Aziraphale wasn't prepared for the sheer anxiety of the next two days. Between the massive quantity of classwork he had to get started on and his nerves about Saturday, he felt like a helium balloon barely tethered to the ground, about to drift away in the gusty wind that whipped across the campus.
At dinner, Brian watched him shuffle spaghetti around his plate before asking him (between mouthfuls of his own pasta) if everything was all right. He shrugged off his roommate's concern, using the excuse of the pre-finals stress (which was true, if not perhaps the entire truth).
What Brian had told him about Crowley the other day was also rattling around in his mind, after his nervousness about phoning Crowley had died down a bit. Just some drugs, some breaking and entering, Brian had said, but it was serious enough to have the police (and his father) involved. Maybe he was getting in over his head, tempted by a pretty face and not seeing Crowley as what he really is, bad news in a pair of leather trousers. Or worse...this could be some sort of elaborate prank. It wouldn't be entirely surprising, that someone with money and talent and a predilection for mischief would decide that he, Aziraphale, was a prime target...
No, he thought,shaking his head to halt the spiral of doubt that he'd slipped into so easily. All I have is hearsay from Brian, and he's been perfectly polite to me. Mostly. Even if Crowley had done any of those things out of some delight or seeking a destructive release, everyone deserved a second chance. If there was any part of his faith he wholeheartedly believed in, it was redemption. And the Crowley he knew wasn't that person.
When he's alone in their dorm room, he speaks these thoughts aloud quietly to Oscar Wilde. He still hasn't told Brian, or Heather, or even Anathema, how he really thinks of Crowley. And besides, he reminds himself, Crowley likely only sees him as a curiosity worthy of companionable interest but nothing more.
When Saturday finally came, he woke early, then managed to get another half hour of fitful sleep before he gave up and slipped to the dining hall for breakfast. The room was almost completely empty, many students still in bed or home for the weekend, and he sipped cup after cup of green tea by the large glass window, watching the frost fade from the lawn. Normally he'd go for waffles or crepes or something equally rich and syrupy on a Saturday morning, but his stomach was roiling too much for more than a simple bowl of oatmeal with some brown sugar and dried fruit.
Even eating slowly while reading his theology assignment (or rather, trying to focus enough to read), he finished his meal far too soon. He wasted another few hours in the library with Metamorphoses, but by noon he was nodding off over the text and decided to head back to his room for a nap, catching Brian on his way out to lunch.
He woke feeling a bit better and more rested—until he remembered that he only had an hour until Crowley arrived to pick him up.
He darted upright, struggling to escape the blankets tangled around his limbs. Across the room with his headphones on as he flipped through a comic book, Brian was startled by the movement, flailing and getting equally caught in the cord of his headphones before managing to get them off. "Whoa, dude, you scared the crap out of me!"
"Oh, sorry, I just realized I only have an hour to get ready!"
"You got a hot date or something?" Aziraphale's denial was almost on his tongue when he felt his cheeks heating in a blush. "You do, don't you?!"
"It isn't a date, it's…" He rifled through his closet, looking for a suitable outfit and deliberately avoiding eye contact with Brian. His mind scrambled for something plausible other than a date and decided that sticking close to the truth would be the easiest. "I'm just hanging out with a friend, but I'm not very good at this. I mean, you and Heather are my friends, but I'm still not...oh, what am I going to wear?!"
Brian, saint that he was, decided to take pity on him. "What are you talking about? You're a great friend. You help me with homework all the time, and you've been to every one of Heather's exhibits this semester. You even let Rachelle hang out here." Now Brian was the one avoided eye contact, embarrassed at the mention of his girlfriend. But he recovered quickly and got up to help Aziraphale dig through his clothes. "Just be yourself, man. People really appreciate that, at least the ones who aren't lame. You gonna be inside or outside?"
"Um, a bit of both, I think? And it's quite gloomy out."
"Okay, so sweater and maybe a light jacket, sounds like a plan. No tie though." After a few more moments of inspecting the closet's contents, he grabbed a deep burgundy shawl collar sweater and handed it to Aziraphale.
"Oh, I forgot I had this! It's one of my favorites." It had been a gift from one of his siblings a few Christmases ago, and it still smelled like home. With slim-fitting khaki chinos, Brian's black boots, and his olive-grey field coat, he thought he looked highly presentable. Brian punched his shoulder playfully and grinned over his shoulder as he fixed his hair in the mirror.
"See? It's easy. She'll think you're hot."
"For the last time, this is not a date!" Aziraphale grumbled, sighing. "But...thank you."
He was still fussing with his hair when he caught the sound of tires squealing outside, followed by the obnoxious honk of a car horn. Rolling his eyes, he peeked out the window to see Crowley's Porsche. Straightening his jacket, he grabbed his umbrella and the directions he'd written down earlier, nodded to Brian (who raised an eyebrow at him but told him to have a good night in a tone that said he knew Aziraphale was absolutely full of it), and made his way downstairs.
Outside, Aziraphale exhaled a shaky breath before opening the car door and sliding in next to Crowley, who was fiddling with the radio dials but looked up to grin at him. "Hello there, angel. Don't you look all spiffy."
Aziraphale looked down at his outfit as he buckled his seatbelt, then over at Crowley. "Thanks. Um, you look nice as well." A fitted black suit coat with rolled sleeves had replaced his usual leather jacket over a white t-shirt (with someone's face on it Aziraphale didn't recognize), and his jeans were fairly hole-free. The front of his hair was pulled back into a small bun, keeping its waves out of his face. "Here, I wrote down the directions to the botanical garden. We have to stop at the Will Call desk for the tickets."
