thearrangement | Come with me

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?"

"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."

"Oh dear..."

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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