It was dark in the bookshop. Ezra's best guess was that it was past midnight. The only light in the shop came from a flickering lamp post outside, even the lights behind the signs of the other shops in the street were out.

But nevertheless, he was down in his shop, alone, with Anthony, backed against the counter by the other man. He wasn't sure how they got here, but couldn't bring himself to care when he found one of Anthony's hands on his hip, the fingers of his other hand digging into the back of his vest, clinging on for dear life, and Anthony's lips firmly planted on his own.

They started slowly and gently, he was sure he remembered, but they were well past that now. Anthony pulled back and gasped, his face red from breathlessness and other things, but soon those lips were back at his jaw, his neck, his collarbone, and ventured vaguely downwards. The other hand, withdrawn from the back of Ezra's vest, found purchase at his other hip, jerked him forward and—

He woke up.

A groan of frustration and disgust escaped him as he sat up. This hadn't happened to him in, what, twenty-five years? He hated it now just as much as he hated it back then.

Light filtered through his drawn curtains and a quick glance at his alarm clock told him it was almost half past six in the morning. He sighed and decided it was probably for the best to just get up and start his day. With a cold shower.

The memory of his dream wouldn't let him go.

Ezra rubbed through his eyes as he wrote his dream down in his journal, sitting at his desk in the small apartment over the shop. Onto the page and out of his mind, he always said. Really, he should probably be revising the first draft of his book, but on the other hand, perhaps if he wrote this first, he wouldn't be haunted by Anthony's lips anymore.

He wondered vaguely what it would feel like if, when it really happened. Would he be sure of himself? Experienced? Or would he perhaps be just as much of a nervous mess as Ezra? The idea was mildly reassuring, but with the way he looked, the way he moved, Ezra found this extremely unlikely.

The fact of the matter was that Crowley was a nervous mess. It was eleven in the morning by the time Crowley found himself pacing around on the pavement in front of the door to Ezra's shop. Five past eleven… Ten past eleven...

It was ridiculous to the point that even Adam looked at Crowley weird. Crowley frowned. "Geez, no need to be judgy. You ask him out if you're so good at it," he murmured to the baby. "No, wait, never mind. If you asked out Ezra, of course he would say yes. Just look at you, you're irresistible."

An old lady looked at him in a way that oozed suspicion and Crowley snapped.

"What?! Never seen a nervous wreck before?! Oh, fuck it," he said with a sigh, raised his hand to the door. A quick glance through the window had already told him that Ezra wasn't downstairs, but a quick glance next to the door suggested to him that the man had never gotten a doorbell installed. And so, he resorted to knocking.

Ezra's gaze snapped up from his journal when he heard shouting through the paper-thin walls of his building.

"What?! Never seen a nervous wreck before?!"

Anthony.

He looked back down at the notebook and found that he'd filled pages upon pages with his thoughts. Oh dear. Maybe this was worse than he thought. What time was it, even? He glanced at the clock. A quarter past eleven?! He was supposed to have opened the shop over an hour ago! Knocking sounded at the door as rushing feet stumbled down the creaking steps of the stairs. He was out of breath by the time he made it to the door and unlocked it, giving Anthony a nervous smile through the window.

"Sorry I took so long," he stammered. "Lost track of time."

Anthony took off his sunglasses and raised an eyebrow. "That's unlike you… Are you alright? You look like you're burning up." Anthony raised a hand to lay on Ezra's forehead, but Ezra ducked out of the way.

"N-no, I'm fine, thank you. Oh! Please, do come in," he said as he moved aside for Anthony and Adam. He came so close. Almost as close as in his dream. Except he could smell him now. His shampoo, his cologne, the distinct lack of tobacco was new, so Ezra committed it to memory. It was different. A good different.

He smiled nervously as he stepped into the shop. All pearly white and dazzling bright, but what was he nervous for? Ezra heard him shouting so just now, but he'd missed the context. Perhaps, if he wasn't so focused on his writing, he would have known.

"Speaking of which, are you alright?" Ezra asked. "I heard you shouting just now. What are you nervous about?" 'I hope you weren't nervous about coming here,' Ezra added mentally.

"What? Pfsh, of course not. Why would I be nervous? No, no, it's… something else." Anthony's eyes guiltily darted around in that way he always did when he thought of an excuse. Ezra had forgotten all about it, but he'd gotten well reacquainted with his eccentricities over the last week.

The last week, Ezra realized.

In seven days, Anthony's boss would come back from her vacation and life would go back to normal. There would be no more Adam and no more excuses to 'hang out' with Anthony. Save for perhaps that one dinner at the Ritz, but they spoke of that many times in the past, and then it never came to fruition.

"Actually, it's more about something I've been meaning to ask you," Anthony said as he scratched behind his ear.

A realization dawned on Ezra. His breath caught in his throat.

This was it.

This was it.

All he had to do was ask this god damned question. All he had to do was speak, find out whether Ezra loved him back or not and start a new chapter of his life, with or without him. It was just a stupid question, but Crowley felt like he was having a heart attack instead.

