A month later it's the Bentley. THE BENTLEY grinds its tires in front of the bookshop for the first time, parking with a skid, setting a precedent that should make all of Soho feel a disturbance in the universe. "Prepare to see that Bentley out there dozens and dozens and dozens and dozens of times."
The owner, grinning because he's perfectly parked it on the first try in the coolest move in the short history of automobiles. He steps out, pulling a box from the back seat and resting it on his hip.
He slams the door hard because we still haven't mastered the necessary force to close it, then crosses the street, tapping on the glass door of the bookshop.
"Closed!" shouts the angel's voice from inside the store, which Crowley must have noticed has modernized QUITE A BIT... A LOT since the last time he was here.
Crowley snaps his fingers to open it anyway and sticks his head in Flintstones-style. "Wilma! I'm home!"
"It's me."
"Ahh... umm... ahh... come in", then SOMETHING falls in Aziraphale's back room. "I'm back here, don't throw anything!"
Crowley enters, closes the door behind him, goes to the counter, and looks around because a century ago he would have bet that there was no more room for books here. "No, sir. Not one more. Like I'll go around the world in seventy-nine days if you manage to fit one more book in this place." And... surprise, surprise. Not only had he fitted ONE. He should have gone around the world in a bloody millisecond, if that was even a real measure of time. He stacks the books on the counter a bit to make space and carefully places the box down.
"It's hard not to throw anything, still not sure if it would fell to the floor... What are you doing?"
"I'm busy," the angel concludes. He's sitting at his desk without turning to Crowley.
"Will it take long? I brought you something," he approaches, poking his head to see if he's visible. "And it's Thursday."
"Thursday. Yes, yes it is Thursday," the angel nods, making sure he is there before turning, just for the dramatic effect.
"Come on, let's go... or I'm opening it without you!" the demon smiles, hopeful.
Aziraphale squints.
"And I'm going to install it without you, wherever I want!" he continues, tempting.
The angel raises his eyebrows now. INSTALL. Okay, he takes off his glasses and turns to where Crowley should appear, who's there, waiting, standing, leaning on something, and holding something else, feigning disinterest.
"Before that..."
The demon tilts his head, looking at him.
"I think it's your turn to dance," he looks intensely into his eyes with a gaze that makes him falter a bit and even swallow.
"Oh, come on!"
"Ohh, yes" he straightens his clothes leisurely.
"No. No, no, no, no" the demon refuses, frowning.
"It's not a question," the angel holds his gaze.
"Come on, I refuse! I've already brought you a gift! What about the non-aggression pacts!?" he protests, dropping what he had in his hands and pointing to the counter.
"This has nothing to do with that. It's only fair that after a hundred years... and a month more. It's your turn to do the little dance."
"And what about you with the holy water?!" he protests, taking a step back.
"That's not for apologizing, I still maintain it's very dangerous, even more after a hundred years," he gestures with his hands and head, unfazed.
"I'm perfectly capable of handling it!" he protests.
"Or not," he glares.
"You don't know that," he glances sideways.
"Then we're not going to find out! If you're not, YOU DISAPPEAR.
"I'm not going to disappear with that," Crowley rolls his eyes.
"I want my dance," Aziraphale frowns determinedly because all this argument is all well and good, but that's not the point.
"C-Come on, it's... a s-stupid thing to do," his eyes betray a hint of terror, knowing that he has already lost this battle before it even started...
Aziraphale clasps his hands, still sitting, looking at him seriously and not responding. Waiting.
"Isn't this really necessary? REALLY?" last desperate attempt at negotiation dot jpg.
"Absolutely necessary."
He squints because besides, all this just prolongs the agony and makes everything more ridiculous if possible. He takes a deep breath, knowing he won't be able to avoid this, and he'll suffer until it's over, even if it's from embarrassment.
Oh yes. Thank goodness you're alive, now you're going to suffer until you die, even if it's from embarrassment.
He takes a deep breath, takes off his glasses, with his eyes closed because they're too cool to be seen doing this, folds them carefully and puts them in his pocket, and runs his hand through his hair trying to dissociate from this. Come on, Crowley, it's nothing, in an instant this will be over and we can move on. You can do this. No one can say you're afraid of an angel.
The loooook. He takes and releases a breath a couple of times, moving his hands loosely as if he's warming up.
"Really? REALLY is this necessary?" last desperate attempt at negotiation 1 dot jpg.
"Indispensable."
He squints because, furthermore, all this only serves to prolong the agony and make everything more ridiculous if possible. He takes a deep breath again, determined not to give up his right to grumble and do this stupid dance in the most sarcastic way possible before turning back outside as if he hadn't just done that, putting on his stupid sunglasses so as not to see him face to face.
Aziraphale smiles.
Crowley doesn't even turn to see if he follows, he goes straight to the box he brought to fight with the tapes holding it closed because now we're unloading our frustration on them.
"So, a gift?" Aziraphale follows.
Crowley glances at him for a second and doesn't answer, turning back to the tapes.
"What is it?" the angel sounds very cheerful now.
"Open it. We're going to need a wall to hang it on."
"A... wall?"
"Yep." the demon cuts one of the tapes.
"But what is it? If it's something infernal, I shouldn't have it," he points out, although he insists on... being extremely curious.
"It's not infernal, it's modern! Although it is black." He cuts another tape and steps aside to let him open it.
"It's modern... Ugh. And black." He takes the flaps of the box, opening it. It's... a telephone. Wall-mounted. With its bells and its dial.
"This... what..." Aziraphale blinks.
"It's a telephone!" Crowley exclaims happily, going to take it out of the box.
"A-A... No! No, no... no. That... That can't go in a house!"
"This isn't a house, it's a shop, and they're made for this." He lifts it up and looks around for a place to put it.
"But it doesn't have to... no... I can't have one of those infernal contraptions!"
"It's not infernal, it's modern!" He exclaims again and goes to a wall he likes to put it there, seeing how it looks.
"B-But who am I going to call?"
"Well, me." He glances at him, seeing if he thinks it looks good where he put it.
"Ugh... No, no. Books go there."
"Books go everywhere. And wait until you hear how it sounds." He snaps his fingers, miraculously installing it on the wall, then tilts his head, stepping back a bit to see if it's crooked.
"IT SOUNDS?"
"The good part is, if you call me and I'm asleep, you'll wake me up." He smiles.
Aziraphale raises his eyebrows a bit at that...
"Let's try it out." He goes to the box where there's also a telephone directory.
"But who am I calling?"
"Look, here's a book where all the city's numbers are listed, see?" He shows it to him. The angel wrinkles his nose but looks anyway. "We look for one..." He opens a random page and then goes to the phone, picking up the receiver and handing it to Aziraphale.
