Chapter Text
It was an interesting turn of events, a bit of a switch up of his very much settled routine. A routine so extremely settled that he’d owned this shop for 200 years before he’d ever considered a change of profession. It seemed like today was the day though, a new job offer had popped up, and with him expressly in mind. It wasn't something he’d ever usually entertain or even consider receiving, in fact, he’d rather avoid as many human public offices and avoid reporting any information about his identity and having a bookshop was already enough work on that front.
However, this one did come from a friend.
He'd had this human friend for a few years, they'd met quite incidentally, not even in his shop where he was most often found. They had met 8 years ago, a considerable time for Aziraphale to know a human. They met at a different bookshop in a different area of London far away from Aziraphale's usual Soho in the East end. The urge for a little break in routine, a new coffee shop or two, and perhaps a few good deeds along the way had struck him that day. In this bookshop, he'd run into this human friend, quite literally in fact, and she turned out to be one of the most interesting there.
At first, the most he’d ended up influencing anyone in the shop was picking up a stressed mother’s belongings after she’d dropped them when her child made a run for the door, and a bit of reshelving to fit their fantasy collection to the clearly picked shelving system. Oh, and offering a bit of advice for a stressed boyfriend as to which book his partner may prefer.
In there, he’d run into a much more intruiging person, next to the classics section of the store where they had quite the quaint collection of older editions, even a commendable first edition of a lesser-known text Aziraphale seemed to recollect briefly meeting the author of. She was dressed in a way that did not immediately speak to her profession, all hoodie and jeans, shaved head on full display and tortoiseshell glasses tipped to the brink of her nose; with wide eyes and bleary stare, she quickly ran her fingers over the spines, muttering the names of each aloud.
Unknown to Aziraphale at the time, this was an English literary professor, or whatever specialised name those such studies had, at a university local to the area. This was Tom, although unusual it was her preferred nickname and the one she introduced herself as when she physically ran into the Angel. She was also known as Tabitha Henderson, as Aziraphale would get to know professionally, was a very interesting person, always managing to find some new excitement in life. Even if Aziraphale saw her every day he was certain there would be some new tragedy or thrill each time. She, at this time, was rather frantically searching for (an almost impossible to find in a regular bookstore) a copy of Christopher Marlowe’s Dido Queen of Carthage as Aziraphale himself was admiring this lovely 1st edition on display at the top of the shelf.
“God, I’m so sorry mate!” Tom jumped, as she jumped up from staring at the lower parts of the shelf and Aziraphale was snapped out of his book daze, “Bit in my own head today, lost my copy of- well it doesn’t matter, sorry to bother you,” she squeezed her eyes shut in embarrassment while speaking, waved her hands about to get out nerves and kept staring at the shelves,
“It’s quite alright Madam, are you searching for something in particular?” If she was Aziraphale might be able to pick it out immediately, or miracle up a copy if it wasn’t here.
Tom had already gone back to staring at the shelf and mouthing 'M' titles like her life depended on it, and only spared Aziraphale a quick glance, “Ah, I’m looking for something a little rare, been to three bookshops already today, do you know Christopher Marlowe?” She asked, it was a rushed and almost uninterested sentence as if disbelieving that Aziraphale was really that invested in helping at all. Despite the implicit judgement, Aziraphale felt a more genuine smile bloom on his face as he recognised another lover of the playwriter in question,
“Of course! Any self-respecting reader of the classics should, quite an interesting man really too, I never was sure if he was truly treasonous or not.” Aziraphale said, quite pleased to find someone with taste, “Which play are you searching for?” and he watched as Tom snapped her full attention back to him, and a brighter, genuine smile, bloomed over her own face as she began to talk.
That’s how it began, with the further knowledge that Aziraphale himself had a bookshop and a copy of said play. Obviously, he didn’t tell her that he had an original manuscript, one lost to the rest of the world, he showed her a much more modest 1990s copy. It wasn’t quite his business to share, most of the modern interpretations are moderately to completely accurate to the original, if a bit vaguer.
