Archive of Our Own

Anthony J. Crowley absolutely, positively cannot wait to leave Caelum School for Boys. He isn’t meant for high school, he thinks as he sits on the bus to school. He doesn’t know what exactly he is meant for, he just knows it should be more. But, regardless. Today is his first day of sophomore year and he’s got bigger fish to fry. Namely, Gabriel. Gabe for short. Gabe, who Crowley occasionally sneaks out of class to make out with beneath the bleachers. Or maybe in the unused men’s room on the fourth floor. There is something vaguely exciting about the sneaking around, Crowley muses, if he didn’t think Gabriel was deathly afraid of being seen with him.

Because, after all, let’s not forget that Gabriel is one of the so-called popular kids, and Crowley is decidedly … not. Which is not to say that Crowley doesn’t have friends (if Hastur and Bee really count as friends), but he definitely isn’t going around all buddy-buddy with Gabe and his popular friends, most of whom are on the football team. And maybe it’s better that he and Gabriel don’t really hang out, anyway, because Crowley isn’t sure he’s ready to open that can of worms. Everyone at school already knows he’s gay (following an absolutely disastrous and miserable freshman year in which, somehow, he was outed and everyone proceeded to treat him like he was a leper) and he wouldn’t want Gabe to have to deal with the same thing.

And Crowley’s got to stop thinking about this anyway, because he and Gabe are about to meet up. They don’t really ever talk, just make out and maybe a little over-the-clothes touching in between periods. He has to take what he can get, with Gabriel.

“Long time no see.” Crowley is jolted out of his spiraling thoughts by Gabe’s voice, confident and assured, a small smirk on his face. “Penny for your thoughts?”

“They’re worth more than a penny,” Crowley jokes back, though feeling slightly uneasy. He can’t seem to stop his thoughts from running amok. He should really be more invested in this, he thinks, almost disinterestedly, in the cute boy that he’s currently kissing. Sometimes, like right now, he can’t remember why they can only be together in secret. Wouldn’t it be nice to hold hands in the hallway, like everyone else?

They kiss a little more, Crowley feeling distinctly uneasy. He thinks Gabe can feel it, or at least feels that Crowley isn’t as into their back-corner-of-the-hallway makeout sesh as usual, because he pulls away, just a little, to look at Crowley, before diving in for another kiss. Crowley thinks, with sudden clarity, that he should care more about this. He should be more invested; after all, he’s had a crush on Gabe for a while, and even though they can’t hold hands in the hallway and be a real, proper couple, this should be enough for him, right? Has to be enough, really.

So why won’t his brain stop going in circles? It’s not as if he hasn’t considered this before, the fact that Gabriel won’t even say hello to him in the hallway, won’t acknowledge Crowley’s existence except for these few stolen minutes, in between gym and lunch. So why is it that now, all of a sudden, Crowley can’t stop thinking? Can’t stop thinking about the fact that maybe he wants more than this, wants more than just moments, pieced together from here and there. But as soon as he has this thought, he rejects it. This is good enough for Crowley. It fits him.

And besides, Crowley wouldn’t want to subject anyone else to the mortifying experience that he went through last year, what with being outed and all. And besides, he thinks rather miserably, it’s not as if anyone would want to date him seriously anyways. This is probably all he’s good for, really, sneaky makeouts and handjobs in the abandoned bathroom, and he really should be focusing more on the fact that he’s kissing Gabriel, because the other boy pulls away again and gives Crowley an odd look.

“Look,” Gabe says, his lip curling a bit. “We’ve only got a few minutes before the bell rings, and-“

Crowley interrupts. Somehow, he can’t do this anymore, this weird sneaking around. Thinking about it more just makes his brain hurt. He extricates his hands from Gabe’s jacket, feeling distinctly uneasy. “I just - I just don’t know - I just don’t know that we should be doing this anymore.” The words rush out of him, leaving Crowley’s palms sweating and his eyes darting around, unable to meet Gabe’s eye.

Gabe just stands there, mouth open, dumbstruck by what Crowley is saying. His eyes glance around, and then he chuckles. Starts to laugh, really. “You’re -“ he starts incredulously. “Trying to end this? As if you could do better.”

The lump in Crowley’s throat has migrated to his stomach. He thinks, rather miserably, that he could have done this in a better way, perhaps. Ah, too late for that. He bites his lip, forces himself to continue. “Look, I just - I just don’t think - look, you don’t really like me, do you? And it’s fair, I mean, I get it, the not liking me, it’s just - why would you want to keep doing this?”

Gabriel grits his teeth, muscle in his jaw working furiously. “Fine,” he says, indignantly. “Have it your way, then.” And he stalks away.

Crowley thought it would make him feel better, he really did, if it weren’t for that lump that refuses to leave his stomach. After all, even though Gabe wasn’t willing to be his boyfriend, for real, it was something, wasn’t it? Had Crowley just gotten rid of the one person who could tolerate him, quasi-romantically? And thinking about that made his head hurt even more, until all he could do was flop his head into his hands rather dramatically and wallow for the three minutes until the bell rang.

Crowley shuffles into his new homeroom for the year, focusing on his shoes and noticing a scuff mark that wasn’t there before he met up with Gabe. He swallows hard as Miss Nina looks at him, a small, pitying smile on her face and, without looking at her list, says, “I’ve put you at the back table, there, next to Mr. Fell.” At this, Crowley’s head shoots up. He remembers, all of a sudden, that they’re to have new blocks this year, that he wouldn’t be with Bee and Hastur. Even though they’re terrible friends, they’re the ones he’s got, and they’ve always had their classes together. He gives Miss Nina a panicked look, trying very hard to convey without words that this is an absolutely terrible idea. He absolutely cannot sit next to Azi Fell. For starters, there’s the fact that Azi is the most popular boy in school, head of the football team, and would never deign to look at Crowley. There is also no forgetting the fact that it was Azi’s group of friends who made Crowley’s life a living hell last year after he got outed to the whole school. And worst of all, Azi and Gabe are friends. So sitting with Azi is really not an option, which is what Crowley tries to convey to Miss Nina with his panicked expression and wide eyes. A conveyance which the teacher seemingly does not pick up on.

She smiles at him, a bit mischievously, before turning back to the pile of papers on her desk. “Sunglasses off, Mr. Crowley,” she adds, almost as an afterthought, as Crowley starts to walk away.

So sitting next to Azi it is. Crowley drags himself over to the back right corner of the classroom and tries to slide unobtrusively into his seat as un-noticeably as possible. He reluctantly pulls the sunglasses off his face and places them carefully at the top of his bag, ready to pull them back on as soon as he can.

He tries to glance at Azi out of the corner of his eye, and slumps into his seat more. Damn. He was clearly not successful at being unnoticeable, because Azi is staring straight at him, a large warm smile across his face. Crowley tries his best to look straight ahead and not notice, which he finds rather impossible after around fifteen seconds. He sighs, then turns to look at Azi out of the corner of his eye. He finds, inexplicably, that the other boy is still smiling. And if it isn’t one of the prettiest smiles Crowley has ever seen, he thinks before he can help it. It even reaches his eyes, good-natured and amiable as they are.

“Hello,” he says, friendly, “Looks like we’ll be sitting next to each other this year.”

Crowley thinks he’s had a crush on Azi Fell since kindergarten, probably, when the two of them had been paired to work on a project together. Not that Aziraphale would remember, it being ten years ago and all. But Crowley had gotten used to the kind of unrequited crush that you don’t have to think about, the kind that lives in the back of your mind and rears its head every few years or so, but you never really have to take seriously. He gulps. Not that he can take it seriously, now, either. It’s a bit harder to ignore the object of your decade-old crush when you never interact, seeing them only across the cafeteria or briefly when Bee and Hastur dragged him to a football game that one time.