The angel doesn't know what to do... with it, he puts it to his mouth. I mean, not inside his mouth, but like a microphone, as if he's going to speak. Crowley dials the number with the dial one by one like an idiot, giving a few jumps because look how cool this is and so modern.
Aziraphale has no idea what he's doing.
"HELLO! THIS IS MR. A. Z. Fell!" he shouts into the receiver.
"Here you put the number with the wheel and..." He looks at him. "No, that's for hearing, you talk here!" He laughs.
"Oh... oh. Um... Hello? HELLO?"
"Yes?" he hears through the receiver.
"OHHH, UM... HELLO!"
"Who's calling?"
"Don't shout, you're supposed to be heard through the phone, not down the street." Crowley assures him.
"THIS IS A. Z. Fell."
"Oh, hello Mr. Fell. What can I do for you?"
"Um... me? Well... I wanted to try this."
"I mean... tell me." The voice on the phone continues.
"Tell you?"
"Oh, um... Yes, of course, thank you. That's all. Ciao." Crowley assures, taking the receiver from him and hanging it up on the phone. He looks at Aziraphale.
"Oh..."
"Is it or is it not super cool?" He smiles.
"I-It's... ugh. Don't make that face," Aziraphale protests a little, but a smile slips out because he missed him, damn it.
"Ha! You did like it. I'm still not sure how to make it call ME SPECIFICALLY, but I think... my number appears in the phone book, so surely if you try it, it works." He snaps his fingers and if it didn't appear before, it appears now.
Maybe the operator...
That part of the explanation seemed too difficult to Crowley and he didn't understand it, so he decided to ignore it.
"But you can't use it at night," he adds, because... there are few of us but...
"Use it at night for what?"
"Nor especially early in the morning. It doesn't work before twelve, that's a fact." Because we don't believe in mornings and neither does the phone. Wait until it rings one day at nine in the morning and you'll see.
"Hmmm, how does this wake you up?"
"You'll see, you just... leave it there and... don't make it explode."
"It explodes? Remove that immediately from here!"
"It won't explode if YOU don't make it explode. I mean that you treat it with more love than you treat the real estate agents who want to buy the bookshop from you."
"I don't make things explode, I'm an ANGEL."
Crowley makes a face of circumstance because he's still using that to justify anything at this point...
"Don't look at me like that, I'm not going to mistake you for a real estate agent."
"May Satan save me from that. You should be very blind and I very poorly dressed," he takes a couple of steps away from the phone and looks around... then puts his hands in his pockets and looks at him, "Well, do you want to go out or not?"
"I shouldn't," the angel assures, smiling at him and... going for his jacket.
"Probably not," the demon smiles back.
"At least not with you. Do you want to go for a drink first? I know a place on the way."
"Your call," he smiles more because also... changes his weight from heels to toes.
Aziraphale squints because that's a bit suspicious and then goes to the door, desperate.
"You did the dance and I'm in charge..."
"You... hurry up, okay?" he rolls his eyes with the door open.
"Okay, okay... although I shouldn't go," he repeats, taking his cane and putting on his hat.
"I shouldn't go with an octogenarian," he mocks the cane, rolling his eyes.
"I'm not eighty and neither are you. Let's call a cab," Aziraphale is also quite impressed that Crowley said "octogenarian" correctly. Sleep certainly rests the brain.
"For what?" THE SMILE.
"Well, to go..."
"And wouldn't you rather we go in... ooouuursss," he steps out and stands in front of the Bentley, smiling and gesturing with his hands, unaware that he has just made the biggest mistake of his life with that plural.
Uuuuuuuhhhhhhh.
"In ours..." he repeats behind him, looking at him and taking a few seconds to process. "Oh... you've... oooohhhh!"
"Look at you... you're so pretty..." he assures the car, caressing the bodywork a little. "Tell me it's not the prettiest thing you've ever seen."
Aziraphale blushes for a moment thinking he's talking about him... and then clears his throat a bit.
"Come on, get in!" Crowley smiles, gesturing to Aziraphale, so happy, opening the door and getting in on the driver's side.
"Um... ehhhh... I-I... I know it... it's pretty" he approaches and tries to open the door.
Crowley settles in without putting on the seatbelt, not because he's a demon, it's just that safety used to seem like a secondary matter and he doesn't even have any. Aziraphale sits down carefully, stretching his back.
"Look how... spacious it is. Although I liked having the door closed for me."
"Are you ready?" the demon asks ignoring the usual complaints.
"Ready?" he isn't and never will be, not now, not EVER.
Crowley starts the engine, making a big NOISE and pulling on three hundred levers that nowadays, thanks to whoever, no longer exist.
"Oh, dear God."
"Where to, my lord?" he asks a bit mockingly.
"It's so noisy!"
Rolling eyes.
"Um... go east."
Crowley looks at him sideways to see if he's pointing because... he's not Christopher Columbus, you know?
"That way!"
There he goes, turning the steering wheel... and moving the car sloooowly.
Slowly? Oh. Aziraphale smiles a little.
He's still very new and doesn't quite know it yet and he likes it a lot and doesn't want to scratch it.
All cute.
As they reach a slightly wider and longer street, the pressure starts to build.
"I should take you on the motorway so you can see how fast this baby goes!"
"Oh... no, no, wait... Ahhhhh!"
"Look, look!" He gives a couple of sudden jerks of the steering wheel at the last second, dodging things, and laughs a bit like a maniac.
"Aaaahhhh!" And at that moment, Aziraphale's manicured nails meet the dashboard/car door, marking the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
Crowley slows down a bit, still laughing, because of Aziraphale's face.
"Watch... the lady, the lady! Aaaah! No, no... iiiiiihhhhh"
"It's fine!" he exclaims, looking at him while adjusting the steering wheel.
"It's not fine! Ahhhh!"
"You're being dramatic. Do I continue on this street?"
"You're going so fast I can't even see what street it is!"
"Let's see, wait..." He releases the steering wheel and reaches to open the glove compartment and rummage inside.
"Aaaah!" the high-pitched squeal. He snaps his fingers and they, along with the car, come to a stop on the side of the street, parked, as if they had been there forever.
Crowley blinks, lifting his head from inside the glove compartment, wondering what he did. Aziraphale breathes a sigh of relief, still clutching the car handle.
Truth be told, someone passing by might think the redhead was giving the blonde guy a blowjob. What a scandal!
Blink. Why?! No blowjob happening here!
Because the demon lifted his head from his lap and the angel looked relieved.
"What happened?" Crowley asks.
"You need to learn to drive before doing this!" Aziraphale protests, squeezing his eyes shut.
"I can drive."
