Never one to yank the plaster off, Aziraphale was the type to remove it slowly. Knowing it would hurt more but never finding the courage for the bold pull. He felt the same way in this situation. It might have been easier on him in the long run to stop what they had now. A few back and forths to and from the city would only drag out where this would end. Crowley would go off and start a new life, and Aziraphale wouldn't belong in it.
Crowley had left early in the morning on Saturday, saying he had an appointment and would try to be back for art class. Aziraphale took the time to do what he'd always loved—have a solitary morning, though it seemed a lot less fun than he'd remembered. He even missed the playful fights over the sink when they were both ready to spit out their toothpaste. Instead of the serenity he'd hoped for, he found himself bored.
Crowley didn't make it to art class. Aziraphale tried not to be too disappointed. Crowley had other things in his life. Not everyone came every week; he would never expect him to. He was perfectly capable of having a class without him; he'd done it plenty of times before, and he would have to do it plenty of times again.
He could have done without the ambush after class. Anathema carried extra stools back to the shack, but Aziraphale knew it was under the guise of being helpful, but the truth was she had that look in her eyes.
"Thank you," Aziraphale said, hoping she would take the hint after the last of the supplies were put away.
"Anytime. So … will there be another class in the fall?"
The class ran in three-month sessions. Not that you couldn't drop in and out as you liked, but for the sake of funding, they did have a registration period every quarter.
"Of course; why wouldn't there be?" Aziraphale was genuinely confused.
"I just didn't think they'd find another teacher so quickly."
"Why would they be finding another teacher?"
Anathema stared at him for a moment, and he was sure he was missing something. "I figured Crowley would be going back to London in the fall."
He tried not to let his shoulders droop. "That has always been his plan, yes."
"You're not going with him?" She seemed authentically confused. He and Crowley hadn't exactly been discrete about their relationship, kissing on the street and holding hands, so he wasn't surprised that she knew they were together.
"I've known him for a handful of weeks. Of course, I'm not going with him." His voice tightened with emotion, making him sound much more stern than he intended.
"But …" She looked at him like she was waiting for him to drop the punchline to a joke he hadn't been telling. "You're so good for each other."
"Be that as it may. Crowley can't stay here—it's not sustainable for him—and I can't go to the city. It's been a lovely summer, but that's all." Aziraphale was surprised the words sounded true, being how very false they were. He was under no disillusion that was all. Unless you looked at the word "all" as meaning everything. And then, maybe it did fit. The summer had been everything to him.
Anathema gave him another long look. "Nope. I don't like it. Figure something else out."
"Excuse me?" Aziraphale was incredulous.
"Trust me. You break Madame Tracy's nephew's heart, you will regret it."
"I hardly think a few weeks is enough to break the man's heart." When did lying become so easy for him? He knew full well his own heart was heading for hurt. He couldn't speak to Crowley's, but abstractly, he knew it was possible.
"You're a clever man, Aziraphale. Don't be stupid about this." Before he could object again, Anathema patted him on the arm, and then turned to leave.
"It's not that far. I'm sure we can still see each other." He didn't add that he was unsure that Crowley would want to make the effort to have a relationship just on weekends. Aziraphale knew demanding jobs, and being a lawyer was demanding. Crowley would likely have to work weekend hours more often than not. The lack of time would drive them apart far quicker than the distance.
Crowley wasn't at the cottage when he got back, but he did notice a text he'd missed on his walk home, saying that things were taking longer than he'd wanted, and he would be by later for dinner. The pang of disappointment hit fast. His vulnerable heart was feeling tender already after his conversation with Anathema.
But with the extra few hours ahead of him, Aziraphale found himself pulling out his painting supplies. He set up the canvas on the easel on the back patio. He started sketching, blocking in his piece before he added any paint. The background was a garden with vines and flowers that would eventually become a verdant landscape to slot his characters into. He began to rough in a figure, not bothering to delude himself that he wasn't adding Crowley to his artwork. He could tell himself because that was the body he'd practised that it was easier to use it again here. A lie that would have been unconvincing even to himself. He was drawing Crowley because he wanted to place Crowley in this beautiful garden and keep him there.
He added his base coat, and then made a cup of tea, letting it dry. After he finished his cup, he began to paint. Painting was relaxing for him usually, but now, he was driven by a muse, a passion to see his vision come to life. Had this been a movie, a montage would have played, and the painting would be done. But a piece this complex would take several sittings to finish. He was able to finish the tree on the edge of the canvas. Crowley's hand rested on the bark, still uncoloured. Even with just a few lines and not much detail, he looked like temptation incarnate. He hadn't really intended a Garden of Eden theme when he started, but as the world filled in, there was no denying that was the vibe.
In true form of a romance cover, Aziraphale had left a large empty space beside Crowley's naked body in the garden for a title that would never be filled in, but it didn't feel right. Aziraphale wanted to be there with him. In that paradise that they could get lost in together. In their garden, there was no job in London, no end date on what they shared. He began adding his own figure into the painting.
