Happy Holidays, YLC! (Part 1)
Title: A Crush Is Not the End of the World
Recipient: YLC
Rating: PG-13
Pairing, Characters: Aziraphale/Crowley, hints of Anathema/Newt
Summary: They get a new classmate and Crowley kind of likes him. Anathema figures this out in 0.3 seconds and makes everything possible to befriend the mysterious Swede.
Warnings (if any): none
Author's Notes (if any): Happy Holidays, YLC! I always wanted to write a highschool human AU, so I hope you’ll enjoy my story.
As each September in the past ten years, he walked morosely towards school, kicking a pebble in his way. He puckered up his lips at the sight of the hated building - through his sunglasses it looked as dark as it truly was. It wasn’t really the institution that he disliked, but the people. They were so ordinary, boring and conceited. He shuddered just thinking about them. All of them. All right, maybe not all. There was this girl, Anathema, who was bearable. Although, sometimes he needed to tell her to stop rambling. Good lord, that girl could talk for hours!
He sighed as he entered the crowded schoolyard. He never really understood why the whole school had to take part in the opening ceremony - it was interesting only for the first graders and their overexcited parents. At least he could listen to music, he smirked to himself as he fished for his headphones in his bag, then get his timetable after the ceremony and go home. He could even go back to bed. That thought alone kept him alive.
“Anthony! Anthony!”
He turned round as someone grabbed his left arm. Not in the least surprised he noticed that it was Anathema and he took out his earbuds.
“Anthony! Oh wow, it is you!”
“Told you, it’s Crowley,” he sighed.
“Holy moly, what did you do this summer, Anthony? You’re so tall!”
Crowley sighed. Anathema was scanning his whole body, making him feel rather uncomfortable. He was aware of the too short sleeves of his coat and didn’t need to be reminded of the fact that he became a giant. It was strange, being taller than the majority of people there. He would never ever be able to sneak away unnoticed.
“And your hair! I love it! Told you you’d look nice if you let it grow a bit.”
“Thanks,” Crowley grumbled. “Yours looks great too.”
Anathema’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you think so? It’s just a toner, so the colour won’t stay for long, but I read this trick on the internet…”
And on she went, talking about the difficulty of finding the perfect shade, and Crowley was dutifully nodding, looking slightly bored on the outside, but he’d realised in that moment just how great it was to hear her ramble again. He spent most of his summer holiday in Italy, with his dad and his new family, so he kind of missed her.
“By the way, have you heard we have a new classmate?”
“Nope.” He wasn’t really interested, to be honest. Just another moron, surely.
“He comes from Sweden.”
That made Crowley look up. “And what is he doing in our boring little town?”
“Getting a proper education, I guess.”
They both laughed. Luckily, the ceremony was soon over and the masses rushed into the school. Anathema and Crowley lagged behind, walking at a leisurely pace. As they made their way towards their classroom, Anathema told Crowley about the week she spent in a music camp where she met a guy, Newt. Nothing like that, she protested early on, but Crowley knew better, and just grinned from ear to ear.
Anathema shook her head, her reddish curls bouncing wildly as she entered the classroom. Then her eyes rested on two figures by the windows: one of them was Mrs. Zhang, their form teacher, and the other one a stranger. It was not difficult to deduct that it was their new classmate, but they overheard Anca and Patricia talking about how hot the new guy was.
“Well, he certainly fits my mental image of cute Swedish boys,” Anathema whispered, still staring.
Crowley agreed, except the cute part, of course. The guy was quite tall - albeit nowhere as tall as Crowley was - had longish blonde hair which curled oh so perfectly at the ends and was dressed as a gentleman from a few decades before. He turned his head suddenly, his eyes peering over his glasses at the silly-looking girl and boy who were gawking at him, smiled briefly, and then turned towards Mrs. Zhang again.
Anathema and Crowley quickly looked elsewhere, trying to hide their blush. Crowley didn’t want to spend too much time analysing his reaction, so he quickly looked for the timetable with his name on it. He checked if the information was correct. He had dropped French, and decided to start learning Italian instead, to his dad’s great joy. It was about time; he got sick that he didn’t understand much every time he travelled to Italy. But next time, he’d just walk in there and amaze his stepsister and cousins with his language skills.
“Satisfied with your timetable?” Anathema asked, poking him.
Crowley turned the paper towards her.
“Hey, that’s not fair! You only have classes till 12 on Friday?”
After a quick glance at Anathema’s timetable, Crowley grinned. “Well, some people get to be lazy while others have violin practice and become famous artists.”
Anathema narrowed her eyes, but then she smiled, timidly at first, then her smile grew and Crowley just laughed as she hugged him.
* * * * *
The next day, school started for real. Crowley thought to himself that if that day passed, he would only have to survive another three days and then the weekend would come. It probably wasn’t a good thing to think like that on the first week, he admitted sleepily.
“Uh, sorry, do you know where room 1.51 is?”
Crowley looked down, surprised. It was the Swedish guy with a piece of paper in his hands and looking a bit lost. And he had a very English accent.
“Yes. I’m heading there myself.” Crowley wondered what was going on with his voice. Is it always this wobbly?
“Splendid!”
The Swedish guy smiled with relief and put away his timetable, following Crowley diligently. This could have been the perfect occasion to ask something, to strike up a conversation, but Crowley argued in his head that the corridor was too noisy. Besides, the Swedish guy didn’t try either, so maybe he wasn’t into talking with strangers?
These thoughts were whirling in Crowley’s confused head as he took a seat, and to his surprise the new guy sat down beside him, even though the class was mostly empty. From the corner of his eye, Crowley noticed that his neighbour took out a book and started reading it. Well, it would be rude to interrupt him, wouldn’t it? So Crowley just leafed through his biology textbook while his other classmates filed in. He suddenly wished that Anathema were there; she always knew what to say. But her focus was on humanities, and especially on music, so she didn’t need biology anymore.