"For the last five minutes! You almost ran over... you saw..." he didn't even have time to pray, for goodness' sake.
"I saw everything. Come on..." the demon complains again.
"But it's just that..." Aziraphale glances at him sideways thinking Crowley did look so happy driving and besides, he hadn't killed anyone and he did the little dance. Yes, he did.
"O-Okay. Let's go."
"Where to?"
"I-It's in Dagenham, a little beyond Barking."
"Next stop, Dagenham, a little beyond Barking," he mocks his accent and starts the car again, leaving what he was looking for in the glove compartment.
"It'll take a miracle for us not to kill someone" he whispers.
"That's your department, definitely."
"Okay, okay. A small miracle to save lives, I think heaven won't mind this as a frivolous miracle," so here he goes, he waves his hand, now that they don't need to snap their fingers anymore.
Crowley rolls his eyes again because he's being so dramatic, while still driving. He could've done one to avoid the traffic.
This miracle might still be active today... Now that's frivolous, Crowley. But it would be useful, nevertheless he didn't do it.
Aziraphale prays quietly, very quietly, looking with only one eye. We must say miraculously some people are saved.
"Ugh! Don't pray here, you'll make everything messy and smell weird!"
"Okay, okay! Ugh, it's just that..."
"Is there anything or anyone I should know about from this place?" Crowley asks, trying to see if talking about something else relaxes him a bit.
"Um... I don't know who's going to be there, but actually, unfortunately, you missed out on the interesting people." Ahem... Oscar.
"Dead?"
"Yes," Aziraphale sighs dramatically.
"That's what humans do, you can't get attached to them."
"This one was a bit different. You would have liked him."
Crowley pauses any train of thought because it's not "some guys, haha, how funny, too bad they're dead." It's one SPECIFIC guy. He looks at him out of the corner of his eye for longer than is comfortable and longer than he should while driving.
"Indeed, the 'almost' didn't come often. Anyway, I think you should know that everyone is very laid-back and friendly and smiley so you have to smile too."
Crowley gives him a mocking fake smile.
"So..."
"So... What do they know about you?"
"They know I have a bookshop in Soho, that I like music, they don't know what I am, but they know I don't have a wife and kids, and they all seem to like me quite a bit."
"Don't you dare tell them I'm a bookseller too. NO dare, just don't," he warns, glancing at him.
"You could be in a choir."
"From the church. No."
"It could be a secular choir."
"No."
"Play an instrument? Be a car salesman?"
"Better let me handle that part, maybe no one will ask me."
"Ugh, fine, fine. But don't overdo it," he says, thinking that... well, he's going to like him MUCH better.
"Nyah-nyah," eye roll. "And now? Do I park?"
"M-More ahead, in front of the church."
He's going to try to skid again because... we're trying to impress someone, but shhh. I guess the Bentley helps. And the miracles.
"But... ahhh," high-pitched squeal.
"Ha! Let's go," he gets out of the car looking around and tosses the keys in the air, making them do a pirouette before catching them again. "Now that you're on the sidewalk, you can throw up."
"I must confess I've never toured all of London so quickly" the angel admits, still a little adrenaline-rushed.
Crowley winks at him with that, causing a blush.
"I'm following you."
Aziraphale adjusts his bowtie and clothes.
"Okay, um..." teh blonde looks at him, suddenly nervous. The demon looks at him sideways, walking beside him. "Mmm... C-Crowley."
"Mhm?"
"Don't be too mean to them."
"What are you imagining?" he blinks at that request.
"I don't know, that you won't find them so awesome."
"I don't think they are at all, they're your friends."
Angel's eye roll.
"Can I say I'm... your friend too? Did we meet in the park?" crowley asks.
Aziraphale opens his mouth to say something and then closes it and then opens it again.
"Acquaintances."
"Did you tell them about me? Did they go to my funeral?"
"Some of those who were there then, found out," Aziraphale moistens his lips.
"That's fine. I'm interested in asking them what you didn't want to tell me."
"You shouldn't be interested."
"Sure I shouldn't."
"It's here," Aziraphale stops in front of a large wooden gate that looks no more than a house.
"Oooh, a secret club, you must be thrilled," the demon teases a bit, looking up at the facade.
"The guys said it brought them luck."
"You?" Crowley asks, climbing the little steps up to the door.
"Yes, apparently they had gotten into some trouble before I arrived," meaning, they had received several police raids against homosexuals.
"I can imagine" he's thinking of underground gambling and stuff like that, for now. He knocks on the door.
You'll get a better idea soon, just give it a few minutes.
It doesn't take long for someone to come and open a small door and ask for a password.
"Ah, the password. Um..."
Crowley raises his eyebrows thinking that with how much this idiot loves this kind of spy stories and nonsense, he must have almost come the first day he got the password and he imagines him shouting it too loud with excitement, moving his hands like dumb.
Shut up. Yes, that's how it was, but shut up.
"De profundis," Aziraphale whispers after taking out a little notebook and reading it because we're idiots.
"I see you really haven't been here in a long time," Crowley comments as they close the small door and open the main one.
"Why?"
"I thought you'd know the password by heart."
"No, they change it. Every six months they give us the list, look," he shows them on a list with his very curly handwriting. They're names of books by Oscar Wilde. In memoriam, because he died recently.
"What clandestine activities are done in this place that require so much security?" he asks, following him inside.
"Nothing, we just dance. I don't understand either, really."
Truth be told, it looks like a normal house from the period decorated quite tastefully, in his opinion. Crowley, let's confess it, is expecting a secret handshake based on fist bumps and twirls and secret movements with the boy who opened the door. Or someone.
Do they make moonshine upstairs? Cockfights in the basement? Is there a human trafficking ring... that they can't bring because this is an exclusive men's club and that's made very clear? Maybe they grow marijuana in the courtyard or have an illegal casino in the attic.
All those ideas seem quite hellish for Aziraphale to be here and that's precisely what catches Crowley's attention. The boy at the door politely and eagerly asks for their hats and coats.
Cockfights? Also, Aziraphale puts his hand on his chest because this place is always full of love, and he likes that. Crowley hands their belongings to the door guy while Aziraphale orgasms somewhere in the back with his gay boys.
Ehhh. He's not orgasming with anyone. I think.
The truth is, we all thought it would be quite inconsiderate of him to bring you here and not invite you to this part.
It seems he's especially interested. Aziraphale just smiles and greets everyone, all friendly-like.
Crowley follows him around like a duckling following its mother duck.
Formed in a triangle?
More like a bit clumsily but smelling like adorable fresh meat.
Ugh.
I wish they'd give us a tour or something to drink. Well, if there's no tour, we'll be fine.
