When Anthony (J. Crowley) had still been quite little, someone - presumably a doctor, though he couldn't remember one way or another - had realised that the reason he cried a lot whenever he was outside, inside or, indeed, anywhere with a lot of light was not because he was particularly fussy - as his mother thought - annoying - as his father thought - or a little bitch - as his siblings argued - it was that he had a condition that made his eyes highly sensitive to light. Therefore, he was prescribed specific eyeglasses and then he started to only cry the normal amount, although his siblings still thought he was a little bitch, in all honesty.
Initially, whenever he was in a new class, the teachers explained to the other kids that he needed them and not to tease him and, by and large, they kept to it. However, as he got older, so did the other kids, and getting older seemed to mean less accepting, so quite a lot of teasing happened at one point, some of which including a lot of his glasses being held out of reach, hidden, at one occasion flushed (they didn't get far and the plumber had a fun story to tell at home). In general, Crowley knew something had to change.
His answer was style and, as he'd say, he didn't choose the goth life. The goth life chose him. It turned out that once he wore more stylish glasses, in combination with all black clothes, a leather jacket and assorted accessories, he suddenly had friends who dressed much the same, even if he didn't much care for most of them. That seemed to be secondary, because this was high school and here he was in his box. A dark box filled with upside down crosses, poetry and edgy conversations, but a box nonetheless. It meant he had a Reputation, with a capital R, and it meant people left his glasses alone. They completed the look, after all.
This way, he could mostly stay for himself and make it through school without trouble, which was really what he wanted.
However, one day, as he walked down a hallway at the end of school, a book landed at his feet. He frowned and reached to pick it up, then looked around. There were three boys he assumed were on some sports team, going by their jackets, and they were slightly out of breath. And there was the other boy, who most definitely wasn't on any sports team. Might be on the other team though, by the looks of him. More importantly, that boy was his age, he knew who he was. "Hey, Aziraphale."
He gave him a slight nod and held up the book. "Yours?" Stood to reason. Aziraphale always had books on him.
"We were teaching him how to catch," one of the sports guys claimed, "Isn't that right? Faggot?"
Aziraphale had never been popular. Not that he had ever wanted to be popular, mind you, but he simply wasn't made for it. He wasn't athletic like his older brother Gabriel, he didn't want to join teams and make a lot of friends. He wasn't scary ambitious like Sandalphon, who was currently worming his way into law schools and lucrative internships. He wasn't strong like Michael, brave like Uriel or anything really that would have leaned towards him being someone who was well liked, well respected and not someone who was routinely picked on and mocked by idiots and louts.
No, he was just the slightly chubby bookworm with the overly christian parents who wouldn't let him sit in biology class or say swears. Something the other kids found hilarious. Even from a child, with a name like his and restrictions like his, it was no wonder that he'd been a target. He wasn't allowed to watch Harry Potter at the end of the year in primary when all the others in his class watched it (what with Harry Potter being the spawn of Satan and all), that certainly drew in some attention.
And that attention never really went away. Most people just didn't care about him much and that was fine by him, he didn't care much about others either. He had his books, his magic club, his various hobbies - he was a busy young man.
Unfortunate, the ones who took notice of him and did care, they were the real -- well, one might use the word 'bastards'. One might. Like now, for example. They chased him, they threw his stuff, they called him all manner of colourful things! He had no idea how their parents let them get away with speaking in such a manner.
"You--You real are out of line, you realise? That's a library book!" They would get in trouble if it got damaged! Were they crazy? "They have a policy!"
Not that they seemed overly concerned about said policy. He supposed he had to cut his losses there and just hope the book survived and no one made him run again. He couldn't abide running.
Turning his head, he looked at Crowley with his eyes slightly wide, not really sure what to do. He didn't much recall ever properly speaking to Crowley before but who cared? He needed help! "...Hello. Yes. Erm. Definitely mine." He wanted to go and get it but he didn't want to incur anyone's wrath so he simply held up his hands to them and tried to edge away. "Well, as you see, gentleman, I am needed so --"
Needed by Crowley? Well. Kinda. He had his book. And whatever he could use to get out of this.