Tom taught a class on playwriters of the 16th century at that time, expanding the general university students’ perception of the time period a little beyond just Shakespeare, despite the man being Aziraphale’s favourite, not just on account of their personal encounters, and a certain Demon's actions. They’d been teaching just 10 years, such a small number, but rather long for such a comparatively young human, and Aziraphale watched her grow and teach longer and longer. It was a mere blink of his eye until she was promoted to having the much larger responsibility of running the entire department she used to tutor for. Aziraphale would be lying if he said he wasn’t rather proud of watching her grow, and maybe pushing her in the right direction a few times, everyone needed reaffirmation that they could actually do their job sometimes. She’d come to visit his bookshop once every few months for a chat, a nice and settled routine, it was really quite lovely.
That was how it all began though, said job offer, they needed someone to lecture on certain books from the latter of the 19th century. A delightful time for books if Aziraphale did say so himself, he had quite the collection of first editions for them that he treated very nicely indeed. Tom just had something rather frustrating happen, their previous lecturer on the course quit 3 weeks before the University semester started, and they were rather desperate, It was their first year in leadership and something had already gone horrendously wrong. Aziraphale was very knowledgeable in this subject, Tom knew that they had many a long in in-depth discussion on the very subject, things that Tom mentioned were indeed in the syllabus already, and Tom was really very desperate for a little help, she needed a bit of a miracle.
Was it so bad to break his routine to help a friend?
He hadn’t had to switch around much, the bookshop was now closed on Mondays and Wednesdays, he had a lecture on Monday morning, one office hour, and one tutorial at midday on Wednesdays. It was just for a year before Tom found a replacement, very simple, not much to worry about, something new he’d never done before, and that was rather rare for him.
He’d told Crowley over a glass of wine about the whole thing. Alone, one Tuesday evening at his bookshop, lounged over some well-worn armchairs, with Crowley lopsided on his as always. He’d asked the Demon if he was making the right choice, if Crowley thought teaching was even a thing that he’d be good at, the Demon had looked at him with a rather confused expression when Aziraphale finished.
“Let me get this straight, you’re going to be talking about books, your favourite-ist thing in the whole wide world, for like 3 hours a week uninterrupted, for months on end, why in Hell would that be a bad thing?” Crowley asked in return, “besides, it’s nice to switch things up a bit, no?” he shrugged, taking a sip of his red, “and don’t tell me you don’t like the sound of influencing the youths down the path of good with your silly little lectures.” He waved a hand about, as if Aziraphale had written any lectures yet, or even planned what assignments might look like, and it was starting next week.
“I suppose you’re… right,” Aziraphale muttered into his glass, looking away, it was still hard to say words like that, who was right and who was wrong, but Crowley was right.
“Course I am Angel,” Crowley quipped back with a small smile,
Aziraphale let out a long sigh, “It is sort of exciting, getting to teach humans about one of my favourite things, I get to do Wilde, it’s a bit wonderful. I don’t actually think the content of my talks will be very morally good, that was the whole rage in books at the fin de siècle, a bit morally vague, a bit devious, more up your alley, I’m sure.”
Crowley shot him a squinting look, “You’re not allowed to use French while I’m drunk, but I’m sure the word you’re looking for is decedent.” Crowley sipped his wine, “Who says you’re not allowed to be a bit decedent huh? You didn’t ever take that rule into consideration before, weren’t you friends with old Oscar?”
“Indeed, I was, as you well know,” Aziraphale replied. It was wonderful really, getting to hand-pick the short stories, poems and novels most suitable to him and his favourite, with the obvious caveat that they had to be accessible, not the wider variety of lesser-known texts that his own collection held. Crowley was right again, Aziraphale never cared much for rules about keeping one's means humble, it was nice to do nice things, read nice books, drink nice wine… “I’m still nervous though Crowley, what if it does all go terribly wrong?”
