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Anthony J. Crowley didn't know what he was doing here.
He could tell by the looks that the patrons of this local library were sending him that they were wondering the same thing.
Crowley had never set foot in a library in all his sixteen years, which honestly isn't that surprising. He didn't like to read much, and whatever he had to read for school was issued from said school or he could find it on the Internet.
So this was Crowley's first time in a library, and he, as was mentioned previously, didn't know what he was doing here.
Well, it's actually more like this: Do you know how it is when you know exactly what you're doing, but you don't know why you're doing it?
That's how Crowley felt at this moment.
He knew that he was here because he was following the curly-haired stranger that had caught his eye, but he didn't know why he was following him. He just was.
He'd been outside because his parents were screaming at each other again. More accurately, his mother was yelling at her ex-husband (Crowley's father, as if that needed saying.) and his wife, over the phone and about some painting that they'd 'stolen' or whatever.
Anyways, the yelling always annoyed Crowley, because it was loud. It drove him out of the house, and this time he had taken a stroll in a direction he never walked, just because he felt like it.
He'd encounter a curly haired stranger trotting to the library, and for reasons he could not explain, he followed him.
He put his hands in the pockets of his dark jeans and glanced around to see where the guy had disappeared to.
"Can I help you?"
It was a young women, probably in her early twenties, who spoke to him.
Crowley glanced through his dark sunglasses at her.
"No," he stated simply.
The woman studied him. "Who are you looking for?"
Crowley just stared at her. She must've been one of those body language readers he'd read about in the paper. The ones that were scamming people and pretending to be psychic. How annoying.
So Crowley walked away from the woman - Anathema, her name tag read. She must be one of the librarians, he thought. -, and went back to his search for the blond.
Crowley ventured into the section where all the genealogy and history books were.
Crowley heard faint humming and poked his head around the corner of a bookshelf to find the blond teen sitting in an armchair in the corner with a pile of books next to him and an old, faded book in his lap.
"Hello," said the blond without looking up.
Crowley adjusted his sunglasses before coming around the corner and acting as smooth as usual.
"I'm Aziraphale." He finally looked up with a friendly smile. His hair was an unruly mop of blond curls, sticking out in multiple different directions. He had oval framed glasses on his face and clear blue eyes. Crowley was staring, but the sunglasses prevented Aziraphale from noticing.
"Crowley," Crowley replied. (He always hated the name Anthony anyways. Everyone knew him as Crowley, except his parents.)
"Pleasure to meet you." Aziraphale stuck a piece of paper in between the pages of his book and closed it. The title was "The Complete Works of William Shakespeare."
"Um."
"So, why were you following me?" Aziraphale asked.
"Oh, I wasn't. I love the library. I come here every Ssssaturday," Crowley lied smoothly. Well, smoothly except for the hissing which had a tendency to slip in when he was nervous. But Aziraphale didn't know that.
"Oh, really?" Aziraphale brightened slightly but he still looked a bit suspicious.
"Yeah, yeah, me and the library, great friends," Crowley said, running a hand through his perfectly-styled black hair and wishing he hadn't because now it wasn't perfectly-styled anymore.
"I thought I'd never see the day that Anthony Crowley set foot inside a library!"
Crowley mentally died a little, hearing the voice of his-not-friend-since-3rd-grade, Hastur.
"Hastur, Ligur, so nice to see you," Crowley said sarcastically.
Aziraphale went back to his book.
"Yeah, we haven't seen you around in a while," Ligur added.
"What a shame. I've been busy and you've been ditching school," Crowley replied in a monotone voice that suggested he was anything but sorry about the whole thing.
"Who's your friend?" Hastur sneered, sending a look at Aziraphale that Crowley didn't particularly like.
Crowley glanced at Aziraphale.
"I don't really know him," Crowley replied honestly, which a bit of a shock because he was somewhat a compulsive liar.
Ligur whispered something in Hastur's ear and then they both turned to leave.
"See you around, Anthony."
Scratch that, his parents weren't the only ones who called him Anthony.
"Friends of yours?" Aziraphale said, but his voice was lacking its previous friendliness. It sounded rather dead.
"Not since third grade," Crowley replied. Again with the truthfulness.
"Oh," Aziraphale murmured quietly.
