Happy Holidays, Rroselavy!
Title: Fridays
Recipient: rroselavy
Author: A Secret!
Rating: PG
Summary: Aziraphale can't meet Crowley on Friday evenings. The demon wants to know why; not because he's jealous, he's merely curious!
Warnings: none
It takes him almost 3 months to notice.
In his defense, it’s not like Crowley pays much attention to dates. Partially because he’s immortal, so time doesn’t really matter; partially because it’s not like he keeps a regular schedule and partially because sometimes he takes really long naps, so it’s kind of hard to keep track of the time.
Still, when he notices, he worries.
It’s the fourth Friday in a row* that Aziraphale is nowhere to be found. He tried calling before showing up at the bookstore, but when he got no answer, he thought it was because the angel was too lost in his reading** to hear the phone ring. Now that he’s here, he realizes that’s certainly not the case.
He considers doing what he has done the previous Fridays: go back to his apartment, get ridiculously drunk and pretend this never happened. It’s really none of his business what the angel does in his spare time*** and it’s not like they had agreed on meeting. Still, he finds his counterpart’s continuous absence rather troubling.
He sits on the couch at the back store and waits. He busies himself playing candy crush in his brand new mobile phone and waits. Three hours pass and finally he hears the front door opening.
Aziraphale is humming softly to himself as he walks into the back store. It seems like he hasn’t noticed he has a visitor and that irks the demon lightly. It upsets him knowing his demonic presence is not strong enough to drag the Principality’s attention, although that might also be because after so many years of working in close quarters, they’re basically immune to the other’s aura.
“Had a nice evening?” he realizes he sounds like a jealous lover a second too late. He blesses internally; he was planning on sounding far more suave but now the words are out and there’s no way to take them back.
Aziraphale is startled by his voice and he turns around rather abruptly, his eyes wide as saucers. Crowley arches an eyebrow, satisfied that the angel didn’t seem to catch his tone and waits for an explanation. Finally, Aziraphale recovers from the surprise and huffs, “I wasn’t expecting you tonight dear; dreadful habit, showing up unannounced.”
Crowley rolls his eyes dramatically. “I’m a demon; what did you expect?”
“Still . . . What if I had company?”
The mere idea doesn’t sit well with Crowley, although he refuses to acknowledge the feeling as anything other than annoyance. “Yeah, sure. Sorry to disrupt your undoubtedly busy social agenda.”
This time the angel is the one rolling his eyes. “Don’t be like that. It’s just, next time, please do call beforehand.”
They stay in silence for a while, seizing each other up. “Alright,” the demon finally concedes, “let’s do things your way. Would you like to go out for dinner next Friday?”
Aziraphale bites his lip nervously, not looking at Crowley directly in the eye. The demon frowns at his counterpart’s indecision; this doesn’t bode well for him. What is the angel so nervous about? “The thing is . . . I already have plans for next Friday.”
Crowley waits for his companion to continue, but he doesn’t. Something hot and angry flares inside him; however he forces himself to keep his calm exterior. Throwing a fuss won’t help his case at all. “I see.” He replies darkly, standing up and heading towards the door, sparing a last glance at his enemy. “Later, angel.”
He leaves, trying to keep a steady pace and not look like he’s running away, even if that’s what he feels like doing. He exits the store and hurries towards his car, trying to keep his mind empty. He doesn’t want to think about what has just happened and he certainly doesn’t want to analyze what he’s feeling. He’s upset and angry, but mostly, he’s hurt. He knows he has no right to monopolize Aziraphale’s time and maybe he’s being a little overdramatic: It’s just a day a week; surely the angel will spend time with him any other day. Just not on Fridays.
Why not? What is he doing on Fridays?
More importantly, with whom?
He feels like screaming out his frustration, but manages to control himself.
He drives quickly and carelessly, knowing the angel wouldn’t approve, but not particularly caring. If he gets no say on what the angel does when he’s not with him, then Aziraphale doesn’t get a say on what he does when he’s alone.
It’s petty and silly, yet he doesn’t care.
He refuses to acknowledge what he’s feeling as jealousy. He’s been working very hard to keep his unwelcome feelings at bay, but after what has happened at the bookstore, it’s getting harder to ignore them. He can admit he likes the angel, he might even confess he cares for him, but anything deeper than that? Nonsense!