“What’s the most wrong it could go? A rowdy student or two, Heaven descending on your class and wreaking havoc, a cheeky Demon sitting in and asking annoying unrelated questions?” Crowley listed with a smile on his face, he seemed rather intoxicated at this point a little more slurred and gesticulating wildly, which Aziraphale was used to, but it never ceased to put a smile on his face in return.
“I don’t think I’d really mind one particular Demon sitting in on a lecture or two,” Aziraphale said, a smile coming through his voice, he said it quietly though, as if it could still be heard. “Might be nice to see a familiar face, if it wouldn’t be a great bother.”
Crowley, who had rather intently been staring off into space, turned his head back around to Aziraphale with a grin, “I guess I’m not terribly busy in the next few weeks. Monday mornings are one of the best times to find already miserable humans.”
“Well, I’d rather hope my teaching doesn’t make them miserable,” Aziraphale was playing with a loose thread now, he was still unsure, he suspected he’d remain unsure as to whether this was a good idea or not both in the good for him and good for his status as an Angel for the foreseeable future. He always had moments like these when something changed in his life, being constantly afraid Heaven is going to strike you down for something menial is a genuine concern, although almost 6,000 years have shown that one can get away with an awful lot nowadays.
“Oh, dear Angel, it’s most definitely not a reflection on you,” and that settled it, the slight sultry lilt in Crowley’s voice when he got in a specific mood while drinking particularly nice vintages late at night. Aziraphale felt the thrill up his spine he always got from that voice, and suddenly he wasn’t very concerned at all.
Then Crowley had jokingly asked him where all his massive teacher’s salary would go and Aziraphale had emphatically responded that it was all going to charity, and the moment was over.
Teaching was a learning curve, Angels aren’t automatically good at anything, almost everything Aziraphale’s ever done would prove that, whether it be his magic career or his time in Eden, everything was a mystery to this day, as was the mental state of young adults attending literature courses. They had most peculiar schedules, and most peculiar forms of dress, and not to mention the state of some of their writing and the conspiracies they managed to pull out of thin air. His first year of teaching was most interesting.
Having colleagues was another hurdle, obviously, he was never the only Angel in Heaven, he had bosses, he had equals, and he had Angels a step below on the Holy cooperate ladder, but he hadn’t had to interact with them an awful lot, being the representative on earth had its perks, and the main one was blessed quiet from on high most of the time. Staff at the University though, he saw anytime he came into the place, it was impossible to have a moment of peace, with meetings to attend, and deadlines that didn’t involve the end of the world. A boss he rather liked for once, being a personal friend rather than a shockingly vindictive Archangel. His fellow staff were intriguing people, an interesting mix of young new teachers bursting with ideas and those older with decades of experience behind them, Aziraphale, being both old in comparison and new to teaching, wasn’t quite sure where he fit.
His first few lectures had gone better than he’d feared, although no sign of a red-headed snake-eyed guest at any one of them. He’d figured out already which students would likely stick around for the entire course and which he may not be seeing again, there were a few he wasn’t certain about, but he’d rather hoped would stick around and do well. It was hard not to become very invested in students’ lives if they began sharing too much in tutorials, he found, if you learned too much about one’s home life it became a bit difficult not to want to perform a miracle or two.
Time had passed in a blur, one semester became Tom asking if he could do a second, since the first went so well, and no one had seemed interested in the job, and Aziraphale had such a good retention rate. Everything happened so quickly, his first group of students became his third, with new problems, new interests, and new superb to subpar writing to do. It was fascinating, being a teacher, he loved being a source of comfort for this group of young adults, he loved getting to know his colleagues, meet and learn more about them, to go out for tea, to be invited out to drinks and politely decline, to sheepishly admit he owned a bookshop. It was all wonderful, and something he’d never trade for the world.