Mr. Ecker was a bit late, but that wasn’t anything new. He was a good teacher, but he sucked at time management. As always, he ran into the class profusely apologising for his delay. At least it was only their first lesson and they wouldn’t be doing too much. Crowley leaned back against his chair as the teacher explained what they would be doing that year.
“Okay, I think I said everything I wanted,” Mr. Ecker declared, perusing his papers. “Oh, did I mention that there will be a lot of experiments this year? Yes, and group work. So take a good look at your desk mate, because you’ll be working together for the whole year.”
The class started whispering; some people were clearly not satisfied with this announcement. Crowley was surprised, but excited at the same time. He risked a glance at the Swedish guy, who caught his look and seemed quite optimistic, which filled Crowley with relief. At least he didn’t show contempt openly. That was a good sign. Meanwhile, Mr. Ecker started putting down the names of each pair. He knew most students from previous years, but he was clearly stuck when he got to the new student.
“Crowley and… uh?”
“Aziraphale Holt, sir.”
The professor nodded as he jotted down their names and moved to the next table. Crowley knitted his brows… hmm, don’t all Swedish surnames end in “son”? Or maybe the guy wasn’t from Sweden after all? The gossip machine could have got it wrong, as in so many cases. But his name was strange anyway. What was it? Aziraphale? Poor guy, his parents were not very considerate, were they? But then Crowley remembered his own first name - which was somewhat better, but he still disliked it. He took pride in the fact that most people only knew him by his surname.
He didn’t even hear the bell ring, just noticed that people started packing their things. Crowley put away his things, stealthily watching as his desk mate shrugged on his coat. Then suddenly Aziraphale turned to him, raised his hand in salute, and disappeared without a word. Crowley looked at the back of Aziraphale’s head, at his curls, then shook his head. He had double Chemistry next, he couldn’t afford to be distracted.
* * * * *
Wednesday was a good day from two points of view: it was getting close to Friday and Crowley had classes with Anathema almost the whole day. The latter could prove to be a disadvantage, though, Crowley suspected. Anathema had texted him to come to her house, so they would go together to class. It was all right until she remembered halfway to school that she forgot her copy of Pride and Prejudice at home, and of course Crowley was dragged back too. They had to run back and even so, they were almost late for History. Which wouldn’t have been too big of a tragedy since Mr. Leroy always ended up talking about the second world war, no matter what was in the curriculum. They found a free table at the back of the class from where they could see everyone, though Crowley was mostly interested in a certain blonde person.
Next, Crowley had Italian while Anathema hurried to her Art class, promising to meet Crowley on the second floor in the break to have lunch and then go to their English class together. Crowley was a bit worried about starting a new language. He wasn’t really good at them, but at least he got somewhat used to French after so many years (although the pronunciation was still a problem). He didn’t see any familiar faces, mostly because everyone looked younger than him. Great, just another class where he would feel out of place.
However, the teacher proved to be really awesome and the forty-five minutes just flew away after Crowley stopped worrying when he realised that everyone sounded funny with their English accents. He looked forward to the next class on Friday. Crowley told everything to Anathema while they had lunch, and in exchange she described her new, hot Art teacher.
“So you’re cheating on Newt?” Crowley asked, grinning.
Anathema blushed. “Shut up, he’s just a friend.”
Crowley continued grinning, dodging when Anathema tried to swat him. His eyes fell on Aziraphale, sitting alone, his nose buried in a book. His smile died and he gulped, but he quickly looked back at his friend, hoping that she didn’t notice his reaction. For some reason it reminded Crowley of himself, when he was also “banished” to the lonely table. But he lacked the courage of Anathema who years ago had just sat down beside him, not caring about the dark aura surrounding him. His thoughts kept returning to Aziraphale sitting alone, even when the boy was no longer there.
Anathema, trying to make up for the morning fiasco, didn’t even let Crowley finish his muffin, so that they would arrive to class in time. It was quite loud inside, even though there weren’t more than ten people. The source of the noise turned out to be Crowley’s least favourite people, Hastur and Ligur, who were bragging about their summer holidays, their idiotic minions listening to them and laughing at their stupid jokes. He was still looking at them when Anathema called for him.
She had already found free seats… beside Aziraphale. Crowley tried desperately to send signs with his eyes that he didn’t want to sit there, but it was impossible to argue with Anathema. Luckily, Aziraphale didn’t notice anything as he was reading (again!), but he did send a timid smile Crowley’s way when he greeted him. Crowley took out his copy of Pride and Prejudice, glaring at Anathema behind Aziraphale’s back. He really hated this room with the old-fashioned desks that had three seats instead of two.
Anathema just smiled, not bothered in the least, and presented herself to her new colleague: “Hi, I’m Anathema and that grumpy guy is Anthony.”
“Crowley. And I’m not grumpy.”
“Sorry. Crowley,” Anathema rolled her eyes. “He’s a bit sensitive.”
“Hi. My name’s Aziraphale. Nice to meet you.”
“Wow, you have an interesting name!”
Crowley was getting suspicious. What was Anathema doing?
Aziraphale blushed. “Well, I was named after my great-grandpa on my mum’s side.”
“Aha… so Anthony and I heard you’re from Sweden, is that true?”
Crowley looked at Anathema sharply. What was this, an interrogation?
Aziraphale placed the bookmark in his book carefully before answering. “It’s a bit complicated. I lived there for the past eight years.”
“But you were born here?”
“Yes.”
“That explains the English accent,” Anathema smiled. “So there’s no Swedish blood running in your veins?”
“My mum’s Swedish.”
“Cool. So how come you came back to the UK?”
Crowley couldn’t hold back anymore. “Anathema, don’t you think you’re a bit too curious?” It didn’t matter that he was also dying to find out the answer to that question, but Anathema might have come off as unashamed.
Aziraphale chuckled as he turned left to look at Crowley. “It’s fine, I don’t mind it. We moved to Sweden when my dad was appointed the ambassador of the UK in Sweden. And now we moved back. No big deal.”