He’s a demon. He’s not supposed to feel that. Then again, demons are known for their rather possessive nature. Maybe that’s all this is. It’s just him being possessive.
Right. He can work with that. Jealousy based on the fact that he feels entitled to the angel’s time is one thing. Jealousy based on other sort of feelings . . . No. That’s definitely not it.
Good. It’s settled, then. He’s being possessive. He still doesn’t like not knowing what his counterpart is doing on Fridays. He’ll have to investigate.
Time to get down to work.
~~~~~
*Or at least he thinks it’s the fourth. In reality, it’s the sixth.
**After the Almost-Armageddon and Adam’s intervention, he’s got far too many new books and he needs to catch up with them.
***As long as it’s not work-related, then it’d definitely his business, but per the Agreement, Aziraphale is bound to tell him if something is going on.
~~~~~
Following Aziraphale is trickier than he thought. The angel might not be particularly perceptive of his aura, but he’s a quick and silent creature by nature. One minute he’s a couple of meters behind him and next thing he knows . . . Aziraphale is nowhere to be seen.
It takes him 4 months to get the slightest clue of where his enemy is going on Friday nights. He has managed to follow the angel to an apartment block just in the outskirts of the city. He wanders through the halls, hoping nobody will find his behavior odd and call the police. Of course he could get out of any sort of trouble without breaking a sweat, but his current “mission” calls for discretion.
His search for the angel turns to be fruitless though and after almost 2 hours of walking through every single floor and pecking through every available window, there’s no sign of Aziraphale. With a frustrated groan, he goes back into his car and drives away.
Before he knows it, he’s outside the bookstore. It wasn’t his plan to come here, but as he sits outside, he thinks it might be for the best. These past 4 months have been tiring. Lately, he barely sleeps, questions about Aziraphale’s activities driving him mad. And when he does find himself in the company of the angel*, he can’t stop thinking about what he might be doing on Fridays.
Enough is enough. It’s obvious he’s never going to find out what the angel is doing if he keeps trying to follow him, so he’s just got 2 options left: forget about it and make sure to never show up at the bookstore on Fridays or confront his counterpart about it.
The sensible thing to do would be choose option number 1, but seeing that ignoring what’s happening hasn’t really ever worked for him**, he chooses to question his friend.
With that conviction, he lets himself into the store. Picking up a book at random, he heads towards the back store, where he takes a seat, opens the book and waits.
~~~
*A rare occurrence nowadays.
**He’s far too curious for his own sake.
~~~
Almost an hour passes and there’s still no sign of his angelic companion. Crowley has left his pretense of reading a long ago and instead paces around the cramped room, doing his best to resist his demonic instincts that are suggesting setting a couple of books on fire as retribution for the angel’s impertinence. His frustration grows with each passing second and the fire is starting to sound like a fine idea, so he strolls determinedly towards the kitchenette in the upper floor and makes him some tea, all the while making sure to slam close the cabinets, grab the items needed with more force than necessary and generally making as much noise as possible.
It doesn’t ease his anger in the slightest, but it gives him something to do with his hands.
He leans against the counter and takes a sip from the too hot beverage; it scalds his tongue almost immediately and he allows himself to feel the pain to keep him distracted from the growing sense of uneasiness. The ache in his chest, were his heart would be if he was human, has been getting worse since the first failed attempt of setting a da- meeting with Aziraphale on a Friday.
It’s irrational, he knows. It’s not like the angel is avoiding him. Whenever he shows up on any other day of the week, his counterpart invites him in and they share a bottle of wine or they go out for lunch or a walk. However, the angel’s continuous refusal of meeting on Friday makes the demon feel at odds.
This has never happened before. Of course, before the situation with the Antichrist, they didn’t spend much time together to begin with, but the point remains: whenever Crowley happened to drop by, Aziraphale always made time for him. Never mind if they were in the middle of a war or if the angel was currently residing in a monastery; nothing, ever, came first.
Not that Crowley didn’t do the same when it was the other way around.
