brought it up to his lips as Aziraphale pressed on. 

“So um, today I just happened to be online and I saw this posting for a nursing position at Tadfield Family Practice and I was thinking of appl–”

“Move in with me.”

Crowley asked it without hesitation, without a hint of uncertainty – as if he’d known he wanted this for a while, as if he’d been waiting for the right opportunity.

The suddenness and straightforwardness caused Aziraphale to sputter, “M-My dear, I– I haven’t even put my application yet I–”

“You can still apply,” Crowley assured him, “But the offer stands, job or not.”

Aziraphale had hoped for this outcome but hadn’t expected it to be offered to him so easily. 

“I’ve lived in this house for years now,” Crowley murmured, his thumb running small circles across the skin of Aziraphale’s hand, “but you bring so much light here, into every place you step foot in really.”

Aziraphale’s throat tightened, as he clutched his chest. 

“I know things between us are still new, but it feels so natural, being with you– it’s like our edges line up. I love you, Aziraphale. And I want you to stay, if you’d like, for as long as you like.”

It wasn’t that long ago that Anathema had visited Aziraphale after everything else had fallen apart. She offered him a new start, an unexpected path forward that had led him to Camp Eden. Led him to Crowley . 

There were no coincidences, and yet possibly there were. 

“Move in with me, Angel.”

For years and years, Aziraphale whispered prayers, recited hymns, and read about acts of God without any real belief in any of them. And then he fell for Crowley, and by some miracle, Crowley fell for him. It was all a bit new, the reality of magic in his life. He still didn’t understand it, how a chain of events led them here, how his and Crowley’s lives were inexplicably woven together. 

It was just ineffable, he supposed. 

“Yes,” Aziraphale whispered tearfully, “As long as you’ll have me, I’ll stay.”

They kissed through the salt of their tears in the kitchen of the cottage. Their home. They talked more over dinner, making plans in excited tones, pouring glasses of wine, arguing about nothing, and laughing together. 

Aziraphale leaned over to kiss him again and again, because there was no longer a countdown. Instead, time stretched out before them, ample and filled with promise. 

After their plates were clear and their wine glasses were empty, Crowley took Aziraphale by the hand and raced them outside. They didn’t stop running until they reached the apple trees in the corner of the yard. Breathless and giddy, Crowley reached up and plucked a newly ripe apple from a lower branch. He held out the deep red fruit, his eyebrow raised and his crooked grin equal parts suggestive and sweet. Aziraphale took it from his offering hand and sank his teeth in with a crunch. 

The first bite was a tad tart at the beginning but resolved with a refreshingly crisp and sweet finish. The taste of the apple was followed quickly by Crowley’s lips. 

They tasted even better.