That Tuesday morning, Crowley really wished he'd woken up by golden rays of sunlight filtering through old, dusty windows, surrounded by the warm smell of old books and the even warmer presence of Ezra at his side. But alas, Crowley had a responsibility and no way to move Adam's travel bed to the bookshop, so they'd said — and kissed — their goodnights late the night before, and each gone home with a lighter heart and a spring in their step. And so he woke a tad colder and slightly more lonesome than he would have liked between his Egyptian cotton sheets to the sounds of Adam fussing. It was still an improvement to a few nights before.

And so he got up to feed Adam his breakfast.

Dunroamin Bakery & Patisserie smelled of butter and freshly baked goods. The fragrance met Crowley halfway around the block and if he hadn't already planned to swing by for a pastry or two, he sure did now.

Marjorie Potts, nicknamed Madame Tracy for reasons unknown to Crowley*, greeted him from behind the counter while Sgt. Seymour Shadwell** was scuttling about, preparing the cinnamon rolls. Crowley liked the older couple. Not just for their superb pastries, but for their story. Both widowed at sixty-five, they had found each other, fell in love, married and invested their life savings into opening a bakery to give them both something to keep busy. That was five years ago. Now, their little shop was a staple among London's top food bloggers, even if the two only knew them as their regulars and neither of them really knew what a blog was.

(*Though, legend has it that she frequently earned some extra cash in uni by holding séances and reading people's fortunes and her stage name kind of stuck.)

(**Drillsergeant, retired, never deployed.)

"Good morning, love. What can I get you? That caramel coffee again?" Madame Tracy asked, already reaching for the coffeemaker. Shadwell prattled behind her with a vague air of jealousy. The man should know by now that he didn't have anything to fear from Crowley, but Madame Tracy insists he does that with everyone she calls 'love'.

"Please," Crowley said with a sigh that sounded more tired than he had hoped.

"Little Adam keeping you up all night?" she asked, handing Adam a dry biscuit. He ate it gratefully.

"What? Adam? No, he's better than I could have ever expected." He carefully took the paper cup of coffee Madame Tracy handed him over the counter and took a sip. His jaws tensed from the sweetness. It was perfect.

"Is it about your crush in the bookshop, then? Giving you sleepless nights?"

Crowley's face broke out in a wide, snake-like smile. "Well…"

"Ooh, so it is," Madame Tracy cooed. Shadwell murmured something that sounded suspiciously like 'bleeding southern pansy'.

"He loves your chocolate croissants. Adam, too," he added. "We've… had something of a breakthrough."

"Have you, now?"

Crowley blushed. "He kissed me. Then we had brunch, and he held my hand the entire time..."

"But that's wonderful!"

"Oh, and I quit my job."

Madame Tracy paused. She had already been bagging the chocolate croissants. Even the sergeant turned around with a wide-eyed stare. "You what?"

"I was just so done with their bullying, so when they came to fetch me yesterday I just handed in my resignation, effective pretty much immediately."

"I didn't think you had it in you, lad," Shadwell remarked out loud for the first time that day.

"Frankly, neither did I," Crowley shrugged. "But I'm glad. I mean, I can finally focus on my art again. And I'll have plenty of time to spend with Ezra, until he gets sick of me."

"Of course he won't get sick of you, you old silly. But we're very happy for you, aren't we, sweetheart?" Madame Tracy said, turning to Shadwell and back to Crowley again as she handed him the bag of pastries. "You take this, love. On the house."

"I… uh, thank you. That's very sweet of you. Are you sure…?"

"Yes, we're sure. Your coffee, too. Now, go on and surprise that young man of yours while the croissants are still warm. Oh, and do give him our regards."

"I will," Crowley said, starting on his way to the door. "Thanks again, really. I mean it."

"We know, love," she said, and waved him goodbye.

"Honestly, I wouldna' have trusted that southern nancy boy to stand up for himself if someone held a gun on him. Lad might have a pair of stones on him after all," Shadwell told his wife when he must have thought Crowley was out of earshot.

Madame Tracy shushed him.

By the time Crowley arrived at the bookshop, Ezra's agent was there again. The bell over the door rang, but neither of them seemed to notice.

"Then it's decided. No book tour, but you'll sign a number of them in private. It's really the perfect compromise.

Ezra nodded. "I'm inclined to agree with you, Gabriel."

"Sounds like a lot of work," Crowley said as he walked up to them. "I could help out, you know," he suggested.

Ezra turned around and smiled at him. "Anthony!" he exclaimed. Crowley swore he was going in for a kiss, but he refrained from going through with it. Crowley blamed it on Gabriel. "How were you planning on helping out?"

Crowley smirked and shrugged. "Give me a year and I'll forge your signature flawlessly."

"Of course, you could." Gabriel rolled his eyes.

Ezra patted Crowley's shoulder, hand sliding down to rest at the small of his back. "Thank you for your offer, but I think my readers would prefer for it to be authentic."

Despite very nearly jumping out of his skin, Crowley simply shrugged, putting on an air of fake nonchalance. After all, there was a warm hand on the small of his back and that was not something he had anticipated for that morning. "If you say so. It's your wrist, angel."

Gabriel glanced at them in a way Crowley knew all too well, but quickly hid it with the empty smile the American seemed to wear so often and clapped his hands with a gaiety that was just as synthetic. "Well then, now that we've cleared that up, I'll leave you two to your brunch," he said gesturing at the bag of pastries under Crowley's arm. "But I do hope you'll feel more comfortable with public appearances in the future."

Ezra smiled softly, wrapping his arm around Crowley's waist. "Well, who knows what the future might bring. I'll see you around, then."