It was nearing the middle of his second year of teaching before he caught sight of Crowley on the campus, and rather at an unexpected place, buying coffee in the middle of the cafeteria area. It was a Wednesday too, not lecture day; his schedule had remained rather the same all this time.
Aziraphale did a double take while talking to one of his lovely colleagues who did a course on Russian literature in the early to mid 19th century. Gareth had stopped abruptly alongside Aziraphale, suddenly halting his discussion on Eugene Onegin, a book Aziraphale had only read once much closer to its original publication than Gareth had.
“Who-what, I’ve never seen you startled before,” Gareth said looking around trying to spot exactly what his new friend was looking at, while Aziraphale was stock still staring at the errant Demon in the middle of his University campus. “What are we looking at?”
Crowley, hand in pocket, all his weight on one leg, hip jutted out at a truly unruly angle, with a naturally built-in swagger that should be illegal, was at the local coffee stand run by students, presumably ordering a coffee, and had yet to notice the Angel glaring daggers his direction from halfway across the open field. Aziraphale’s mouth was decidedly not open in shock or confusion, it was merely about to say something, maybe to accost this evil fiend for stepping foot on the ground protected by Heaven itself, or maybe to ask why he’d not come sooner.
“Oi, you can’t just stop like you’ve seen a dead man and then not tell me why you’ve done it.” Gareth poked his arm rather hard, which snapped him out of his gaping staring. “What was that?”
“It’s, well, it’s my… acquaintance.” Best to be vague, but perhaps his actions did not reflect his words as Gareth proceeded to give him the most severe eyebrow raise he’d maybe ever received outside of Crowley. “Someone I know at any rate, and,” Aziraphale sighed looking back at the Demon again, who now had a coffee cup in hand, Aziraphale looked back again, not noticing Crowley actually seemed to spot the Angel at last, “It’s someone I wasn’t expecting to see around here.”
Gareth, eyebrow still raised, nodded a bit, then pointedly looked behind Aziraphale, asked “Yeah, is that why the fellow with the glasses and red hair is stalking straight toward us?”
“He is?” Aziraphale asked, spinning to be next to Gareth and watch Crowley stalk across the grass, “I’ll go meet him, you can go along to the office if you’d like,” it was said more in a way to imply it was what Aziraphale would like. That he’d very much like if Gareth did not involve himself in his personal business, or more accurately in the meeting of a second supernatural being who really had no business acting as humans looking their age actually would, two opposed beings in fact.
Gareth stood his ground though. “Nope, your personal life is more personal than anyone I’ve ever known, I don’t think I even know one fact about you,” He said, “I wasn’t aware you knew people; you’ve met my daughter I get to meet your lovely acquaintance.” She’d stopped by the office one day, she was quite a nice person, very different to her father though. She was trying to become a doctor, something the Angel admired.
“I didn’t ask to meet your daughter she attends this University!” Aziraphale hissed at the other,
“Oh whatever,” Gareth muttered, before putting on a big smile as Crowley made it to them, “Hello there, a friend of Aziraphale’s I hear?” He said, voice dripping with both sarcasm and intrigue.
Crowley, grinning shot a glance at his supposed friend, “Am I?” he asked Aziraphale, who had a rather pink flush spreading across his face at the moment.
Unbothered by the energy now present, Gareth continued on ruining Aziraphale’s day, “He said acquaintance actually, I inferred the friend bit.” He said, watching as Crowley continued staring at Aziraphale. He decided Gareth had a far too pleased expression for a man who had no idea what was going on.
Aziraphale huffed, “Stop speaking as though I’m not here, what are you doing here Crowley?” He asked, voice just a little pleading, a little hurt, and Crowley did soften a bit.