Which should have been very troubling. Looking back, the demon thinks he should have seen this coming far sooner. But to be fair, in the past, thanks to the not-so-frequent interactions, it was easy to ignore just how much he enjoyed spending time with the angel; it was easy to pretend it was just because they hadn’t seen each other in a long time and every now and then it was pleasant to have someone who could really relate to him and not because . . .
Not because there were other feelings involved. Aziraphale was the enemy, but after so many years working more or less in close quarters, he had become so much more. He’d always known this would end badly and yet, he couldn’t help it. At first he had just liked spending time with him, most of time annoying him. Then he had grown to care for the angel and eventually he had begun to lo-
Well, what’s the point of keep trying to deny it? He loved the angel. And it was the stupidest, most dangerous thing he has ever done and yet, he can’t bring himself to regret it. It’s definitely a very un-demonic thing and if someone from Down There ever found out, things would end very badly for him so he has chosen to pretend, for the most part, that those feelings aren’t there.
But now . . . Now he doesn’t know what to think. The fact that Aziraphale prioritizes whatever he’s doing on Fridays makes him uneasy; he’s fairly certain there’s some mortal involved. And if that’s true, does it mean the angel has feelings for someone else?
That’s not so bad, he tries to rationalize. Mortals are exactly that: mortal. They pass away eventually. So maybe he just should get away for a few decades and when he comes back, things will be back to normal. It’s not such a bad idea.
However, he doesn’t want that. He’s a selfish creature by nature and he refuses to share his angel, not even for a little while. Aziraphale is his and only his.
Only he isn’t. He can’t be. He can never tell him what he feels, because either the angel will politely reject him and things will become awkward between them or he’ll return his feelings and they’ll both be in big trouble with their bosses.
It’s one thing not smiting the enemy whenever you run into him*. It’s an entirely different one to be in love with said enemy.
Suddenly, he has the urge to leave. Run away, as far as he can, take a long, long nap and come back after a century or two. By then Aziraphale’s current distraction will be dead and with little luck, Crowley will have managed to put his emotions under control again. Yes, that’s probably for the best.
Just then, he hears the front door opening.
He panics. He tries running downstairs and make a hasty exit through the back door, but his feet refuse to cooperate and he ends up tripping. Aziraphale is immediately by his side, chiding him for his careless behavior and helping him up.
“Really dear, you should know better than to run downstairs. Immortal as you might be, that could end with a very nasty injury.”
“I need to leave,” he interrupts, not caring if the angel thinks he’s being rude. He tries again to make a hasty exit, but Aziraphale has grabbed his arm and shows no sign of letting go anytime soon.
“Now, now. Calm down, Crowley. What’s going on? You’re acting odd. Well, odder than your usual self” he offers him a sarcastic smile that the demon completely misses. He’s too busy trying to escape. “Crowley?” the angel tries again, grabbing his chin and forcing him to make eye contact, “what’s wrong, dear?”
Everything. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, why would you think that?” he hates how panicked he sounds, but manages not to flinch under his companion fierce stare.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, his voice gentle, coaxing him to tell the truth, his eyes fixed on the demon’s. Crowley gulps and looks away, even if it’s a little complicated due the strong hold the other has of his chin.
“It’s ssstupid. I ssshould go.”
“You’re hissing. You only hiss when you’re worried. Or scared.” He frowns a little, trying to make eye contact once more “or drunk” he adds, with a small smile.
“It’ss nothing, angel. Let go.”
The angel finally concedes, taking a step back. As he does so, Crowley’s urge to fly dissipates and the urge to come closer to the angel once more takes over. He groans, frustrated with himself. This is getting completely ridiculous.
“Crowley?”
“Where are you going on Fridays?” he asks suddenly, figuring he might as well make his questions now. No matter what, he’ll probably have left the country by this time tomorrow.
“I . . . well, I . . . umm . . . ” the reddening of his companion cheeks is all that Crowley needs to confirm his suspicions, so taking a deep breath, he decides to leave now, while he still has some resemblance of dignity left.
“I wish happiness to you both” is all he manages to say; regardless of how un-demonic it is, he does feel it. He wants Aziraphale to be happy, even if it’s with someone else. Then he turns around and rushes towards the door. He needs to get out now.
