Aziraphale worked furiously on his studies for the next few days, taking breaks only to attend class and wolf down a meal here or there. During one of the few times he and his roommate were both in their room and conscious, Brian asked what his plans were for the extended Thanksgiving weekend coming up.
"Well, we don't really celebrate Thanksgiving where I'm from," Aziraphale explained as he stretched, his joints weary from several hours of sitting. "I suppose I had planned on trying to finish up this essay."
"Really? It's seriously the best holiday, other than Christmas, and Halloween I guess," Brian replied. "You get to eat tons of food, that's it. My mom usually makes all the hits: turkey, ham, stuffing, cranberry sauce, sweet potato casserole and mashed potatoes, green beans, and like three kinds of pie. Sometimes my dad and younger bro and I go out and chuck a football around to work off the food coma."
Picturing the holiday spread, Aziraphale sighed wistfully. "That does sound rather lovely…"
"Well, you wanna come home with me or not?" Brian said with a laugh. "Home sweet home isn't as fancy as Crowley's place, but I think it's pretty great."
"I'd love to! Do I need to bring anything to dinner, or…?" Gabriel had sent him a bit of money in a letter he'd received yesterday that he could use. His father had been brief and to-the-point, as always:
Dear Aziraphale, I'm sending you these funds to support your work helping the lost sinners of your temporary residence. I hope you are well and have had success introducing some new souls to the glory and light of our Lord Jesus. Love, your father
"Nah, we always end up with way too much food. I'm sure my mom will send both of us home with leftovers. Let's leave Wednesday night, 'round 7 if that's OK. It's only, like, an hour away, and we can do some work when we get there and get settled in."
"That would be perfect. I think the pastor is doing his holiday sermon at 5:30 to accommodate all of the students heading home to see their families."
"Great!" Brian chugged some coffee from the mug on his desk and groaned. "Ugh, this is disgusting. Maybe I'll go grab some from the dining hall, you wanna come?"
"Yes, please. I could do with a walk," Aziraphale replied.
After dinner, they parted ways, and Aziraphale left Brian and headed over to the library to see Anathema. He hadn't seen her lately, too busy to do more than dart in to borrow a book or make a photocopy when needed, and he'd promised to tell her about his evening at the garden. (It was the least he could do, really, when it was due to her that the night had been such a success.)
The library was the busiest he'd ever seen it, full of students from different years with piles of books and papers who all had a slightly harried, haunted look about them. He even spotted a few sound asleep, using their backpacks or coats as pillows—some even with pen still in hand.
At the desk, Anathema was refilling a large urn full of coffee. It was next to a handmade sign decorated with stars and leaves that read "YOU CAN DO IT! COFFEE CAN HELP!" in cheery cursive handwriting.
"Coffee in the library? Well, I never," Aziraphale said jokingly. Anathema spun around at the sound, grinning when she saw it was him.
"Thought I could make an exception, since it's finals prep time and all. Which is why, I assume, you've disappeared lately. Have time for tea?" At his nod, she reached behind the desk, plopped a large silver bell on the counter next to the coffee, and jotted a quick note that said "RING BELL FOR HELP".
Aziraphale followed her to her office and sat with a sigh in his usual chair. It felt so nice to just sit and relax and not have to read or write or plan anything for just a moment. His eyes slipped closed and he breathed in the slightly incense-tinged air, until a hot mug was pressed into his hands.
Her own mug in hand, Anathema closed the door so it remained open just a crack, then sat across from him.
"I of course want to hear all about how your classes are going, but first, tell me all about the other night!" She took a sip of tea, and owlish eyes looked up at him from behind her round lenses.
"It was wonderful, I really can't thank you enough…" He described the gardens and the corpse plant in detail, including its awful stench, and detailed his first experience eating sushi.
"It sounds like you had a lot of fun. And did your friend Crowley enjoy his thank-you present? You've barely mentioned him at all."