Crowley merely raises an eyebrow. “I don’t…” He looks around. “Are you talking to me?” He tries to hold back his eye roll, for the most part, since none of the teachers let him wear his sunglasses inside. He's not sure the effort is entirely successful.

Azi, for his part, only lets the smile recede the tiniest amount. “Yes? Who else would I be talking to?”

This is, Crowley supposes, a fair question. After all, there is no one else sitting at their table. “I just thought,” he vaguely mumbles, “what with last year and all. I just don't think your friends would be happy if they knew you were talking to me.”

The smile remains. “Why not?”

Crowley can’t believe this. “You know,” he hisses, eyes darting around furtively to make sure no one else is paying attention to their conversation. “Because I’m gay. Well, pan really, but no one seems to care about the difference.”

Azi holds the beatific smile, letting only a bit of confusion seep into his eyes. “I-I-“ he flounders. “But we’ll be sitting next to each other all year. I can’t not talk to you.”

Of course, Crowley realizes. Practicality. They are the only two at their table. It would be odd to ignore each other all year; not to mention, they would have to work together.

“Alright,” he supposes. He slumps back into his seat, eyes studiously on the teacher at the front of the classroom. He feels, rather than sees, Aziraphale glancing at him every so often, but he mostly manages to put it to the back of his mind.

Crowley manages to get himself through the rest of homeroom without making too much of a fool of himself. Mostly, he accomplishes this by staying silent and looking straight ahead at the board, only letting himself glance at Azi out of the corner of his eye. As the clock ticks closer and closer to the end of the period, he starts surreptitiously gathering his things and shoving them as quietly as possible into his backpack. He reasons that the quicker he can get out of this class, the lower his chances are of being caught in a conversation with Azi. Not that he would really mind, but he wouldn’t want Azi to be seen in the hallways with him. The bell rings, and Crowley shoves his sunglasses back on, grabs his backpack, and nearly trips over his untied shoelaces in a bid to be the first one out of the door.

He’s really got to kick himself for being stupid, he thinks to himself as he walks into history to slump into a seat in the back corner of the room. He’s forgotten that having a homeroom with Azi means that, in fact, they’ll be taking every class together this semester. He can only hope that Azi has some other friends in this block and will decide to sit with them for their other classes. But Crowley’s never been lucky. So when Azi comes into the new classroom, sliding through the door in the nick of time before the bell rings, there is only one empty seat left. And it is next to Crowley. This can’t be good for his unrequited crush, he thinks miserably. He’s doomed.

He smiles again at Crowley, a soft, timid smile, and points to the desk. “Is it,” he starts, almost cautiously, “alright if I sit here?”

Crowley, for his part, manages to tone the snark down to a vaguely manageable level. Though, with one eyebrow cocked, he’s not sure he achieves the desired effect. “As opposed to sitting on the ceiling?”

Aziraphale looks sheepish, a blush spreading across his round cheeks. He carefully puts his bag down, sits very exactly and properly in his chair. The rest of the class passes much without incident, but Crowley does feel he has to warn Azi about the dangers of being seen together. He needs Azi to understand that they can’t be friends. So this time, at the end of class, instead of running out, he grabs Aziraphale’s arm. Aziraphale, for his part, looks up, startled. Crowley yanks his hand back as if he’s been burned. “Look,” he starts, “I just wanted … you should just know … you probably shouldn’t sit next to me in all of our classes. People might get … the wrong idea.” At this, he focuses on the graffiti written all over the desk, determinedly avoiding Azi’s gaze.
______________

Azi’s expression of confusion only grows deeper. He’s not sure why the other boy is so opposed to them sitting together. He can’t remember the last time somebody didn’t like him, really. He remembers, vaguely, as if it happened in a dream, the other members of the football team making fun of a scrawny kid with a penchant for black for something or other, but Aziraphale had never himself been part of that. Although - and, with this thought, he glances back at Crowley - he supposes Crowley can’t be blamed for not remembering who exactly it was in the friend group who did the bullying. He offers a shy, polite smile, trying to convey a message of friendliness, but Crowley’s scowl only deepens.

After a week of classes (during most of which Crowley and Azi end up sitting near each other, most definitely not on purpose), Crowley seems even more withdrawn than usual. Which is something to behold, Aziraphale muses, since he was never exactly a paragon of friendliness. But something is definitely up. Which is how Aziraphale justifies following Crowley one day after class. After all, he muses, it’s not as if the other boy can get any worse, really. He’s just curious, he tells himself. Just wants to make sure his classmate isn’t getting into any trouble, he justifies.

But, walking a few steps after Crowley into the deserted locker room, he realizes, things absolutely can get worse. Because that’s definitely the sound of kissing. Aziraphale wishes he could turn back time, miracle himself out of this situation, because, really, anything would have been better than having to listen to his grumpy classmate have a secret tryst in the football locker room, where his team will be meeting later for practice. Aziraphale turns on his heel, ready to leave this embarrassing situation behind him, when he thinks he hears voices. Not friendly ones, either. He thinks he probably shouldn’t stay, that this is a private conversation, but what if Crowley needs help? He turns on his heel, sneaks a little closer, and tells himself he is just trying to make sure everything is all right.

He stands just around the corner, trying very hard to stay quiet and out of sight. It becomes clear very quickly, however, that everything is very much Not All Right. He can hear Crowley, quietly, almost under his breath, at first, so quietly that Aziraphale can’t hear, “Stop.” Aziraphale strains his ears, listening closely to make sure he hasn’t heard wrong. Because, is that Crowley protesting? And who is that he’s with? Aziraphale hears a clatter, hears the word “stop” again, more clearly this time, a hissing that really sounds not very nice, and steps around the corner, his body moving before his mind can decide if this is a good decision.

But a good decision it must have been, because there’s Crowley, backed up against one of the lockers, holding … is that Gabriel? Yes, Gabriel, at arm’s length, a desperate expression on his face. And it’s Gabriel who sees Aziraphale first, lets go of Crowley’s shirt as if it suddenly turned into a swarm of hornets, and takes a few steps back, shaking his head. “Fell,” he spits. “This doesn’t concern you.”

“I beg to differ!” Aziraphale stands up straight, refusing to look at Crowley, leaving all of his attention for Gabriel. “I believe he asked you to stop.”

Gabriel’s mouth hangs open, eyes dart between Aziraphale and Crowley. “What are you even doing here?” he says, taunting. His eyes grow narrower and continue to jump between the two other boys, not staying long enough to maintain eye contact with either one. Not that he would be able to make eye contact with Crowley anyway, what with the sunglasses and all.

A sneer curls Gabriel’s lip as he turns to look at Crowley. “He’ll never really be your friend, you know. He’ll realize, eventually. How messed up you are.” With neither Crowley or Aziraphale seeming to have anything to say in response, Gabriel stomps away.

Crowley is pointedly looking at the ground, hands twisting round each other as if he needs something to hold but can’t quite find the right thing. Aziraphale looks at him, eyebrows drawn together worriedly. “Are you … I mean, I’m not sure if this is the right question, but are you all right?”

Crowley’s sunglasses remain firmly faced towards the ground. “I don’t suppose it’s too much to ask that you didn’t hear any of that?”