"Yeeeah..." Crowley really drew out that reply, because he had to think of how much he wanted to get involved with this. He knew Aziraphale, but mostly he knew about him, and he didn't fancy getting recruited for his Jesus club or whatever. On the other hand, between jocks and nerds, he supposed his sympathies were more with the nerds. Especially someone like Aziraphale, who inspired the use of words like 'hapless', which he really didn't think was a word he had ever thought before.
"Let's get going, Aziraphale, we don't want to be late." He reached out to grab his arm - gently - and pulled him along. "Chop, chop. See ya later, fellas. Have a good game. Match. Whatever."
"We are swimmers," one of the guys said, in confusion.
"Shut up, Brad." Still, they let Aziraphale leave.
"Yes, exactly. Toodle-oo, gents." Aziraphale waved awkwardly as he stumbled along beside Crowley, looking over his shoulder at them as he let Crowley drag him a safe distance away from them. Once they had some space, Aziraphale sighed and reached out, taking the book from Crowley and letting out a small, lamenting sound. "Oh dear! They bent the corner! That's going to be such a fuss to return."
He sulked as he held it, inspecting it in his hand before finally, he looked up and remembered who had technically saved him. He dropped the pout and tried instead to look more -- well, he was aiming for casual. Normal. Maybe even a little cool.
"Ah. Yes. Thank you very much. I appreciate the help." He smiled at the rather dark and grim looking fellow. He never quite got the whole gothic look thing but he supposed it was nice in winter. Lots of layers and all. And dark was very warming in it's own way. "You are -- Crawley, yes?"
"Crowley. Nothing crawling like that." It was a bit strange, in a way. Knowing someone for so long and only now talking to him. Yet here he was, and he was afraid he might be a bit stuck with it for a while, because he had noticed those boys lingering. Seemed as if they were fairly persistent.
"Anyway, don't make a fuss. It wasn't a big deal." It wasn't as if he had gone out of his way or anything, he didn't need Aziraphale to be all that grateful. He didn't care about gratitude, after all. Not his vibe. "You gotta step up to idiots like that."
He looked Aziraphale over and shrugged. "Well. Try, at least."
"Oh no, I don't step up. I'm rather not the sort, you know? I'm not strong, I have no leg to stand on - one push and that's it. I'm down. I'm not very -- I never learned to hold my own. In that sense." Aziraphale explained as he chattered away, a little anxious and uneasy, checking over his shoulder because no, sadly, this was not the first time he'd been harassed and followed by those lads. "I hope to get by with my usual tactic of running, hiding and avoiding."
Hiding was his preference. He'd hide anywhere he could fit to get away from those brutes. He also got very good at hiding when at home - no one ever thought to check the garden shed.
As he walked beside Crowley, he continued to eye him up, just trying to work out what he could say to him that would keep him close until he had somewhere safe to hide. "I do appreciate your style, by the by. I always did like the whole gothic thing. Well, gothic literature. Not sure if that counts but I am fond. Of that. I don't know much about the rest--" He waved his hand dismissively to signify the rest. "The, you know, ... satan worship and the music."
"Ah, right. Yeah, don't worry, I keep the virgin sacrifices strictly to the weekends, so you are safe." Honestly, the most interesting thing here was that Aziraphale had read Gothic novels. He could only assume that a family that kept him from watching Harry Potter would also frown upon him reading, say, Dracula or Frankenstein, so maybe Aziraphale was a little rebel. Just in a decidedly bookish way.
He walked with Aziraphale, wondering whether he shouldn't just walk him home. Might be a nice thing to do. Not really his thing, niceness, but it wasn't as if he had to let anyone know. "I like your style too. Nice bowtie."
"Thank you! I rather think so too. I always think it's nice to look smart but I'm away not everyone agrees." He was one of the kids who voted for school uniforms, he just felt that a uniform kept everyone neat and tidy. It was quite nice. He moved his backpack forward and put the library book back inside, clumsy and awkward in the way he moved, almost walking into the wall instead of the doorway as he did it.