It was interesting things like this, they’d say they would do something for one another and of course, as it did for humans as well life got in the way every once in a while. But usually, they’d at least inform each other about said obstacle. He thought his desire to have Crowley visit was rather blatant, considering how he’d asked. It would’ve been a show of support from an old friend, an old friend he was seeing rather much more frequently than he had in any time period before time. Alas though, not a word from the Demon, and Aziraphale was more than a little touchy about it, he’d barely opened up to anyone at the University at all.
Instead of answering that though, “I’m hurt Angel, just an acquaintance, ouch.” Crowley put his hand over his chest, but his smile sweetened into something a little reassuring.
“Angel?” Gareth piped up, now even more intrigued. Perhaps he was a bit too much like friends with his colleagues now, if they felt it appropriate to engage in mockery at his expense. Although, looking back, maybe it was time for him to be on the pedestal of intrigue.
“Gareth, please go to your office, I’ll see you later today,” Aziraphale said, and at last Gareth gave in, deciding he had enough tormenting and delving into others' personal lives for one day.
Eyebrows raised again; Gareth gave what could only be described as a devious smile. “Very intimidating, I’ll see you after class then.” He sent a mocking salute to Aziraphale and a casual wave to Crowley and headed off into the distance, the distance being two buildings down where the literature staff’s offices were located all neatly lined up in a row and hidden three floors up.
“Was he a friend of yours Aziraphale?” Crowley nodded after the retreating man, his greying head fading into the crowd of nervous young adults that made up the student body. “Seemed awfully curious about you.”
Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s arm and began to lead him to the nearest park bench, “He, Gareth, is my colleague. Same department, now please do tell me what you are doing here,” He pleaded.
Crowley followed along without any resistance, although he seemed to tense up under Aziraphale’s hold and not know quite what to do with the hand that wasn’t holding his coffee. “Right, well, had a bit of Demon business to attend to as it happened,” He said, waving the coffee about, “and now that’s all over, I thought I’d see if I could you know, find you and whatnot.”
“Demon business?” Aziraphale asked with mild interest, probably less interest than he should have as an Angel of the lord to a Demon who was freely admitting to dastardly deeds that could be thwarted.
“Yeah, best not to ask probably.” Crowley made a good point; he did in fact not want to get into even more new business he was not accustomed to. This whole teaching business was difficult enough to maintain alongside a bookshop open every day even if exactly zero sales were ever made.
Aziraphale, instead of acknowledging this point, decided to acknowledge the former about thwarting, Crowley telling him not to be interested had the opposite effect, “It is my job to thwart your Demon business, I think it best if I do ask in fact.” He scoffed.
Crowley made a few indescribable noises that kind of sounded like a mix between a goat and a snake, before a dismissive noise and another wave of his coffee. “I needed to plant some seeds of evil so to speak, and in Sussex, a terrible place.”
“Not too evil I hope,” Aziraphale said.
Crowley shrugged, “Eh, it depends how much you hate rats I guess.” Slightly vague, and ominous.
He didn’t really have a strong opinion on rats. “They’re quite cute, not when that whole plague business was going on, but lovely creatures truly.” He loved all of God’s creations after all.
“Yeah,” Crowley swallowed a massive gulp of coffee, “not lovely for Sussex right now.”
Aziraphale blinked, now not wanting to delve any deeper into Crowley’s machinations. “I think that’s enough about rats,” He said, before powering on with his other questions, “Why come around today? I’m not even lecturing Wednesdays, Crowley.”
Crowley slumped even further into his interesting sitting position on the bench, almost horizontal with his legs out in a weird angle, another gulp of coffee. “Don’t know, wanted to see you, that sort of, erm, thing, you know.” He said,
Awfully stilted, very deflective, very much like a lot of their conversations where their particular feelings about one another were involved.
“You wanted to see me?” That was the best thing to focus on in that mess of a sentence he decided.
Crowley scoffed. “No shit, not much else to do around here is there, and-and I said I was going to anyway,” Crowley stated. “Not got anything better to do, do I?”