“Wait, Crowley, what?” the angel dashes after him, grabbing his arm once more and impeding his escape. “Who- what are you talking about?”
The demon shrugs, trying to look casual, “You know . . . however you’re dating, I hope makes you happy”
“I’m not dating anybody. Why would you think so?” the angel looks honestly confused and Crowley forces himself not to snap at him.
“Come on Aziraphale. Every Friday, for the last 7 months-”
“I’ve been going to a knitting class.”
“- you’ve been . . . Wait. What?”
His counterpart rolls his eyes dramatically. “I’ve been going to a knitting class.”
The demon is speechless. “A . . . a knitting class.”
“Yes. Every Friday. And then I stay for some tea and cookies with the lovely ladies that-”
Crowley starts laughing. He can’t help it. “This is why I didn’t tell you,” the angel says, with a slight pout that he’ll deny later, “I knew you’d laugh.”
The demon keeps laughing. He can’t help it. All this time . . . he’s been jealous of . . . oh, now it just seems so stupid. Only . . . “Wait. You’re not carrying anything.”
Aziraphale stares sheepishly at his shoes. “I usually leave my stuff at Mrs. Coin’s house. She’s the instructor.” He’s blushing once more, “I didn’t want to risk you showing up unannounced and seeing me with them.”
That would have saved Crowley from a lot of sleepless nights, but he doesn’t point it out. He doesn’t need Aziraphale to know that. “Sorry angel. I just . . . well, never mind.” He smirks throwing an arm around his friend, “let me make it up to you, huh? Dinner on me?”
The angel eyes his suspiciously, “The Ritz?”
The demon smirks some more, “of course.”
“Well then . . . lead the way, my dear.”
They leave the store with smiles on their faces. Crowley knows that eventually, he’ll be questioned on his rather odd behavior of the night and maybe, at some point, he’ll have to admit his feelings. But for now, he’s just happy there’s no one else in Aziraphale’s life.
For now, he’ll enjoy what they have.
It’s good enough for him.
~~~~~
*And most of the time purposely looks for him.
~end
Happy Holidays, rroselavy, from your Secret Writer!
Recipient: rroselavy
Author: A Secret!
Rating: PG
Summary: Aziraphale can't meet Crowley on Friday evenings. The demon wants to know why; not because he's jealous, he's merely curious!
Warnings: none
It takes him almost 3 months to notice.
In his defense, it’s not like Crowley pays much attention to dates. Partially because he’s immortal, so time doesn’t really matter; partially because it’s not like he keeps a regular schedule and partially because sometimes he takes really long naps, so it’s kind of hard to keep track of the time.
Still, when he notices, he worries.
It’s the fourth Friday in a row* that Aziraphale is nowhere to be found. He tried calling before showing up at the bookstore, but when he got no answer, he thought it was because the angel was too lost in his reading** to hear the phone ring. Now that he’s here, he realizes that’s certainly not the case.
He considers doing what he has done the previous Fridays: go back to his apartment, get ridiculously drunk and pretend this never happened. It’s really none of his business what the angel does in his spare time*** and it’s not like they had agreed on meeting. Still, he finds his counterpart’s continuous absence rather troubling.
He sits on the couch at the back store and waits. He busies himself playing candy crush in his brand new mobile phone and waits. Three hours pass and finally he hears the front door opening.
Aziraphale is humming softly to himself as he walks into the back store. It seems like he hasn’t noticed he has a visitor and that irks the demon lightly. It upsets him knowing his demonic presence is not strong enough to drag the Principality’s attention, although that might also be because after so many years of working in close quarters, they’re basically immune to the other’s aura.
“Had a nice evening?” he realizes he sounds like a jealous lover a second too late. He blesses internally; he was planning on sounding far more suave but now the words are out and there’s no way to take them back.
Aziraphale is startled by his voice and he turns around rather abruptly, his eyes wide as saucers. Crowley arches an eyebrow, satisfied that the angel didn’t seem to catch his tone and waits for an explanation. Finally, Aziraphale recovers from the surprise and huffs, “I wasn’t expecting you tonight dear; dreadful habit, showing up unannounced.”
Crowley rolls his eyes dramatically. “I’m a demon; what did you expect?”