“I did,” Aziraphale says, mouth twisting uncomfortably. “But I’ll forget it at once. In fact, it’s already done.”

Crowley looks up, a shy smile, which dissipates as soon as he sees that Aziraphale is looking right back. “Right,” he mutters. “Well. Best be getting on, haven’t we.” He moves to grab his backpack and run out of the door, but Aziraphale won’t let him do this twice. He sticks his arm out, catches Crowley across the chest. The other boy looks down in surprise. Aziraphale sees his twisted expression and drops his arm. “Look, I just - “ he starts, “I’m sorry. He shouldn’t act that way. It’s not right.” Aziraphale smiles, though this one is mostly twisted and sad, and walks towards the door. “See you in class, yeah?”

There is nothing Crowley can do but stare after him.

Weeks pass, much the same. Aziraphale thinks that Crowley is starting to warm up to him. After all, even though they still mostly sit in silence, he wouldn’t describe the silence as sullen anymore. Maybe more like cordial. Pleasant, even. Which is why, one day during math class, Aziraphale leans over to Crowley and whispers under his breath, all while glancing at the teacher, “You know how to do this, right? I’ve been trying for ten minutes and I can’t seem to figure it out.”

Crowley glances at his paper, then smirks. “You’ve only just got this one thing wrong, right here.” And at this, he leans, just barely into Aziraphale’s space, using his eraser to get rid of one pesky number. “Should be right as rain, now.” They lapse into their usual silence, but Aziraphale thinks he’s making progress. If only a little.

He can tell, really, that it’s working when Crowley leans over during their unit on Shakespeare. They’re supposed to be annotating their copies in silence, coming up with their own conclusions before they share with the class, but Aziraphale catches Crowley surreptitiously taking glances at his own paper. He angles it slightly towards Crowley, a slight grin at the corner of his mouth. It’s an uneasy alliance, perhaps, since Crowley is determined that they should not be friends, but Aziraphale presses on. He manages to make Crowley smile at one of Shakespeare’s never-ending sex jokes and, well, if Aziraphale happens to think privately that he likes the way that the tips of Crowley’s ears get a bit red whenever he writes down another bawdry translation, he supposes that no one else ever has to know.

He likes these moments, when the two of them can help each other with things. Makes his life easier, really. And, on top of it all, it’s nice to be making a new friend. Aziraphale thinks he’s getting a little fed up with his old group of football friends, especially after what he saw with Gabriel. Though, if he has to be honest with himself, his discontent has been brewing for a long time. He’s just not sure these are the people he wants to surround himself with, not anymore. Maybe being popular used to matter to him, but the more time he spends with Crowley, the more he starts to realize that there are other things that are more important. Genuineness, for one. Camaraderie. People who know how to do the right thing.
________________

And really, Crowley thinks, he should not be letting Aziraphale worm his way in. Will only make the heartbreak worse, really, when Aziraphale ends up dating the prettiest girl in school, becoming prom king, and winning a football scholarship at an Ivy League, never to be heard from again. This unrequited crush business really is rubbish, particularly when the object of your affections has the gall to be straight. Not that it’s Aziraphale’s fault, really. After all, how was he supposed to know that Crowley’s had a secret crush on him for the past ten years? But it’s too hard for Crowley to dissuade him, not anymore. It seems that Aziraphale is determined for them to be friends, or at least friends as far as their social circles would allow, and Crowley is too weak to put a stop to it.

Crowley’s favorite subject, at the moment, is science. Mostly because they’re doing a unit on astronomy, which has been Crowley’s favorite so far. After all, he’s always been comforted by the thought of the stars, by looking into the night sky. He especially loves to stare up at them and pretend he’s falling down into space, into its vast nothingness, but full of light and wonder all the same. He walks into the class, a bit more upbeat than usual, and strides over to the workspace he shares with Aziraphale. He greets the other boy with a half smile, throwing his backpack onto the floor with slightly less force than usual. As he is leaning over, fishing for his notebook and a pen, Aziraphale grins over at him. “Did you hear?” he asks Crowley in a conspiratorial voice. “They’re planning a field trip to the observatory.”

At this, Crowley sits up fairly straight. “Where did you hear that?” he demands.

When Aziraphale smiles, it’s a secret little sort of smile, one that is conspiratorial and innocent all at the same time. Aziraphale decides he loves seeing Crowley like this, delighted at the prospect of lying on the floor and looking at the stairs through a giant microscope. “Teachers like me, you know,” he says proudly, puffing out his chest a little. “I bake them things. Cookies, cakes, you know. Sometimes they tell me things. You know, we chat.”

Crowley leans over, crowding into Aziraphale’s space. “So you have this on good authority, then?”

Aziraphale almost preens. “Oh, yes.” He inclines his head ever-so-slightly in the direction of Miss Maggie. “She loves my apple turnovers, you know,” eyes sparkling mischievously.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, angel,” Crowley drawls, a smirk on his face. “Bribing a teacher for secrets. It’s a bit … diabolical.”

“Oh, no!” Aziraphale’s eyes widen. “I don’t bake for the secrets, you see. I just love baking! And people love to chat. I just ask them questions about their lives! It’s not - I’m not - It’s not a bribe!” At this, he furrows his brown and pouts. Crowley can almost imagine him stomping his foot, a caricature of anger, since he rather thinks Azi is quite too cute when he's angry to be taken entirely seriously.

Crowley chuckles. “Calm down. I'm only kidding.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale quiets. “Of course.” He looks down, mollified.

“Anyway,” Crowley says sharply, looking towards Aziraphale, “Isn’t it exciting? The observatory? We’ll have to go at night, of course, but there will be so much to see!”

They spend the next few weeks of science class learning about the cosmos, different star systems and planets and galaxies. Crowley finds himself decidedly preoccupied by Alpha Centauri, which they learn about during the fourth week of classes. He particularly loves learning about Rigil Kentaurus and Toliman, gravitationally locked together. It’s interesting, he muses, that for most of human history we thought they were one star. That these two, though separate, are intermingled to the point that, with the naked human eye, we cannot see where one begins and the other ends. Orbiting around each other, ceaselessly, but never truly meeting in the middle. Never truly becoming one. He thinks it would be interesting to go there, to Alpha Centauri. To see the planets closest to our own, watch them orbit each other ad-infinitum, a never-ending dance between two celestial beings, arms outstretched, forever reaching towards each other.

For his part, Aziraphale likes learning about the nebulae, though science has never been his strong suit. But he especially loves the Pillars of Creation. Mostly because he thinks it’s funny that, with everything in the universe, there is a nebula that looks like a human greeting on a planet light-years away. And, because it makes Crowley laugh.

Although, he muses, he isn’t usually a fan of his science classes. Usually, he prefers language arts or social studies, even. He isn’t really a math and science kind of guy. But he does love the look on Crowley’s face when they learn about the cosmos. He decides, after the fact, that this has nothing to do with the fact that science has suddenly become his favorite subject.

Privately, however, Aziraphale is having a crisis. He finds that he can’t stop thinking about Crowley and his love for the stars. Can’t stop thinking about Crowley in general, really. He just wants them to be friends, he reasons. He just thinks Crowley is smart and funny and he thinks they should be best friends. Never apart. It’s clear Crowley doesn’t feel the same. But it doesn’t hurt to try, right?

“Look,” Aziraphale says one day as they wait for homeroom to start. “you like science, right? And books are kind of my thing.” At this, he smiles a bit to himself. “So… I just thought … and, look, feel free to say no to this idea but I just was thinking that maybe …”

Crowley, impatient as always, interrupts: “Just get to the point, angel.”