Crowley and Anathema looked at each other. Neither of them would describe this as “no big deal”. It was. Posh kids didn’t go to their school; they went to those expensive boarding schools to learn how to become proper knobheads. But as far as they could tell, Aziraphale didn’t seem conceited and definitely didn’t look down on other people. Anathema then changed the subject and started an animated discussion with Aziraphale on Pride and Prejudice.
Although secretly he was grateful for her intervention, Crowley didn’t agree with Anathema’s methods. As they were walking home from school, Crowley thought about the best way to let her know to be more discreet next time.
“You know, even though he said he didn’t mind your interrogation, I don’t think you should bother Aziraphale like that.”
Anathema smiled slyly. “Oh, but I was just doing you a favour, dear Anthony.”
And now the use of his first name. She clearly meant to upset him. “How so?”
“Well, I’ve known you for years and it’s not really difficult to notice when you’re ogling someone since most of the time you don’t even deign to look at people.”
Crowley stopped in his tracks.
“I hit the nail on the head, didn’t I?”
“Like hell you did,” Crowley protested, adjusting his sunglasses. “He’s just new. I wanted to see if he’s any good or trash like the others.”
“Aha, sure. And did he pass your test?”
“I guess,” Crowley replied in a faux bored voice.
“With flying colours, I bet.”
Crowley just shook his head as Anathema laughed heartily.
* * * * *
Days passed and Crowley - as much as he hated to admit it - liked Aziraphale more and more. Every detail that he found out about the blonde, mostly thanks to the conversations Anathema had started, fascinated him. Crowley even managed to ask a few questions himself, and although Aziraphale always answered him willingly, for some reason he would always retreat in his shell afterwards, and would only speak if someone asked him. It made Crowley wonder if they really didn’t bother Aziraphale with their nosiness. When he mentioned it to Anathema, though, she just waved her hand:
“Don’t worry about that. I think he’s just really shy. Remember, he’s just recently moved back and everything is very new for him. He needs some time to adjust. Besides, he probably had friends back in Sweden whom he must miss.”
If it was possible, Anathema’s response troubled Crowley even more. It seemed like they were even more inconsiderate than he previously imagined and Aziraphale was just too polite to say anything. However, he was roused from his train of thoughts when Aziraphale entered the class and walked up to their desk promptly, despite the many free seats available. Crowley smiled with relief; at least he knew Aziraphale didn’t hate them. He even asked Anathema if he could take his ‘usual’ seat between the two of them. And if Crowley broke out in a smile randomly the entire day, well, it was because he couldn’t control himself.
* * * * *
It was the end of the second week of school and Crowley packed his things quickly in his backpack after his last class. His nana had called and complained to his mum that her grandson had forgotten her. Crowley rolled his eyes, but he knew she was kind of right: he hadn’t visited her in over three weeks. He went to the florist’s first and bought a nice bouquet to placate his nana. Secretly, he was hoping that she really wasn’t upset with him and that she baked his favourite cookies. Just as he imagined eating a whole plate of white chocolate - cranberry cookies, he became aware of familiar voices coming from the other side of the road.
“What’s the matter, poof? You don’t like it when others borrow your stuff?”
“Please, put down my bag.”
Crowley stopped abruptly. There was a small park across the road, usually empty, but sadly that day it was polluted by the presence of Ligur and Hastur who decided to terrorise Aziraphale by taking away his bag from him. Without even considering the risks, Crowley crossed the road with firm steps.
“That’s enough, morons. Get out of here.”
“Ah, the flash bastard…in the flesh,” Ligur said and cackled with Hastur at his dumb joke.
“Don’t look so sad, poof, look, he even brought you flowers!”
“How sweet! What a gentleman!”
“Cut the crap and give back the bag. Now,” Crowley hissed and stepped closer to the two bullies, towering over them.
Hastur looked around and grimaced at their obvious disadvantage. He exchanged a look with Ligur. “Jeez, we were just joking, ass-hat. Anyway, here’s the bag.”
Crowley extended his arm, but Hastur, instead of giving it to him, threw the bag up in the air. It promptly got tangled in the branches of an oak tree. Without waiting to see if it would fall back down, Hastur and Ligur buggered off. Crowley clenched his fists and was about to run after them, but Aziraphale touched his forearm.
“Don’t bother, dear. It’s not worth the effort.”
Crowley looked at Aziraphale and saw no vengeance in his clear eyes, but he couldn’t hold back some swearing, especially when he looked up at the bag. It didn’t seem to be too high; maybe if he managed to jump and shake the branches a bit…
“Here,” he said and gave Aziraphale the bouquet, eyeing the bag suspiciously.
It took Crowley about five minutes, but in the end the bag dropped on his head. Aziraphale asked worriedly if he was all right.
“What do you keep in it, rocks?”
“Books,” the blonde answered with a blush.
Crowley stroked his head, then offered Aziraphale his bag and took back his bouquet. He nodded behind his sunglasses at the boy and was about to leave.
“Crowley?”
He turned back.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“See you on Monday?”
“Sure. Ciao.”
He smiled, despite the dull ache throbbing on the left side of his head. He looked at his watch and ran to his nana’s, because he knew she didn’t like it when people were late.
* * * * *
“Hello.”
Crowley looked up from the game he was playing and knitted his eyebrows.
“Hi. Uhm… isn’t this the Italian class?”
Aziraphale smiled. “It is. I talked to the headmaster and asked her if I could take another language instead of Physics and she agreed to it. So here I am.”
“Wise choice. I couldn’t wait to drop it either.”
The blonde sat down beside him and took out his things. “Do you like this class? How’s the teacher?”
“It’s really fun most of the time, I guess because we’re still at the beginning. And the teacher is young and amusing, so I’m sure you’ll like her.”
“Great. Oh, do you mind sharing the textbook? I’m going to get mine only next week.”
Crowley pushed his book to the middle. “Of course not.”
“So what did I miss?” Aziraphale asked, looking through the book.
“No worries, you can catch up easily. We only did the verb ‘to be’ and ‘to have’ and different greetings.”
The teacher came in, so Crowley continued in a whisper, as he explained Aziraphale the conjugations.
“Antonio! Silenzio, per favore!