Once they were in the lobby, he slung his bag on and looked behind him, unsure if he was being followed or not but he was feeling pretty confident he could get most of the way home without running. "Well, anyway, thank you for your assistance, Crowley. Can I pay you back at all?"
He smiled pleasantly, not sure what one could give a goth for their efforts but most people who did things for him wanted cash so he expected it to go that direction. "With any luck, I shouldn't have them too hot on my heels."
"Where do you live? Maybe we can walk together." Honestly, Crowley did know, at least vaguely, where Aziraphale lived. Close to the church, he remembered from back when he still had to go to church. It was definitely nowhere where he had to walk to, but he couldn't just leave the boy to walk home alone, not with those jocks still, as he put it 'hot on his heels'. He felt responsible now.
Not that he planned on letting him know that. It wasn't really a favour if no one knew he was doing it. "So, what gothic novels have you read? I'm not really a reader, myself, of course."
Well. He did have A Reputation. "I like some Anne Rice though."
"You ready, angel?" Crowley was waiting for Aziraphale to pack his bag and he felt he'd been plenty patient, but this was getting a bit ridiculous. "...should I carry some of your books? I mean, this isn't Tetris, I just don't think they are all gonna fit."
He knew by now that Aziraphale always took a couple of books with him, because apparently one could never know what mood one would be in. So he needed a novel, a biography, something nonfiction, he had no idea what categories there were. Then there were whatever books he borrowed from the library that day.
And here he was now, trying to pretend as if they'd fit into his bag. "You should look into ebooks some time."
"They're not the same, though. You don't get that-- that special feeling, you know? A proper book is a true companion." Aziraphale tried to cram another book into his bag but Crowley was right, it just wouldn't fit. Not with his gym kit clogging up the space and making it near impossible. What a waste of space it was too. Oh well, such was life.
He reluctantly handed two books to Crowley, giving up on his efforts to pack everything. Instead, he just followed ahead to the doorway and gestured at Crowley to go on ahead. "I'm ready now. After you, of course."
Since Crowley started walking him, he had a lot less issues with bullies. Not that it solved all of his problems but it did help considerably. Now he had back up and, in some ways, he had a friend. A very secret friend.
"Thanks." Crowley held the books, because shoving them into his own bag might inspire a crisis in Aziraphale. His bag wasn't exactly in pristine condition and there were rather more pentagrams drawn on it than he suspected Aziraphale might be comfortable with. So he just walked with him, arms around the two books, heading out of the school at long last.
"Crowley! What are you doing tonight?"
Based on the accent, Crowley knew it was Nicolas before he spotted him, so he wasn't overly alarmed. He doubted Nicolas would care who he was with. The other boy stood there, of course close to Spike, smoking right outside of the school. All right, maybe Aziraphale would mind this.
"Dunno yet. Why, what's up?"
Nicolas did notice Aziraphale now, but he just shrugged as he blew out some smoke. "Got a gig."
"You wanna come or are you planning on spending your evening at church or something?" Spike asked, exhaling smoke in the direction of Crowley and, yes, Aziraphale. Who did duck away from them and pull a face, clearly quite affronted by the fact that they were smoking here of all places.
"Gentleman, the sign clearly states that smoking is not allowed in this area." Perhaps they didn't know so he'd just politely inform them. "You shouldn't be smoking. Do put them out."
"Fuck off."
Aziraphale frowned deeply and tutted, not at all approving. "Well, come now, there's no excuse for such language."
"Leave him alone, all right?" Crowley moved a little closer to Aziraphale, making his allegiance clear. "Just send me the info and I'll see if I can fit it in, Nicki."
"M-hm. Don't wanna get in the way of choir practise." Well, Nicolas did still think it was funny, seeing Crowley with Jesus boy. Whatever his name was again. And he was very much not putting out his cigarette, obviously.
