Several days later, Crowley was draped across the sofa in the sitting room while Aziraphale was sat in his usual armchair. Aziraphale was reading, while Crowley was engrossed in a film.
"Aziraphale?"
Aziraphale looked up from his book with a smile. "Yes, my dear?"
Crowley gestured at the television. "Can I have sunglasses like that?"
There were two men on the screen walking dramatically down a dark street, each wearing black sunglasses along with a black suit and tie.
"I thought I could wear them around the humans," Crowley said. "So then you wouldn't need to use a miracle to stop them noticing my eyes."
"Oh, Yes! That's a good idea."
The two men on screen pulled out unusual looking guns.
"What programme is this?" Aziraphale asked worriedly.
"It's called Men in Black! They're secret agents that fight crime. And aliens!"
It was one of the coolest things Crowley had ever seen – second only to the James Bond film he had seen yesterday, after which Crowley had fantasised multiple times about being able to defend himself with a gun while Sandalphon came at him with a knife. After he discorporated the bastard, he'd say something cool like "I aim to please," or "That was a shot in the dark," or even, "Troubleshooting at it's finest."
Aziraphale closed his book and then set it down on the table beside him. "I'll create some sunglasses for you. I've not performed any miracles in the last couple of days, so I can certainly spare some now."
"Thanks. Can I have a suit too? Like they wear?"
"Certainly," said Aziraphale, and a second later, a pile of clothes materialised on the sofa beside Crowley, with sunglasses perched on the top.
Crowley put the sunglasses on.
"Oh, yes, very good," said Aziraphale with a nod of approval. "The glasses hide your eyes very well."
Crowley went into his bedroom to try on the clothes. He put on the trousers and the shirt, but struggled when it came to the tie. He'd never needed to wear one before, but he really wanted to complete the look. He gave up and went back to Aziraphale, who was still in his armchair.
"How are these supposed to work?" Crowley asked, unable to hide the frustration in his voice.
"I'll show you," said Aziraphale, getting up from his seat. "I'll just fetch a tie from my bedroom."
Aziraphale returned a moment later with a tartan tie in the same colours as the bowtie he always wore. He unfastened the bowtie from around his neck and placed it over the arm of his chair.
Aziraphale showed Crowley what to do in simple steps, and Crowley copied the actions until he got it right. Then he returned to his bedroom to put on the suit jacket.
He admired his new outfit in his full-length mirror. He did look remarkably like one of the Men in Black, and even a bit like James Bond.
Crowley took on a dramatic pose, shaping his hands like guns, feeling very cool, but the look wasn't quite right. He pushed his long wavy hair away over his shoulders. James Bond and the main characters from Men in Black had short hair, and he wondered what his own hair might look like short.
He returned to the sitting room to show Aziraphale his new clothes, his heart racing, hoping that Aziraphale would like his new look just as much as he did.
"Oh, very nice," Aziraphale said with a smile.
"Can I be around humans looking like this?"
Aziraphale nodded. "Yes, of course. You look like a human that works in a very prestigious office. Or a CIA agent! If you want a more casual look you could just remove the tie - or the jacket. But it's entirely up to you."
Crowley had to admit that he did feel rather like he had stepped out of a film. "Yeah, you're right." He removed his tie and unfastened the top button of his shirt.
An advert on the television caught his eye. A man in a dark-red shirt was currently presenting a lady with some flowers - which could be sent to your beloved for what they assured was an extraordinarily good price.
"What about a coloured shirt like that? Red or something? That'd be less office-y."
Three neatly folded shirts appeared on the sofa in different colours - burgundy, grey-blue, and yellow. Crowley couldn't help but notice that the last one was the exact same colour as his eyes. He wondered if it was on purpose.
"Thank you," said Crowley as he picked them up.
Some whimsical music was coming from the television now, and a young man was gazing moodily into the middle distance. Everything was in dramatic greyscale. An expensive car drove past him and he gazed wistfully at it.
"That guy's hair looks kinda cool…" Crowley said. "I suppose I'd fit in with the humans better if I had short hair like that."
"I can miracle your hair short if you would like?"
"Please."
"You won't miss your curls?"
"Nah."
Aziraphale nodded. "I can always miracle your hair back again if you change your mind later. Ready?"
Crowley nodded, and then he felt Aziraphale's powers act upon his physical body. The hair that had been brushing against his neck and his shoulders vanished. Crowley reached up and then ran his fingers through the short sides and the sticky up bit at the front which seemed to defy gravity.
"I believe that effect is usually achieved using hair gel, but I managed it with a miracle. I'll fetch a mirror so you can see it properly…"
Aziraphale left the room and returned a moment later with a full-length, free-standing mirror from his own bedroom. The frame was ornate, and the mirror itself was slightly mottled around the edges with age. He put it down in front of Crowley, who was left speechless for a moment at the sight of his reflection.
"I think this hairstyle looks lovely," Aziraphale said. "How do you feel?"