Crowley blushed to the roots of his hair. He had forgotten that his teacher insisted on calling them with Italian names. Aziraphale was snickering beside him, but when Crowley looked at him with narrowed eyes the blonde pretended to have a coughing fit. However, he didn’t have to wait too much to have his revenge. The teacher asked the class to pair up and do some exercises from the book. Noticing that he was new, the teacher walked up to Aziraphale’s desk. The blonde explained his situation and the teacher asked him to put down his name in her notebook.
“Aziraphale? Did I pronounce it correctly?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Bene, you’ll be Raffaello from now on.”
“But…” Aziraphale stared at her in shock while Crowley promptly buried his face in his hands, shaking silently with laughter.
Oh, he was going to enjoy Italian classes even more, even though Aziraphale glared at him from behind his glasses. At the end of the lesson, however, in order to placate him, Crowley invited his classmate to have lunch with him and Anathema.
Aziraphale smiled sweetly. “Let’s go, Antonio.”
* * * * *
Days and weeks passed, and just like Anathema had predicted, Aziraphale became much more open. He smiled more often and to Crowley’s great pleasure, their talks actually became real conversations where it wasn’t just Crowley doing the questioning. The subject that made Aziraphale talk the most was books, but Crowley didn’t mind it: he loved listening to Aziraphale’s soft voice. And even though he was so English it hurt, Crowley distinguished a few sounds in his speech that were definitely influenced by Swedish.
Anathema, Crowley and Aziraphale became a common sight. The addition of Aziraphale to the pair didn’t affect the relationship between Crowley and Anathema - if anything, it made them become closer, given Crowley’s, well, troubled feelings towards Aziraphale. He couldn’t talk to anybody about this: his mum was busy, his dad was far away, his nana wouldn’t understand.
“I think you’re doing great,” Anathema said one afternoon when Crowley had invited her over to his place to finish their history assignment.
“Hardly,” the boy replied, chewing the end of his pen.
“Well, excuse me, but six weeks ago you didn’t even know about his existence on this planet and now you’re friends!”
Crowley made a grimace. “Yes, but I feel like I’m forever stuck, like I’m just going in a circle. It’s like one of those games where you just can’t figure out how to get to the next level.”
“Patience, Anthony. Besides, I genuinely believe Aziraphale likes you. He has this ‘oh, you’ expression on his face whenever he looks at you.”
Crowley snorted. “Right. The ‘oh, you are such an idiot’ expression, most probably.” He got up and brought the cookie plate closer. “All we ever talk about are books and assignments.”
“Better than nothing.”
“Oh my god,” Crowley said as he abruptly stopped eating his cookie. “He bookzoned me.”
Anathema laughed so hard, she fell off the bed. Crowley laughed with her until tears gathered in the corners of his golden brown eyes. As funny as he found the concept, he couldn’t help that slight ache spreading in his heart.
* * * * *
The next afternoon, Crowley’s phone rang. It was Anathema.
“Hey, Anthony. Are you busy?”
“No. What’s up?”
“Listen, I have to tell you something, but please don’t be mad.”
Crowley frowned. “Okaaay, what happened?”
“Well, you know I had violin practice today, from four till six. I don’t think I told you before, but occasionally I would meet Aziraphale on the way home. He sometimes stays in the library. And today, just as I descended the stairs, he came out from the bathroom. At first I thought he didn’t feel well or something, because he was so pale.”
Crowley breathed in deeply.
“But then I noticed that his coat hung strangely on him and his whole appearance was dishevelled. I asked him what happened, but he refused to speak. In the end he groaned out something about Hastur and Ligur.”
“I’m going to kill them!”
“No, no, Anthony, listen, I don’t think you should get involved. They probably beat him because you ‘interrupted’ them the last time.”
“I don’t care, I’m sick and tired of their bullying!”
“Please, don’t do anything rash.”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “Well, I still have those pictures of them smoking in the school bathroom. I’m sure the headmaster will be delighted to see them.”
Anathema remained silent. “I don’t think blackmailing will stop them, though. If anything, it will incite them even more. It would be better if we talked to Aziraphale and told him to confront them in some way or another.”
“And get himself beaten?! No, let me deal with this.”
* * * * *
When Crowley arrived to his biology class, he could notice that Aziraphale was still not feeling quite himself - it even affected his performance. They had a test and Crowley noticed that his desk mate left a few blank spaces which was very unusual since Aziraphale always finished early and got the best grades. He didn’t want to accept Crowley’s help at first, but then he copied the answers and thanked Crowley with his eyes downcast. As he promised, Crowley waited for the two bullies after classes. They laughed in his face when he told them to leave Aziraphale alone.
“Or what, you’re going to tell on us to his mama?” Ligur asked with a glint in his eye.
“No, I’m going to send the headmaster some very interesting pics of you two.”
And then he showed them on his phone, watching with satisfaction as Hastur’s and Ligur’s face turned dark.
“You’re going to regret this,” Hastur spat and Ligur punctuated it with a glare.
Crowley watched them leave and then texted Anathema: “It’s done.”
However, two days later the pair found Aziraphale in the library, gluing his copy of Lord of the Flies.
“What happened to your poor book?”
“Hastur and Ligur, that’s what happened,” Aziraphale said in such an angry voice that Crowley flinched.
“Oh darling, I’m so sorry,” Anathema said as she sat down beside Aziraphale and hugged him, while shooting daggers at Crowley.
“I’m going to kill those prats!”
“No, Anthony, you’re going to sit down, because we need to talk about this,” Anathema said.
Aziraphale seemed a bit confused by the tension between his friends, but he leaned back against his chair as Anathema told him that in order for Hastur and Ligur to leave him in peace. He had to face them alone - her eyes settling on Crowley when she said that - otherwise they would always tease him, thinking that he would never fight back. Aziraphale nodded, then returned to fixing his novel.
“No worries, I will deal with them. No one messes with my books.”
The wintry smile he gave reminded Crowley of an avenging angel, making him swear never ever to get in Aziraphale’s bad books.