"Ah, shut it." Crowley moved his head in what was his equivalent of an eyeroll, then walked again, gently shoving Aziraphale along.
"You can bring a date!" Nicolas called after him, very helpfully.
"Bring us back some holy wine. We've got bugger all for getting wankered on tonight so whatever you got, we'll take it!" Spike called after them, watching the two walk away and snickering in amusement. As Aziraphale looked back, he gave the weird kid a thumbs up. "Nice bowtie, poofter!"
As they moved away, Aziraphale huffed and raised his hand, sheepishly adjusting his bowtie. How dare they? Such rude young men. "Those would be your friends, I take it? They seem ... charming." Awful, terrible little -- well, he couldn't even think the rude words he wanted to think right now, it was too far.
Why would Crowley keep such awful company? "Are you attending their 'gig' tonight?"
"Dunno yet. Maybe. Nicki's French, so I think he can't help the rudeness, and they make pretty good music." On the other hand, they'd just made Aziraphale's face look like that and he didn't like that at all. "I wouldn't say they are my friends exactly. Not like you."
Crowley didn't know if he'd call anyone other than Aziraphale his friend. He frowned, unsure how to best proceed here. This was awkward. "You could come with me, you know? Sometimes Nicolas plays violin. That's all posh, innit?"
"I don't know if I'd be welcome. People see me and-- well, I tend to ruin the mood for a lot of people." As soon as he sat at a table at school or got involved with people his age, it always inevitably circled back to religion, how stupid they thought it was and how much they didn't want him around. Which was sad and all but mostly, he was more frustrated by it than anything. To him, it just all didn't matter that much. Good or bad, believer or not - he just did it because he always had. It wasn't solely who he was.
"Besides, I don't know how I'd go. I'd have to ask to leave so late and they'd wonder and... they're a bit strict, you see." It wasn't easy for him to just go out and hang out with people.
Though he did like this idea of seeing more of Crowley. He did like his company quite a lot. And 'not like you'? Oh, so thrilling, just to know that Crowley felt the same. "It would be nice to do more things together..."
This might have all been a mistake. Here he was, in some old faded black band t-shirt Crowley had given him, looking around a room full of drinking teenagers. They were partying, listening to the warm up acts, shouting and dancing and -- he didn't even know how to process it. What would his parents think? They'd have a heart attack if they knew where he'd snuck off too.
Hell, he might have a heart attack. The thrill of rebelling was wearing off and now he was just anxious. He gripped onto Crowley's sleeve without realising and looked around again. "What do we do exactly?"
"Relax, angel," Crowley instructed, sliding an arm around Aziraphale to both assure him and to keep him close. And maybe a little bit because he simply wanted to touch him, there was that too. "Do you want to drink something?"
Wait. "Like, a coke. Something like that."
Oh. Wait. "I bet they also have water."
He was not sure whether soft drinks were much better than alcohol in Aziraphale's world. "Just have a good time, yeah? Nicki and Spike will be on soon."
"I've never had a coke before. I'm not allowed to have caffeine." It was one of those rules. A most unfortunate one. He did wonder about coke. He wanted to ask for one, just to find out, but he was a bit frozen in fear - he was too far gone already. Did he dare to push himself further away? It was difficult. "It's all a lot right now."
As they came further into the room, Aziraphale shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to stick close to Crowley, wondering if this one night was enough to damn him for all eternity.
"Er... Good question. Just kinda a dark sort of lemonade, innit?" Hard to tell, honestly. He#d never thought about it that much. "Look, I'll get one and we can share. Can't hurt, right?"
It probably could hurt somehow, but Crowley was trying to play all of this off as no big deal in order to calm Aziraphale down. he wasn't sure how successful he was so far. Making their way over to the bar, he slid over the money and ordered a coke, then just smiled at Aziraphale as they waited. "It's not so bad here, right? Just people having fun."
Loud fun, admittedly. And in some cases drunken fun. But still!