Crowley was amazed by his transformation. He looked so human. He stood up straight, thrilled by how cool and confident he looked now. But it wasn't just the clothes and the hair, he felt a change in himself too. He felt brand new.
The last few weeks had changed him. He was happy here - happier than he'd been in 6000 years. And he liked Aziraphale more than he ever thought possible, more than he ever thought he'd allow himself. He had tried to remain wary of him, but there was something about the angel that was impossible not to like.
When he looked in the mirror, he didn't see 'Crawly' anymore – small, weak and broken – he saw Crowley, his true self. This was who he'd always wanted to be. He didn't want to be Crawly anymore, he wanted to leave that part of his life far behind him.
He turned to Aziraphale, nervous suddenly, and Aziraphale's eyebrows creased in concern.
"Would it be okay if-?" Crowley couldn't get the words out. He'd never shared his true name with anyone before and it made him feel vulnerable. His heart was racing, but he trusted Aziraphale not to mock him or use his real name against him.
"It's okay," Aziraphale said. "I can still use another miracle or two. Would you like me to change something else?"
This change wouldn't take a miracle, although it might feel like it. "Can I change my name, please?"
Aziraphale looked surprised. "Of course you can, my dear. What would you like me to call you? Or do you need time to choose a name?"
"I've already decided," Crowley said. He took a deep breath. "Crowley. My name is Crowley." It felt so strange to say his name out loud to someone. Whilst living with Michael and Sandalphon, he had occasionally talked to himself – given himself pep talks and encouragements – and he had called himself Crowley then. But he had never said his name in front of anyone else before.
"Crowley," Aziraphale repeated, trying the name out. "That's a wonderful name."
Crowley smiled. He hadn't realised how much Aziraphale's approval would mean to him, or how much he would enjoy hearing someone else say his name.
"Would you like me to call you Crowley in front of other people? Humans? Angels?"
Crowley considered this for a moment. "In front of the humans, yes. But not in front of any angels just yet."
He had a vision of the other angels laughing at his new name, tearing apart something that meant the world to him, something that was deeply personal. Although, to be honest, Gabriel would probably forget it instantly and just continue calling him Cowlee.
A few days later, Aziraphale was speaking on the telephone in the sitting room, ordering two pizzas.
"Crowley? They're offering us ice-cream. Chocolate or vanilla?"
"Chocolate."
"Jolly good."
Aziraphale had spent the last few days using Crowley's new name as much as possible, partly to help himself become used to the name change, but mostly because it made Crowley smile every time he said it. There had been one or two slip ups - a Craw-Crowley here and there - but he'd quickly become used to the new name. 'Crowley' suited the demon far better than 'Crawly' ever had.
Aziraphale hung up the telephone receiver. "They said the food should arrive in about half-an-hour. Now, I've had a thought. Would you like to come with me to answer the door? You wouldn't have to do or say anything – I just thought you might like to see a human."
Crowley sat up straight, nodding enthusiastically.
They went downstairs into the bookshop. Aziraphale explained what to expect from their visitor, and that they would be swapping human money for the pizza.
Aziraphale took some £10 notes out of his wallet. "They will mostly just want to make the exchange as quickly as possible so that they can get to their next delivery. The entire thing shouldn't take more than a few minutes."
"Do you know this human?"
"There are several different people that do the deliveries, so I'm not sure which one we'll get," Aziraphale explained. "I don't know these people overly well, but they've all been very friendly and professional. Usually it's this lovely young lady who rides around on a white bicycle."
Aziraphale hoped it would be her. She was cheerful, polite and unthreatening. Aziraphale suspected that she would remain professional even if Crowley acted a bit strangely. But whoever arrived, Aziraphale felt sure he would be able to keep control over the situation no matter what happened, even if he had to use a miracle to do it. He wanted this to go as smoothly as possible. Crowley seemed excited right now but that might all change once he was confronted with a stranger.
It felt as though he was more nervous right now than Crowley was.
There was a knock at the door.
"Is that her?" Crowley asked. "Your lady on a white bike?"
Before Aziraphale even opened the door, he knew it wasn't her – he could see a man's silhouette through the small dusty windows in the door.
"It's one of the others. Just keep back a few steps and let me do the talking."
"Okay."
Aziraphale opened the door, revealing a man in ripped black jeans and a leather jacket with colourful patches sewn onto the arms. The patches had words like 'Nirvana' and "Queen' on them, and even the outrageous phrase 'The Sex Pistols' which seemed an overly raunchy thing to have written upon one's person. The man had bright green hair, an eyebrow piecing, and a nose ring. His motorcycle had a picture of a skull on it.
This was all a bit much.
"That's £20 quid, mate," said the man with a smile.
Aziraphale quickly unfolded the money and handed it over.
Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley, half expecting to find him mid panic attack, but Crowley was staring at the man with awe and admiration.
The delivery man caught sight of Crowley and gave him a smile too. "Hey," he said, and held out the pizza boxes.