* * * * *
PART 2
Recipient: YLC
Rating: PG-13
Pairing, Characters: Aziraphale/Crowley, hints of Anathema/Newt
Summary: They get a new classmate and Crowley kind of likes him. Anathema figures this out in 0.3 seconds and makes everything possible to befriend the mysterious Swede.
Warnings (if any): none
Author's Notes (if any): Happy Holidays, YLC! I always wanted to write a highschool human AU, so I hope you’ll enjoy my story.
As each September in the past ten years, he walked morosely towards school, kicking a pebble in his way. He puckered up his lips at the sight of the hated building - through his sunglasses it looked as dark as it truly was. It wasn’t really the institution that he disliked, but the people. They were so ordinary, boring and conceited. He shuddered just thinking about them. All of them. All right, maybe not all. There was this girl, Anathema, who was bearable. Although, sometimes he needed to tell her to stop rambling. Good lord, that girl could talk for hours!
He sighed as he entered the crowded schoolyard. He never really understood why the whole school had to take part in the opening ceremony - it was interesting only for the first graders and their overexcited parents. At least he could listen to music, he smirked to himself as he fished for his headphones in his bag, then get his timetable after the ceremony and go home. He could even go back to bed. That thought alone kept him alive.
“Anthony! Anthony!”
He turned round as someone grabbed his left arm. Not in the least surprised he noticed that it was Anathema and he took out his earbuds.
“Anthony! Oh wow, it is you!”
“Told you, it’s Crowley,” he sighed.
“Holy moly, what did you do this summer, Anthony? You’re so tall!”
Crowley sighed. Anathema was scanning his whole body, making him feel rather uncomfortable. He was aware of the too short sleeves of his coat and didn’t need to be reminded of the fact that he became a giant. It was strange, being taller than the majority of people there. He would never ever be able to sneak away unnoticed.
“And your hair! I love it! Told you you’d look nice if you let it grow a bit.”
“Thanks,” Crowley grumbled. “Yours looks great too.”
Anathema’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you think so? It’s just a toner, so the colour won’t stay for long, but I read this trick on the internet…”
And on she went, talking about the difficulty of finding the perfect shade, and Crowley was dutifully nodding, looking slightly bored on the outside, but he’d realised in that moment just how great it was to hear her ramble again. He spent most of his summer holiday in Italy, with his dad and his new family, so he kind of missed her.
“By the way, have you heard we have a new classmate?”
“Nope.” He wasn’t really interested, to be honest. Just another moron, surely.
“He comes from Sweden.”
That made Crowley look up. “And what is he doing in our boring little town?”
“Getting a proper education, I guess.”
They both laughed. Luckily, the ceremony was soon over and the masses rushed into the school. Anathema and Crowley lagged behind, walking at a leisurely pace. As they made their way towards their classroom, Anathema told Crowley about the week she spent in a music camp where she met a guy, Newt. Nothing like that, she protested early on, but Crowley knew better, and just grinned from ear to ear.
Anathema shook her head, her reddish curls bouncing wildly as she entered the classroom. Then her eyes rested on two figures by the windows: one of them was Mrs. Zhang, their form teacher, and the other one a stranger. It was not difficult to deduct that it was their new classmate, but they overheard Anca and Patricia talking about how hot the new guy was.
“Well, he certainly fits my mental image of cute Swedish boys,” Anathema whispered, still staring.
Crowley agreed, except the cute part, of course. The guy was quite tall - albeit nowhere as tall as Crowley was - had longish blonde hair which curled oh so perfectly at the ends and was dressed as a gentleman from a few decades before. He turned his head suddenly, his eyes peering over his glasses at the silly-looking girl and boy who were gawking at him, smiled briefly, and then turned towards Mrs. Zhang again.
Anathema and Crowley quickly looked elsewhere, trying to hide their blush. Crowley didn’t want to spend too much time analysing his reaction, so he quickly looked for the timetable with his name on it. He checked if the information was correct. He had dropped French, and decided to start learning Italian instead, to his dad’s great joy. It was about time; he got sick that he didn’t understand much every time he travelled to Italy. But next time, he’d just walk in there and amaze his stepsister and cousins with his language skills.
“Satisfied with your timetable?” Anathema asked, poking him.
Crowley turned the paper towards her.
“Hey, that’s not fair! You only have classes till 12 on Friday?”
After a quick glance at Anathema’s timetable, Crowley grinned. “Well, some people get to be lazy while others have violin practice and become famous artists.”
Anathema narrowed her eyes, but then she smiled, timidly at first, then her smile grew and Crowley just laughed as she hugged him.
* * * * *
The next day, school started for real. Crowley thought to himself that if that day passed, he would only have to survive another three days and then the weekend would come. It probably wasn’t a good thing to think like that on the first week, he admitted sleepily.
“Uh, sorry, do you know where room 1.51 is?”
Crowley looked down, surprised. It was the Swedish guy with a piece of paper in his hands and looking a bit lost. And he had a very English accent.
“Yes. I’m heading there myself.” Crowley wondered what was going on with his voice. Is it always this wobbly?
“Splendid!”
The Swedish guy smiled with relief and put away his timetable, following Crowley diligently. This could have been the perfect occasion to ask something, to strike up a conversation, but Crowley argued in his head that the corridor was too noisy. Besides, the Swedish guy didn’t try either, so maybe he wasn’t into talking with strangers?
These thoughts were whirling in Crowley’s confused head as he took a seat, and to his surprise the new guy sat down beside him, even though the class was mostly empty. From the corner of his eye, Crowley noticed that his neighbour took out a book and started reading it. Well, it would be rude to interrupt him, wouldn’t it? So Crowley just leafed through his biology textbook while his other classmates filed in. He suddenly wished that Anathema were there; she always knew what to say. But her focus was on humanities, and especially on music, so she didn’t need biology anymore.
Mr. Ecker was a bit late, but that wasn’t anything new. He was a good teacher, but he sucked at time management. As always, he ran into the class profusely apologising for his delay. At least it was only their first lesson and they wouldn’t be doing too much. Crowley leaned back against his chair as the teacher explained what they would be doing that year.