"It's not as bad as I expected." It was still a culture shock though. He usually spend his time alone at home, maybe with some tea, definitely with a good book and generally a lot of quiet. On rare occasions, he'd put some music on low as he read but nothing close to the sort of music that was playing here. He honestly didn't know if he was liking it much - he was just liking being with Crowley.
That made it worth it.
"We can share. I'm curious, I must admit. Besides, at this point, if God is as pedantic as my parents think he is - I'm not sure I'll get into heaven anyway." He read prohibited books, he loved eating in excess and his mind often drifted in church to many other topics.
"You'll be fine, angel. Someone like you's meant for heaven." Crowley took the coke from the barkeeper and offered the straw out to Aziraphale first, in case he didn't want to drink after Crowley and also just to be polite. He stood with an arm around his friend, thinking it was good that it was such a calm and nice night here so far. Of course, it probably didn't seem that way to Aziraphale, but that was how it was with perspective.
"I think they might be up next. They are better than this band, at least, I can tell you that much."
"I'm sure they are. Do we, um, do we cheer?" He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do. They were here to support Crowley's friends so maybe they were supposed to but then, no one else seemed to be and he didn't want to make the wrong more. He took the glass and sipped the coke through the straw, surprised at how sweet it was. And such a strange taste too.
He pulled a face, clearly not decided on if he liked it or not. He handed it back to Crowley and faced the stage again. "Are we meant to be like 'hurrah, good show' or anything?"
"Er, I guess you can? I tend to just give some silent support. There's usually a lot of girls shrieking, if that's to your taste?" Probably not, Crowley mused, absently taking a sip of the coke himself. Then he suddenly realised that, in a way, this was a little bit as if they'd kissed.
His face felt hot and he cleared his throat, shaking his head in hopes of getting that thought out. "You can just tell them how you liked it after. Buy them a drink or something, they like that."
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Initially, whenever he was in a new class, the teachers explained to the other kids that he needed them and not to tease him and, by and large, they kept to it. However, as he got older, so did the other kids, and getting older seemed to mean less accepting, so quite a lot of teasing happened at one point, some of which including a lot of his glasses being held out of reach, hidden, at one occasion flushed (they didn't get far and the plumber had a fun story to tell at home). In general, Crowley knew something had to change.
His answer was style and, as he'd say, he didn't choose the goth life. The goth life chose him. It turned out that once he wore more stylish glasses, in combination with all black clothes, a leather jacket and assorted accessories, he suddenly had friends who dressed much the same, even if he didn't much care for most of them. That seemed to be secondary, because this was high school and here he was in his box. A dark box filled with upside down crosses, poetry and edgy conversations, but a box nonetheless. It meant he had a Reputation, with a capital R, and it meant people left his glasses alone. They completed the look, after all.
This way, he could mostly stay for himself and make it through school without trouble, which was really what he wanted.
However, one day, as he walked down a hallway at the end of school, a book landed at his feet. He frowned and reached to pick it up, then looked around. There were three boys he assumed were on some sports team, going by their jackets, and they were slightly out of breath. And there was the other boy, who most definitely wasn't on any sports team. Might be on the other team though, by the looks of him. More importantly, that boy was his age, he knew who he was. "Hey, Aziraphale."
He gave him a slight nod and held up the book. "Yours?" Stood to reason. Aziraphale always had books on him.
"We were teaching him how to catch," one of the sports guys claimed, "Isn't that right? Faggot?"
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No, he was just the slightly chubby bookworm with the overly christian parents who wouldn't let him sit in biology class or say swears. Something the other kids found hilarious. Even from a child, with a name like his and restrictions like his, it was no wonder that he'd been a target. He wasn't allowed to watch Harry Potter at the end of the year in primary when all the others in his class watched it (what with Harry Potter being the spawn of Satan and all), that certainly drew in some attention.
And that attention never really went away. Most people just didn't care about him much and that was fine by him, he didn't care much about others either. He had his books, his magic club, his various hobbies - he was a busy young man.
Unfortunate, the ones who took notice of him and did care, they were the real -- well, one might use the word 'bastards'. One might. Like now, for example. They chased him, they threw his stuff, they called him all manner of colourful things! He had no idea how their parents let them get away with speaking in such a manner.