"Yes, well, ahem," Crowley tried to think of something to say. "What school do you go to?"
"The only secondary school in this town. I'm sixteen, by the way," Aziraphale replied, his voice warming back up a bit.
"Same," Crowley replied, sinking into a chair next to Aziraphale's and draping his long legs over the side, elegantly. (Crowley was just a generally elegant person.)
"Nice to meet you, Crowley." Aziraphale said, clearing his throat.
"You too."
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
They exchanged phone numbers, and Crowley left the library shortly after, but throughout the rest of the day, he couldn't get bright blue eyes behind oval frames out of his head.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
"I take it you don't actually go to the library every Saturday. -Aziraphale" Aziraphale said to him over text on Sunday afternoon.
"What clued you in? :P" Crowley replied.
"I go to the library every Saturday and I've never met you before. -Aziraphale"
Crowley made a little sort of chuckle in the back of his throat. Figures that Aziraphale would sign his texts with his name at the end.
"Oh. Yeah, well, I've never been. It's alright, I spose" Crowley typed back.
"I love books, and I go every weekend. The old ones are the best, no matter what they're about. -Aziraphale"
"Why haven't I noticed you around school before?" Crowley typed.
"I was homeschooled all my life until this year. I tend to hang back so it's no surprise you didn't notice me. -Aziraphale"
"Oh. How's that then? -Crowley (since you're doing it I might as well too)"
"It was alright. A bit lonely, I suppose, but I have acquaintances at church. -Aziraphale (I'm sorry, does it annoy you? I really haven't texted anyone much before.)"
"Aziraphale's an angelic name, isn't it? Are your parents religious? -Crowley (hey, at least I'll know who's texting me.)
"Yes. My father is not around much, he travels a lot. What about your parents? -Aziraphale"
"Divorced. My dad remarried, his wife's alright. Whenever my parents talk to each other, they yell alot. -Crowley"
"I'm sorry."
And they continued texting into the late hours of the night.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
It was Thursday morning, and Crowley wasn't paying any attention in English.
He perfectly grasped the concept of the language, written and spoken, and he had quite a lot more intelligence in English than everyone else in the small classroom did, so he felt no need to pay attention. He preferred to distract the other students. Discreetly, of course, he didn't need to get suspended.
He wanted to text Aziraphale, but he'd tried that before, and Aziraphale said he had to pay attention in class, then stopped replying.
Crowley pondered over his relationship with the other teen.
He had to admit that he was more close with Aziraphale than he'd ever been with anyone else..
But what was odd is that they had nothing in common.
Aziraphale was practically the perfect child. He never cursed, never smoked, never drank, got great grades, obeyed his parents, and he was everything Crowley wasn't.
Crowley could care less about grades. He was effortlessly good at school, without trying. Crowley cursed, but Aziraphale had flinched when he did so he tried to curb the habit around him though Aziraphale pretended he didn't care. Crowley didn't smoke, he tried it once and it was alright, it just wasn't something he did. He drank, he was old enough. Crowley didn't know the meaning of obeying his parents, since his parents never told him to do anything. He probably wouldn't do anything they asked anyways.
Crowley had a habit of getting into trouble, but that was actually only by being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He had a tendency to do that, really quite unintentionally. He'd never got into anything serious, however.
Oh, and Aziraphale's parents would not be happy if they knew he was hanging around with the 'bad boy' who wore a leather jacket and had sunglasses that never left his face. So they hadn't exactly met Crowley. Correction, they had no idea Crowley existed.
But whatever. Crowley didn't mind.
And this morning, he'd spotted Aziraphale in the hall. With a black eye. Crowley wasn't able to catch up with him before the bell rang so he wasn't able to ask about it.
Also, he pondered, Aziraphale was a bit dim.
'A bit' meaning only dim in certain situations.
Certain situations meaning 'when he's being flirted with'.
--At lunch the previous day, the rain was pouring outside. Crowley had forgotten his umbrella in his car and didn't want to get soaked trying to make it there, so he and Aziraphale stayed at school for lunch, eating the bland cafeteria food.
They were seated semi-comfortably in the cafeteria, when a girl with a neon pink skirt and highlighted brown hair came up to them.