“Okay, I think I said everything I wanted,” Mr. Ecker declared, perusing his papers. “Oh, did I mention that there will be a lot of experiments this year? Yes, and group work. So take a good look at your desk mate, because you’ll be working together for the whole year.”
The class started whispering; some people were clearly not satisfied with this announcement. Crowley was surprised, but excited at the same time. He risked a glance at the Swedish guy, who caught his look and seemed quite optimistic, which filled Crowley with relief. At least he didn’t show contempt openly. That was a good sign. Meanwhile, Mr. Ecker started putting down the names of each pair. He knew most students from previous years, but he was clearly stuck when he got to the new student.
“Crowley and… uh?”
“Aziraphale Holt, sir.”
The professor nodded as he jotted down their names and moved to the next table. Crowley knitted his brows… hmm, don’t all Swedish surnames end in “son”? Or maybe the guy wasn’t from Sweden after all? The gossip machine could have got it wrong, as in so many cases. But his name was strange anyway. What was it? Aziraphale? Poor guy, his parents were not very considerate, were they? But then Crowley remembered his own first name - which was somewhat better, but he still disliked it. He took pride in the fact that most people only knew him by his surname.
He didn’t even hear the bell ring, just noticed that people started packing their things. Crowley put away his things, stealthily watching as his desk mate shrugged on his coat. Then suddenly Aziraphale turned to him, raised his hand in salute, and disappeared without a word. Crowley looked at the back of Aziraphale’s head, at his curls, then shook his head. He had double Chemistry next, he couldn’t afford to be distracted.
* * * * *
Wednesday was a good day from two points of view: it was getting close to Friday and Crowley had classes with Anathema almost the whole day. The latter could prove to be a disadvantage, though, Crowley suspected. Anathema had texted him to come to her house, so they would go together to class. It was all right until she remembered halfway to school that she forgot her copy of Pride and Prejudice at home, and of course Crowley was dragged back too. They had to run back and even so, they were almost late for History. Which wouldn’t have been too big of a tragedy since Mr. Leroy always ended up talking about the second world war, no matter what was in the curriculum. They found a free table at the back of the class from where they could see everyone, though Crowley was mostly interested in a certain blonde person.
Next, Crowley had Italian while Anathema hurried to her Art class, promising to meet Crowley on the second floor in the break to have lunch and then go to their English class together. Crowley was a bit worried about starting a new language. He wasn’t really good at them, but at least he got somewhat used to French after so many years (although the pronunciation was still a problem). He didn’t see any familiar faces, mostly because everyone looked younger than him. Great, just another class where he would feel out of place.
However, the teacher proved to be really awesome and the forty-five minutes just flew away after Crowley stopped worrying when he realised that everyone sounded funny with their English accents. He looked forward to the next class on Friday. Crowley told everything to Anathema while they had lunch, and in exchange she described her new, hot Art teacher.
“So you’re cheating on Newt?” Crowley asked, grinning.
Anathema blushed. “Shut up, he’s just a friend.”
Crowley continued grinning, dodging when Anathema tried to swat him. His eyes fell on Aziraphale, sitting alone, his nose buried in a book. His smile died and he gulped, but he quickly looked back at his friend, hoping that she didn’t notice his reaction. For some reason it reminded Crowley of himself, when he was also “banished” to the lonely table. But he lacked the courage of Anathema who years ago had just sat down beside him, not caring about the dark aura surrounding him. His thoughts kept returning to Aziraphale sitting alone, even when the boy was no longer there.
Anathema, trying to make up for the morning fiasco, didn’t even let Crowley finish his muffin, so that they would arrive to class in time. It was quite loud inside, even though there weren’t more than ten people. The source of the noise turned out to be Crowley’s least favourite people, Hastur and Ligur, who were bragging about their summer holidays, their idiotic minions listening to them and laughing at their stupid jokes. He was still looking at them when Anathema called for him.
She had already found free seats… beside Aziraphale. Crowley tried desperately to send signs with his eyes that he didn’t want to sit there, but it was impossible to argue with Anathema. Luckily, Aziraphale didn’t notice anything as he was reading (again!), but he did send a timid smile Crowley’s way when he greeted him. Crowley took out his copy of Pride and Prejudice, glaring at Anathema behind Aziraphale’s back. He really hated this room with the old-fashioned desks that had three seats instead of two.
Anathema just smiled, not bothered in the least, and presented herself to her new colleague: “Hi, I’m Anathema and that grumpy guy is Anthony.”
“Crowley. And I’m not grumpy.”
“Sorry. Crowley,” Anathema rolled her eyes. “He’s a bit sensitive.”
“Hi. My name’s Aziraphale. Nice to meet you.”
“Wow, you have an interesting name!”
Crowley was getting suspicious. What was Anathema doing?
Aziraphale blushed. “Well, I was named after my great-grandpa on my mum’s side.”
“Aha… so Anthony and I heard you’re from Sweden, is that true?”
Crowley looked at Anathema sharply. What was this, an interrogation?
Aziraphale placed the bookmark in his book carefully before answering. “It’s a bit complicated. I lived there for the past eight years.”
“But you were born here?”
“Yes.”
“That explains the English accent,” Anathema smiled. “So there’s no Swedish blood running in your veins?”
“My mum’s Swedish.”
“Cool. So how come you came back to the UK?”
Crowley couldn’t hold back anymore. “Anathema, don’t you think you’re a bit too curious?” It didn’t matter that he was also dying to find out the answer to that question, but Anathema might have come off as unashamed.
Aziraphale chuckled as he turned left to look at Crowley. “It’s fine, I don’t mind it. We moved to Sweden when my dad was appointed the ambassador of the UK in Sweden. And now we moved back. No big deal.”
Crowley and Anathema looked at each other. Neither of them would describe this as “no big deal”. It was. Posh kids didn’t go to their school; they went to those expensive boarding schools to learn how to become proper knobheads. But as far as they could tell, Aziraphale didn’t seem conceited and definitely didn’t look down on other people. Anathema then changed the subject and started an animated discussion with Aziraphale on Pride and Prejudice.
