It was three in the morning on Sunday and Adam was particularly fussy tonight. Crowley had gotten up to check up on him at midnight, one and two — crying, arms and legs flailing — and figured it wasn't worth it getting back into bed anymore until Adam was properly asleep again. As such, he was currently pacing around his flat, cradling the boy to his Queen + Adam Lambert Tour t-shirt. It seemed to calm him down.

"It's okay, Adam," he cooed at the baby, who seemed to have significantly calmed down now that he was being held. "We had a good thing going with you not crying so much and all, but I wouldn't want you to bottle it all up for my sake. Or you'll end up like me." He said as he stroked the soft hair on Adam's head.

The boy looked up at him and made a gurgling sound.

"I mean, I suppose me isn't a bad thing to be, I mean, I have a great family, a nice flat and a well-paying job — for the next two weeks at least — but I make things so difficult for myself. I don't want that for you."

Adam burped.

"Gesundheit. Anyway. Ground rules. New ones, at least. We," Crowley gestured between them with his free hand. "Are going to be honest to each other. No lies, no secrets. We'll always have someone to vent to. Alright?" Crowley looked down at the boy.

Big, shining, sky blue eyes stared up at him.

'Adam, you're such a good listener,' Crowley was about to say when Adam reached for the easel across the room. He walked up to it. Adam reached for the jar of brushes on the side table next to it. "You want to paint at…" Crowley glanced at the clock on his phone. "Nine past three in the morning?"

As if he had somehow understood what Crowley had said, Adam nodded.

Crowley sighed. "Well, alright. We're both wide awake, I guess we'll paint until we're sleepy," he mumbled and sat down on the stool in front of the easel, squirted some paint onto the palette and took a brush from the jar. "Try not to get any paint in your hair this time, alright?"

He put the brush to the canvas and didn't stop until the sun rose.

It was well past noon when Crowley finally stumbled into the bookshop that Sunday. Adam happily clung to the lapels of his jacket, giggling, but he made sure to support him under his bum anyway.

Someone was better rested than him. But then again, everyone was better rested than him.

"Anthony?" Ezra asked, getting out from behind the counter, ran up to him. "Are you alright? Oh, and with the sunglasses again. My dear," he trailed off as he lifted the sunglasses off Crowley's nose. "Oh my goodness..."

"It's okay angel, you can just say what we're all thinking; 'Crowley, you look like complete and utter shit today'. Right, Adam?"

Adam giggled some more.

"I must admit, you do look a bit like a hairless panda bear," Ezra said as he tucked Crowley's sunglasses into the pocket of his vest. A careful thumb caressed his cheekbone just under the heavy bags under his eyes. Crowley involuntarily leaned into the touch. "But I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation."

"I was painting, actually, if that's reasonable enough an explanation for you. Adam kept me up all night, so I thought I might as well do something productive with my time. I was almost finished when he finally fell asleep, or so I thought, so I put in a few extra hours to make sure it was finished properly."

"Was it a good painting?"

"Exceptionally good."

"Then you'll forgive yourself soon enough," Ezra said, smiling as he patted Crowley's cheek. "I was hoping maybe later today we could go to an art gallery. But I understand if you'd rather go home to sleep."

It took Crowley a moment to process what the other man had said, lack of sleep and the gentle assault on his face considered, but eventually he got his mouth to work. "You and me? To an art gallery?"

"Well, yes," Ezra said, taking Adam out of Crowley's arms. "But I was rather hoping Adam could tag along as well."

Adam. He'd forgotten Adam. He'd forgotten Adam while he was holding Adam. He physically smacked himself in the face.

"My dear, when exactly did you go to bed?"

"Pfff, I don't know… Eight, nine o'clock, maybe?"Crowley admitted, cringing slightly. He hadn't pulled an all-nighter since art school. "Could have been half past nine..."

"Oh, Anthony…" Ezra mumbled. His face scrunched up in a worried pout that made Crowley's heart melt.

Crowley took Ezra's free hand in both of his. "I'm fine. I'll be fine," he whispered, patting Ezra's hand reassuringly. "So, this gallery, where is it?"

This gallery just so happened to be in Mayfair, only a stone's throw away from Anthony's flat. Ezra hoped he wouldn't think it strange or creepy to take him somewhere literally so close to home, but Anthony didn't seem to mind. Ezra didn't really expect anything from the date. He wouldn't even call it a date if anyone asked. Just two old mates* looking at art on their free Sunday afternoon. With a baby.

(*baggage included)

Baby. Right. Apparently it was 'unusual' for visitors to bring children into the gallery. This not only reflected in the stares they got from their fellow visitors, but also in the abysmal stroller — and by extension, probably wheelchair — accessibility and the mild panic the boy behind the counter worked himself into as he tried to find out from his superiors whether or not they had reduced prices for children. They didn't. Ezra and Anthony split Adam's adult ticket, and Ezra took to carrying the boy the entire afternoon.

Anthony, meanwhile, was like a kid in a candy store. He practically dragged Ezra along the exhibit by his free hand. One second he would murmur unintelligibly to himself, the next he would explode in enthusiasm and talk animatedly, but still unintelligibly, to Ezra about the exhibits. About the colours the artists used and techniques and other words Ezra never quite caught. But still, Ezra smiled and nodded. It was good to see Anthony so in his element again.

It had been years since Ezra last saw him like this. It must have been… He thought hard on it. It must have been at his graduation. So happy and uninhibited, all smiles, arms flying everywhere. Until Anthony linked arms with him.

Oh.

"So, this painting you stayed up all night to finish, what was it of?" Ezra asked as he washed down his salmon nigiri with red wine.

"I didn't tell you?" Crowley asked, looking up from tending to Adam, who was performing a stellar drum solo with his chopsticks. He glared at the older couple that glared at them.

Ezra laid his hand on Crowley's, making his heart jump. Him touching Ezra was one thing. Ezra touching him still made his heart and mind run a mile a minute.

"My dear, let it go," he whispered. "They can't help they're snobs." he said in an attempt to calm Crowley down, but still, Ezra shot them a look that could kill as well. "And no, I'm afraid you haven't told me."

"It was you."

"Me?" he asked. There was wonder in his eyes and blood rushing to his face.

"Yeah," Crowley mumbled. "I found an old photo of us and I really liked the way it looked, so I figured I'd paint it. For practice." He dug for his phone in his jacket pocket and pulled up the photo he took of the painting, bathed in the orange light of the sunrise. He slid the phone across the table casually, but on the inside, he was freaking out.

Ezra's face grew soft and slightly more red upon seeing the image. "You're right, it is exceptionally good." He glanced up at Crowley. "I can barely believe it's me, Anthony, it's beautiful."

Crowley smiled. "If you say so. I think it can't even begin to compare to the real thing."