An idea occurred him, Azira had another clue, Anthony was a professor at University College London, he could go there and investigate.
CHAPTER 9 Phones & Calls
Aziraphale awoke with the first rays of dawn gently warming the cosy upstairs apartment of his bookshop. He stretched, feeling a sense of contentment wash over him. Surprisingly he had slept quite well that night, he had only read a couple of pages before slumber had took him to where the golden eyes looked over him.
He couldn't help but replay the evening in his mind, savouring every moment Anthony and him had shared. The promise of their next meeting hung in the air making him feel nervous and somehow scared. That feeling had come to him suddenly, as Anthony had proposed to take him home. The idea, stupid and illogical had rooted then into his mind: they had spent too much time together and someone might see them, harm Anthony, punish them both.
While he rode back in the bus, he reflected over the strange feeling, like an instinct of long repeated customs. The idea of having someone find out about their friendship could be dangerous clinked to Azira's heart like a parasite, it made no sense. An instinct called him for secrecy, Azira feels that he must keep his distance, as in a dance, close but not together, that if Anthony takes a step forward he must take one step back.
As he arrived home last night he had decided that fear, that instinct made no sense. They were two grown men, and they can do whatever they want with their time. There was nothing wrong with them being close.
As Aziraphale went about his morning routine in the bookshop, the warm afterglow of his time with Anthony still enveloped him. It was a feeling he hadn't experienced in years, a sense of connection and camaraderie that had been sorely missing from his life. Yet, along with the excitement came a nagging worry – how would he ever contact Anthony again?
Lost in thought, he absently straightened a stack of books on a nearby table. The bookshop, with its ancient tomes and well-worn leather bindings, seemed to echo his musings. Azira couldn't help but smile at the comforting familiarity of it all. This place had always been his sanctuary, a haven of knowledge and solitude.
His hand occasionally brushed against the pocket square embroidered with "A.J.C," a small but significant reminder of the enigmatic man who had entered his life. Azira had no phone number, no email address, not even a last name to help him find Anthony. All he had was that initial, "Anthony – A.J.C." It was a frustratingly incomplete puzzle.
Aziraphale had never been one to use modern technology much, and his quaint little bookshop didn't even have an internet, having to go over to use Maggie's laptop to use eBay and his email. He preferred the tangible world of books, where pages could be turned, and knowledge could be found in the musty scent of ancient volumes. But in this moment, he wished he had a way to reach out to Anthony, to confirm their plans for the weekend, and to express his eagerness to see him again.
Azira continued to ponder the situation as he assisted the occasional customer, his thoughts drifting back to Barrie, or rather, Mr. Brown, who had been a fixture in his life for years. But now, in the light of his newfound connection with Anthony, Azira couldn't help but see the stark contrast between the two.
Mr. Brown had always been a safe companion, a predictable presence that drew no attention. Their friendship had been polite but strained, characterized by a lack of genuine connection. It had been more of a formality, and Azira realized that he had allowed Mr. Brown to control and dictate much of their interactions.
Anthony, on the other hand, was an entirely different story. Azira had never looked at Mr. Brown the way he looked at Anthony. The mere thought of Anthony's presence made his heart race, and he couldn't deny the physical attraction he felt. There was something about the way Anthony moved, the warmth in his eyes, and the kindness in his gestures that drew Azira in.
What puzzled Azira even more was the sense of familiarity he felt with Anthony, as if they had known each other for much longer than just a day. It was as though Anthony had slipped seamlessly into the space in Azira's heart that had been empty for so long. Azira couldn't explain it, but it felt right.
However, as the day wore on, that nagging doubt persisted. Azira had made no attempt to ask for Anthony's contact information, and now he was left without a way to reach out. He had agreed to meet Anthony the following weekend, but what if Anthony didn't call or show up? The fear of losing this newfound connection began to gnaw at Azira.
Lost in these thoughts, Azira realized that he had to find a way to contact Anthony. He couldn't leave their future meetings to chance, especially when this friendship felt so precious and unique. The question was, how would he track down a man known only by his initials? Azira resolved to find a way, for he couldn't bear the thought of letting Anthony slip through his fingers.
The bell above the shop's entrance chimed, signaling the arrival of a customer. Aziraphale looked up from his book and adjusted his round glasses, his friendly smile ready to greet whoever had ventured into his sanctuary of literature.
