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St. James Park, London, 1870
It had been years since Aziraphale had last seen Crowley. Eight long, agonizing years. He certainly wasn’t proud of hurting Crowley and storming off in a huff like that, but how else was he supposed to respond to Crowley’s ridiculous ask? Bring him a suicide pill? How could he expect him to participate in such a horrid thing? Calling their friendship “fraternizing”, he realized, went a bit too far, but how would he ever get the chance to apologize if Crowley continued avoiding him?
So Aziraphale did the only thing he knew how to do: come back to their spot on his regular schedule several times a week in the hopes that Crowley would one day join him again. He would sit on their bench for hours silently feeding the ducks, pondering if there was anything he could do to make it right aside from, well, the thing that Crowley wanted. Day after day, month after month, year after year, he would sit there longingly and hope to see Crowley apparate beside him so they could put all of this behind them. Only Crowley never showed.
Since Crowley had stonewalled him, Aziraphale was particularly lonely. He would take any opportunity to have even the briefest of human interactions, and he started being nicer to his customers. Over the years, it wasn’t unusual for him to strike up conversations with strangers who would join him for fleeting moments on the bench. But it was always only mindless chatter that quelled his aching heart for a little bit, all the while he yearned for his demon who knew him inside and out.
On this particular day in late October, Aziraphale was alone on their bench, watching the afternoon sun dance across the ripples of the pond. He wondered what their lives would be like had he not shut Crowley out all those years ago when he saw a tall and impeccably dressed man stroll towards him. He was graceful and poised, and he had beautiful wavy locks that peeked out the side of his top hat. Stopping at the end of the bench, he motioned to the empty spot beside Aziraphale.
“May I?”
To the average human he seemed cold and aloof, like most Englishmen these days, but Aziraphale could feel the kindness emanating out of him. His eyes were some of the gentlest, yet worn, he had ever seen. He looked like he had seen a thing or two in his day but kept it carefully locked behind a stuffy façade.
“Of course,” Aziraphale motioned with a smile.
Taking a seat, he put on his spectacles, and took out the morning’s latest edition of The Daily Telegraph.
Aziraphale sat composed gazing out over the pond. “Lovely day at the park.”
The man didn’t look up from his paper.
“It is, yes.”
“Unusually warm for autumn.”
“Rather."
Aziraphale fidgeted, “Do you come here often?”
The brunette courteously looked up from his paper for the first time, catching Aziraphale’s expectant eyes.
“On occasion, when I need some fresh air. I spend most of my time at The Reform Club just across the way. And yourself?”
“Oh, yes,” he breathed. “I love feeding the ducks! I’m always so fascinated by them – seeing them bob underwater and preening. And the swans are simply elegant.”
Phileas smiled politely and made an acknowledging hum, turning his attention back to the newspaper. They sat in silence like that for about a minute until Aziraphale sighed.
“I’m usually here with a friend, though.”
The man moved to pack his things, fumbling, “My apologies. Am I in their spot? I thought you said–”
“No, no! Well, yes. But they’re not coming today. We had quite the argument, I’m afraid.”
His eyes softened. “I’m sorry to hear that."
Aziraphale gave a sad smile, “Thank you.”
It was moments like this when Aziraphale was immensely grateful for his angel intuition. Despite the closed off demeanor of the man sitting across from him, he could tell that there was something more. Something that indicated he knew about love and loss and regret and heartache. Something that told him that maybe, just maybe, he could give him the one modicum of compassion he needed in a city full of men terrified of their own emotions.
“Have you ever had an argument with a friend because you wouldn’t do something they wanted you to for fear it was too dangerous?”
He looked up from his paper again to meet Aziraphale’s eyes. Confusion flickered across his face and he stuttered for a moment, seemingly restless.
“Can’t say that I have. But, I keep to myself mostly. I’m not really one for taking risks.”
“Oh, I see.” Maybe his intuition got it wrong. Maybe this wasn’t the deep and passionate man he thought. “What if it wasn’t necessarily risky for you, but for your friend? What if… you couldn’t bear to see them get hurt? But also knew that not doing so could be dangerous for them, as well?”
“I’m afraid I’m not following.” The brunette shifted in his seat to listen more intently.
Suddenly Aziraphale felt like a fool. “I’m so sorry. Here I am dithering on while you’re trying to enjoy the day. Forget me,” he laughed nervously.
“It’s no bother.” His eyes opened up into something so warm Aziraphale swore he could melt in them. “Really.”
Aziraphale took a deep breath and tugged at his tartan collar. “Have you ever loved someone? Or, rather, been in love?”
The brunette went still, his eyes flooding with despair, "I have. A long time ago.”
“Would you have done anything for them?”
Sensing the waves of regret flowing out of the stranger’s being, Aziraphale could tell it wasn’t a simple answer.
“I would have, yes.”
“Even if it was dangerous,” Aziraphale pressed. “Even if being together was…forbidden?”
The man went somber and quiet, and looked as if he was horrifically reliving ages of empty promises and unspoken vows.
“Well,” he swallowed. “You have to ask yourself: would you rather spend your life together, happy, and running towards each new horizon, or alone, never knowing what could have been, and regretting it until the day you die?”
Aziraphale’s heart sank and a lump formed in his throat. “I- well, I suppose the former.”
He shifted nervously in his seat. Of course to a stranger this seems straight forward, but absolutely nothing about him or Crowley was ever straight forward. It couldn’t possibly be that simple. Could it?
The sullen man leaned forward, burning his gaze deep into Aziraphale’s.
“Believe me, if you have someone who is willing to go with you to the ends of the earth – who is ready to plunge with you into the depths of the next great adventure – don’t make the cowardly mistake of letting them slip away.”
Aziraphale swallowed tightly and nodded. His heart raced as he shakily reached for his pocket watch.
“I should get going. I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Phileas. Phileas Fogg.” He extended his hand & Aziraphale took it.
“Thank you, Phileas. You’ve been most helpful and given me much to consider.”
Aziraphale tipped his hat and smiled softly, “I wish you all the best.”
As he walked away, he thought fondly of Crowley and the endless futures that awaited them, and wept silently for the shattered man – alone – who had already lost all hope of his.