It had been a while since he sketched his own body, and it came out rough. He would take out his long mirror he kept in his art room and fix up the figure later. Right now, he just needed to see it on the canvas. It could be one place that they could be together.
The evidence of his work was all packed up and put away before Crowley had arrived back at the cottage. He had a tired look on his face, but he gave Aziraphale a warm smile. During dinner, the tightness never left his eyes, and Aziraphale knew that news was coming, and it wasn't things he wanted to hear. So he didn't ask, and the polite, detached conversation that followed was its own kind of torture.
They were sitting on the sofa in front of an unlit fireplace. Crowley had sprawled out and slung his legs over Aziraphale's lap. Being able to rub his hand along Crowley's leg had brought some comfort back, but throwing a vignette over the moment didn't hide the sharp corners that were still underneath.
"The law office got back to me with the offer." Crowley's voice was trying just a little too hard to be nonchalant.
"When do they want you?" There was a slight pause and Aziraphale couldn't look over so he kept his eyes on his hand as it ran along Crowley's leg.
"Two weeks. I was hoping for three, but it's probably not something I should fight for. I really need to be back in a steady job. I can't live with my aunt or Mum forever, not a great look for a man nearing fifty."
"And yet, you are irresistible. Lord save London when you get your own place." Aziraphale tried to add some levity to the conversation.
"I only care what one man thinks, and he's in Tadfield."
Aziraphale's eyes lifted now to take in the other man on the couch. He was breathtaking, even with those sad eyes. Crowley shifted, leaning in, and Aziraphale met him halfway. His hand slid up Crowley's thigh as their lips brushed in a soft kiss. Aziraphale was being silly. Why couldn't they have this? London was less than an hour away, almost commutable depending on what side of the city the office was on. Not that he expected Crowley to stay in Tadfield. But they could make it work. He wanted it to work.
Aziraphale felt Crowley's hand on his face, his thumb brushing along his cheek. The touch was so soft, in complete contradiction to the sharpness of his features. A lot of things about Crowley were in contrast. He felt like he could know him for years, and he would still be able to surprise him. There was nothing he wanted more than to find out if that were true.
"I think you are brilliant, and in such a clever mind, we will find a way to make this work."
"Really?" The way Crowley's face lit up with surprised delight made Aziraphale want to kiss him again, so he did.
"I could maybe get a car?" He threw the unlikely idea out, seeing how it sounded.
"Do you drive, angel?"
"I had a licence once, but I'm afraid I let it lapse. I'm sure I could get another."
Crowley had the audacity to look concerned at the thought of Aziraphale driving, as if the man didn't drive like a bat out of hell. "Or you could take the train. Or with Alistair; you said he goes in often."
"I'm sure he wouldn't mind. That is a good plan." He met Crowley's eyes. "We're doing this?"
"Yes," Crowley whispered, but there was so much emotion in it that Aziraphale believed that it held a miracle. One that would ensure that this would work.
The following weeks were spent together as much as possible. Crowley had all but moved into Aziraphale's cottage. Aziraphale found he was an immaculate house guest. Not only did he not leave his cups laying around, he often rounded up the ones Aziraphale had left strewn about. It made him think living together would be lovely, and then he reminded himself that would never be their full-time reality.
They made plans. Crowley conceded to come back most weekends. The city was expensive, and Crowley wouldn't have his own place for a while yet. The dates they could have in Tadfield would be cheaper, and the accommodations after would be private. Nothing killed the mood like bringing your bloke back to your mum's. Aziraphale almost objected to Crowley saying that, but he found he couldn't disagree with the logic.
Aziraphale spent hours sketching Crowley in his bed. It always started with innocent intent, but drawing the lines of his body with his pencil, Aziraphale would find himself wanting to trace those same lines with his hands. Their couplings were intense, never able to get himself deep enough inside of Crowley or Crowley deep enough inside him. It was a perfect time if it weren't for the clock ticking down to Crowley's departure.
Too soon, they found themselves loading up Crowley's Bentley. Aziraphale had insisted that he leave behind a few outfits and things. He didn't know if he could bear the thought of Crowley's things being gone as well. It would feel too much like he'd never been there.
"I'll be back Friday night, angel. You won't even miss me." Crowley wrapped Aziraphale up in his arms.
"You know very well how untrue that is." Aziraphale squeezed him a little closer. "You'll call me when you get there?" He could feel Crowley nod.
A lasting kiss, another hug, and a firm squeeze of Crowley's ass and Aziraphale was left on his porch, waving as the Bentley disappeared down the road.
"You will not be ridiculous about this," Aziraphale told himself as he made his way back into the cottage. He shed a few tears, and then made himself a cup of tea, going to the back garden to drink it. This was all going to be fine.