Turning around, Azira was taken aback to see Barrie Brown standing there, holding a bouquet of flowers. It was an unexpected sight, and part of Azira's heart ached with a strange sense of nostalgia. Barrie had always been polite, well-mannered, and he had known Azira for years. He had been there during some of the loneliest times in Azira's life, and old habits die hard.
"Mr. Brown," Azira greeted him, his tone cautious but not unkind. "
Barrie smiled, his charm always just a little too polished. "I thought I'd stop by and bring you these flowers, Azira. I... I've missed our friendship, and I wanted to apologize for my behavior."
Azira hesitated, his gaze shifting from the bouquet to Barrie's earnest expression. Forgiveness had always been a part of his nature, and he couldn't deny that Barrie's presence stirred up memories of the past. But things had changed, and Azira needed to set clear boundaries.
Taking a deep breath, Azira finally spoke. "Thank you for the flowers, Mr. Brown. I appreciate the gesture, but I think it's best if we establish some boundaries moving forward. I've found myself in a different place now, and I need my space. Please, don't bring me any more gifts, and I'd prefer it if you didn't visit the shop unanounced."
Barrie's smile faltered slightly, and Azira could see the gears turning in his mind "Azira, please, I understand that things have changed," Barrie began, his tone gentle. "But we've been friends for so long. Can't we find a way to reconnect? I've missed you terribly, and I promise I won't be overbearing."
There was space between the two of them, enought for Azira to feel safe. "Barrie... Mr. Brown, I appreciate our history, I truly do," Azira replied, his voice steady. "But I need to move forward in a different direction. Please respect my wishes."
Barrie seemed to hesitate for a moment longer, but then he nodded, his expression resigned as he placed the bouquet on a stall of books. "Very well, Azira. I won't push you. If this is what you need, then I'll respect it. But know that I'm here if you ever change your mind."
Azira offered a small, sad smile. "Thank you. I hope you understand."
Barrie nodded, his gaze downcast, and he took a step back. "I understand, Azira. I just wanted you to know how truly sorry I am. If you ever decide that you can forgive me, I'll be here."
Aziraphale watched as Barrie left the shop, the doorbell chiming softly in his wake. He held the bouquet of flowers in his hands, their vibrant colours contrasting with the quiet solitude of the bookshop. As he set the flowers aside and returned to his books, Aziraphale's thoughts drifted back to Anthony. The upcoming weekend with his new friend brought a sense of anticipation and excitement that overshadowed the complexities of his past with Barrie. In Anthony, he had found a connection that felt genuine and promising, and he looked forward to their next meeting with hope in his heart.
Outside the shop, two people dressed in practically white suits watched as Barrie emerged smiling, without the bouquet.
"Those two are still on it." One said.
The other one scrunched his nose. "Disgusting."
Having an assistant had come surprisingly with some perks, he had his own office. Professor Anthony J. Crowley sat at his desk, his long fingers idly tapping against the sleek, black phone sitting before him. It was a rather plain office, it had been some bloke office until his retirement. He couldn't remember his name, but there had been a bit of a conundrum revolving who was going to take possession of the space. Now it was his office, shared with his assistant, Anna. A few remnants of the previous occupant's presence remained – the dull yellowish-grey furniture, a bookcase void of books, and an old, comfortable chair.
Anna was at her desk, and Anthony could sense her sadness, the quiet tears that fell when she thought he wasn't looking. It grated on his nerves, but at the same time, it tugged at something deeper within him, a desire to help, to soothe her pain. He wanted to maintain his facade of being hard and carefree, but beneath it all, he had a kind and compassionate side, and Anna's tears brought that out.
However, at this moment, his thoughts weren't entirely on Anna. They were consumed by memories of Azira, the gentle bookseller he had met at the market and shared an unexpectedly wonderful evening with at a Japanese restaurant. Azira had caught his attention in a way that no one else had ever. It wasn't just the physical attraction, though Azira's soft features and warm smile certainly played a part. It was something deeper, something Anthony couldn't quite put into words.