“Still . . . What if I had company?”
The mere idea doesn’t sit well with Crowley, although he refuses to acknowledge the feeling as anything other than annoyance. “Yeah, sure. Sorry to disrupt your undoubtedly busy social agenda.”
This time the angel is the one rolling his eyes. “Don’t be like that. It’s just, next time, please do call beforehand.”
They stay in silence for a while, seizing each other up. “Alright,” the demon finally concedes, “let’s do things your way. Would you like to go out for dinner next Friday?”
Aziraphale bites his lip nervously, not looking at Crowley directly in the eye. The demon frowns at his counterpart’s indecision; this doesn’t bode well for him. What is the angel so nervous about? “The thing is . . . I already have plans for next Friday.”
Crowley waits for his companion to continue, but he doesn’t. Something hot and angry flares inside him; however he forces himself to keep his calm exterior. Throwing a fuss won’t help his case at all. “I see.” He replies darkly, standing up and heading towards the door, sparing a last glance at his enemy. “Later, angel.”
He leaves, trying to keep a steady pace and not look like he’s running away, even if that’s what he feels like doing. He exits the store and hurries towards his car, trying to keep his mind empty. He doesn’t want to think about what has just happened and he certainly doesn’t want to analyze what he’s feeling. He’s upset and angry, but mostly, he’s hurt. He knows he has no right to monopolize Aziraphale’s time and maybe he’s being a little overdramatic: It’s just a day a week; surely the angel will spend time with him any other day. Just not on Fridays.
Why not? What is he doing on Fridays?
More importantly, with whom?
He feels like screaming out his frustration, but manages to control himself.
He drives quickly and carelessly, knowing the angel wouldn’t approve, but not particularly caring. If he gets no say on what the angel does when he’s not with him, then Aziraphale doesn’t get a say on what he does when he’s alone.
It’s petty and silly, yet he doesn’t care.
He refuses to acknowledge what he’s feeling as jealousy. He’s been working very hard to keep his unwelcome feelings at bay, but after what has happened at the bookstore, it’s getting harder to ignore them. He can admit he likes the angel, he might even confess he cares for him, but anything deeper than that? Nonsense!
He’s a demon. He’s not supposed to feel that. Then again, demons are known for their rather possessive nature. Maybe that’s all this is. It’s just him being possessive.
Right. He can work with that. Jealousy based on the fact that he feels entitled to the angel’s time is one thing. Jealousy based on other sort of feelings . . . No. That’s definitely not it.
Good. It’s settled, then. He’s being possessive. He still doesn’t like not knowing what his counterpart is doing on Fridays. He’ll have to investigate.
Time to get down to work.
~~~~~
*Or at least he thinks it’s the fourth. In reality, it’s the sixth.
**After the Almost-Armageddon and Adam’s intervention, he’s got far too many new books and he needs to catch up with them.
***As long as it’s not work-related, then it’d definitely his business, but per the Agreement, Aziraphale is bound to tell him if something is going on.
~~~~~
Following Aziraphale is trickier than he thought. The angel might not be particularly perceptive of his aura, but he’s a quick and silent creature by nature. One minute he’s a couple of meters behind him and next thing he knows . . . Aziraphale is nowhere to be seen.
It takes him 4 months to get the slightest clue of where his enemy is going on Friday nights. He has managed to follow the angel to an apartment block just in the outskirts of the city. He wanders through the halls, hoping nobody will find his behavior odd and call the police. Of course he could get out of any sort of trouble without breaking a sweat, but his current “mission” calls for discretion.
His search for the angel turns to be fruitless though and after almost 2 hours of walking through every single floor and pecking through every available window, there’s no sign of Aziraphale. With a frustrated groan, he goes back into his car and drives away.
Before he knows it, he’s outside the bookstore. It wasn’t his plan to come here, but as he sits outside, he thinks it might be for the best. These past 4 months have been tiring. Lately, he barely sleeps, questions about Aziraphale’s activities driving him mad. And when he does find himself in the company of the angel*, he can’t stop thinking about what he might be doing on Fridays.
Enough is enough. It’s obvious he’s never going to find out what the angel is doing if he keeps trying to follow him, so he’s just got 2 options left: forget about it and make sure to never show up at the bookstore on Fridays or confront his counterpart about it.
