Chapter Text
If he was honest with himself, Aziraphale had been feeling the weight of loneliness bearing down on him more persistently of late. No doubt the wedding was to blame. He was happy for Newton. Anathema was a lovely woman, surely. The problem was…
“There’s a prophecy. Her family takes those very seriously,” Newt insisted. “An epic love will be kindled at the wedding.”
“Likely she meant the love between the two of you,” Aziraphale said, not bothering to glance up from checking the list of items he was responsible for transporting to the venue.
“Nah. Anathema was very specific about that point. It’s going to be someone else.” Newt was brimming with the sort of nervous energy he tended to exhibit when he was working up to something.
Aziraphale focused harder on his clipboard, hoping he might still be able to turn the conversation onto a new path before it could reach what he feared was its intended destination. “Well, that’s nice, I’m sure. Did you count the bases for the center pieces before we packed them?”
There was a brief pause while Newt gazed into the middle distance before he nodded. “My counts matched your list.” Then, proving he wouldn’t be deterred, “Are you seeing anyone?”
Emotion flared in Aziraphale’s chest; the sudden angry flash of annoyance caught him off guard. He kept his eyes down, pretending to be even more engrossed in his notes while he tried to get it under control. It wouldn’t have been so bad if his frustration could have been attributed to the casual way his question was dismissed, but he had triple checked the counts the night before. He already knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that everything was exactly where it was supposed to be. “I’ll be far too busy making sure everything runs smoothly for this new chapter of your love story,” he insisted. “If something new is about to spark to life, I’m afraid someone else will need to be the target of that particular… blessing.”
“Anathema was just curious about who all was single.” Newt shrugged and smiled in the unassuming way that he tended to. “Made me realize you don’t really talk about your love life.”
There wasn’t much call to talk about something that technically didn’t exist. Aziraphale had an uncomfortable moment as he started doing the maths on how long it had been since his last official date, then realized he’d rather not put a number to it. “Mark me down as satisfied with my current state,” he said with a tight lipped smile as he moved towards the bookshop to gather his personal luggage.
“If romance isn't your thing, that's fine too,” Newt offered, a touch too casually.
Aziraphale stalled for a second, considering the lie and then rejecting it. They had both been dancing around the topic, but he was certain if he told Newt unequivocally that he didn’t want this, the subject would be dropped. The problem was that some part of his heart was still very interested. He had been a true romantic in his younger days; had even been in love once. He could bury those tendencies, but he hadn’t managed to completely stamp them out, despite his best efforts. “It’s not like that.” He pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. It was a nervous habit; he tucked it away aware he hadn’t actually registered what was displayed on the face. “I just have other things on my mind at the moment is all.”
“There’s still room for you to add a plus one if you had someone you wanted to bring. We’d love to meet them.” Newt had the audacity to grin with a sort of hopefulness instead of looking ashamed of how hard he was fishing for information.
Though Newt was unassuming by nature, Aziraphale had learned over the years that he could be quietly persistent about things when he set his mind to them. The best solution at this point was just to give him what he was looking for. Once they met up with the rest of the wedding party, no doubt Anathema and her minions would get involved if he didn't. “That’s not necessary as I am not currently seeing anyone.”
The goofy look of joy that spread across Newt’s face was likely pride at obtaining the specific details his bride-to-be had asked of him.
“I’m serious about not having time for any foolishness. Leave me out of Anathema’s schemes,” Aziraphale warned, fighting hard not to roll his eyes. “You two should be focused on your wedding, not playing matchmakers.”
“The wedding will be fine.” The sound of upbeat music filled the air and Newt actually jumped in surprise before he began attempting to fumble his phone out of his pocket. “That’s Tracy.”
“Tell her I still need the contact info for Anathema’s man of honor,” Aziraphale instructed as he started towards the bookshop again. “Every time you try to send it to me, it comes through corrupted.”
“Will do!” Newt promised just as he managed to get a handle on the phone and answer the call.
The interior of the bookshop whispered safe and home and comfort to Aziraphale. He closed the door and leaned back against it even though he had only intended to grab his bags and step out again. He was already bracing for a long, stressful three days. The last thing he needed was for his hopeful heart to wake up and try to get involved in any way.
The soft chime of his phone pulled his attention back to the task at hand. It was the requested contact from the wedding coordinator. Aziraphale selected to download it, relieved that he could finally check that item off of his outstanding task list.
Somehow the he and the other best man had missed each other in all of the preplanning chaos. Considering how much work and how many meetups had gone into the preparation, it seemed a bit like a minor miracle. Secretly, he had rather low expectations for this man, Tony. He sounded more than a little eccentric and flighty. Anathema adored him as a friend, though, and it wasn’t Aziraphale’s place to suggest that someone else might be better suited to stay on top of the traditional maid of honor duties.
Expecting to send a simple introductory text, Aziraphale glanced down at the contact and felt his heart skip a beat. And then it began to race.
There was a picture. The hair was the same shade of vibrant red it had been when they were in university, though it was much longer now, hanging down past his shoulders. He was wearing sunglasses because… of course he would be, even after all of these years. And his smile was sharp, showing off too many teeth. For anyone who didn’t know the man, he would simply look amused, smiling enthusiastically for a photo. But Aziraphale knew that look–it was all sarcasm with a hint of annoyance. The tiny contact image took his breath away and he glanced down at the name, knowing exactly what it would be and praying somehow he was wrong.
Anthony Crowley.
The panic gripped him as Aziraphale clutched his phone to his chest and voiced the thought that was playing on repeat in his mind. “Oh, fuck!”