Azira's kindness had struck a chord with him. He had overheard Azira talking about his financial struggles and how he had chosen to condone his tenants' rents during difficult times. It was a generosity of spirit that resonated with Anthony, who had seen his fair share of selfishness in the world. Azira's softness, his gentle demeanor, had made Anthony feel strangely safe and complete.
He wanted to see Azira again, and knowing they hadn't stated a concrete day and hour to their outing at Spitalfields, Anthony decided to take the initiative. He leaned back in his chair, his fingers dancing over the keys of his computer keyboard. He clear mental image of the front of Azira's bookshop, 'AZ. FELL AND Co' he was curious to know more.
A quick search led him to an eBay shop and a Google Maps page for Azira's bookshop. Anthony's sharp eyes scanned the information, and there it was – a phone number. Eager to call Azira and confirm their next outing. He reached for his phone, intending to jot down the number he had found online.
But as he began to enter the digits, his phone's predictive text feature surprised him. It suggested an already recorded contact: Aziraphale. His brow furrowed in confusion as he tried to recall when and why he had saved this contact. He tapped on it to investigate further, finding that the number was indeed correct, accompanied by a random image of fire forming hearts.
His confusion deepened. Anthony had no recollection of adding Aziraphale to his contacts, and the mysterious photo only added to his bewilderment. He briefly considered the possibility that someone had shared the contact with him in the past, but the details remained hazy. Ultimately, he decided to make a more logical adjustment, changing the contact name to Azira Fell. Anthony wondered if he should change the photo. Would it be embarrassing if Azira saw it? After all, it did seem oddly fitting – the fiery imagery suited Azira's passionate nature, anyone how had seen him eat a sushi roll would agree on it. And the hearts… well, Azira was quite lovely. In the end, Anthony chose to leave the photo as it was.
With the number now properly saved, Anthony dialled it with determination. The phone rang several times, and just as he began to wonder if Azira would pick up, the call was abruptly cut off. There was no answering machine, no way to leave a message. Frustration welled up inside him, and he redialled the number, hoping for a response, but still, there was none.
As his attempts to reach Azira were met with silence, Anthony's irritation grew. He couldn't focus while Anna's constant weeping continued in the background He finally snapped, unable to bear it any longer.
"What's wrong, Anna? I can't work with your constant moping," Anthony said, his tone sharp and impatient.
Anna looked up from behind her computer, her eyes red and her nose puffy from crying. "I'd be surprised if you actually worked. You haven't made any progress in your research in years. I'm the one doing all the thinking here," she retorted, her voice on the verge of tears.
Crowley was not about to reveal that he had been sleeping most of the time instead of working. Instead, he responded with a touch of his usual wit, attempting to deflect the tension. "Well, someone has to keep the place interesting. Can't have you thinking you're the star of the show, can we?"
However, before the banter could continue, Anna dropped a bombshell that left Anthony stunned. "I'm pregnant."
Anthony's snarky demeanor vanished in an instant as he processed Anna's unexpected revelation. He blinked, his sharp wit suddenly failing him, replaced by a mixture of surprise and concern. "Pregnant?" he repeated, his voice softer and filled with genuine worry.
Anna nodded, tears welling up in her eyes once more. "Yes," she replied, her voice trembling. "I haven't told anyone. It's... it's a lot to take in."
Crowley leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he contemplated the situation. He hadn't been expecting this turn of events. "Are you... alright?" he asked cautiously, his concern evident. "I mean, it's a big change."
Anna sighed, her shoulders slumping as she wiped away a tear. "I don't know, Anthony. I'm scared, confused, and I have no idea what to do next."
Anthony, despite his often brusque exterior, felt a surge of compassion for his assistant. He leaned forward, his expression softening. "We'll figure this out, Anna," he said reassuringly. "We'll take it one step at a time. Do you have anyone you can talk to about this? Family or friends who can offer support?"
Anna nodded, a small smile breaking through her tears. "Yes, I have my sister. She's been through this before, so she'll be a great help."
"That's good," Anthony replied, relieved that Anna had someone to turn to. "And if you need time off or any assistance, just let me know. We'll make it work." As Anthony offered his support and reassurances, a question nagged at the back of his mind. He hesitated for a moment, debating whether to ask, but his curiosity got the better of him. "Anna," he began cautiously, "if you don't mind me asking, do you... want to talk about the father?"