“Alright, ok. I just … would you want to help tutor each other? I mean, not tutoring as it were but I know you’ve been struggling with Shakespeare and, try as I might, this astronomy physics stuff is just not making any sense for me and I just thought … never mind, it’s a stupid idea.”

Crowley stares, a bit startled. He can’t really find the right words to say. “No, no,” he rushes to assure Azi. “It’s not stupid, it’s just … you want to hang out more?”

“Well,” Azi uncomfortably begins, “We spend most of the day together, really. It just … I think it just makes sense to help each other out. You know, we both know exactly what the other is learning and struggling with and I am honestly not ready for this astronomy test tomorrow and … but, you know what? Never mind. Let’s not.”

Crowley startles, leaning forward to look into Azi’s eyes. “No, no, I think it’s a brilliant idea. A great one, really. Your strengths are my weaknesses, blah blah blah.”

Aziraphale’s body seems to relax, his shoulders lowering and a breath escaping in a long breath. “Okay, so… do you want to come round mine after school today?”

A few hours later, they sit in Aziraphale’s room, cross legged on the floor, textbooks strewn haphazardly about in between them.

“I really don’t think I’m ready for this test tomorrow,” Aziraphale worries, picking at his nail beds. “There are just so many different stars and galaxies! How am I supposed to recognize them all in the sky?”

Crowley glances over, sees Azi wringing his hands, and suddenly has to hold himself back from reaching out and smoothing the worry lines in the other boy’s forehead. He gulps, forcing himself to focus on the words in front of him. “What are you having trouble with?” he asks, unable to meet Azi’s eye.

“Oh, everything! I don’t know.” He points to a star system on the unlabeled map in front of him that he will have to complete on the test. “What’s this one?”

Crowley grins. This he knows. He leans forward, flips Aziraphale’s textbook to the right page. “It’s my favorite. Alpha Centauri.”

Aziraphale smiles softly. “Ah yes,” he says, almost to himself. “How could I forget?” He looks up, meeting Crowley’s eyes through the sunglasses, which have not left Aziraphale’s face since he looked in his direction. It startles Crowley a bit, the way the other boy can always seem to find his eyes, even when they’re shielded behind their comforting wall of glass and plastic.

“You know, my friends call me Aziraphale. It’s my full name, really. My parents were really into the whole Catholicism thing and I don’t think they thought about what a bad idea it would be to name a kid after an angel. Which is why I go by Azi. But,” he glances down at the floor, shyly, “I think I’d like it if you called me Aziraphale. You know, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Crowley realizes, abruptly, how close their faces are to touching. It takes everything he has to keep his eyes fixed on Azi - Aziraphale’s eyes and not let them drop to his lips. He quickly rocks back on his heels, cheeks feeling hot, picking up his textbook jerkily and swallowing hard. He puts his hands on his thighs, uses his momentum to stand up. All of a sudden, he can’t breathe. He needs air. He clears his throat roughly. “I’m going to get myself a water. Want anything?”

Aziraphale brightens a bit. “Water would be great, thanks!”

Crowley jokes weakly, trying to diffuse the awkward moment, “I’d go all the way to Alpha Centauri and back to get you a glass of water, then, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale grins, a shy little smile that Crowley has not seen before. It’s almost coquettish, in the way that his kindly eyes are framed by his eyelashes, the apples of his cheeks slightly red. But it does make him laugh, and the tension seeps away, a little.

He replays that moment over and over in his mind for weeks, focusing on a different piece each time: the way he smelled, the way his kind eyes latched onto Crowley’s, even through the sunglasses, like he knew exactly where they were.

Aziraphale passes the test, of course. And, privately, he thinks that Alpha Centauri may be his favorite, too.
_______________

They meet up every few days, at least once a week, for the entire first semester. Aziraphale thinks they’re well-matched, each good at the other’s weak subjects. He enjoys the hours he spends with Crowley, especially since they don’t just study. Of course, they do their fair amount, since Aziraphale really does need help with astronomy. But he also finds himself slowly becoming friends with Crowley. At least, he thinks he is. He realizes that there is a lot that Crowley hides behind a shell, one that Aziraphale is only beginning to crack open.

They start hanging out, outside of the tutoring. They play video games together, mostly. Aziraphale decides fairly early on that he’s always got to let Crowley win, because he loves the look on his face. One day, they’re hanging out after school, as has become habit, when Aziraphale feels his stomach start to rumble. “Want anything from the kitchen, Crowley?” he gets up from the couch, looking expectantly over his shoulder as he walks towards the door.

“Hmm,” the other boy muses. “I would take a little snickety snack, thank you very much.”

Aziraphale grins, and says cheekily, “Then I’ll make sure you get your snack, even if I have to go to Alpha Centauri and back.”

Crowley’s eyes twinkle, as he and Aziraphale look at each other in a frozen moment, delighting in the camaraderie of a shared joke. Crowley grins, a shy grin, and one that he tries to hide by ducking his head quickly. Luckily, Aziraphale has his eyes locked on Crowley and doesn’t miss a minute of his expressions.

Aziraphale probably wouldn’t have learned anything were it not for Crowley’s tutoring sessions, since he really doesn’t pay attention. To the teacher, that is. He often finds himself noticing little things about Crowley, like the way his nose scrunches sometimes when he grins or the way he loves to wear his sunglasses and has trouble making eye contact when the teachers make him take them off. But he does get a kick out of astronomy, especially since he can tell it’s been Crowley’s favorite unit so far. Crowley just lights up when they learn about the stars.

Things continue on, much of the same, for the rest of the semester. Crowley suddenly can’t picture not having Aziraphale in his life, much as it hurts him to be unrequitedly in love with no end in sight. They have classes together, spend most evenings studying together (if Aziraphale doesn’t have football practice), and Crowley decides that maybe they can be a little bit more than just study buddies. So, during one of their study sessions, he gathers up his courage, pieces it together, and blurts, “Doyouthinkyoumightliketoseeaplayintheparkwithme?”

And god bless Aziraphale, he sits up and looks at Crowley with a bemused expression. “Sorry, could you say that a bit more slowly?”

Crowley closes his eyes, huffs a big breath of air out of his mouth, and forces the words out. “Do you. think. you might. Want to see. A play in the park. Shakespeare. With me?”

Aziraphale’s expression is delighted. “Oh, I’ve heard they’re putting on Much Ado About Nothing at the theater in the park! I’ve been wanting to go but tickets are so hard to get, you see, and-“
At this, Crowley reaches wordlessly into his bag and pulls out two rather crumpled tickets. He clears his throat nervously. “My mom had a few extras, got them from work, and I know you love his plays, so I just thought-“

Aziraphale rather launches himself across the room, barrels Crowley over in what is surely meant to be a hug but looks more like an excerpt from a wrestling competition. Crowley finds himself flat on his back, squeezed tightly, and stares in a confused manner at the ceiling. It only lasts a few seconds before Aziraphale is pulling himself up, chuckling nervously, and wiping some imaginary dust off his jacket. “I’d like that very much,” he says, unable to meet Crowley’s eye. “I do prefer his comedies, you know. Much better than the sad ones.”

Crowley clears his throat, also looking at the floor. “Alright, that’s settled, then, angel.”

Aziraphale tries not to startle at the nickname, looking at the floor, but letting a smile spread slowly across his face. He’s used to the angel jokes, thinks they come with the territory when your parents happen to name you after a biblical angel, but he doesn’t think he’s ever heard it this way before. Said softly, reverently, like a prayer.