"Right," Gabriel said and turned on his heel, making for the door. "I'll see you around." And the door fell shut.

"Good morning, by the way, Anthony," Ezra said, unable to suppress the smile that fought its way to his face.

"I… Morning, angel," Anthony said, almost stammered, with a slight look of disbelief on his face.

Ezra tilted his head and looked up at Anthony. "Is something the matter?"

"You just…" Anthony tried and seemed to struggle to find the right words. "You just touched me, like that, in front of another man…" he nearly hissed, finally turning his surprise and panic outward.

Ezra, on the other hand, quirked an eyebrow. "Should I not have done that?"

"No. I mean, yes! I mean- I just didn't expect it, is all. I thought you were, you know, the slower type…"

"Oh, my dear Anthony..." Ezra smiled in genuine amusement as he removed Adam from Anthony's arm and carefully placed him on the floorboards of the shop before turning his attention back to the other man. "Anthony, I've wanted this, you, for so long now, I can't bring myself to hide or hold back now. Besides, Gabriel knows. He doesn't care that I'm the way I am. In fact, he encouraged me to confess to you. Sort of. He said watching my pining was painful, and he's put up with it for seven years."

"Ah, so with Gabe it's fine, but with, for example, your family…"

A chill ran down Ezra's spine. "Out of the question," he said firmly.

"Just checking," Anthony mumbled, putting down his coffee and the bag of pastries on the shop's counter before snaking his arms around Ezra. "I shouldn't have said that."

"I appreciate the effort, my dear, but there's nothing to check," Ezra whispered, returning the embrace and burying his nose deep into the scent of Anthony's cologne. It calmed his nerves ever so slightly. "They were abundantly clear when I was fourteen, and when my ex-wife and I divorced, and they would be if they could see us now. And the worst part is, they would do it with the best of intentions."

"You know what the road to Hell is paved with," Anthony whispered in Ezra's ear as he petted a hand through his hair.

"Reasons their youngest won't show up to birthdays and Christmas anymore, or even return their phone calls."

Anthony chortled, which made Ezra smile.

He pulled back from the embrace to give the man a better look. "Anthony James Crowley, I hereby swear on my life that you will never have to formally meet my family."

Anthony laughed and kissed him, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "Ezra Zacharie Fell, I wish my mum was alive to meet you. She would have loved you more than I do," Anthony joked. "But for real, Angela and Anathema have pretty much already adopted you as their new brother-in-law slash uncle, so if you'd be up for it, once Adam is back with his mothers, you could join us for family dinner, this Friday night?"

"I would love to."

Ezra had decided quite early on that he liked Anthony's family. If only because they were so different from his own. They were just so… Ezra wished informal wouldn't be the right word, but it was.

For starters, no one ever seemed to call anyone by their actual first names, unless for dramatic effect when someone was in trouble. But then again, Ezra wasn't under the impression that anyone ever got in trouble in their family in the first place. Mum and dad were just mum and dad, not mother and father. But none of that was even what Ezra liked best about them.

'Angie? Hey, it's me…' he heard Anthony from his usual window seat.

No, what he liked best was that their bonds were based on mutual trust and respect. That Anthony got what he needed to flourish as himself in his home situation. When they had nothing else, they had trust and respect, and while Ezra had practically everything else, he never had that.

'Yes, I know you're working, I'm sorry, but I just wanted to ask…'

Had he been younger, he might have resented Anthony for that. For his freedom. For having experienced everything Ezra had missed. But by now, thirteen years after just letting himself be himself, he had done the catching up he needed. At least, he certainly hoped so. Although, having dinner with one's technically-in-laws was not something he had planned on doing by the end of this week.

'Would you and Annie mind if I brought along a plus one? Yes, I know it's technically a plus two, shush...'

Of course, he knew Anathema and he knew of Angela. They were exceptional human beings and ever so like Anthony. Some say hate breeds hate, but Ezra could now say with absolute certainty that love breeds love as well. But even that knowledge didn't stop his hands from shaking. He'd done the whole in-laws dance fifteen years earlier with Michaela and her parents. It had gone swimmingly then because he didn't have any, as they say, 'intentions' with their daughter. Just a nice, kind, if a but bookish kindergarten teacher. But with Anthony, he did. Very much so. He wanted to hold Anthony's hand, for example, and hug him and kiss him and cuddle him in bed on cold days and go for trips to the beach on warm days. But more than any of that, he wanted to love Anthony in the way he could never love anybody else.

'So it's okay then? If he brings dessert? I'm sure that can be arranged.' Ezra became vaguely aware that Anthony was looking at him. 'Alright, Angie, you're the best. Thanks. See you on Friday.'

"Dessert? Me?" Ezra cried.

"Well yeah, it's your favourite course, so I figured it would be perfect," Anthony stated matter-of-factly. Then his face paled and grew slack with panic. "Oh no, was that wrong? Should I not have said that?"

"It's just-" and Ezra felt his cheeks grow red. "Dessert is usually the most complicated course to make…" he sighed. "And I haven't cooked for myself. Ever. Apart from maybe eggs and bacon, cold sandwiches," he thought for another second "and instant pasta."

"Oh my God…" Anthony mumbled, rubbing his hands in his face. "I've known you for ten years, how did I not see this coming?"

"What do we do now?"

"Well, obviously, I'm going to teach you how to cook. Starting with dessert." Anthony smiled and patted Ezra's cheek. It didn't calm him down one bit. "Adam and I will leave a bit early today, since we'll have to get groceries. Dinner at mine, 7 PM, no excuses. I'll do the main course, then we'll make dessert together, alright?"

By the time Anthony's hands reached Ezra's own and clasped them firmly, he remembered how to breathe again.

"Alright."