The sensible thing to do would be choose option number 1, but seeing that ignoring what’s happening hasn’t really ever worked for him**, he chooses to question his friend.
With that conviction, he lets himself into the store. Picking up a book at random, he heads towards the back store, where he takes a seat, opens the book and waits.
~~~
*A rare occurrence nowadays.
**He’s far too curious for his own sake.
~~~
Almost an hour passes and there’s still no sign of his angelic companion. Crowley has left his pretense of reading a long ago and instead paces around the cramped room, doing his best to resist his demonic instincts that are suggesting setting a couple of books on fire as retribution for the angel’s impertinence. His frustration grows with each passing second and the fire is starting to sound like a fine idea, so he strolls determinedly towards the kitchenette in the upper floor and makes him some tea, all the while making sure to slam close the cabinets, grab the items needed with more force than necessary and generally making as much noise as possible.
It doesn’t ease his anger in the slightest, but it gives him something to do with his hands.
He leans against the counter and takes a sip from the too hot beverage; it scalds his tongue almost immediately and he allows himself to feel the pain to keep him distracted from the growing sense of uneasiness. The ache in his chest, were his heart would be if he was human, has been getting worse since the first failed attempt of setting a da- meeting with Aziraphale on a Friday.
It’s irrational, he knows. It’s not like the angel is avoiding him. Whenever he shows up on any other day of the week, his counterpart invites him in and they share a bottle of wine or they go out for lunch or a walk. However, the angel’s continuous refusal of meeting on Friday makes the demon feel at odds.
This has never happened before. Of course, before the situation with the Antichrist, they didn’t spend much time together to begin with, but the point remains: whenever Crowley happened to drop by, Aziraphale always made time for him. Never mind if they were in the middle of a war or if the angel was currently residing in a monastery; nothing, ever, came first.
Not that Crowley didn’t do the same when it was the other way around.
Which should have been very troubling. Looking back, the demon thinks he should have seen this coming far sooner. But to be fair, in the past, thanks to the not-so-frequent interactions, it was easy to ignore just how much he enjoyed spending time with the angel; it was easy to pretend it was just because they hadn’t seen each other in a long time and every now and then it was pleasant to have someone who could really relate to him and not because . . .
Not because there were other feelings involved. Aziraphale was the enemy, but after so many years working more or less in close quarters, he had become so much more. He’d always known this would end badly and yet, he couldn’t help it. At first he had just liked spending time with him, most of time annoying him. Then he had grown to care for the angel and eventually he had begun to lo-
Well, what’s the point of keep trying to deny it? He loved the angel. And it was the stupidest, most dangerous thing he has ever done and yet, he can’t bring himself to regret it. It’s definitely a very un-demonic thing and if someone from Down There ever found out, things would end very badly for him so he has chosen to pretend, for the most part, that those feelings aren’t there.
But now . . . Now he doesn’t know what to think. The fact that Aziraphale prioritizes whatever he’s doing on Fridays makes him uneasy; he’s fairly certain there’s some mortal involved. And if that’s true, does it mean the angel has feelings for someone else?
That’s not so bad, he tries to rationalize. Mortals are exactly that: mortal. They pass away eventually. So maybe he just should get away for a few decades and when he comes back, things will be back to normal. It’s not such a bad idea.
However, he doesn’t want that. He’s a selfish creature by nature and he refuses to share his angel, not even for a little while. Aziraphale is his and only his.
Only he isn’t. He can’t be. He can never tell him what he feels, because either the angel will politely reject him and things will become awkward between them or he’ll return his feelings and they’ll both be in big trouble with their bosses.
It’s one thing not smiting the enemy whenever you run into him*. It’s an entirely different one to be in love with said enemy.
Suddenly, he has the urge to leave. Run away, as far as he can, take a long, long nap and come back after a century or two. By then Aziraphale’s current distraction will be dead and with little luck, Crowley will have managed to put his emotions under control again. Yes, that’s probably for the best.
Just then, he hears the front door opening.