The play is, of course, one that Aziraphale has seen before. Which means that he can mostly spend the whole time discreetly watching Crowley.

After that, the tutoring sessions turn into hangouts more often than not, the two boys spending most (or, really, all) of their free time together. Which is why Aziraphale has started to notice Crowley’s habits and patterns, notices that he always wears his sunglasses when he’s feeling overwhelmed or stressed out, and hates when the teachers ask him to take them off for class. They’re rather like a security blanket, he figures, something that helps Crowley feel safe.

Which is why he’s surprised, one day when their sort-of tutoring has turned into playing more video games, when he notices some movement, out of the corner of his eye. He’s mostly focused on playing the game, and trying to make it seem like he’s trying to win when, really, he just wants to let Crowley be the winner. And he’s so intently focused that he almost misses Crowley, who is playing much worse than usual, very quickly sliding his sunglasses off his face and into his pocket.

Aziraphale knows, he knows this is a big deal for Crowley, which is why he forces himself to stare intently at the screen, to not make a big deal. Even though he knows it is. But he can tell Crowley is uncomfortable already, doesn’t want to say anything that would cause Crowley to put the glasses back on. Instead, he just stares at his controller, trying very hard (and mostly failing) to suppress the grin that just doesn’t seem to be able to leave his face.
_______________

With that, the two boys fall into a new routine, spending more of their time together than not. Aziraphale’s friends make fun of him for leaving after school every day to hang out with Crowley, but Aziraphale doesn’t mind. He thinks, rather unkindly, that he’s not sure why he hangs out with this group anyway. Of course, they are mostly on the football team together, but does he even like them?

It’s during one of their tutoring sessions that Aziraphale thinks, determinedly, that he wants to hang out with Crowley outside of school and tutoring and one Shakespeare play in the park. Maybe it’s his turn to suggest something a bit out of the ordinary. You know, besides video games. After all, they have fun together. Why shouldn’t they hang out like real friends do? He thinks on it for a few weeks, trying to come up with the best way to ask Crowley to come to the end-of-fall semester football party with him, in a way that Crowley will actually want to come.

He spends a whole afternoon gathering up his courage, and almost chickens out at the last minute, walking down the stairs in Crowley’s house. As he opens the door and takes a step out, he steels himself, and turns around. “You know, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the football team is having our big party this weekend to celebrate the end of the semester.”

Crowley grins. “I don’t live under a rock, you know.” He rolls his eyes, cheekily. “Everyone knows about the party.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale swallows. “I don’t suppose … well… do you think you’d want to come?”

For a moment, Aziraphale thinks Crowley hasn’t heard him, for how still the other boy stands. “Me?” he finally asks.

“Well, yes,” he says, trying hard to not sound put out. “I just thought … you know, we don’t really hang out besides class and tutoring, and I thought it might be fun to go to a party together. But,” he adds quickly, realizing that maybe Crowley isn’t comfortable with the football team and all their parties, “You totally don’t have to come, if you don’t want to.”

“No, no,” Crowley starts, reaching out a hand as if to touch Aziraphale’s arm, then withdrawing it before they can touch. “I … sure,” he finishes lamely. “I’d like to come, actually.”

Aziraphale smiles, a rather beatific smile for the fact that all Crowley has done is agreed to come to a party. “Well, then. I’ll see you tomorrow at the party, I guess!”

The two make eye contact, just for a minute, and Aziraphale is suddenly struck by Crowley’s eyes. Not that he hasn’t seen them before, during class and sometimes, just sometimes, when Crowley is brave enough to take them off when the two of them are hanging out. But, because Aziraphale can tell it makes Crowley uncomfortable, he tries not to stare at Crowley’s eyes, doesn’t want to make the other boy too uncomfortable. Which is why, all of a sudden, he can’t seem to stop staring at the yellow-hazel-bronze-gold of Crowley’s irises. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen such a pretty color. As soon as he has this thought, Aziraphale realizes he’s been staring just a beat too long, gulps, and forces himself to look down at the floor.

Luckily, Aziraphale doesn’t have too much time to second-guess his inviting Crowley. Not that he doesn’t want Crowley to be there, but he knows that the football team was a huge part of the bullying that Crowley endured last year after he was forcibly outed to the whole school. And Aziraphale absolutely would not want to make that worse. But, he supposes, it’s Crowley’s decision. And Crowley decided to come. He can’t un-decide that for him, really. Even if he would rather spend the night playing video games at one of their houses, another night for just the two of them.

It’s a bit too late for that, he also thinks, as he walks into the party. It’s times like these that he really starts to second-guess his friendship with most of the members of the football team. He supposes, if he really thinks about it, they’re not all bad. There is always Muriel. But this beer-chugging, bullying group of macho football guys is not exactly Aziraphale’s cup of tea. He joined football for the sport, not the people, really.

He’s broken out of his spiral when Gabriel and Michael come up to him, one on either side, and Michael throws an arm around his shoulders, belching a very hoppy-smelling burp right in his face. “You made it!” he slurs, leaning a good portion of his body weight onto Aziraphale.

Aziraphale chuckles, awkwardly. “That I did.” He tries, and mostly fails, to extricate himself from Michael, craning his neck to look around the room for Crowley.

“Looking for someone?” Gabriel asks, rather meanly for the fact that he doesn’t know who Aziraphale is looking for. Shouldn’t, really.

“... Just looking around.” Aziraphale sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Drinks?”

As the three of them push their way over to the kitchen, counters covered in beer cans, handles of liquor, and various soda mixers scattered around, he catches a glimpse of something - or, rather, someone - pressed into the back corner of the wall, slinking around the room, as if trying not to be noticed. Aziraphale waits until Michael and Gabriel are decidedly occupied by pouring themselves drinks, and he sidles over to Crowley, giving the other boy a friendly punch on the shoulder. “You came!”

“You asked me to,” Crowley points out, rather unhelpfully. Aziraphale doesn’t think he’s ever seen the other boy look quite so uncomfortable, except perhaps on that day in the gym lockers which he’s promised not to mention. He realizes, suddenly, that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Crowley quite so out of his element. Or that Crowley came, apparently, just for him.

“Come on,” Aziraphale says as he grabs Crowley by the wrist and starts pulling him towards the stairs. “I think I have a better idea.” The two boys run up the stairs and down a long hallway, giggling a bit, until they find an empty room. Crowley tumbles to the floor, in a very undignified manner, looking only a bit put out when he realizes that Aziraphale is most definitely laughing at him.

He grins anyway, as Aziraphale carefully sits cross-legged on the floor next to him. “This is better, isn’t it?” he asks, enjoying the relative peace and quiet.

“Yeah,” Crowley agrees easily, closing his eyes just a bit. “I don’t think I realized quite how many people came to this thing.”

Aziraphale nods, pressing his lips together into a tight line. “Look,” he begins, “I should have realized that … this probably isn’t your idea of a fun Saturday night.”

Crowley’s mouth tilts up on one side, the beginning of a smile. “Not exactly,” he hedges. “But I’m happy to be here with you,” he adds, bumping his shoulder against Aziraphale’s. Aziraphale realizes, suddenly, how close they are sitting, how close their faces are. He should probably scooch away, he thinks. Or, he could scoot closer, his brain adds, unhelpfully.