"Oh, er, I haven't?" Aziraphale's collar suddenly felt tight, and he resisted the urge to yank on it to gain some breathing room. The emotion of Crowley's voice as he thanked him...the sound of his name, his full name, on Crowley's lips… "He had a marvelous time. Ah. Said to say thanks for the suggestion." He looked anywhere but at Anathema as he sipped his tea.
"Aziraphale…" she said gently, setting down her teacup and leaning forward. "Can I ask you something? It's not meant to offend, just...do you like Crowley?"
"Of course, he's a good friend."
"No, I mean, do you...like him? As more than a friend?"
His eyes shot back to hers and saw only warmth, caring, and tentative concern. No, no, no, you can't say anything...It's wrong, you can't let anyone know… His stomach lurched, and he fought the nauseous unease that roiled through him. His breath became shallow and rapid, and his hand shook where it held his mug in a white-knuckled grip.
"Hey, it's all right...Aziraphale, just breathe." Hands took the mug from his, then returned to grip his fingers, now cold and clammy. "In and out, just like that...good." For minutes that felt like hours, Anathema kneeled next to him and held his hands and helped him breathe, until his vision cleared and his lungs worked and he could think again.
"That was a bit scary, wasn't it?" Anathema said in a quiet, gentle murmur, and he nodded as she sat back and released his hands. "Have you ever had a panic attack before?"
"No, I...I…" He clung to the arms of the chair and closed his eyes. Before he could stop it, before he could think, he choked out: "Yes."
"Yes, you have? How did—" Eyes still closed, he shook his head. "Oh. Oh."
He didn't want to see the look he knew would be on her face, the grimace of horror and disgust that would mar her kind features as she told him to get away from her, that it wasn't right, that he was sick for thinking of Crowley that way.
"Aziraphale, please look at me."
He couldn't sit here forever, in her office, in the unseeing dark. The sick feeling threatened to overwhelm him again as he opened his eyes...only to see Anathema watching him with a serious look.
"Can I tell you something? And I want you to really listen, okay?"
"I'm sorry— " he babbled, but she cut him off swiftly.
"Aziraphale," she barked out, the unexpected tone silencing him instantly. "Just listen, hmm?" She sighed and gave him a gentle smile. "It's all right. I know you've been brought up with religion, and you've probably been told that what you're feeling is wrong, but it isn't. Love can never be wrong. It doesn't matter if you're a man who loves a man, or a woman who loves a woman, or a person who doesn't know who they love. You're far from the only one who doesn't fit the definition of what society says is normal. What matters is that you're a good person, who tries so hard to help others and share joy and listen to those who need it. What matters is you care what Crowley thinks of you and want to get to know him better. The only person whose opinion matters about your feelings for Crowley is you." She paused. "Well, and him, maybe, but that's beside the point."
"No, I can't just...be this way. If the church knew, if my father knew, I'd be, I'd be cast out. And for what? A b-boy?" A brilliant, fiery, caring boy whose eyes he didn't even know the color of yet? Who invited him to movies and didn't laugh at his ignorance?
"I know. There are so many people out there who want to fear and hate what's different, what they've been told to shun. It's not easy to fight to be different, but…in the end, you need to decide if it's worth it. If he's worth it to you."
"Oh, Anathema, it's just…I don't even know if he likes me, l-like that."
She laughed. "Well, that's something anyone who falls in love has to deal with. My boyfriend Newt took ages to ask me out."
"I never realized you were in a relationship! How long have you been together?"
"Five years now, I think? He's a reporter for the city gazette, so he can work some pretty odd hours, but it's nice to have someone to come home to after a long day of work." She turned and shoved papers off her desk to uncover a framed photo. In the picture she handed him were herself and a tall, gangly man with short brown hair and glasses.
"You both look so happy," Aziraphale said as he handed it back.
"We are. I think he might propose soon, but knowing him he'll panic about the idea for a few months first."
The sudden ding of the desk bell cut through their conversation. "Be right out!" Anathema called loudly, then stood and turned back to Aziraphale. "Are you going to be all right? Do you want to stay in here for a bit? I can make some more tea."