"Hi! Aziraphale, right? I'm Sasha, I'm in your English class," Sasha said, ignoring Crowley entirely, which made him slightly annoyed.
"Yes, hello." Aziraphale smiled, friendly as usual.
"Yeah, I was just wondering if, uh," She chewed her lip, bowed her head, and looked up at him with faux nervousness, batting her eyelashes. It would've been obvious to a blind man what she wanted. "You would want to go out sometime?"
"Well, Crowley," he gestured to Crowley. "and I were going to hang out after school today, and tomorrow, and Saturday I study at the library and Crowley was going to join me, but you can feel free to join us," Aziraphale stated.
Sasha frowned in disappointment. "Never mind."
She walked away, her shoes clacking on the floor.
"Dear me, and I thought I was being kind," Aziraphale frowned.
"She was asking you out," Crowley stated.
"Oh," was all Aziraphale said, with a curious sort of 'hmm.'
"She was pretty and I think most guys would've been quite pleased to have been in your place," Crowley continued.
"Yes, well, she wasn't my type," Aziraphale stated calmly, dumping his tray of nearly all uneaten food into the nearby trash can and then walking to class.
Crowley had just sat there momentarily, feeling a bit alone. --
Well, Crowley thought, it's just as well. I finally have a friend and it would be such a shame if some girl stole him away from me.
He never did remember to ask about that black eye.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
Aziraphale asks the inevitable question three weeks after they've met.
They're sitting in the library. Aziraphale has a book about old Egyptian structures in his lap and Crowley is sprawled on the love seat next to him, his feet on Aziraphale's lap as he plays Tetris on his phone.
"Crowley, why do you wear sunglasses all the time?" Aziraphale says, with a tone that suggests this question has been agitating him for quite a while although he's been refraining from asking as best as he could.
"Becaussse I like them," Crowley deflects immediately. It's a practiced answer. He'd worn them for at least six years whenever he was out in public, and he'd eat Aziraphale's favorite tartan sweatervest if he ever told anyone the real reason why.
"Oh. But I've never seen your eyes," Aziraphale says with a frown.
'Just as well," is what Crowley thinks. The response he gives is a noncommittal "Ngh."
Aziraphale has a thoughtful expression on his face and looks back at his book.
Crowley closes his eyes and leans his head on the cushion comfortably.
"Are they green?"
Crowley groans.
"You know, I bet they suit you, whatever color they are."
Crowley manages a sort of smile despite himself.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
Crowley comes up with it one November night. They're eating burgers at a little diner owned by this nerdy guy who can't work with computers, and they're having some sort of conversation about something.
"I think I'd like an ice cream sundae," Aziraphale announces as he finishes his burger.
"An ice cream sundae," Crowley repeats. "You do realize it's below freezing outside?"
"That's outside, dear," Aziraphale replies, ordering one ice cream sundae when the waiter returns.
Crowley rolls his eyes behind dark lenses. "Only you, Angel."
Aziraphale tilts his head with a grin.
"What?" Crowley asks.
"You've given me a nickname, finally," Aziraphale says happily.
He's right. He's been calling Crowley 'dear' for some time, but only now did Crowley ever give him a nickname.
And that's when it hits him. Right in the gut.
Crowley had never felt it before, he had once wondered if it was even possible, but now, over burgers and ice cream sundaes and fries, he'd realized just how possible and real it was.
And that it was happening.
He was falling in love.
With the friendly perfect angel, with the one friend he'd ever had, with the only person who'd ever showed any sort of interest in Crowley's miserable life, with the only person he'd ever cared about, with the teen that had blond curls that you couldn't calm with a thousand bottles of hair product, with the weird guy at his school who loved sweater vests and always had the same glasses.
Crowley was falling in love with Aziraphale.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
It's after Christmas, and Crowley's having an excruciatingly boring night. His mother's in Vegas, and Aziraphale went to the cinema to see the movie he's been excited about for eons, Les Misérables, and he had to turn off his phone, so they haven't spoken in two hours.
Crowley misses him.
So when his phone rings and the little screen says, "Aziraphale", Crowley snatches it up in record time and answers eagerly.
"Finally, I've been waiting forever," Crowley says into the device.