Although secretly he was grateful for her intervention, Crowley didn’t agree with Anathema’s methods. As they were walking home from school, Crowley thought about the best way to let her know to be more discreet next time.
“You know, even though he said he didn’t mind your interrogation, I don’t think you should bother Aziraphale like that.”
Anathema smiled slyly. “Oh, but I was just doing you a favour, dear Anthony.”
And now the use of his first name. She clearly meant to upset him. “How so?”
“Well, I’ve known you for years and it’s not really difficult to notice when you’re ogling someone since most of the time you don’t even deign to look at people.”
Crowley stopped in his tracks.
“I hit the nail on the head, didn’t I?”
“Like hell you did,” Crowley protested, adjusting his sunglasses. “He’s just new. I wanted to see if he’s any good or trash like the others.”
“Aha, sure. And did he pass your test?”
“I guess,” Crowley replied in a faux bored voice.
“With flying colours, I bet.”
Crowley just shook his head as Anathema laughed heartily.
* * * * *
Days passed and Crowley - as much as he hated to admit it - liked Aziraphale more and more. Every detail that he found out about the blonde, mostly thanks to the conversations Anathema had started, fascinated him. Crowley even managed to ask a few questions himself, and although Aziraphale always answered him willingly, for some reason he would always retreat in his shell afterwards, and would only speak if someone asked him. It made Crowley wonder if they really didn’t bother Aziraphale with their nosiness. When he mentioned it to Anathema, though, she just waved her hand:
“Don’t worry about that. I think he’s just really shy. Remember, he’s just recently moved back and everything is very new for him. He needs some time to adjust. Besides, he probably had friends back in Sweden whom he must miss.”
If it was possible, Anathema’s response troubled Crowley even more. It seemed like they were even more inconsiderate than he previously imagined and Aziraphale was just too polite to say anything. However, he was roused from his train of thoughts when Aziraphale entered the class and walked up to their desk promptly, despite the many free seats available. Crowley smiled with relief; at least he knew Aziraphale didn’t hate them. He even asked Anathema if he could take his ‘usual’ seat between the two of them. And if Crowley broke out in a smile randomly the entire day, well, it was because he couldn’t control himself.
* * * * *
It was the end of the second week of school and Crowley packed his things quickly in his backpack after his last class. His nana had called and complained to his mum that her grandson had forgotten her. Crowley rolled his eyes, but he knew she was kind of right: he hadn’t visited her in over three weeks. He went to the florist’s first and bought a nice bouquet to placate his nana. Secretly, he was hoping that she really wasn’t upset with him and that she baked his favourite cookies. Just as he imagined eating a whole plate of white chocolate - cranberry cookies, he became aware of familiar voices coming from the other side of the road.
“What’s the matter, poof? You don’t like it when others borrow your stuff?”
“Please, put down my bag.”
Crowley stopped abruptly. There was a small park across the road, usually empty, but sadly that day it was polluted by the presence of Ligur and Hastur who decided to terrorise Aziraphale by taking away his bag from him. Without even considering the risks, Crowley crossed the road with firm steps.
“That’s enough, morons. Get out of here.”
“Ah, the flash bastard…in the flesh,” Ligur said and cackled with Hastur at his dumb joke.
“Don’t look so sad, poof, look, he even brought you flowers!”
“How sweet! What a gentleman!”
“Cut the crap and give back the bag. Now,” Crowley hissed and stepped closer to the two bullies, towering over them.
Hastur looked around and grimaced at their obvious disadvantage. He exchanged a look with Ligur. “Jeez, we were just joking, ass-hat. Anyway, here’s the bag.”
Crowley extended his arm, but Hastur, instead of giving it to him, threw the bag up in the air. It promptly got tangled in the branches of an oak tree. Without waiting to see if it would fall back down, Hastur and Ligur buggered off. Crowley clenched his fists and was about to run after them, but Aziraphale touched his forearm.
“Don’t bother, dear. It’s not worth the effort.”
Crowley looked at Aziraphale and saw no vengeance in his clear eyes, but he couldn’t hold back some swearing, especially when he looked up at the bag. It didn’t seem to be too high; maybe if he managed to jump and shake the branches a bit…
“Here,” he said and gave Aziraphale the bouquet, eyeing the bag suspiciously.
It took Crowley about five minutes, but in the end the bag dropped on his head. Aziraphale asked worriedly if he was all right.
“What do you keep in it, rocks?”
“Books,” the blonde answered with a blush.
Crowley stroked his head, then offered Aziraphale his bag and took back his bouquet. He nodded behind his sunglasses at the boy and was about to leave.
“Crowley?”
He turned back.
“Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“See you on Monday?”
“Sure. Ciao.”
He smiled, despite the dull ache throbbing on the left side of his head. He looked at his watch and ran to his nana’s, because he knew she didn’t like it when people were late.
* * * * *
“Hello.”
Crowley looked up from the game he was playing and knitted his eyebrows.
“Hi. Uhm… isn’t this the Italian class?”
Aziraphale smiled. “It is. I talked to the headmaster and asked her if I could take another language instead of Physics and she agreed to it. So here I am.”
“Wise choice. I couldn’t wait to drop it either.”
The blonde sat down beside him and took out his things. “Do you like this class? How’s the teacher?”
“It’s really fun most of the time, I guess because we’re still at the beginning. And the teacher is young and amusing, so I’m sure you’ll like her.”
“Great. Oh, do you mind sharing the textbook? I’m going to get mine only next week.”
Crowley pushed his book to the middle. “Of course not.”
“So what did I miss?” Aziraphale asked, looking through the book.
“No worries, you can catch up easily. We only did the verb ‘to be’ and ‘to have’ and different greetings.”
The teacher came in, so Crowley continued in a whisper, as he explained Aziraphale the conjugations.
“Antonio! Silenzio, per favore!