Anna's expression tightened, and she looked down at her desk, her fingers tracing patterns on the surface. "Not really," she admitted quietly. "It's... complicated."
Anthony nodded, respecting her decision not to delve into that topic further. "Alright," he said gently. "I won't push. Just know that I'm here for you, whatever you need."
Anna offered a small, grateful smile as she wiped away another tear. "Thank you, Anthony. I appreciate your understanding."
As the days passed by, Azira's unease grew. He found himself returning to the park, hoping to catch a glimpse of Anthony near the lake. Each visit was tinged with a sense of longing and uncertainty, the feeling that he was searching for something just out of reach.
Each passing day brought a mixture of hope and disappointment. He checked his bookshop's doorstep, half-expecting to find a note from Anthony or some indication of their next meeting. But there was nothing, just the familiar scent of old books and the quiet solitude of his shop.
Azira couldn't help but wonder if Anthony had forgotten him or if their encounter hadn't meant as much to him as it had to Azira. Doubts crept in, and he questioned whether he had misread the connection they had shared. Maybe Barrie had experienced a similar situation with him. Maybe Anthony had a family or a partner.
Despite the uncertainty, Azira refused to give in to despair. He knew that sometimes, fate had a way of bringing people back together, and he clung to the hope that he would see Anthony again. In the quiet moments between customers in his bookshop, Azira would occasionally steal a glance at the door, half-expecting Anthony to walk in. The bell above the entrance remained silent, and Azira's heart ached with longing.
He had found something special in Anthony – a kindred spirit, a friend, perhaps even more. Azira was determined not to let the opportunity slip through his fingers. He longed for the chance to explore this new chapter in his life, to nurture the budding friendship that had taken root in his heart.
What puzzled Azira even more was the sense of familiarity he felt with Anthony, as if they had known each other for much longer than just a day. It was as though Anthony had slipped seamlessly into the space in Azira's heart that had been empty for so long. Azira couldn't explain it, but it felt right.
However, as the day wore on, that nagging doubt persisted. Was it his fault? Azira had made no attempt to ask for Anthony's contact information, and now he was left without a way to reach out. He had agreed to meet Anthony the following weekend, but what if Anthony didn't call or show up? The fear of losing this newfound connection began to gnaw at Azira.
Lost in these thoughts, Azira realized that he had to find a way to contact Anthony. He couldn't leave their future meetings to chance, especially when this friendship felt so precious and unique. The question was, how would he track down a man known only by his initials? Azira resolved to find a way, for he couldn't bear the thought of letting Anthony slip through his fingers.
An idea occurred him, Azira had another clue, Anthony was a professor at University College London, he could go there and investigate.
Crowley stood before Azira's bookshop, his sleek black car parked nearby. The blinds were drawn shut, and a sign declared the place "Closed." The overcast sky threatened rain, and a faint scent of petrichor lingered in the air, promising a downpour that matched the uncertainty that clouded Crowley's mind. He couldn't help but feel a touch of melancholy as he glanced at neatly written note with the opening hours of the bookshop. They were erratic, to say the least, it seemed a deliberate effort to baffle any potential customers. Azira could have easily replaced the sign with one that said, "Open When You Least Expect It."
A heavy sigh escaped Crowley's lips as he contemplated his next move. It was the third day in a row that the bookshop had been closed during regular working hours, and his attempts to contact Azira had gone unanswered. He had even sent a message through eBay, which he suspected Azira hadn't read yet. The idea of slipping a note under the door had crossed his mind, but he had a sinking feeling that Azira wasn't anywhere near the premises.
As he stood there, his phone clutched in his hand, Crowley couldn't help but let his thoughts wander. He felt a mixture of anxiety and hope swirling within him. Would Azira respond to his call? Perhaps he should station himself in front of the bookstore until Azira appeared. The uncertainty gnawed at him, and he couldn't deny the sense of longing that had taken hold of him.
With another weary sigh, Crowley decided to give the phone number another try. After all, wasn't he always the eternal optimist? His fingers danced over the screen as he dialled the number, and he held the phone to his ear, waiting for a response.
"AZ FELL and Co, how can I help you?" came a voice on the other end of the line.
Crowley's heart leaped at the sound of that voice, and a sense of relief and excitement coursed through him. It was Azira.