"Crowley, could you please-" A cough came through the other line. "Could you please come pick me up? If it's not too much of a bother, that is."
Something's not right. Crowley senses it the minute he hears his voice.
"Aziraphale, where are you?" Crowley asks, barely not panicking.
"The corner of Fremont and Queen Anne, I was walking home, please hurry."
The line clicks dead and Crowley races out the door, nearly forgetting his sunglasses.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
It's a good thing there's no one driving at the moment, because Crowley's driving like a drunk, high maniac.
So many things were running through his mind, and none of them pleasant.
All he can think about is Aziraphale.
He speeds up to the corner and jumps out of his car.
"Aziraphale?" Crowley says frantically.
"Here."
Crowley sees him standing up from the fence he was sitting against and smiling at him weakly.
"Hi," Aziraphale says, and nearly falls over. Crowley wraps an arm around his shoulders and catches him.
"Angel, what happened?"
Aziraphale just groans and tries to keep his head up.
Crowley can see blossoming bruises and a bloody nose and Aziraphale is clutching his ribs and Crowley is worried, so, so, worried.
"Come on, let's get you to my house, it's closer." Crowley says in his ear.
Aziraphale says nothing.
After getting him in his Bentley, Crowley sees Aziraphale's glasses on the cement and picks them up gently, taking them into the car with them
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
When Crowley gets home, Aziraphale is passed out.
Crowley pulls him out of the car, and carries him into his house.
He lays him on his bed, and after making sure he's comfortable, fetches a glass of water and some pain medication for when Aziraphale awakes.
Crowley runs a hand through Aziraphale's blond curls, dirtied with dry blood, and he finds a small cut in his head, which is scabbed over and looks like it's healing properly.
Aziraphale looks like he could be a lot worse, which is a huge relief.
Crowley presses a kiss to his forehead and then sits back, making sure to watch over his angel while he sleeps.
He hopes it's not creepy.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
When Aziraphale finally comes to, he's on a huge bed he doesn't recognize, but he feels safe, and there's a familiar figure sitting in a chair next to him.
"Crowley," he murmurs.
"What happened?" Crowley asks.
Aziraphale sits up and winces. Crowley hands him the water and pain meds and watches as he takes them.
"I was jumped, and they beat me up," Aziraphale states.
Crowley is silent momentarily.
"No, I mean, who were they? Ssso I can find them and beat them to a bloody pulp for doing thissss to you!"
"Crowley, I'm fine," Aziraphale says gently and places his hand on Crowley's wrist, wincing slightly from pain.
"No, you're not," Crowley chokes out.
"Hastur and Ligur," Aziraphale states quietly, falling back into the pillows.
Crowley changes from crazy mad to furiously insane.
"What?" he hisses.
"They've bullied me since I started school, alright? I should've told someone, but they only beat me up once before, back in August, I could deal with it. I guess they had a problem that I passed by them, and they decided to beat me up."
Crowley can't speak.
"Well?" Aziraphale asks.
"Why? Why would they have a problem with you? What did you ever do to them?" Crowley says, still burning with anger.
"Nothing. Well, they guessed I was gay, I suppose they didn't like that," Aziraphale replies.
Crowley can't speak. He gets up to leave but is stopped by a hand clinging to his arm.
"Crowley, I don't want them bloody, I just want you to stay here with me," Aziraphale says.
Crowley can't say no, so he sits down and adjusts his sunglasses.
"They can get arrested for that, you know. I'm going to call the police," Crowley says, rubbing circles on the back of Aziraphale's hand.
"I don't doubt that," Aziraphale replies.
They stay in silence for quite a while when Aziraphale sits up slowly.
"Angel, what-"
Aziraphale puts his hands on either side of Crowley's glasses and gently pulls them off.
Crowley flinches visibly, and for the first time, Aziraphale stares straight into his eyes.
Crowley's eyes, his eyes that he'd covered up ever since he was ten, were a luminous yellow. His eyes looked like they came from a snake, and he hated them.
Then, Aziraphale spoke, with a soft smile.
"I was right, they do suit you. See, they're beautiful too."
Crowley doesn't speak. He just leans forward, snakes his arms around Aziraphale, and presses their lips together.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/
The next day was the first day of the rest of their lives.
-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/