But without alcohol, you aren't? Uff, that could be a problem. The angel blushes a bit and announces to everyone that he's brought a little friend.
He's NOT using the word "little".
Well, little friend. Little acquaintance. Little person that is not that known, really.
THE FULMINATION.
Alright, big. Big Well... whatever.
The truth is, there are some exclamations among those around, and Crowley is sure he sees someone paying someone else. Okay, there's someone else pulling out their wallet too. Squinty eyes.
"Uhm, he is..." Aziraphale looks at him letting him to introduce himself. Yes, he looks at him like he always does. With stupid lovey-dovey eyes.
"Crowley," the demon assures, smiling forcibly at everyone when a dark-haired, curly-haired, and quite young guy approaches to greet the angel with an effusive kiss, interrupting him.
Aziraphale doesn't seem particularly tense about it, smiling and greeting.
"We kept it quite quiet, didn't we?" This guy smiles and greets Crowley with a kiss too, holding a glass in his hand. "Crowley, you said? My name is Charles."
Someone claims that this explains A LOT of things. There were even bets going on back there, that's what Crowley noticed.
"Quiet?!" Aziraphale blinks confused.
"Pleased to meet you, Charles," Crowley responds smoothly, a bit tense.
"Well, you know, everyone was talking about it, but no one had seen..." Charles nods towards Crowley, smiling and looking him up and down a bit boldly.
"Ah, that do I have a friend?" Aziraphale blinks, not understanding, and glances at Crowley.
"Exactly. Do you want to come have a drink with us, Crowley?" Charles invites, pointing to a table with two more guys.
"Well, actually, he..." Aziraphale starts, then stops because... has he been invited to drink something?
"Sure, why not?" the demon responds, glancing at Aziraphale sideways.
"Great!" Charles takes Crowley by the shoulders to guide him to the table while ordering a sherry for Aziraphale and gesturing for him to follow. "What do you drink?"
"Whiskey, neat."
Aziraphale follows them, a bit nervous truth be told. Some things never change. The angel clears his throat.
"So, you also like redheads? Or well, it's just for drinks, not like the ones present," Charles jokes, makes him sit down, and orders a whiskey as well.
Aziraphale sits all proper there beside. Crowley looks at Aziraphale sideways, not quite sure what this guy is talking about.
"Jack, Martin, let me introduce you to Crowley. Mr. Fell's... little friend," Charles comments to the other two.
"He's not little," Aziraphale clarifies just because of the fulmination earlier.
"Oh, Crowley, how's Mr. Crowley?" Jack asks. Martin looks at Aziraphale and smiles.
"Crowley as... " the named one pauses, glancing at Aziraphale sideways.
"Uhhh, details..." the angel jokes a little. "I-It's important to mention..." please, can someone shut Aziraphale up?
"Reverend," Crowley decides just to see the angel's face, and the three guys seem to take a step back with that, holding their breath.
Aziraphale OPENS HIS MOUTH like one of those cherubs in churches.
"Oh... Oh!" Charles exclaims, unable to help himself. "That explains all that continual love for the sacred and religion and bibles."
"I can't... Ugh. Alright. Yeah, we met at the church," Aziraphale half-protests.
"No, don't get nervous. I'm not here to judge anyone," Crowley assures, smiling sideways.
Jack laughs nervously anyway, and Crowley is sure they're hiding something.
Well, it took you a while to notice (Asmodeus thinks wherever he is...)
"But you've come... you wouldn't have come to catechize us or anything, right?" Martín asks.
"What my good friend Martin means..." Charles intervenes, scolding him. "Is that we don't usually have many pious men around here. In fact, you must be the first, Father."
Crowley remains completely uninterested in all of this and a hundred percent focused on Aziraphale. Alright. This is funny.
"Well, I'm a pious man," Aziraphale asserts. Jack looks at Aziraphale sideways and pffts, hiding his laughter in a cough. Martin chuckles a little along with Jack, a bit more discreetly.
The angel laughs a little too, without noticing anything weird, very innocently. Oh, Aziraphale.
"Very, very pious. Of course," Martin agrees with a fake serious face. Crowley looks at them with a raised eyebrow.
"Well, I suppose what's happening is that some of us... there'd be things we wouldn't get involved with," Charles continues. "But Mr. Fell is not afraid of anything, he's quite wild," he smiles flirtatiously.
"Don't say those things, Charles!" Aziraphale laughs a little at that because whenever they say those things he thinks it's a joke.
"Well, we know you well," Martin adds quietly, smiling a bit sideways.
Crowley keeps looking at the four of them because this... this is a joke, right? I mean, it has to be.
Well, Aziraphale keeps his innocent little face. If he's spent a hundred years not noticing anything or pretending because he doesn't want to notice anything.
"To me, it seems like there are limits to everything" Jack takes Aziraphale's hand, worriedly. "Maybe we should talk about this?"
"Oh, Jack, my boy, don't be so dramatic. As if you've never played forbidden games and done the impossible," Charles scolds him. "To me, it adds a kind of...," he gestures as if he just took a sip of soda to explain it.
Aziraphale blushes a bit thinking about Crowley being a demon and him being an angel and that they really shouldn't...
"Well, I don't really know him well. We're more like acquaintances. Distant ones," Aziraphale explains.
Crowley raises an eyebrow at that and thanks when their drinks are brought over, taking a sip of his and preferring not to intervene for now.
"Ah..." Charles looks at the other two with a significant look because that sounds good and gives them a bit of hope. Did he bring him here to join the pack and have them all under control in the same place?
"Mr. Fell..." Jack intervenes. "One doesn't just bring a distant acquaintance here, right? I mean, we're among friends."
"Nah, I don't believe it. Just look at how they're looking at each other!" Martin thinks Mr. Fell is just embarrassed and is being tsundere now.
"Eh?" Jack turns to look at them, and Charles chuckles a bit.
Crowley sneaks a glance at Aziraphale, just for a moment, then coughs, rearranging himself in his chair in a way that's a bit disordered, and turning his face away, blushing. Feeling like he's being watched.
Aziraphale looks at Crowley too and coughs, straightening his back more.
"N-No, no. Uhm... we should probably dance," Aziraphale tries to change the subject.
"That would clearly be simpler if Father Crowley... Can I call you that? didn't wear those dark glasses, of course," Charles says.
Crowley FULMINATES Charles through his dark glasses, not planning to take them off until he thinks it's okay.
"I think the string quartet is arriving in about twenty minutes," Jack tells Aziraphale, checking his watch.
"Oh, that's good. It's... Uh" Aziraphale takes a sip of his sherry.
"But guys, really, you need to relax a bit. There's nothing happening here, we're among friends," Martin insists.