“I was rather suspecting you might not, at this point.” Aziraphale huffed, clearly displaying the annoyance and hurt he felt from Crowley not keeping… He supposed it wasn’t a promise, but it was very much implied to be one at least.
“You don’t want me here then?” Crowley asked, voice also tinged with a touch of hurt but very thoroughly masked with indifference and indignation.
Aziraphale broke into his pleading tone, “No, of course not, I wanted you here from the beginning silly,”
In response, Crowley’s rather guarded slump on the chair became a lot less guarded and a lot more open.
“Right.” He muttered, almost speaking into his now empty coffee cup, “Excellent.” Another deep inhale, “I’m here then.”
“I am happy to see you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, a smile once again gracing his face.
Crowley’s slump became truly ludicrous at that point as he shrunk into himself. “Let's not- let’s not do all that. I might be here to ruin your day for all you know, ask all the wrong questions in class and shit. Leave mid-speech.”
Aziraphale, at the mention of class, suddenly snapped into some sort of awareness and let out a quiet gasp. “Ah, you make a great point, my class.” He said checking his pocket watch. “It’s in a quarter of an hour, I best go gather my belongings now.” He stuttered out the last bit, hesitance evident, It wasn’t that far to the tutorial room from where they were now, and he didn’t have that much to grab.
Crowley un-slumped himself, sitting suddenly directly upright. “I’ve got time, is it illegal for me to sit in if I haven’t paid for the class?” He asked, “I hope it is. I’ll do it even more if it is.”
“Lectures are okay to sit in on but I’m not sure-“ Aziraphale was cut off by a tutting noise from the Demon.
“Oh come on, you’re not going to kick me out are you?” He said, standing up and stretching out his long limbs, bones cracking, Aziraphale followed suit standing up after him. “That would cause far too much of a scene, you know you want me there,” He half-teased.
“Obviously I do but I also know you absolutely did not do the required readings on the Michael Field poetry,” he said emphatically,
Crowley squinted for a moment, something barely visible from behind his dark lenses, “Isn’t that old Katherine and Edith?” He asked, moderately unsure.
Aziraphale was actually moderately impressed Crowley remembered the two of them, they’d met before, only once though, and Aziraphale had once later gone on an hours long rant about the merits and disappointments of their poetry in comparing their early and later work. To which Crowley had nodded along absently and occasionally asked a tangentially relevant question. Aziraphale had always loved when Crowley tried to listen to his interests, he’d always tried to do the same for the Demon, however unlikely it was for Crowley to go on a rant longer than a few sentences when the topic sprang to mind.
“Well, I guess you know that at least, but you haven’t even read any of the novels.” Aziraphale weakly protested, he knew Crowley had at least heard of every text and author in his course, either through his own doing or Crowley’s very good general knowledge of practically every time period and what people were doing in it ever. You know, since they were there.
“Not a big reader me, I leave that up to you,” Crowley muttered.
Aziraphale sighed, “It’s a class about reading Crowley, you will not enjoy it.”
“Oi!” Crowley exclaimed, jabbing a finger at the Angel’s chest, “You wanted me to come to the lectures, and besides what’s the worst that could happen? Your discussions about poetry put me to sleep, oh how terrible for me, a nice nap.” He teased, sounding rather determined.
“You’re insatiable,” Aziraphale muttered, before walking in the direction of his office, gesturing for Crowley to follow, hoping Gareth would have vacated by the time he got there.
Crowley followed along with a slight skip, “Not sure if that word works in this context,” He coughed, “you certainly can’t get rid of me that’s for sure, I’m following you today, come on, lead the way.”
Aziraphale did lead the way, and Crowley proceeded to quietly sit and listen in the most surprisingly darkened corner of a rather brightly lit tutorial room as discussions between students happened around him, and Aziraphale managed the most peculiar looking PowerPoint he’d ever seen. Aziraphale was rather hoping Crowley wasn’t bored to death in the corner, all he’d given as indication he wasn’t genuinely asleep were a few quiet laughs at things Aziraphale did think were also a bit funny, and a quiet, truly happy smile that Aziraphale wasn’t sure he was meant to see. Nor was he sure it actually meant anything in particular, Crowley was interesting that way, he never fully understood him, he just hoped he did.