"You--You real are out of line, you realise? That's a library book!" They would get in trouble if it got damaged! Were they crazy? "They have a policy!"
Not that they seemed overly concerned about said policy. He supposed he had to cut his losses there and just hope the book survived and no one made him run again. He couldn't abide running.
Turning his head, he looked at Crowley with his eyes slightly wide, not really sure what to do. He didn't much recall ever properly speaking to Crowley before but who cared? He needed help! "...Hello. Yes. Erm. Definitely mine." He wanted to go and get it but he didn't want to incur anyone's wrath so he simply held up his hands to them and tried to edge away. "Well, as you see, gentleman, I am needed so --"
Needed by Crowley? Well. Kinda. He had his book. And whatever he could use to get out of this.
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"Let's get going, Aziraphale, we don't want to be late." He reached out to grab his arm - gently - and pulled him along. "Chop, chop. See ya later, fellas. Have a good game. Match. Whatever."
"We are swimmers," one of the guys said, in confusion.
"Shut up, Brad." Still, they let Aziraphale leave.
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He sulked as he held it, inspecting it in his hand before finally, he looked up and remembered who had technically saved him. He dropped the pout and tried instead to look more -- well, he was aiming for casual. Normal. Maybe even a little cool.
"Ah. Yes. Thank you very much. I appreciate the help." He smiled at the rather dark and grim looking fellow. He never quite got the whole gothic look thing but he supposed it was nice in winter. Lots of layers and all. And dark was very warming in it's own way. "You are -- Crawley, yes?"
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"Anyway, don't make a fuss. It wasn't a big deal." It wasn't as if he had gone out of his way or anything, he didn't need Aziraphale to be all that grateful. He didn't care about gratitude, after all. Not his vibe. "You gotta step up to idiots like that."
He looked Aziraphale over and shrugged. "Well. Try, at least."
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Hiding was his preference. He'd hide anywhere he could fit to get away from those brutes. He also got very good at hiding when at home - no one ever thought to check the garden shed.
As he walked beside Crowley, he continued to eye him up, just trying to work out what he could say to him that would keep him close until he had somewhere safe to hide. "I do appreciate your style, by the by. I always did like the whole gothic thing. Well, gothic literature. Not sure if that counts but I am fond. Of that. I don't know much about the rest--" He waved his hand dismissively to signify the rest. "The, you know, ... satan worship and the music."
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He walked with Aziraphale, wondering whether he shouldn't just walk him home. Might be a nice thing to do. Not really his thing, niceness, but it wasn't as if he had to let anyone know. "I like your style too. Nice bowtie."
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Once they were in the lobby, he slung his bag on and looked behind him, unsure if he was being followed or not but he was feeling pretty confident he could get most of the way home without running. "Well, anyway, thank you for your assistance, Crowley. Can I pay you back at all?"
He smiled pleasantly, not sure what one could give a goth for their efforts but most people who did things for him wanted cash so he expected it to go that direction. "With any luck, I shouldn't have them too hot on my heels."
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Not that he planned on letting him know that. It wasn't really a favour if no one knew he was doing it. "So, what gothic novels have you read? I'm not really a reader, myself, of course."
Well. He did have A Reputation. "I like some Anne Rice though."
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He knew by now that Aziraphale always took a couple of books with him, because apparently one could never know what mood one would be in. So he needed a novel, a biography, something nonfiction, he had no idea what categories there were. Then there were whatever books he borrowed from the library that day.
And here he was now, trying to pretend as if they'd fit into his bag. "You should look into ebooks some time."
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He reluctantly handed two books to Crowley, giving up on his efforts to pack everything. Instead, he just followed ahead to the doorway and gestured at Crowley to go on ahead. "I'm ready now. After you, of course."
Since Crowley started walking him, he had a lot less issues with bullies. Not that it solved all of his problems but it did help considerably. Now he had back up and, in some ways, he had a friend. A very secret friend.
