I've been writing like a fiend for Searlus and the Sailor (my beauty and the beast fic here on ao3 and FFN. Quite different from the stories we are all used to... heh), so I'm going to take a small break today and learn how to use procreate! Maybe make some more art for future chapters.
I never thought I'd learn so much from this story. The response has been so great! I'm taking hella notes!
Thank you all SO FRIGGIN MUCH!
And, as always, these chapters would be a disaster without my betas Azeran and Intergalacticsupertwink!
The bookshop is completely empty, save for one lonely angel with a forgotten cup of cocoa in his grasp. He never really meant to drink it anyway. He'd made the cup to occupy his mind and his hands, because reading is no longer working as a distraction.
Aziraphale hasn't opened his shop in an entire month. Crowley was kind enough to ask him why and if everything was all right. The angel made some excuse about a persistent customer who was out to buy some first edition by someone or other. He really can't quite recall the details of his lie. Aziraphale can't quite remember many of the lies he's uttered in Crowley's presence, and now he can't keep up with the ones he's told himself.
His mind is all jumbled up, and he's been living in a bizarre fog. Aziraphale exists in a haze of anxiety, love, desire, and melancholy. It's so thick, and he can't think straight anymore. He makes no plans. Ever. Not anymore. All he does is wait. He watches the clock tick away the hours until Crowley or Angelique or the both of them together come to alleviate his loneliness.
He watches the clock now, unblinkingly.
Aziraphale is desperately trying to keep from thinking at all. Because his thoughts are... well, let's not go there. The point is - the point is, he's in survival mode. He is going with the flow, allowing the ineffable, bloody, pustulant, ineffable plan to run its course.
What else can he do? It hasn't even been a full year yet, and he's a mess. Pathetic.
Aziraphale always seems on the brink of confessing his undying love and desire for Crowley. He imagines just one day casually interrupting what Crowley is saying and coming out with it.
"I love you... Now what?" That's about as far as it gets with his musings because then a lovely, beautiful face of a lovely, beautiful soul collapses into despair. And the image makes his heart hurt.
He loves her.
Oh, bother. This again? He tells his errant thought as he bats it away uselessly. Ridiculous. You love Crowley. You're just confused. She gets to love him openly, and you don't. She smells like him. She makes him happy. She's buoyant and cheerful. She's spontaneous. Caring. She makes you laugh. She loves you.
Wait: What just happened? What?
And this is the part where he argues with some shadow self within who takes none of his horseshit.
She loves you, and you know it. You can't ignore it.
She loves Crowley.
But she loves you too. Just as much.
No, no. It's not the same. She loves me as a friend.
Whatever helps you sleep at night, old man–oh wait, you don't sleep. The last time you put your head down to drown me out you dreamt up some very interesting–
"Oh, do shut up," Aziraphale snaps at himself aloud.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Angelique's voice comes from behind.
Aziraphale whirls around, eyes wide, nearly dropping his congealed cocoa all over himself. "How did you...?" He had locked the door. Didn't he? The bells didn't chime. Did they?
Angelique's face is crestfallen, and she's backing away. He's only seen that look once, and it had been his fault that time as well.
He should tell her to go away. He should just rip off the bandaid and chase her off.
He does not.
"Oh, my dear," Aziraphale sets the cocoa aside and stands, "that mad outburst was certainly not for you."
Angelique looks around to see who it was meant for but obviously finds no one. "Who then?" She asks cautiously.
With a heavy sigh, Aziraphale shrugs. "Me? God? Both."
A look of worry replaces the hurt on her face, and she approaches the angel. She takes his hands that he offers willingly. Her hands are cool in his hot palms.
"Is something wrong? I've been wondering if something was up with you," she inquires shyly. "I should have spoken up sooner. I'm so sorry. What an awful friend, huh?"
Aziraphale squeezes her hands and steps forward, leaving very little space between them. She has to look up at him, and his heart clenches at her moist eyes gazing up through those lovely long lashes.
"You're a wonderful friend. A wonderful person. I'm fine. Just a small case of existentialism." He adds a gentle smile that might come off a bit fonder than he means to show. "I thought you two weren't coming until after noon?"