The lesson was a success, as all the others had been before it, with a rather high retention rate still and some rather invigorating discussion, especially by a table that seemed to be made entirely up of lesbians with varying degrees of interest in the poetry duo of Michael Fields, and much more interest in the fact they were lovers. Aziraphale was just packing up his belongings when Crowley had sauntered up to his desk, leaning on it with his arms crossed and head tilted Aziraphale’s way, trapping him in his quiet corner.
“It’s a shame I didn’t come sooner.” He drawled, he had a similar smile now, just less secretive, and a little more protected. “You’re quite the public speaker when you want to be,”
Aziraphale embarrassingly felt himself blush again, “You already knew that, I am rather passionate about poetry. I always have been.” He murmured, looking down and tidying his notes.
“It was still music to my very ears to hear Angel,” The Demon’s smile was both earnest and teasing, it made the butterflies in Aziraphale’s stomach go crazy with confusion and a delight that Aziraphale always hated acknowledging, and hated examining even more.
“Hey is the first quiz due next week?”
Crowley jumped out of his skin at the sound of the intruder, suddenly pushing away from the desk and breaking their intimate moment with a hiss and a swear. Somehow both of them had forgotten this was both in public, a classroom still half filled with people slowly filing out, and that Aziraphale had literally run this class. Not to mention that some people might have questions about said class.
Aziraphale, recovered far more elegantly than the Demon who directly after almost screeching in fright had made a slinking retreat behind him. He quickly responded. “Vivian! Yes, it is due next week, remember that it opens tomorrow.” He had to really pull from his mind to remember that and thinking of it he was almost certain he mentioned it at the beginning of class.
She, being Vivian, one of the most talkative and standoffish people in his class, and part of the gaggle of lesbians who sit at the dead centre of his room, gave him a far too knowing nod. “Cool, thanks Mr. Fell.” She eyed Crowley for a moment and Aziraphale thought he might explode from not knowing what she was thinking. “Who’s this?” She asked, way too nonchalantly, as though it was both relevant and important to know and she didn’t particularly care.
“Ah.” Very intelligent, “This is Crowley.” A great and direct response, Aziraphale could have smacked himself.
“Nice,” She nodded slowly again, still too knowingly, as if she was more omniscient than either of them. “See you next week then.” And with a wave of her manicured hand, she turned away with another girl with large yellow earrings and jewels in her hair.
“Yes, have a delightful week.” Aziraphale nodded after her and let out a sigh of relief only to be startled again by another question from a different student, this carried on a few more minutes before at last the whole room full of people had trickled out and it was just him and Crowley.
The Demon had stolen a chair behind Aziraphale while he was talking to students and was currently staring at a library book Aziraphale had brought with him to refer to as a good source. “Do people always stick around that long afterwards?” Crowley asked, once recognising it was safe again.
“They often have questions and I need to be open to answering them,” Aziraphale responded, somewhat disappointed Crowley’s tone didn’t go back to how it was before, but now focused on tidying up as swiftly as possible to bring the Demon back to his bookshop.
“Do they always sneak up on you?” Crowley added with a playful lilt.
“No,” Aziraphale responded emphatically, “that’s just Vivian I think.”
Crowley let out another quiet chuckle. “Look at you goodie two shoes remembering everyone’s names, how very nice of you.” He stood up then, grabbing Aziraphale’s bag for him.
“My classes aren’t that big, obviously I know everyone’s name.” He said
Crowley’s smile remained. “Mmm, course you do.” He slipped the back onto Aziraphale’s shoulder in one fluid motion and a slight pat, “Shall we go home?”