Chapter Text
At fifty-something, Aziraphale was a handsome, soft, quiet man with rosy cheeks and a smile on his face. He lived in a comfy, quaint loft apartment above his bookshop. His apartment was a cozy place, overflowing with books, bookshelves lining every inch of wall space. The décor and furniture were thrifted— sturdy, worn items that somehow felt warm[1].
Aziraphale always woke early from his comfy bed with a yawn, humming contentedly to himself. He’d then get up to pad slowly to get to the start of his day. With tea ready, Aziraphale would then sit down at his desk where his computer sat. Said computer was a bit older of a model, but worked just fine for Aziraphale. It was a device his friends had pressured him into getting by saying that Aziraphale needed to get with the times. Aziraphale had scoffed and said he’d never use the thing, but, as if ineffable, he was drawn and sucked in. There was so much access to eons of research that Aziraphale could get lost in!
Aziraphale logged on and the computer under his screen name “Angel_of_EastGate.” The computer made its beeping and then its whirling screeching noise. The noises of the device as the computer dialled the access number and connected had rather become welcome to Aziraphale.
“Welcome.” The computer greeted, making Aziraphale smile.
“So polite.” Aziraphale had always thought to himself.
There was a particular reason Aziraphale logged in first thing in the morning: to read the email from a particular sender. Aziraphale was brimming with excitement to read whatever email awaited him from his correspondent, “Devilserpent_666”. What will he say today? Aziraphale wondered as he turned on his computer, waiting impatiently for it to boot up. His breath caught in his chest as he heard the most amazing three little words: “You’ve got mail.”
From: Devilserpent_666
Re: The Best Time of Day
The fact that you like mornings never ceases to confound me. How anyone beyond reason can like mornings is beyond me. Mornings are for crazy, pious people. Though that does fit your character. I, as the devil’s worker, much prefer the nightlife. Mornings are abhorrent, the birds far too chipper for such an hour, the sun far too bright, demanding my sunglasses. My body detests being dragged out of bed, and only a hot black coffee can get me sentient enough for work.
- AJ
Aziraphale giggled lightly at AJ’s message. Aziraphale happily and excitedly bopped side to side as he typed out his reply.
From: Angel_of_EastGate
Re: Re: The Best Time of Day
Oh, but mornings are lovely, my dear boy. In the morning, I can sit here at my computer and read your message from some ungodly hour of the night (as befitting of your character). I can sip my tea, while out the window birds flutter about, chirping as the sun shines through said window, warming me so on this fall morning.
Oh, don’t you just love fall? The colour of the leaves changing, the brisk cool autumn air, warm spiced teas, cozy knit sweaters. It just calls for you to cozy up inside by the fire with a nice cup of tea and an old, familiar book.
- Sincerely, your online correspondent and friend
After writing his reply to AJ, Aziraphale headed to his bookshop below his apartment to open it for the day.
A.Z. Books, Aziraphale’s shop, was tucked away in a cozy corner of Soho. It was the kind of shop that made a book lover’s heart swoon. The shelves were filled with a mismatched assortment of books, ranging from rare tomes and romance to childhood classics. The store smelled like books and welcomeness. There were some old, antique thrifted chairs and newer beanbag chairs hidden in the corner for people to sit and get lost in a book. At the far end, there was a raised carpeted platform for Storybook time[2].
Aziraphale prided himself in his bookshop, in becoming a cornerstone of the community. He helped many a frantic person find a last-minute present, college students find the exact reference book they needed to finish their paper, or inspire a child’s love of reading. Aziraphale liked to think of his bookshop as a cozy haven when one needed a quiet moment to escape into another world or simply to get away from the rain.
Aziraphale’s life was mostly solitary yet content. But even he couldn’t help but long for a romance that he’d never had in his many years of life. Was it selfish to long for someone to cuddle up with on the couch by the fire on a cold winter's night while an old movie played? Someone he could drink wine with and talk endlessly about… anything![3]
That is what initially drove Aziraphale to join a fifty-and-single chat room, where AJ’s handle of Devilserpent_666 had, admittedly, piqued Aziraphale’s interest. Under the handle Aziraphale had chosen for himself, he found it too ironic to pass up: an angel talking to a serpent of the devil.