Crowley blushed to the roots of his hair. He had forgotten that his teacher insisted on calling them with Italian names. Aziraphale was snickering beside him, but when Crowley looked at him with narrowed eyes the blonde pretended to have a coughing fit. However, he didn’t have to wait too much to have his revenge. The teacher asked the class to pair up and do some exercises from the book. Noticing that he was new, the teacher walked up to Aziraphale’s desk. The blonde explained his situation and the teacher asked him to put down his name in her notebook.
“Aziraphale? Did I pronounce it correctly?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Bene, you’ll be Raffaello from now on.”
“But…” Aziraphale stared at her in shock while Crowley promptly buried his face in his hands, shaking silently with laughter.
Oh, he was going to enjoy Italian classes even more, even though Aziraphale glared at him from behind his glasses. At the end of the lesson, however, in order to placate him, Crowley invited his classmate to have lunch with him and Anathema.
Aziraphale smiled sweetly. “Let’s go, Antonio.”
* * * * *
Days and weeks passed, and just like Anathema had predicted, Aziraphale became much more open. He smiled more often and to Crowley’s great pleasure, their talks actually became real conversations where it wasn’t just Crowley doing the questioning. The subject that made Aziraphale talk the most was books, but Crowley didn’t mind it: he loved listening to Aziraphale’s soft voice. And even though he was so English it hurt, Crowley distinguished a few sounds in his speech that were definitely influenced by Swedish.
Anathema, Crowley and Aziraphale became a common sight. The addition of Aziraphale to the pair didn’t affect the relationship between Crowley and Anathema - if anything, it made them become closer, given Crowley’s, well, troubled feelings towards Aziraphale. He couldn’t talk to anybody about this: his mum was busy, his dad was far away, his nana wouldn’t understand.
“I think you’re doing great,” Anathema said one afternoon when Crowley had invited her over to his place to finish their history assignment.
“Hardly,” the boy replied, chewing the end of his pen.
“Well, excuse me, but six weeks ago you didn’t even know about his existence on this planet and now you’re friends!”
Crowley made a grimace. “Yes, but I feel like I’m forever stuck, like I’m just going in a circle. It’s like one of those games where you just can’t figure out how to get to the next level.”
“Patience, Anthony. Besides, I genuinely believe Aziraphale likes you. He has this ‘oh, you’ expression on his face whenever he looks at you.”
Crowley snorted. “Right. The ‘oh, you are such an idiot’ expression, most probably.” He got up and brought the cookie plate closer. “All we ever talk about are books and assignments.”
“Better than nothing.”
“Oh my god,” Crowley said as he abruptly stopped eating his cookie. “He bookzoned me.”
Anathema laughed so hard, she fell off the bed. Crowley laughed with her until tears gathered in the corners of his golden brown eyes. As funny as he found the concept, he couldn’t help that slight ache spreading in his heart.
* * * * *
The next afternoon, Crowley’s phone rang. It was Anathema.
“Hey, Anthony. Are you busy?”
“No. What’s up?”
“Listen, I have to tell you something, but please don’t be mad.”
Crowley frowned. “Okaaay, what happened?”
“Well, you know I had violin practice today, from four till six. I don’t think I told you before, but occasionally I would meet Aziraphale on the way home. He sometimes stays in the library. And today, just as I descended the stairs, he came out from the bathroom. At first I thought he didn’t feel well or something, because he was so pale.”
Crowley breathed in deeply.
“But then I noticed that his coat hung strangely on him and his whole appearance was dishevelled. I asked him what happened, but he refused to speak. In the end he groaned out something about Hastur and Ligur.”
“I’m going to kill them!”
“No, no, Anthony, listen, I don’t think you should get involved. They probably beat him because you ‘interrupted’ them the last time.”
“I don’t care, I’m sick and tired of their bullying!”
“Please, don’t do anything rash.”
Crowley rolled his eyes. “Well, I still have those pictures of them smoking in the school bathroom. I’m sure the headmaster will be delighted to see them.”
Anathema remained silent. “I don’t think blackmailing will stop them, though. If anything, it will incite them even more. It would be better if we talked to Aziraphale and told him to confront them in some way or another.”
“And get himself beaten?! No, let me deal with this.”
* * * * *
When Crowley arrived to his biology class, he could notice that Aziraphale was still not feeling quite himself - it even affected his performance. They had a test and Crowley noticed that his desk mate left a few blank spaces which was very unusual since Aziraphale always finished early and got the best grades. He didn’t want to accept Crowley’s help at first, but then he copied the answers and thanked Crowley with his eyes downcast. As he promised, Crowley waited for the two bullies after classes. They laughed in his face when he told them to leave Aziraphale alone.
“Or what, you’re going to tell on us to his mama?” Ligur asked with a glint in his eye.
“No, I’m going to send the headmaster some very interesting pics of you two.”
And then he showed them on his phone, watching with satisfaction as Hastur’s and Ligur’s face turned dark.
“You’re going to regret this,” Hastur spat and Ligur punctuated it with a glare.
Crowley watched them leave and then texted Anathema: “It’s done.”
However, two days later the pair found Aziraphale in the library, gluing his copy of Lord of the Flies.
“What happened to your poor book?”
“Hastur and Ligur, that’s what happened,” Aziraphale said in such an angry voice that Crowley flinched.
“Oh darling, I’m so sorry,” Anathema said as she sat down beside Aziraphale and hugged him, while shooting daggers at Crowley.
“I’m going to kill those prats!”
“No, Anthony, you’re going to sit down, because we need to talk about this,” Anathema said.
Aziraphale seemed a bit confused by the tension between his friends, but he leaned back against his chair as Anathema told him that in order for Hastur and Ligur to leave him in peace. He had to face them alone - her eyes settling on Crowley when she said that - otherwise they would always tease him, thinking that he would never fight back. Aziraphale nodded, then returned to fixing his novel.
“No worries, I will deal with them. No one messes with my books.”
The wintry smile he gave reminded Crowley of an avenging angel, making him swear never ever to get in Aziraphale’s bad books.
* * * * *
PART 2