"Of course, no one's going to judge anything. That's one of the first rules of the house, right? There's no judgment here," Charles affirms.
"That seems better than loving God above all things," Crowley comments in a whisper to Aziraphale, smiling sideways. The latter gives him a bit of a glare.
"These are different houses! And... W-Well. You should really... Uh. How's Patrick? Why isn't he here?" he tries to change the subject.
Charles looks at Crowley with narrowed eyes because that's not very priest-like. He wouldn't be the first to come here with a false name and a made-up profession.
"Ah. Him," Jack starts, rolling his eyes as if he just mentioned Voldemort.
"Ohh. What's up?" Aziraphale asks looking at Martin, who's shaking his head with a look that says: shut up, shut up, shut up!
"We're not going to talk about that because it's not worth it. We're here to get to know Father Crowley today," Jack continues, all tense. "What... what can you tell us? what church are you in or what?"
"Ugh," Aziraphale protests, because he wanted to change the subjecct. You expect too much from them; you can't bring a man for the first time in a hundred years and think you won't stir up the whole henhouse.
But Crowley isn't a man! He's a demon. Besides, why wouldn't he bring someone; everyone else brings people all the time.
That's almost worse, and they don't even know it.
"In... uh. The one in... S-Saint Peter's?, the one in Soho Square with Sutton Row. You know which one I mean?" Crowley explains, referring to Saint Patrick's, being the usual disaster he is with names.
"T-That's not... CATHOLIC, is it?" Jack's FACE, he covers his mouth with his hands, but he doesn't know what it's called either.
"Saint Patrick, precisely, yes," Aziraphale confirms, fidgeting because... Ugh.
"Oh, my... come on!" Martin protests, dying of laughter because he's also bedding the Catholic who should be completely celibate.
"Calm down, I'm not on duty right now," Crowley raises his glass to Jack in a toast. "No catechisms, I promise. But I can confess if there's anything interesting you want to tell me about Mr. Fell."
Charles is a bit wide-eyed at this because he also thought he'd at least be a Protestant reverend.
"Something interesting like what?" Martin asks, looking at Aziraphale.
"You all seem quite impressed with my presence here. Mr. Fell doesn't usually bring anyone, I guess," Crowley shrugs, because the floor is yours, guys. Literally, whatever you want.
"Nothing," Martin laughs. "Never. He just seems to take them away every now and then."
"He takes them away," Crowley repeats slowly.
"Martin, you're so mean!" Charles protests, laughing. "And besides, lately he's been coming less often. That's what the elders say, that we're no longer to his liking."
"T-That's not it, no..." Aziraphale shakes his head with a bit of drama because the problem is Oscar. Everything about Oscar is still very recent and it still hurts.
"Well, not to everyone, but there are stories," Martin laughs, shrugging.
"I like stories," Crowley assures, trying to achieve just the right degree of disinterested interest and failing miserably.
"Oh, come on... What's not in your years is not in your tears" Martin smiles. "We'll only tell you if you promise to behave."
"From my... years," Crowley repeats, thinking that his years started when this kid wasn't even born, nor was this city, nor the earth hardly, and honestly, then he thinks if he should look like them around Aziraphale. He squints his eyes to make sure he doesn't because he imagines himself telling some half-wit that "he's a savage" and he's almost embarrassed for himself about something he hasn't even done. "Of course I'll behave, who do you think I am?"
That drama! You don't look like that! But that cool attitude helps you look less like it, I won't deny it.
"Yes, the dark and murky past of Mr. Fell is of little importance now." Martin says.
"But these things aren't told because of their importance, clearly." Crowley explains.
"Then?"
"I don't have a dark and murky past!" Aziraphale protests.
"Well, there's... the opposition's," Charles begins, mercilessly". The childhood friend, the millionaire we don't know what he does, the demon, the dead one, the writer, and... now the forbidden one. And the ones I'm leaving out."
Aziraphale opens his mouth and blushes even more because ALL those are Crowley in different versions and stories except... the writer. Crowley's raised eyebrow because the dunce doesn't get it.
"Charles! Let's start making a similar list about you when William comes," Jack retorts, laughing.
"Why? Did he tell you something? Do you know if he's coming today?" Charles is so excited.
"Here we go again..." Jack rolls his eyes at Charles behind him, really.
"Don't mind Charles, Crowley. Mr. Fell always says no," Martin rescues him a bit.
"Do you know any of those stories, Marcel?" the demon asks.
"Martin."
"That's what I said."
"I always tell things about people. Like how he met a friend and invited him to eat oysters because he'd never eaten them in his life. Tell me if that's not wild."
"Well, and that you haven't seen him eat them...," Crowley says, because the kink with watching him eat. Ahem.
"Well, no, but we've seen him eat pastries," Martin explains.
"I eat just normally!" Aziraphale protests.
"You probably know what I mean then," the demon nods. The boy nods a bit. Crowley frowns at that and what's happening is that of all the things Charles has mentioned... "A demon, then?"
"UGH!" the angel complains.
"That was the worst until you showed up," Martin laughs.
"It was? Why?" he looks at Aziraphale with a raised eyebrow, not being able to believe how little he's protesting all this.
"It's not... He wasn't... But what's wrong with you?! I'm never telling you anything again!" Aziraphale crosses his arms and raises his nose a bit, although he must admit he likes how these guys are making him look cool.
"Because it sounded the most sinful. A full-on DEMON!" Martin explains
"So, we're talking about a nickname, then?" Crowley smiles, unable to believe that at some point he DID tell them he was a demon. Wondering how drunk he must have been for that.
"I prefer to think it was a description" Martin says, winking. "Come on, Mr. Fell!"
"Really, Angel..." Crowley laughs a bit.
"You, shut up." Aziraphale glances him.
"Mr. Fell!" someone calls from afar to greet him, and then approaches the table.
"Ohhh! Anthony!" he stands up to greet him, and there goes Anthony to hug him. "It's been a while since I've seen you!"
"I got permission recently because..."
Crowley turns to Martin completely with a face of: Interrogation time has begun. Tell me everything. Quickly. Before I decide that demonically possessing you and seeing it for myself is a good idea. Tic. Toc. Tic. Toc.
"What do you want to know?" Martin smiles. "I don't think you have anything to worry about; the important exes are..." he makes a throat-slitting gesture.
"I didn't even know there was someone they'd call an ex."
"He doesn't call them exes, but they are. He prepared a full funeral for the dead one all by himself, still without a body. They say it was a drama. I wasn't there. He made another drama about the other one."
"Do you know where the grave is or know anyone who does?"
"Oh yeah, it's super weird."
"Why?"
"Because he didn't want it in a cemetery."