"No, no, that's quite all right." He stood and straightened his clothes, smoothing the rumples with a nervous hand. "I should get back to studying. But Anathema...thank you. I've never told anyone about...that part of myself...before, and you've given me a lot to think about."
She patted his shoulder as they made their way to the door. "You have some big decisions to make ahead of you. But I'm so grateful you trusted me, and I'm always here if you want to chat. If I don't see you after the break, I'll come find you, even if I have to break into your dorm. So come check in, okay?" They laughed, but the steely look in her eyes told him she was serious.
The bell dinged again, and she rolled her eyes. "Must be out of coffee. Back to work, I suppose."
Several sleepless nights caught up with him, and Aziraphale had to repress his yawns all throughout the Thanksgiving service at the church. The dark, candle-lit room and the drone of Pastor Honeycutt's sermon on family and faith did little to rouse him.
When they knelt for silent prayer at the end of the service, Aziraphale clenched his hands together and prayed harder than he'd prayed in a very long time. Lord, I need you to tell me what's right. I don't think Anathema knows you like I do, but I want to believe her. I want to believe that I can love Crowley, that I can be myself, and still love you as faithfully as I ever have. Although no answer came, a tentative peace settled over him at the relief of having confessed his feelings to Anathema, and now to God.
During the ride to Brian's house, Aziraphale asked question after question about Brian's home and family to deflect his friend's inquiries about how he was doing. (He'd seen the dark circles and drawn look on his face when he'd washed up in the mirror. No wonder Brian thought he was ill.)
Thankfully, they soon arrived at Brian's house. It was a small, two story home with mum-filled flower boxes and a large, tree-spotted yard. The sound of barking began as they unloaded the car. As they made their way up the drive, a woman opened the door, allowing an explosion of fur to dart out, race down the lawn, and rocket up at Aziraphale. The dog's damp tongue licked at his jaw as he stumbled and tried not to fall over.
"Scruff, get down! Down! Come here!" Brian's mother grabbed the dog's collar, then held the door open. "So sorry about him, he's just excited to meet you. Aziraphale, am I saying that right?"
"Yes, and it's no trouble. I love dogs." Truthfully, larger dogs sometimes made him nervous, but Scruff looked like a benign, if energetic, beast.
"I'm so glad you could join us for Thanksgiving! We always end up with so much food—"
Brian sighed. "I know, mom, I told him."
"Well, let me give you the tour and show you where you're staying. Brian's room should be fairly clean, since I made him pick it up last time he was home."
Brian's home wasn't as sparse as his own, or as richly decorated as Crowley's, but it had a homey, lived-in feeling to it that put Aziraphale at ease. The living room contained worn but comfortable-looking furniture and stacks of dog-eared books and magazines near the television. The kitchen looked like a grocery store had landed in it, and Brian's mother shooed them out quickly, apologizing for the mess. Upstairs, she walked right past Brian's brother's room with a wave of a hand and a roll of her eyes. "I haven't seen Steven's room in weeks. I don't even want to know what a disaster it is in there. But here's the bathroom, and here's Brian's room!"
"Okay, thanks mom. We gotta do some homework tonight, so we'll hang here until dinner."
She peeked at her watch. "Your father should be home soon, so we'll eat around 8:30. I hope that's not too late? Roger had to finish up some things before the day off tomorrow."
After Aziraphale assured her it was fine, she left them to return to the kitchen. Brian collapsed on his bed with a sigh, leaving Aziraphale to set his things down and inspect his surroundings. Every wall was covered with band posters, and his desk was cluttered with cassettes, yellowed science-fiction paperbacks, and what appeared to be electronic parts. A small TV sat in the corner on a plastic milk crate, with a beanbag chair nearby.
"Your room is awesome," Aziraphale said, hoping he was using the right slang. Brian's offer of a high-five confirmed his success.
After clearing off the desk for Aziraphale to work, Brian plopped cross-legged back onto the bed with his books, and they worked quietly until Brian's mother called up the stairs for dinner.