Crowley gave him a thin-lipped grin, pushed his glasses back up his nose, and took the paper with a snort. "Perfectly legible, of course. That makes one of us," he said as he started the car. "Hrm, I think I know where this is, 's about twenty minutes." As he hit the gas and sped out of the parking lot, Aziraphale closed his eyes and prayed silently until he felt a thin finger prod his shoulder. "Here, shotgun navigates. In case I get us lost in the bad part of town or something."
Aziraphale eyes shot back open and he snatched the paper with one hand while the other gripped his seatbelt. "I sincerely hope you're kidding. I would like to make it through this adventure in one piece, please."
Crowley laughed, easing off the gas ever so slightly. "From what you've told me about your dad, I don't think he'd take kindly to me dismembering his son via traffic accident. Did y'know flying is actually safer than driving? Eh, 's probably because of maniacs like me on the road."
"I don't doubt it. You're...a menace." Aziraphale said tentatively, hoping he didn't offend. He wasn't used to the bantering friendliness that so many of his peers here seemed to employ. At home, he had to be polite no matter what (as his father so often had to remind Ruth when she blew raspberries behind the back of one of the church's many senior-aged ladies who cooed over her).
"Ha! That I am, angel, that I am." For the rest of the drive, Crowley pointed out different restaurants and other buildings, giving Aziraphale an impromptu tour of this unfamiliar part of the city.
"...and that's where I used to hang out early in high school. Used to sneak in for shows, got thrown out when they figured out I was in there, then I'd come back the next weekend and try again."
"Have you ever played there?" Did Crowley know how much his face lit up, when he was talking about music? Aziraphale thought, smiling to himself.
"A few times. 'S funny, everything was exactly like I remember it—except for getting kicked out, 'course." He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and hummed in time with the music.
"This is catchy, who is this?" Aziraphale said, bobbing his head a bit in time with the beat.
To his credit, Crowley didn't snort or scoff at him—instead, he reached over to pop open the glove box, digging around until he found a cassette case and handed it to Aziraphale (mostly watching the road, which Aziraphale also appreciated). Along the edges of a black and white photograph of a man smashing a guitar on the ground were the words "The Clash" and "LONDON CALLING".
"Hm, The Clash…" he said, turning the case to inspect the track list.
"Used to be 'The Only Band That Matters', but not so much lately. Too much drama, new guitarists and all. But this album and Combat Rock are pretty great. Definitely should give them a listen as part of your 'bebop' education, yeah?"
Soon both of them were bobbing along with the beat of the next few songs, laughing at each other's ridiculous faces (Aziraphale looked perpetually wide-eyed and faux-shocked, while Crowley waggled his head on his shoulders like it was about to fall off). Aziraphale almost forgot that he was being chauffeured by a speed demon until Crowley swore and jerked the car into a screeching left turn through an intersection.
"Shit, almost missed it! You're kind of a shit navigator. Maybe I'll make you drive back so I can get us there."
Holding on for dear life, Aziraphale was about to reply that he didn't know how to drive when he spotted the giant glass dome of the garden's main building. Crowley pulled up to the valet stand and hopped out to toss the keys to the attendant. As Aziraphale clambered out of his seat, he caught bits of his warning (accompanied by emphatic waves of his arms) to the driver about what would happen to him if his car came back in any shape other than pristine. The man seemed terrified of whatever Crowley had said, but Aziraphale just rolled his eyes at Crowley's theatrics and patted his pockets to make sure he had his wallet.
"Ah, I think the ticket window is this way?" Aziraphale said when Crowley finished watching the attendant drive the Porsche away. Crowley followed him at a slow, casual amble, neither of them speaking as they waited in line and then received their passes and a schedule of the night's events.
"Hm, looks like the corpse plant should be later tonight, which gives plenty of time to wander. D'you want to do the art museum at all? I'm sure you're more interested in the plants." Aziraphale looked up from the guide to ask.
"Let's go stroll 'round the garden for a bit, then we can go ogle the art if we're still waiting on the titan, yeah?" At Aziraphale's confused look, Crowley sighed good-naturedly and grabbed his arm, dragging him towards the gates of the garden. "C'mon, I'll give you a crash course in Amorphophallus titanum as we go."
To get to the giant glass structure, they had to walk through a tunnel formed by giant metal arches bedecked with brilliant orange-leafed branches and hardy evergreen plants twined with stalks of round red berries.
Craning his neck to get a glimpse of all the plants as they walked, Aziraphale felt himself relax just a tiny bit. So far, so good, he thought, and then they went through a small glass cube with pressurized doors that let them into the dome with a hiss of humid air.
The room was massive, the far end hidden by the fronds of tropical palms and lush trees. Graveled walkways twined through islands displaying collections of plants: vivid orchids, delicate pink roses, fragrant lavender, gauzy Spanish moss, and so many other plants Aziraphale couldn't even begin to name. From somewhere came the melodic rush and tinkle of water, and he spied a small pond fed by a waterfall nearby, in which fat koi were swimming. And above, the darkening sky's twilight hues were visible through the dome's ceiling.
"Wow," said Crowley beside him, and Aziraphale looked to him. "Y'know, I haven't been here in, lessee, probably ten years? Was in school way back. But I'd forgotten how gorgeous it is."
"It is lovely," Aziraphale agreed, with a soft smile. "Shall we?"