"So, where is it?"
"I have no idea how he managed it, but it's buried in St. James Park, it seems... or so they say."
"In... the park?"
"It's incomprehensible, I know."
"But where?" Crowley insists, and Jack turns to them when Charles finally stops interrogating him and goes off to who knows where.
"Sorry, Charles is crazy about my cousin William and..." Jack tells Crowley and then sighs. "What were you saying?"
"I was talking about Mr. Fell's burial."
"Aaah, the dead one, yes. We don't even know how he died. Apparently he just disappeared. There are stories going around. Patrick, the idiot, said maybe it was a crime of passion and Mr. Fell killed him, that's why they didn't bury him in a cemetery and the body disappeared under mysterious circumstances."
"And one day we joked about it and he almost started crying."
"C-crying?" Crowley hesitates with that because the bloody idiot hadn't thought of that.
"Yes. Don't mention it to him, he gets very sensitive about it" Jack nods, sighing.
The demon swallows, glancing at Aziraphale sideways, and he's going to accidentally let the love slip out without wanting to and without noticing. The angel, who was updating Anthony, turns to look at him when he senses it.
Crowley blushes and turns his face away abruptly, caught. Clearing his throat.
"Uh. Well, that's the demon, what about the others?" he changes the subject.
"No, that's not the demon" Jack replies. "Or is it? Were they the same?"
"The others... well, one is Oscar" Martin pauses to gauge this man's reaction to the NAME. "Oh, I don't know... wasn't Oscar the other one who was in prison? I thought he was the demon"
Crowley moistens his lips with the word "Oscar" dancing on them for the first time.
"Ah, well, you know..." Jack shrugs. "The amazing thing is that Mr. Fell wasn't in there too."
"No one knows! They didn't even talk much about him, considering the mess he made."
"What happened?" Crowley asks softly.
"Well, he wrote. Improper things." Martin explains.
"What kind of things?" the apparently-not-demon-enough-to-be-THE-demon frowns.
"Books. Novels, stories, and plays mostly. And poetry" Jack assures, thinking.
"And being a public figure, he got caught" Martin adds.
"Was he a writer for real?" panic. It's not like Aziraphale hadn't met a million of them throughout his life and hadn't marveled at all of them to ridiculous limits, but this seems different "Something I might have read?"
"Well, The Picture of Dorian Gray?" Martin suggests.
"Ah, that one's very good. And they say it was somewhat based on Mr. Fell to create Dorian with that rumor that circulates in the club that he doesn't age. And because of his innocence, of course "Jack smiles at him.
No, well, now he's going to have to bloody remember that bloody name and that damn title to read it. HYSTERICALLY.
"Let's just say that the club was a severe problem several years ago. It's a good thing some time has passed and now they're not THAT interested in us. Didn't you hear about all the scandal that happened with this? You look like you've been around here."
"I've been living abroad until a couple of months ago" Crowley invents.
"Oh, it was quite a scandal. SCANDAL. I was quite young but..." Martin pauses dramatically. "Well, you know what happens with people like us. And Oscar had a family, wife, and children."
"Ah, IN ADDITION" Crowley's ANGER. The plants in the club's garden tremble. And there's a ficus in that corner that suddenly would prefer to be in another room.
"In addition what?"
Crowley snorts and grumbles now. Aziraphale turns to them for a moment feeling a change in the atmosphere, but he's immediately caught up again in Anthony's story.
"Uh. Well, but... we don't have to think too much about it, since he's already dead" Jack assures, trying to be diplomatic.
"Also, he later had another. It wasn't even Mr. Fell's fault..." Martin adds.
"Yes, also that" grumbles Crowley, speaking of hell. "I'm going to have to go find him in the bloody archive to see where in the hell he is. There are like thousands of rooms for sodomites down there."
"Down there?" Martin asks and Jack blinks, not understanding that either.
"Well, what about the rest?" Crowley replies without wanting to clarify.
"We haven't met anyone else, but he talks a lot about them" Martin explains. "I wouldn't get too jealous if you already have him to yourself."
"He talks about the one from the Satanic bookshop, remember? Charles spent months looking for that place all over town and we never found out" Jack comments. "Although he has a super weird love-hate relationship with that one other. And there was also one who worked at a place called Hell, which we later found out was a bar in the suburbs, but we never knew who he was, out of all of them."
"They all seem very distressing but at the same time. We never get to know them!" explains Martin, watching as Aziraphale has gone back to talking to Anthony without paying them much attention.
"No, and it's just that..." Jack rolls his eyes again. "Patrick said the one from the club had to be a stripper."
Crowley is listening to them because another bookseller, a writer, a stripper. What the fuck with the angel? How could he say he's a reverend?
"Without a doubt, he has very... Well, I insist, I don't know if a reverend is the most angelic or the most sinful thing" Martin accidentally jokes.
"And with you then... nothing?
"Nah, and it's not like Charles hasn't tried. Oh! And there's also the history professor, you know who I'm talking about? He always talks about things as if they had been at historical events. It's super weird, I've told him a thousand times that he should write a book about it."
"Ahhh! I know who you mean! It's just that Mr. Fell then tells some rather strange things" Martin looks at Crowley a little like: You do know, right?
Crowley moistens his lips with that because he's not entirely sure and there goes Charles again, dropping into the chair all dramatic.
"What's wroooong?" Martin looks at him.
"I told you" Jack replies to that without him having said anything.
"Shut up, Jack" Charles responds, because William isn't going to come as he had already told him. "Well, how are things going here. Have you scandalized the father enough with your nonsense?"
"Ours? More like Mr. Fell's."
"What did you tell him? Don't pay attention to them, they're all drama queens" Charles assures Crowley.
"Hey! We're not. We were talking about Oscar."
"Oh, THE SENSITIVE TOPIC."
"Oh, yes. And yes, he got weird" Martin accuses him a bit.
Crowley rolls his eyes, takes another sip of his whiskey, and glances sideways at Aziraphale, who is consoling Anthony in some drama.
"Don't mind them" Charles insists. "He's the worst because he's the one we know most about. He's very elusive with the others."
"Still, if he brought you here, you're already on the other side. The others are dead. It's like... the ideal state of having an ex" Martin adds.
"How do you know they're dead? Did you go to all those funerals?" Crowley asks.
"No... Well, actually, only Oscar's and the other one's" explains Jack.
"Oh, you told him about the other one. That was SO WEIRD" comments Charles.
"In St. James. People say they saw them, nobody did anything. Yes, yes, we told him about that" Jack explains. "The good part is if you die, it can't get much weirder."
"Have you seen the grave?" Crowley asks.