Seconds pass like this, one after the other, both Aziraphale and Crowley frozen in place. Crowley suddenly surges forward, not being able to help himself. His body feels like a magnet, inextricably pulled towards its opposite. Their mouths clash in almost-a-kiss; it’s something that is messy, wretched, filled with longing. Azi doesn’t break the kiss, but he doesn’t return it either. He just sits, frozen, which is somehow worse. Crowley realizes, and scrambles backwards, his eyes wide and frightened, like a caged animal, darting between Aziraphale and the floor.

Crowley gulps, and Aziraphale’s eyes can’t help but be drawn to the movement of Crowley’s throat, the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows. He looks scared, skittish, like he’s about one second from running away. Which, Aziraphale realizes as Crowley continues to scooch away, getting up onto his knees as if to stand up, is exactly what he’s about to do.

Crowley rushes to the door, not breaking eye contact with the floor. “Sorry,” he mutters, grasping for the door handle, which is rather hard to do when one is looking firmly at their shoes instead of anywhere else. “Sorry,” he says again, as if that’s the only word he knows. “It was a mistake. I didn’t - I didn’t mean - I’ll just - “ he wrenches the door open and, with one look back towards Aziraphale, almost sprints out of the room.

Aziraphale can only bring himself to stare dumbly at the door, his legs feeling numb. His whole body feeling numb, really, except the pieces of his mouth which were just pressed against Crowley’s. He slowly, gingerly, reaches up a hand to touch his mouth, his mind suddenly going blank except for the memory of that kiss. He stares ahead, eyes wide, hand pressed against his lips until his reverie is broken by the door, once again, slamming open. This time, it’s Gabriel and Michael, drunkenly fumbling their way around the house.

“Aziraphale!” Michael cries, drunkenly oblivious to Aziraphale’s crisis. “It’s time to shotgun!”
____________

When Aziraphale wakes up, more hungover than he’s been in recent memory, the first thing he remembers from the night before is that kiss. He groans, flopping back onto his bed and throwing an arm over his eyes. He’s not sure what exactly happened, or where it all went so disastrously wrong. He opens his phone, thinking he’s got to text Crowley and make sure everything is still okay, but can’t quite think of the right thing to say. After what feels like an eternity of staring blankly at his phone, he chucks the thing to another corner of his bed and puts his head in his hands.

And of course it’s winter break, he thinks miserably. Normally, he’d be excited for winter break. After all, who wouldn’t be excited for two weeks of no school, cozy winter holidays, and hot cocoa every day? But today, on the first day of winter break, all he can think about is the absence of Crowley. No tutoring sessions, no jokes during homeroom, no watching Crowley’s face light up as they learn about science, for two whole weeks.

But, he thinks to himself, maybe it’ll be good to have time to figure out what he wants to say to Crowley. He’s been realizing how important this friendship is, how he isn’t ready to lose it. He walks over to his desk, posture slightly less rigid than usual, and sits down in front of a blank search page on his laptop. How to support your gay friend who has a crush on you, he starts with. Quora, which is widely known to be an incredibly reliable source, advises Aziraphale to give Crowley space. No, he thinks miserably. That isn’t what he wants. That isn’t what he wants at all.

Ok, so he needs a new plan of attack. The thought of not having Crowley in his life puts a frown on his face, a fairly visceral reaction. He decides to think over their friendship, thinks about the way he lets Crowley win when they play video games, the way that Crowley’s face looked when he learned about Alpha Centauri. Thinks about the kiss, the way that Crowley’s mouth felt against his own, the way Crowley’s long fingers rested gently on Aziraphale’s arms. The stricken look on his face as he ran out the door.

Aziraphale swallows, hard, and steels himself. How do you know if you have a crush on someone, he tries next. WikiHow, another unquestionably trustworthy source, advises him that he will feel butterflies, warm and giddy and excited and nervous all at the same time. If he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t not feel this way around Crowley. Quite the opposite, in fact. Ok, so maybe he’s felt a butterfly or two.

His fingers hover over the keys, unwilling to type what he knows needs to be his next question. Because typing it, of course, will somehow make it real, and he’s not sure if he’s ready for it to be real yet. But then he thinks, again, of Crowley, of the way his mouth halfway smirked and halfway smiled when he told Aziraphale that he’d go all the way to Alpha Centauri to grab him a glass of water. Aziraphale closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then types: Am I gay?

Google, with all its wealth of answers, doesn’t have anything definitive. Of course, Aziraphale thinks, somewhat miserably, that this, his most important question, doesn’t have an easy answer. He decides that a Buzzfeed quiz probably isn’t the best way to go about solving this, and decides instead to start researching different sexualities. He remembers Crowley mentioning that he was pan, not gay, and this seems like as good of a place as any to start. He doesn’t think he feels the same way Crowley does, not towards every single gender. He tries to think about the people he’s had crushes on in the past, what their similarities and differences were. Tries to remember the last time he had a crush on a girl, and fails rather miserably.

He remembers, suddenly, being at a sleepover with some of the football boys before high school started, all talking about the different girls they liked and how they might up their game for high school. He remembers casting his mind around, desperately, for someone suitable he might have a crush on, someone his friends would accept and support. He remembers, vaguely, saying some girl’s name, though he can’t remember whether he actually had a crush or whether he just convinced himself he did, especially since all of his friends got so excited.

And then, he thinks, the thought catching him a bit by surprise, that he might be a little bit in love with Crowley. Just a little. As soon as he has the thought, time speeds up, crashing over Aziraphale. He sits at his desk, struck dumb by his realization. How can he be in love with Crowley? But then he thinks, really thinks to himself, about the times he’s thought about the way Crowley slouches in a chair, or the way his hands move, or how long and lithe his fingers look and how much he’d just like to grab one or all of them maybe and - okay. So maybe, probably, he’s definitely not straight.

Or when he gets distracted by the way Crowley’s body leans in a doorway, all angles and uncomfortable-looking lines, and the way he slumps in a chair that looks like it must be uncomfortable. But also Aziraphale would love to climb into his lap and - okay. So he’s definitely a little gay for Crowley. He is positive, though, that Crowley thinks he’s straight.

And he is just as absolutely, positively sure that Crowley wants nothing to do with him. After all, Crowley kissed him, said it was a mistake, and then ran away. And, to top it all off, hasn’t spoken to him since. He supposes that it was a mistake on Crowley’s part, that he got carried away. Especially since Crowley thinks he’s not gay. It’s not a totally crazy assumption, on Crowley’s part. But Crowley should have more faith in him! Aziraphale thinks, emphatically. He should know that Aziraphale is not going anywhere, thank you very much.

But, Aziraphale thinks determinedly, Crowley is his friend. His best friend. And possibly, just maybe, he deserves to know the truth. And if he wants to run away again, that’s fine. It will be fine. Aziraphale will make sure. He’ll make sure that they can keep being friends, that they can keep their tutoring sessions and lunches together, but … what if? The thought never leaves him, what if, what if, what if. What if they could be more? What if Crowley wanted them to be more?

He spends his whole first day of winter break hunched over his laptop, looking into every piece of sexuality and sexual orientations, trying to find a label he thinks fits him best. He is so engrossed in his research that he doesn’t hear the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs, or that of a knock on his door. He does, however, hear his door beginning to open, and guiltily slams his laptop shut as he swivels around in his chair. “Mom!” he says, startled.

“Sorry,” she says, smiling sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to disturb you, honey. Just wanted to see if you wanted any lunch.”

Aziraphale exhales, letting the stress that bunched up in his shoulders come out all at once. “I could go for some food,” he admits, realizing suddenly how loudly his stomach is growling. “But,” he muses, hesitantly. “Can I ask a question? How did you know you liked dad?”