"Ah, finally!" Crowley said, his voice tinged with both frustration and relief.
"Anthony?" Azira said his name in a surprised and delighted tone. "Is that you?"
Crowley couldn't help but let out a soft, fond chuckle. "Yes, it's me, angel," he replied warmly. "I've been trying to reach your bookshop for days, but no one answered."
"I'm so sorry," Azira apologized, his voice laced with regret. "I didn't have a way to reach you either. I wanted to see you again, but I didn't know how."
Azira's admission had confirmed what Anthony had suspected – they had both been searching for a way to reconnect, just as Anthony had been hoping for.
Anthony could hear the genuine remorse in Azira's voice, and he quickly reassured him. "No need to apologize, Azira. I'm just relieved to hear your voice."
Azira's anxiety seemed to melt away, replaced by a sense of relief and happiness that mirrored Anthony's own feelings. "I've been thinking about our next meeting," Azira admitted softly. "I wanted to see you again."
Anthony's heart warmed at those words, and a smile found its way into his tone. "That's wonderful to hear, angel. I've missed our conversations and your company."
Azira's admission resonated deeply with Anthony. He had missed Azira more than he had expected, and their connection, though brief, had left an indelible mark on him.
"Is there still a chance for us to meet this weekend?" Anthony inquired, hope lacing his words.
Azira's response was eager and affirmative. "Yes, yes, of course! I'd love to meet in the market."
Relief flooded Anthony's voice as he replied, "Fantastic! How about tomorrow, around noon? Does that work for you?"
Azira's excitement was palpable in his response. "Tomorrow at noon sounds perfect, Anthony."
Anthony couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness at Azira's enthusiasm. It was as if their connection had rekindled a dormant part of himself. It seemed ridiculous to talk to someone on the phone with them so close, it would have been so easy to cross the street and knock on the door.
Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, Azira cleared his throat at the other end of the line, which was really a few feet away from him inside the bookshop. "By the way, Anthony," Azira began hesitantly, "I realized I don't know your full name. Would you mind sharing it with me?"
Anthony's lips curled into a playful grin on the other end of the line. "Ah, you see, angel, I like to keep a little mystery about myself. But since you asked so nicely, it's Anthony J. Crowley."
"And the J?" Asked Azira, curiosity in his soft voice.
Crowley blinked, he didn't know, he didn't know his own name. "It is just a J really."
There was a moment of surprised silence on the line, and then Azira's laughter bubbled through. "Anthony J. Crowley, it suits you," he replied with a hint of amusement. "Thank you for the introduction."
Anthony chuckled in response. "You're most welcome, angel." Anthony's smirk widened. "Glad you think so, Azira. Now, what's this about needing my full name? Planning to run a background check on me?"
Azira's laughter was melodic. "Oh, no, nothing like that. I just wanted to know the name of the person who's been occupying my thoughts."
Anthony's heart skipped a beat at those words, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of affection for Azira. "Well, Azira Fell," he said, using Azira's full name with equal emphasis, "I'm delighted to be on your mind. And speaking of sharing, how about we exchange phone numbers?"
There was a moment of silence, and then Azira confessed, "I must admit, Anthony, I don't have a mobile phone, just the one here at the bookshop."
Anthony couldn't hide his astonishment at this revelation. "No mobile phone? Angel, you're a rare breed these days. I'm rather impressed."
Azira chuckled softly. "It's not so much a deliberate shunning, Anthony. I suppose I've just never seen the need for one."
Anthony found himself even more intrigued by Azira, and wondered if at some point he would become a reason for Azira to buy a phone. "You know, Azira, you're full of surprises. Write down my number, I always carry my phone with me. We'll have to delve deeper into your motives for eschewing modern technology when we meet tomorrow."
Azira agreed with a warm laugh, and they continued their conversation, exchanging contact information and solidifying their plans for the upcoming meeting.
As they said their goodbyes, Azira placed the phone back on his pocket, a radiant smile gracing his lips. He had found a way to reconnect with Anthony, and the prospect of their upcoming meeting filled him with joy. The thought of seeing Azira again filled Anthony with anticipation, and he couldn't wait for tomorrow at noon.
Again, thank you very much for your comments.
Do you think they are going too fast?