"One of the oldest, yes... Tommy. We went with him once, and he couldn't find it" explains Martin. "I say it's a weird topic, kind of supernatural."
"Who's Tommy?" the demon asks, looking around.
"He's one of the oldest. Maybe he'll come later, and you can meet him. He's a bit like Mr. Fell, maybe you'll like him" Martin smiles. "Shall I bring you another drink?"
Crowley furrows his brow because he's not here, and he's not sure he wants to keep adding characters to the hate list.
Anthony, who was talking to Aziraphale a second ago, stands up and puts his hands on Martin's shoulders.
"I'll bring the drinks around now... and return to Mr. Fell."
"Come sit with us" Jack smiles at him.
"Well, are you going to tell us something about yourself, or is this just about getting information from us?" Charles asks Crowley.
"Honestly, Christian... yes. That's exactly what this is about" replies Crowley, grumpy, because he has no desire to make up crap right now, and all these kids annoy him, and he's glad they're all going to rot in hell among the worst of the sufferings.
"Uhhh, I see I've returned at an interesting moment" Aziraphale smiles a little at Crowley, scrutinizing him to try to figure out if he's enjoying himself.
"Oh, come on, don't be a party pooper, surely Mr. Fell is also curious about your side of things" asks Jack.
"Yes, indeed... about that and about knowing what you've been told about me" the angel smiles a bit, and it's clear he's a bit more relaxed thanks to the sherry.
Crowley glances at him sideways because he's still not in a very good mood about all of that.
"Only good things, dear, of course" Charles responds to Aziraphale. "There's nothing bad to say about you."
Aziraphale chuckles a bit, but his gaze shifts to Crowley, who rolls his eyes.
"I think... that's not true, but I understand you're saying it just to make me laugh."
"I'm not saying it just for that, it's true!"
"Uhhh, what do you know about Mr. Fell, tell us Crowley!" Martin asks.
"What do I know? Nothing at all, apparently" so sarcastic, because okay, he's slept for a century and missed a couple of things, but he didn't expect them to be all the interesting ones.
Charles smiles triumphantly at that response because it seems they've known each other for a really short time, and more so if Crowley says he was living abroad until a few months ago. He must have met him recently and started chasing him all over the city ridiculously. Poor idiot. That explained being Catholic, for sure, they hadn't slept together, no matter what Martin said.
Aziraphale looks at him more intensely with that declaration.
"Crowley is quite the gentleman with amnesia, apparently" he says without stopping looking at him.
The demon wrinkles his nose at that.
"Maybe we should ask Mr. Fell about Crowley's things. How long have you known each other?" asks Martin.
"Martin, don't be cruel, it's obvious they've known each other for a short time if Father Crowley lived abroad" Charles scolds him licking his own lips.
The demon looks to see how long until his whiskey arrives, feeling a bit overwhelmed and fed up with being here putting up with all these idiots.
"Abroad? Oh, no, don't be fooled by that. We are... lifelong acquaintances" Aziraphale assures.
Charles raises his eyebrows at that. Rolling his eyes because one is not... lifelong acquaintances. That's absurd and contradictory.
"Distant ones" adds Crowley, sarcastically.
"How can you be distant lifelong acquaintances? what brought them together?" Martin continues.
"Well, the church, Martin, don't you know Mr. Fell?" Jack replies.
"I mean, Father Crowley was the reverend of the church, and Mr. Fell never spoke to him until they started talking, and not just..." Martin explains.
"No, no" Aziraphale interrupts Martin. "No."
"Talking. And that's it. All the time. Blah blah blah blah" Crowley continues, tilting his head back. Aziraphale turns to Crowley.
"You don't like talking? Sometimes we eat too, or drink... a little."
"I didn't say I don't" the demon shrugs, uninterested.
"Well, talking is very good, it's important" Charles assures. "Communication is the foundation of relationships."
Jack looks at Charles because that sounded passive-aggressive. Aziraphale squirms with the word relationships.
"Especially fraternal ones" to sarcasm and passive-aggressiveness, the demon won't lose. Aziraphale blushes with that.
"We worked distantly and without necessarily cooperating but in a friendly and respectful way for many, many years in many, many places." the angel explain, looking at his hands.
Really. Crowley wants his whiskey. What the hell are they doing? Milking apples like cows? Or whatever is need to be done to the apples.
Here comes Anthony followed by the waiter, and Crowley goes to steal the bottle because he can't stand them. And Jack makes room for Anthony to sit, but he declines because he wants to go greet someone on the other side, first.
"U-uh. Likewise, C-Crowley..." the angel hesitates, wanting to keep talking about him but finding that all he can say is incriminating and/or embarrassing. "I-I mean, it's C-Crowley and..."
They all look at him, and the named one squints not knowing what he's doing or what he's trying to say.
"The... Do you remember my friend who I thought was d-dead?" Aziraphale keeps going.
"Angel..." Crowley shakes his head to prevent him from clarifying that part because this whole thing is enough of a disaster.
"Awwww! He calls him 'angel'!" Martín takes Jack by the arm.
"That's sweet" Jack smiles tenderly.
"Aaw, yeah, well..." Charles rolls his eyes.
"I-it's nothing, it's j-just... it's a generic name" Crowley continues, squinting.
"It's very nice to be a generic name" Jack smiles.
"Indeed!" points out Martin.
The demon takes a sip of his drink, takes a deep breath and then grabs the bottle.
"Angel. Private. Now" he points, getting up, without looking at him, and going to another corner of the room.
Aziraphale looks at the others and blushes a little, getting up after Crowley and going with him.
There are whispers among the boys.
Crowley stops on one side of a door. He takes a sip from the bottle before looking at him intently.
"Are you, uhm... okay?" Aziraphale asks, moving his hands as if he were a little pangolin.
Crowley looks at him, thinking about how to tell him this and hesitating. He ends up taking another sip from the bottle.
"What's wrong? Were they rude to you? They sometimes they make a lot of jokes..."
"Aziraphale..." he cuts him.
"W-What?!"
He leaves the bottle somewhere and takes his cheeks, looking into his eyes.
Oh, my GOD. The BLUSH.
"You have to trust me on this. Okay?" the demon keeps looking at him, trying to capture all his attention. Very serious. If they weren't in public, he would take off his glasses.
"O-Okay" the angel can't look at him more attentively. "B-But it's... I-I don't understand."
The demon nods, takes a deep breath, and exhales sharply.
"This is a gay club, Aziraphale."
"It's a... what?"
"A club for homosexuals. Sodomites. These guys come here to meet other guys to have sexual relationships with. Everyone. EVERYONE here is going to hell."
"T-To... hell" the angel repeats the easiest thing to repeat. "Ugh. N-No, it's a gentlemen's club, and what gentlemen do elsewhere is none of our concern."