“Oh, honey,” Aziraphale’s mom’s eyes grow misty, and she takes a seat on his bed. “I just realized, one day, that I just wanted to spend all of my time with him. Couldn’t imagine my life without him, really. I don’t think there was one particular moment. Just a series of little ones, until one day I couldn’t remember what it was like before him. Does that answer your question?”

“I think so,” Aziraphale says, eyes going far away. He adds, almost as an afterthought, “I’ll be down for lunch in a sec!”

Turning back to his computer, he doesn’t see the way his mom’s eyes twinkle, or the way they stray to the picture of him and Crowley sitting on his nightstand before she heads back downstairs.
______________

Crowley, for his part, spends his two weeks of winter break wallowing in bed. This is the worst mistake Crowley has ever made, he thinks, muffling his screams into a pillow. He should have been okay with friendship, would have been if he hadn’t done this. Besides, he knows Aziraphale will never feel that way about him. Couldn’t. Not that anyone ever could, but definitely not popular football captain Azi Fell. And, even if he was interested (which Crowley knows he’s not), Crowley couldn’t do that to Aziraphale. Wouldn’t. Wouldn’t allow him to enduring the bullying, the stares, the hatred that Crowley has since he was outed. Azi is too clean, too pure. Too angelic. He doesn’t deserve the contempt, the antipathy, the disgust. Not like Crowley does. He resolves to put the kiss far out of his mind, to never think of it again. Even better, he thinks to himself, he’ll just have to end the friendship. Not in an obvious way, of course, but Azi will realize soon that he can do better than Crowley. That he should. That Crowley isn’t worth the gum that’s stuck to the bottom of his shoe. He isn’t sure how Azi hasn’t realized already. Or maybe he has, and has been friendly with Crowley out of pity. He’s not sure which one would be worse. Either way, he knows that he absolutely, positively must stop being friends with Azi Fell, for Azi’s sake.

He rather thinks he could spend the rest of his life curled up in bed, under the covers, where he’s not a burden to anyone else. Luckily for him, tomorrow is the first day of winter break, and his family doesn’t have any plans. So he can spend the whole two weeks wallowing, if he really wants. And want he does. He gets out of bed, of course, appearances for his parents’ sake, but he spends the majority of winter break curled in bed, watching Criminal Minds reruns and shoving as much popcorn as will fit in his mouth.

He manages to drag himself out of bed on the third day, and by this he means that Bee and Hastur come over and pull on his ankles until he is laying on the floor. Bee hovers over him, their eyes looking decidedly worried for the fact that Crowley is fine, thank you very much. “Look,” they start, mouth pulling into a frown. “I’m not going to say I told you so-” At this, Hastur elbows them in the side, whispering out of the side of his mouth, “Not the time!” As if Crowley can’t hear the entire exchange.

“Ok,” Bee tries again. “We haven’t heard from you all break so far. We were supposed to go to the arcade today. The party can’t have been that bad, can it? I mean, I know I told you not to go -” they get another elbow from Hastur, at this, “-but what happened? You’ve got to tell us.”

Crowley, still lying prone on the floor, groans, wiggles himself over onto his stomach so he doesn’t have to face either of his friends. “I maybe,” he says, muffled into the carpet, “tried to kissAziFellandthenranaway.”

“What was that?” Bee demands, crouching over Crowley and cupping their ear, as if this will help them to hear better.

Crowley turns his face ever-so-slightly to the side, so his words won’t be deadened by the carpet again. Two times of saying this is enough, he thinks, and he doesn’t think his heart could bear to say the words a third time. “I might have tried to kiss Azi Fell,” he grits the words out. “Did kiss him, I guess,” he says morosely.

When no more information is forthcoming, Bee demands, “And?”

“What happened?” asks Hastur, at almost exactly the same time.

“He didn’t kiss me back. Didn’t do anything, really. So I ran away. Haven’t heard from him since.” At this, Crowley turns his head back into the carpet so he can suffocate himself. Better that than his current situation, he thinks wryly.

Though he can’t see, Bee and Hastur give each other worried looks, Bee grimacing and Hastur shrugging his shoulders. Hastur sits on the floor next to Crowley, awkwardly pats his back once before deciding that, okay, physical touch is not for them. “Well, you’ve always got us, right?” The joke falls flat.

Bee frowns at Hastur, taking their place on the other side of Crowley. “That sucks,” they begin, with nothing better to say. “Maybe the arcade could take your mind off of it?”

Crowley groans, a feeble groan, from his prostrate positon on the floor. “Don’t think I’m up for leaving the house, really.”

Bee and Hastur give each other another worried glance over Crowley’s head. “Criminal Minds marathon?” Hastur suggests. “Nothing better to take your mind off a crush than some good old-fashioned serial killing.”

They take Crowley’s mostly silent shrug to mean yes, and grab him by the wrists to deposit him back on the bed, for a more comfortable viewing experience.

After that, Bee and Hastur spend most of their winter break at Crowley’s, trying to keep his mind off his obviously unrequited crush on Azi Fell. Of course, Bee could have (and had, in fact) warned Crowley that to develop a crush on one of the popular football players was an absolutely dismal idea, but there was no stopping Crowley once he put his mind to something. Besides, Bee figured, it’s probably not what Crowley needs to hear.

They spend their days binging true crime shows, eating their body weight in ice cream and cheetos, and finally even manage to drag Crowley out of his house and to the arcade. There’s definitely no change of seeing Aziraphale there, Hastur and Bee decide, and it would probably be good for Crowley to get out of the house.

On the second-to-last day of winter break, when Crowley’s parents have gone out to do some shopping and he is trying not to think about the fact that he’ll have to go back to school and face Aziraphale in the coming days, he hears a knock at the door. Assuming it’s a package, Crowley tries to go back to his Criminal Minds episode and distraction from thoughts of Aziraphale outright rejecting him in front of the whole school (or their whole homeroom, at least), when there is another knock. Crowley rolls his eyes and throws the covers off to walk down the stairs. While he appreciates the company that Bee and Hastur have given him over the past week, he thinks he’s ready to just spend a day by himself.

Crowley wrenches open the door, ready to tell Bee that he is fine, please and thank you, and he absolutely does not need another day of wallowing over a popular football player who clearly wants nothing more to do with him-

“Hello,” says Aziraphale sheepishly, a self-conscious smile on his face. It is, Crowley thinks dazedly, a smile he could stare at all day. But, then again, he would be content to bask in any iteration of Aziraphale’s smiles until the end of time. By this point, the smile has slightly dimmed, as Crowley realizes he’s just been standing in the doorway, looking fairly gobsmacked, saying nothing.

“Oh,” he says, belatedly. “What are you doing here?”

Again, the smile dims, an infinitesimal amount. Crowley doesn’t think he’d notice if he hadn’t spent a year in form watching and cataloguing the other boy’s expressions.

“I just - I wanted- I just thought-“ he flounders, “IjusthadsomethingtosayandifIdon’tsayitnowIprobablyneverwilland”

It doesn’t seem like Aziraphale is planning to take a break for oxygen any time soon, so Crowley interrupts. “Hold on, hold on. Come again, angel?” And then he winces, just a little bit, because the nickname just … slipped out. He shouldn’t be using it any more, probably, since Aziraphale can’t be interested in a friendship anymore, not after what Crowley did.