He tried to keep his cool outwardly, at least, but the look in Ezra's eyes and the reflection in his glasses told Crowley that his body was betraying him.

"I… Would you… I mean, if you'd be so inclined…" Crowley stammered.

Ezra stared up at him with a bright-eyed intensity that he'd rarely felt before. If anything, it made him more nervous. By now, he wasn't even sure he was breathing anymore. Every fibre in his body was screaming at him to abort.

"Help me write a letter of resignation?"

So he did.

Ezra tried not to scream in frustration. He really did, but he couldn't stop a small sound of dejection from escaping. Anthony was trying, he could tell, but his self-sabotaging ways were beginning to wear on Ezra's patience. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath and decided to work with what he was given.

"You're quitting your job? Why? How come?" Ezra asked as he took Anthony by his upper arms and sat him down in his usual seat. "Wait, hold that thought. I'll make us each a hot cup of cocoa. That'll calm you right down." And with that, he hurried off to the kitchenette.

Crowley was grateful by the time Ezra returned with their cocoa. He took the steaming mug into his cold hands and took a careful sip. Adam, from his perch on the floor, looked up at the sweet concoction, stood up and pulled on Crowley's jacket. "Adam, no, it's too hot for you. I'll save the last bit for you when it cools down, okay?" And as if he somehow understood, Adam waddled off into the shop. "Thank you. It's great."

"It's no problem at all," Ezra smiled, leaning on the display table opposite the window seat. "So, what's this about resigning?"

Crowley looked down, eyes fixed firmly on the floor. His fingernails tapped nervously against the still hot ceramic mug — it had a quirky book quote on it that Crowley didn't recognize, as most of Ezra's mugs did — and he sighed in exasperation. "It's just…" He paused, trying to arrange the words in his head in a way that would make sense when he spoke them aloud. He sighed again for good measure. "They were right, angel, everyone said I would regret getting that job and I did. And it's not so much that I'm bored out of my mind half the time. No, it's because I'm dealing with the most insufferable people on the planet on a daily basis. It's that every time I set foot in the studio, Hastings and Liggett have new insults to throw at my head, not to mention Dygon in accounting. It's demeaning and I hate it." He bit on his lip, eyes darting around the shop, but always careful to avoid Ezra. "It's just, being out of the office and hanging out with you, it reminded me how good life was when I didn't dedicate it to people I hated, but to people I loved instead."

Ezra took a slow, shuddering breath. The look with which Anthony gazed up at him did things to his heart even he couldn't begin to describe, much less the Useless Lesbian™ narrator of this story. Nevertheless, words left his mouth.

"Well... I think that's a very healthy decision of you to make," he said softly. A nervous chuckle escaped him. "Though I rather hope I belong to the latter category."

He looked down, fidgeting with his fingers. He didn't dare look at Anthony, so he didn't notice how his face settled into a deep frown.

"Are you kidding me?" Crowley very nearly snapped. "Ezra…"

Ezra's gaze nervously wandered back to Crowley.

'You're the love of my life,' he really wanted to say.

"You're my best friend. Of course you do," he said instead, taking Ezra's free hand in his and squeezing reassuringly.

"Well, that's alright then," Ezra said, visibly relaxing. "So, this letter of resignation, what do you want it to say?"

"Something like, 'everyone in this office can go fuck themselves, except for you Lucy, you were the only tolerable part of this job.' Except still sounding somewhat professional."

A mischievous glint appeared in Ezra's eyes that Crowley hadn't seen in years. "I think that can be arranged."

XX March, 20XX

Dear Sir,

Hereby I submit my resignation from my position as assistant to miss Lucy Ferguson.

I sincerely thank you for employing me over the last few years, but due to circumstances in the office I can no longer fulfill my tasks with the same optimism with which I used to, and have decided to focus on my craft instead.

My final day of employment will be two weeks from now.

Unfortunately, due to pre-established activities by miss Ferguson herself, I will not be available to assist during this time of transition.

In case of an absolute emergency, miss Ferguson will know where to find me.

Sincerely,

Anthony James Crowley

"Hmmm…" Ezra hummed as he peered at his beige computer screen. It was eight PM. The two of them had settled in the dark back room of Ezra's shop where Adam slept on the worn velvet sofa. "It's not quite where I want it to be, but could you take a look anyway?"

The office chair creaked under the weight of Anthony's hands on the backrest as the man leaned over Ezra and peered over his shoulder. He smiled like a snake.

"Ezra, you beautiful bastard, I could kiss you right now!" he said in his enthusiasm. He blushed and looked away.

'Then why don't you?' Ezra wanted to ask.

"Well then, let's print it out, then you can deliver it on Monday," he said instead. Perforated paper was fed through a beige printer.

"Could you come with me?" Anthony asked. Eyes pleading. "I don't trust myself not to chicken out halfway through."

Ezra saw more truth in his eyes than the man would ever admit.

"Of course," he smiled.