"Half of them want to sleep with you, by the way" the demon says, going for the bottle. "And they think you and I..." he takes another sip from the bottle, rolling his eyes, unable to end the sentence.
"They don't want to sleep with m... Oooh!" mouth open again.
"Now that's been said..." Crowley decides and gestures for them to return to the table.
"B-But... No! You're a demon and I'm an angel!" he whispers.
"And they don't know that. We'll discuss that later."
"B-But..." he continues.
"Trouble in paradise?" Charles asks when they return. Aziraphale opens his eyes wide when Charles speaks and sits, his back VERY straight.
"No, not at all" Crowley replies uninterested with a fake smile.
"Well, then were you going to tell us about yourselves?" Jack continues.
"About us. Of course. Please, Angel, tell them about us and our relationship as distant acquaintances."
Aziraphale opens his mouth. And closes it. And opens it. And closes it. And blushes, looking at his hands.
Exactly. That's why he didn't let you tell the story about the dead guy. Now they all look at Aziraphale, who wants to die.
"U-Uh. Crowley and I... w-we... a-almost... No. NO."
Crowley forces a smile again at everyone with that.
"W-We have to go" the angel decides, super uncomfortable now.
"What? But why? You've just arrived" protests Charles.
"Yeah, b-but..."
"Oh. You want to leave already? But you haven't told them anything. They've told me a bunch of stuff, this doesn't seem very fair" the demon replies, playing with the bottle.
"B-But..." Aziraphale looks at him, overwhelmed.
"Come on, tell them about when..." Crowley hesitates, thinking of a story he can tell them that's a little something. Spicy in some way. Something that could make the angel even more uncomfortable, but every time they see each other, everything they do is comfortable and calm and pleasant.
He enjoys bothering him and complaining about each other's actions, not necessarily getting into compromising situations like "oh, there's only one bed in this room, we'll have to share it" especially since the angel doesn't even sleep. He can't think of anything.
Aziraphale licks his lips wondering what he's going to ask him to tell them, as it's not like they don't have a million stories. But none that he wants to tell.
Besides, what happens is that the stories that impress Aziraphale the most which, of course, there are, won't impress these kids. Not to mention that he can't just say "Tell them about when you dressed as a nobleman in Paris in the middle of the French Revolution and ended up condemning an innocent to the guillotine because you wanted some crepes."
"Relax, not everyone has good stories in their relationship, especially if it's not very close" Charles intervenes a little venomously upon noticing the hesitation.
"No, no, the problem isn't the lack of stories" Aziraphale says without thinking much.
"Doesn't seem like it..."
Aziraphale looks at Crowley for help.
"Of course, because tell them about when we gave humanity free will because we were both idiots will sound very believable" Crowley replies sarcastically, and Jack actually laughs at that, thinking it's a joke.
"It sounds more believable than the nebulae thing" Aziraphale smiles a bit at that. Charles blinks at that response, I mean... is he teasing him?
"We're not talking about that time" the demon glares at him.
"Thank goodness, because there would only be things to say about you, and I would look bad in front of my friends."
"Of course, because the flaming sword is child's play."
"That was out of pure humanity. She was pregnant!"
"And someone felt guilty..."
"Well, it was hard not to feel guilty."
Truth be told, they all raise their eyebrows thinking that Aziraphale got SOMEONE pregnant.
"Mr. Fell!" they exclaim impressed/surprised/unbelieving.
"Okay, this story is new" Jack assures, impressed. Charles is with his mouth open. I mean, maybe there is a... y-young Mr. Fell...
"When did this happen?" Martin asks.
"It was my father" the angel hesitates.
"Y-Your father?"
"And how do you know about it?" Jack asks Crowley.
"My... father and his were good friends. We've been hearing this story since we were kids." the demon explains.
"Exactly" Aziraphale nods.
"Aaaw, childhood friends" Martin smiles.
"Distant acquaintances since childhood" Crowley corrects, passive-aggressive.
"T-That's right" Aziraphale doesn't look at him, a bit scolded by this.
"So, you've known each other since childhood?"
"But how could you be distant acquaintances since childhood?" Charles rolls his eyes because that doesn't make sense.
"Well, why not? Our mother..."
"It's hard to explain. Our motherS, don'tmakethisweirdAngel, were very close, but I rebelled in my teens and left home, and then we spent a lot of years where seeing each other was awkward" Crowley explains.
"It still is a bit" Aziraphale asserts just in case.
"And that's how one becomes a distant acquaintance since childhood" Crowley shrugs.
"T-That's right" Aziraphale nods, nervous because even to him it sounds a bit far-fetched.
"And how did you start dating?" asks Martin as Aziraphale takes a sip of his sherry and almost chokes.
"Wait, are you then the childhood friend too?" asks Jack because on the list from before...
"Ah, good question, Marcus. You tell him" Crowley requests to the angel, smiling sideways.
"Ugh!" Aziraphale keeps coughing a bit. "H-He is... well, there are so many anecdotes with him!" he protests, trying to deflect the question, trying to get back to the other topic.
"And what does that have to do with it?"asks Jack. Charles rolls his eyes because this conversation isn't as funny anymore.
"Well, they're... I can say, if it's him."
"Distant childhood b-boyfriends" teases Crowley, though he blushes at the last word, choking a bit, but it just sounds better and more absurd each time.
Aziraphale squints because... No! I mean, yes, but no, but wtf. Jack laughs because this sounds more and more absurd.
"I think it's time to go, Crowley" Aziraphale replies, frowning.
"Apparently, we have some... urgent matters to deal with involving flaming swords, and hopefully this time not a pregnant women" this story is so damn versatile for everything and sounds so bad in the right context. It's wonderful. He smiles. "See you... when you know where you'll see me again, you'll wish it's not soon."
"Crowleeeey!"
"They won't like it, that's a fact."
"Well, I don't know."
"I do know. And it's better for you to keep not knowing."
"Let's go" Aziraphale gets up.
Crowley gets up too, waves at the three of them, and takes the bottle. Aziraphale smiles at them a bit nervously.
The three of them look at them for a bit... Jack with his mouth open, Charles with his eyes rolling, and Martin with a little smirk.
"S-See you one of these Thursdays" the angel says goodbye.
"Have fun" says Jack and gets kicked by Charles under the table.
"Uhhh! Good luck with that" laughs Martin as Aziraphale rushes a bit towards the exit.
Crowley is already in the car because damn, thank goodness, he thought this was never going to end. Aziraphale takes a bit more of the whiskey because he also doesn't want to have the conversation that's coming now and then puts the bottle in the glove compartment, looking at him.