Aziraphale swallows, eyes shifting to the left and pointing determinedly at the ground. He starts again, almost in a whisper, “I just … I’m sorry for not texting but I’ve just been thinking … I just … I know you said the kiss was a mistake, but what if - “ At this he pauses, eyes darting up to catch a glimpse of Crowley’s expression before fixing themselves again on Crowley’s feet. “What if it wasn’t? A mistake, that is. I mean, if I said … that maybe … I might … want it to happen again?” His eyes dart to Crowley’s forehead once more, unable to meet the other boy’s eyes. “I just mean … I’ve been doing some research … you know, on sexuality and what mine might be … and I just … I think … I just haven’t been able to stop thinking about our kiss, okay?” At this, the words seem to start pouring out of him like a broken dam, as if he simply is no longer able to stop them. “I just haven’t been able to stop thinking about you and I actually think I maybe want to kiss you all the time? And I just … I just think it would be worth it, maybe. That you are worth maybe ruining our friendship because maybe it could be so much more. But I know I was an absolute arse for not texting and I should have said something earlier and I know you probably hate me forever and could never forgive me but I just - I just would never forgive myself if I never- “

Crowley has been standing, still frozen, in the same exact position he was when he opened the door. His mouth has been opening wider and wider throughout Aziraphale’s rant and, finally, Azi meets his eyes, and Crowley just melts. He takes a step, and then another, closer to Aziraphale, who doesn’t notice because his eyes are fixed firmly on the ground. He realizes, though he probably should have noticed before, that it’s raining. The type of rain that could be described as a downpour. But he’s in the rain, already, so it’s too late to worry about that. And as Aziraphale keeps going, his eyes keep darting around, and his voice keeps getting faster and higher and faster and higher until Crowley can’t do anything except step out into the rain to grab his chin, forcefully, and smash their mouths together. Like their first kiss, this one is not graceful or tender or even loving. But it is the only way Crowley can think to make Aziraphale understand that there is actually nothing else he’d like more.

And this time, oh sweet Jesus, Aziraphale doesn’t stand still. He doesn’t pull away either, like Crowley is still half convinced he might. Instead, Aziraphale stands firm against Crowley, standing tall and almost rigid until Crowley gently places his arms around Aziraphale’s waist, pulls Aziraphale infinitesimally closer, and the other boy just melts into Crowley, reaching up onto his tiptoes and throwing his arms around Crowley’s shoulders . The kiss turns soft, sweet, as if they both realize that this is what’s really happening and isn’t a dream. That they can do this again and again.

He wishes he could freeze time; just stop it from moving forward for a few moments. Live inside this moment forever. Because everything ends. everything changes. it’s inevitable. It’s good, really. but to just freeze time, to be able to crawl inside of a moment and live there forever; to go back and live the same moment again and again. To relive this kiss, over and over and over. And over. He could stay here, just like this, exactly like this, for eternity. Forever, he thinks. Except for the fact that he’s getting soaked to the bone.

So Crowley reluctantly detaches his mouth from Aziraphale’s, resting their foreheads together instead, because he doesn’t want to be any further away. “So,” he ventures cautiously, “does this mean we’re boyfriends?”

Aziraphale smiles gently, huffs a short laugh. “My dear,” he says, the crinkles of a smile still reaching his kind eyes, “That’s all I want. I think I’ve wanted it before I realized it, you know. My brain just needed a minute to catch up to what my heart already knew.” Aziraphale cradles Crowley’s cheeks in his hands, tilts the other boy’s head down to lay a gentle kiss on his forehead. “That is, if you’ll have me.”

Crowley’s laugh is more of a bark, startling out of him as a joyful exhale. “If I’ll -“ he starts, head shaking ruefully. “Angel, angel," he whispers with a near-reverence. He plants a soft kiss on Aziraphale’s lips, then another. He can’t help himself, really, now that he's allowed and all. “I’d love you to Alpha Centauri and back.”
______________

Epilogue

At the end of the school year, the sophomore class finally takes their trip to the observatory. They go on a Friday night, all piling into buses and annoying their chaperones, Miss Nina and Miss Maggie, all the way all the way to the tower. It’s probably not usual for a bunch of fifteen-year-olds to be so excited about an after-school field trip, but it is a pretty cool one, after all. They all crowd into the equatorial room, sitting cross-legged on the floor, heads all tilted towards the sky.

Gabriel sits in the corner of the room, or as close as you can get to the corner in a circular room, glowering as he watches Crowley and Aziraphale sitting next to each other, holding hands towards the center of the room. The two are grinning at each other, taking turns excitedly pointing at the sky. He senses, rather than sees, a presence sit rather delicately next to him, letting out a loud huff.

He glances over. Bee. Crowley’s weird friend. He’s not exactly sure why this … creature has decided to sit next to him.

“Gross, isn’t it?” Bee drawls. Gabriel glances over again. He follows Bee’s line of sight to Crowley and Aziraphale’s light PDA.

“Got that right,” he says as he leans back on his hands, slightly understanding the other’s presence. “Nobody wants to see that.”

“What? No- not- I’m not homophobic, you idiot. I didn't mean it like that. I just - Crowley’s my best friend. And I know Aziraphale will hurt him. Just like you did.”

And this, perhaps, Gabriel deserved, just a little bit. “Hold on - I’m not - I didn’t mean it in that way.”

Bee quirks an eyebrow, giving him a skeptical look. “I know,” they say, conspiratorially, leaning in. “About you and Crowley, I mean. And I don’t trust you. Or like you.”

Gabriel leans back against the wall, contemplating. His shoulders slump and he looks resignedly at the floor. “About that,” he begins, “I really didn’t mean to hurt him, you know. I just was trying to figure things out. I didn’t mean for him to get caught up in that.”

Bee crosses their arms, the mistrustful look remaining on their face. “That doesn’t make it okay, you know,” they say, firmly. “But, between you and me, I get it. I mean, not bullying Crowley. That part you should be ashamed of. But figuring out your sexuality, it’s hard. Especially in high school. People can be cruel,” they finish, shrugging their shoulders.

Gabriel perks up a bit, eyebrows coming together in a worried way that makes his forehead crease. “I should apologize, I think,” he says, with finality, in a manner that books no argument. Not that there would be any argument from Bee.

“Yes, you should.” They both lapse into silence for a bit, staring up at the stars in the night sky. They sit quietly for the rest of the evening, a silence that is more companionable than it should be for the fact that Bee is friends with Crowley and definitely, absolutely should hate Gabriel.

As the class makes their way back onto the buses, Gabriel finds himself sitting with Crowley and his friends, herded along with Bee. He spots his friends, Michael and Uriel, getting onto the bus and frantically motions them over, looking for any exit from the conversation he can take. Once the bus starts rolling, Bee looks around at the ragtag group of high schoolers who should, according to all social rules, not be friends. A slight smirk adorns their face. “Anyone up for some ice cream after this?”

Crowley, Aziraphale, Hastur, and Ligur are all quick to agree. Michael and Uriel, while slightly slower, require no convincing. This leaves only Gabriel, everyone turning their heads to look at him. He forces his mouth into an awkward smile. “Yeah… sure … why not?”

The rest of the group all grin at each other, exchanging quiet high fives and fist bumps in order to not attract the attention of their chaperones, who seem decidedly ... preoccupied, anyway. What with them being all cuddled up in the front seat of the bus, and all. The ride passes quickly after that, everyone eagerly awaiting their sugary treat. Back at the school, they all clamber off the bus, splitting off into groups of two to hop in cars and meet up at the best soft serve place of all time. Crowley and Aziraphale, Michael and Uriel, Hastur and Ligur, which just leaves …

“Well?” Bee demands impatiently, looking back over their shoulder. “Are you coming?”