An adorable furrow of her brow appears. "It is... afternoon."
"Well, that can't be! I was just looking at the time–" Aziraphale looks over his shoulder and gapes. "Ah. It appears you are correct."
"Aziraphale," she whispers with concern as she closes more of the space between them, "you're not fine."
The angel shakes his head to clear his mind. "Cabin fever perhaps." He tries to sound chipper and chuckles. "Why don't we go out for tea instead of sitting around this dusty old place, hm?"
Angelique visibly deflates and unsuccessfully tries to hide a quivering lower lip by biting down on it.
"Oh, no, no," Aziraphale chides lightly and brings her small frame into his arms. "None of that, now."
He revels in the feel of her body pressed flush against his. He places a kiss on the top of her head and takes the opportunity to take in her scent. Angelique smells of oranges and mint. It's her favourite morning body wash for her morning showers (lavender is always reserved for her night baths. She experiments with other soaps when she washes in the afternoons. Honestly, the woman indulges in way too many showers, and he loves that quirk about her. But he loves all her quirks.) Another whiff and he's met with the subtle hint of Crowley's aftershave and an even lighter aroma of brimstone. A perfect bouquet as far as Aziraphale is concerned.
Aziraphale realises too late that his lips have lingered far too long on her pretty head, but Angelique does not pull back. In fact, she nuzzles into his chest and tightens her hold around him. A small sniff escapes her, which makes Aziraphale frown.
"Are you quite all right, my dear?" He murmurs into her hair.
"She's been feeling a bit off lately," Crowley supplies.
Aziraphale almost jumps away from Angelique, but that would just make things more awkward, and anyway, Angelique has now completely lodged herself in Aziraphale's arms. So, although he stiffens, he stays as is.
Warily, Aziraphale looks up to find Crowley walking toward them with a small frown. At first, Aziraphale thinks it's because of the intimate show of affection, but he surprises him. Crowley presses himself behind his lover, places his hands on her waist, and rests his chin on her head. My his face is so close. Kiss him.
Shut up.
Aziraphale's arms are trapped between Angelique's back and Crowley's front. He ignores this fact as best as he can and tries to act casual. "Whatever is the matter?" He gives Crowley a small glare.
Crowley immediately flinches under the Aziraphale's glower. "Wasn't me!"
Aziraphale believes him because Angelique's love is swirling around them both, very strongly. The poor creature. Just as confused as you, you daft fool. And Aziraphale must be indeed daft because he leans back and cups Angelique's face in his hands, braving another lingering kiss on her forehead.
He glances at Crowley.
Crowley doesn't seem phased. "Why don't you take her out for a bit, angel?" His voice is full of affection. "I have a few errands to run."
Crowley's warm tone sends the angel's heart somersaulting. Aziraphale cocks a brow. "Errands? Can't it wait?" He doesn't want him to leave, and Angelique obviously wants them both–stop that. I'm just seeing what I want to see.
So you admit you want it?
Bugger off.
Crowley cringes. "Not really. Well, I mean, yeah, but then–ugh!"
Angelique finally smiles. "He thinks he's so sneaky." She lets go of Aziraphale, who feels his warmth leave with her, and turns to her lover. "But he isn't."
"Sneaky is my middle name, missy," Crowley drawls and boops her nose.
"Your middle name is J," Aziraphale banters with a smirk.
Crowley chuckles and moves in for a sensual kiss from Angelique. "Back in a tick, love."
Angelique beams at him as he walks back out the door. "Bye."
Before he even realises it, Aziraphale has snatched one of Angelique's hands eagerly and threaded it through his arm. "Just you and me then." He walks her out in time to see the Bentley speed off with a piece of his heart. "What is he trying to be sneaky about anyway?"
"Oh," Angelique ducks her head, "I'm pretty sure he's planning something for our anniversary."
It feels like he's run straight into a wall. Aziraphale stops dead on the sidewalk. "Anniversary..." Aziraphale mumbles, back in that haze.
Their anniversary. Not yours. Never yours.
Shut. Up.