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"Crowley! What are you doing tonight?"
Based on the accent, Crowley knew it was Nicolas before he spotted him, so he wasn't overly alarmed. He doubted Nicolas would care who he was with. The other boy stood there, of course close to Spike, smoking right outside of the school. All right, maybe Aziraphale would mind this.
"Dunno yet. Why, what's up?"
Nicolas did notice Aziraphale now, but he just shrugged as he blew out some smoke. "Got a gig."
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"Gentleman, the sign clearly states that smoking is not allowed in this area." Perhaps they didn't know so he'd just politely inform them. "You shouldn't be smoking. Do put them out."
"Fuck off."
Aziraphale frowned deeply and tutted, not at all approving. "Well, come now, there's no excuse for such language."
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"M-hm. Don't wanna get in the way of choir practise." Well, Nicolas did still think it was funny, seeing Crowley with Jesus boy. Whatever his name was again. And he was very much not putting out his cigarette, obviously.
"Ah, shut it." Crowley moved his head in what was his equivalent of an eyeroll, then walked again, gently shoving Aziraphale along.
"You can bring a date!" Nicolas called after him, very helpfully.
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As they moved away, Aziraphale huffed and raised his hand, sheepishly adjusting his bowtie. How dare they? Such rude young men. "Those would be your friends, I take it? They seem ... charming." Awful, terrible little -- well, he couldn't even think the rude words he wanted to think right now, it was too far.
Why would Crowley keep such awful company? "Are you attending their 'gig' tonight?"
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Crowley didn't know if he'd call anyone other than Aziraphale his friend. He frowned, unsure how to best proceed here. This was awkward. "You could come with me, you know? Sometimes Nicolas plays violin. That's all posh, innit?"
So maybe Aziraphale would like that.
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"Besides, I don't know how I'd go. I'd have to ask to leave so late and they'd wonder and... they're a bit strict, you see." It wasn't easy for him to just go out and hang out with people.
Though he did like this idea of seeing more of Crowley. He did like his company quite a lot. And 'not like you'? Oh, so thrilling, just to know that Crowley felt the same. "It would be nice to do more things together..."
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This might have all been a mistake. Here he was, in some old faded black band t-shirt Crowley had given him, looking around a room full of drinking teenagers. They were partying, listening to the warm up acts, shouting and dancing and -- he didn't even know how to process it. What would his parents think? They'd have a heart attack if they knew where he'd snuck off too.
Hell, he might have a heart attack. The thrill of rebelling was wearing off and now he was just anxious. He gripped onto Crowley's sleeve without realising and looked around again. "What do we do exactly?"
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Wait. "Like, a coke. Something like that."
Oh. Wait. "I bet they also have water."
He was not sure whether soft drinks were much better than alcohol in Aziraphale's world. "Just have a good time, yeah? Nicki and Spike will be on soon."
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As they came further into the room, Aziraphale shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to stick close to Crowley, wondering if this one night was enough to damn him for all eternity.
"What exactly is a coke?"
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It probably could hurt somehow, but Crowley was trying to play all of this off as no big deal in order to calm Aziraphale down. he wasn't sure how successful he was so far. Making their way over to the bar, he slid over the money and ordered a coke, then just smiled at Aziraphale as they waited. "It's not so bad here, right? Just people having fun."
Loud fun, admittedly. And in some cases drunken fun. But still!
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That made it worth it.
"We can share. I'm curious, I must admit. Besides, at this point, if God is as pedantic as my parents think he is - I'm not sure I'll get into heaven anyway." He read prohibited books, he loved eating in excess and his mind often drifted in church to many other topics.
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"I think they might be up next. They are better than this band, at least, I can tell you that much."
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He pulled a face, clearly not decided on if he liked it or not. He handed it back to Crowley and faced the stage again. "Are we meant to be like 'hurrah, good show' or anything?"
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His face felt hot and he cleared his throat, shaking his head in hopes of getting that thought out. "You can just tell them how you liked it after. Buy them a drink or something, they like that."
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