Before Aziraphale knew what to do, Crowley had already taken the boxes from him.
"Thanks," said Crowley. "I like your arm patches. Queen are cool."
"I know, right? I saw them in concert when I was ten and I've been hooked ever since."
The man removed two tubs of ice-cream from a bag on his motorcycle and handed them over to Aziraphale.
"Cheers," he said with a nod towards both of them, and then he got back onto his motorcycle and put his helmet on.
As he sped away, Aziraphale closed the door.
Crowley turned towards him excitedly. "I spoke to a human!"
"Well done, my dear."
"Thank you. It wasn't scary or anything though. I mean, you were right here."
Aziraphale smiled, pleased to know that his presence made Crowley feel safe.
"Did you see his hair? Bright green!" Crowley said as they walked through the shop towards the kitchen. "I've never seen anyone with bright hair like mine before. I didn't know human hair came in colours like that."
"Oh, it's not that colour naturally. He must have dyed it."
"He was able to choose his hair colour?"
Aziraphale nodded. "If you would like to change your hair colour, I could buy some hair dye for you. Or use a miracle," Aziraphale suggested, though he probably shouldn't use any more miracles today if he could help it.
"Nah. I like it red. It's cool they can change their hair colour though."
Once they reached the kitchen Aziraphale put the ice-cream tubs in the freezer.
"What's Queen?" Aziraphale asked as he sat down at the kitchen table and then opened his pizza box.
"They're a band," said Crowley. "The first time I vacuumed in the sitting room some of their songs were playing on one of the music channels, and I've heard them a few times since. They're one of my favourites."
Aziraphale walked into a little record shop on the outskirts of London.
The shop owner rushed over to greet him, a huge smile on his face. "Good morning, Mr Fell! What brings you here today?"
This was the only place recently that Aziraphale had been able to purchase records to play on his ancient gramophone. The owner was almost always able to get hold of whatever he wanted – songs that he hadn't heard in decades, even in a century or two.
"Something a bit more modern this time, my dear boy," said Aziraphale. "A gift for a friend. Have you heard of Queen?"
The man smiled. "I certainly have. We have most of their vinyl records in stock. Follow me." He led Aziraphale over to a display stand full of records.
There was an entire section dedicated to Queen.
"My goodness! Queen must be very popular indeed," Aziraphale said in amazement. "Will these play on my gramophone?"
The owner pulled a face. "Well. Technically, they would, but it'd sound God awful."
"Oh, that's a shame. I was rather hoping my friend could play them on my gramophone. Not to worry though. Do you sell players for these records?"
Half an hour later, Aziraphale left the shop in possession of a dozen Queen records and a portable record player.
Crowley was so pleased with his gift that he took it around the house with him, listening to Queen outside while he was gardening, and in the kitchen while he washed the dishes. But mostly he kept it in his bedroom, listening to the music before he went to bed.
Queen wasn't really to Aziraphale's taste, but seeing Crowley enjoying the music made him happy, and some of the songs were starting to grow on him.
Aziraphale opened up the bookshop to the public a few days later, and Crowley was pleased to be allowed in there at the same time.
Only a handful of people came into the shop that day, and Crowley wasn't sure if this was by a miracle - so as not to overwhelm him - or simply because the bookshop was never very busy. He suspected the latter.
Crowley kept his distance from the customers to start with, still feeling nervous especially since Aziraphale was no longer at his side - Aziraphale had settled down at his desk - but before long Crowley felt brave enough to come out into the open. He leant casually against a caramel-coloured pillar in the centre of the shop while a middle-aged woman browsed the best sellers section – the only books which Aziraphale was actually willing to part with.
He hoped the woman might want to chat, but she paid him no attention apart from casting an uninterested glance his way before heading to the desk to pay for a book.
This seemed to be a common theme. Bookshops were not sociable places to be it seemed.
The customers ignored him, but he didn't take it personally. They ignored each other too, unless they had come in with someone, and the only time they spoke to Aziraphale was if they wanted to buy something or needed some help. The humans seemed to think Crowley was just another customer, and so it was only when he was up a stepladder returning a book to a high shelf and ignoring the humans around him that someone decided to talk to him.
"Excuse me, how much is this?"
Crowley spun around, and looked down at a man who was waving a book at him. "Oh," Crowley said, realising that the man thought he worked there. "I'll ask Mr Fell."
He led the man over to Aziraphale, who was sat at his desk, sorting through some papers.
"How much is this?" the man asked, putting the book down on the desk in front of him.
Aziraphale smiled sweetly. "Three hundred pounds."
"What? That's outrageous! It's old and dog-eared!"
"It's a first edition, my dear. Two hundred years old. And it was signed by the author. But not to worry, I have some more reasonably priced copies towards the front of the shop." And with that, he led the man away to find a book he was actually willing to part with.
Crowley had noticed a fair few 'dear boys' and 'my dears,' being thrown around, and it was disappointing to learn that those endearments were not for him alone, but that didn't make him smile any less when one was directed at him.