He panics. He tries running downstairs and make a hasty exit through the back door, but his feet refuse to cooperate and he ends up tripping. Aziraphale is immediately by his side, chiding him for his careless behavior and helping him up.
“Really dear, you should know better than to run downstairs. Immortal as you might be, that could end with a very nasty injury.”
“I need to leave,” he interrupts, not caring if the angel thinks he’s being rude. He tries again to make a hasty exit, but Aziraphale has grabbed his arm and shows no sign of letting go anytime soon.
“Now, now. Calm down, Crowley. What’s going on? You’re acting odd. Well, odder than your usual self” he offers him a sarcastic smile that the demon completely misses. He’s too busy trying to escape. “Crowley?” the angel tries again, grabbing his chin and forcing him to make eye contact, “what’s wrong, dear?”
Everything. “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong, why would you think that?” he hates how panicked he sounds, but manages not to flinch under his companion fierce stare.
“Crowley,” Aziraphale says, his voice gentle, coaxing him to tell the truth, his eyes fixed on the demon’s. Crowley gulps and looks away, even if it’s a little complicated due the strong hold the other has of his chin.
“It’s ssstupid. I ssshould go.”
“You’re hissing. You only hiss when you’re worried. Or scared.” He frowns a little, trying to make eye contact once more “or drunk” he adds, with a small smile.
“It’ss nothing, angel. Let go.”
The angel finally concedes, taking a step back. As he does so, Crowley’s urge to fly dissipates and the urge to come closer to the angel once more takes over. He groans, frustrated with himself. This is getting completely ridiculous.
“Crowley?”
“Where are you going on Fridays?” he asks suddenly, figuring he might as well make his questions now. No matter what, he’ll probably have left the country by this time tomorrow.
“I . . . well, I . . . umm . . . ” the reddening of his companion cheeks is all that Crowley needs to confirm his suspicions, so taking a deep breath, he decides to leave now, while he still has some resemblance of dignity left.
“I wish happiness to you both” is all he manages to say; regardless of how un-demonic it is, he does feel it. He wants Aziraphale to be happy, even if it’s with someone else. Then he turns around and rushes towards the door. He needs to get out now.
“Wait, Crowley, what?” the angel dashes after him, grabbing his arm once more and impeding his escape. “Who- what are you talking about?”
The demon shrugs, trying to look casual, “You know . . . however you’re dating, I hope makes you happy”
“I’m not dating anybody. Why would you think so?” the angel looks honestly confused and Crowley forces himself not to snap at him.
“Come on Aziraphale. Every Friday, for the last 7 months-”
“I’ve been going to a knitting class.”
“- you’ve been . . . Wait. What?”
His counterpart rolls his eyes dramatically. “I’ve been going to a knitting class.”
The demon is speechless. “A . . . a knitting class.”
“Yes. Every Friday. And then I stay for some tea and cookies with the lovely ladies that-”
Crowley starts laughing. He can’t help it. “This is why I didn’t tell you,” the angel says, with a slight pout that he’ll deny later, “I knew you’d laugh.”
The demon keeps laughing. He can’t help it. All this time . . . he’s been jealous of . . . oh, now it just seems so stupid. Only . . . “Wait. You’re not carrying anything.”
Aziraphale stares sheepishly at his shoes. “I usually leave my stuff at Mrs. Coin’s house. She’s the instructor.” He’s blushing once more, “I didn’t want to risk you showing up unannounced and seeing me with them.”
That would have saved Crowley from a lot of sleepless nights, but he doesn’t point it out. He doesn’t need Aziraphale to know that. “Sorry angel. I just . . . well, never mind.” He smirks throwing an arm around his friend, “let me make it up to you, huh? Dinner on me?”
The angel eyes his suspiciously, “The Ritz?”
The demon smirks some more, “of course.”
“Well then . . . lead the way, my dear.”
They leave the store with smiles on their faces. Crowley knows that eventually, he’ll be questioned on his rather odd behavior of the night and maybe, at some point, he’ll have to admit his feelings. But for now, he’s just happy there’s no one else in Aziraphale’s life.
For now, he’ll enjoy what they have.
It’s good enough for him.
~~~~~
*And most of the time purposely looks for him.
~end
Happy Holidays, rroselavy, from your Secret Writer!