Strangely, they had hit it off almost instantly and decided to remain as online pen pals. They came to an arrangement: no personal details other than those which they had already revealed to each other. It was thrilling and rather whimsical, in a way.
-
Aziraphale was humming happily away as he set up his shop. The bell above the door jingled as Anathema, one of Aziraphale’s workers, came in, shivering from the cold.
“Lovely weather, isn’t it?” Aziraphale tilted his head at her with a beaming smile.
Anathema chuckled as she began taking off her mitts and outerwear, coming over to hang her coat up behind the front desk. “Wow, Aziraphale. What’s got you all smiling? Smile any wider and your face will split in two.”
“I don’t know what you're talking about. I’m always in a chipper mood.” Aziraphale turned, ignoring her.
“Yeah, but you seem extra chipper today. Have you met someone?”
Aziraphale worked his lip. He hadn’t told anyone of his online correspondence with AJ. Nothing had exactly come of it; they were strictly just friends. “Well, there is someone.” He dared to admit.
Anathema gasped loudly; her features lit up with excitement, her eyes wide. “Tell me more! Who is he, what’s he like?”
“I’ve never actually met him.” Aziraphale wrung his hands nervously.
Anathema’s face turned in confusion.
“I met him online.” Aziraphale explained.
“Ooh!” A smirk turned on Anathema’s face. “Cyber sex?”
“What!” Aziraphale jolted. “No, no, no.” He shook his head fiercely.
Anathema chuckled quietly in amusement.
“It’s not like that.” Aziraphale turned away, almost offended that Anathema would think that of him. “We just talk, share correspondence.”
“Talk?”
“Yes! About everything! We give each other recommendations: books, movies, music, plays. Our conversations are endless.”
“So what do you know about him then?”
“Well not much, I’m afraid. We don’t talk about anything personal anymore, it’s what we agree, you see. All I know is he’s in his fifties, single, and lives here somewhere in London.”
Seeing Anathema’s widening eyes, Aziraphale added: “No, I don’t know exactly where he lives. I don’t know his name either, just his initials: AJ.”
“Anything else?”
“Well, I know he is very passionate and has rather invigorating thoughts on many things. He likes plants, classic cars, and rock music — Eighties, specifically Queen.”
Anathema hummed as her features turned slightly. “Doesn’t sound exactly like your type, Aziraphale.”
“I know, it’s so strange. And yet, conversation with him fills me with such excitement.”
Anathema smiled. “So, are you going to meet him?”
Aziraphale’s head ducked. “I don’t know… I dream about it sometimes, but… what if that ruins it all?”
Anathema hummed softly in sympathy.
“Anyway.” Aziraphale gave a shake of his head. “Time to get to work.” With that, he fluttered off to dust and rearrange the shelves.
/
Crowley had no idea what the man behind Angel_of_EastGate looked like or sounded like, but Crowley had concocted an image of the angel he talked to. Crowley imagined his angel looked as he came across: someone very prim and proper.
It was strange, for Angel was the sort of person exactly the opposite of whom Crowley usually connected with. He was a relic of the past, polite, funny, charming, and kind. Angel enthused to Crowley over their email correspondence his love of baked goods and Austen[4]. Angel certainly wasn’t the sort to go out to a sleezy bar to make out with a stranger sloppily, like Crowley did at late, ungodly hours of the night. And yet, Crowley kept talking with Angel, finding himself enraptured with the man. Crowley found rather quickly in their correspondents that there was a sly bastardry to Angel that he quite liked and made him smirk. It was to say, Crowley had fallen for him pretty hard and was quite smitten indeed.
Overall, Crowley’s correspondence with Angel offered him a reprieve from Crowley’s monotonous, soul-crushing day-to-day life, which mostly consisted of working long hours, and dealing with his boss’s merciless bullshit.
Crowley worked for Eden Books and had been tasked with the opening of a new store on a corner of Soho. Crowley drank his coffee, forcing himself to wake up, grumbling with discontent at the birds chittering overhead. The light was far too blinding[5]. But Crowley smiled softly to himself, thinking of how Angel would positively love it all, for he loved all things mornings.
Crowley had finished off his coffee, tossing the cup away to head into the empty shell of an in-construction building where a new Eden Books was scheduled to open Thanksgiving weekend. Inside, wires hung everywhere, and construction workers were working away. Crowley had to be careful where to step.
Finally, Crowley made his way upstairs to an office where Hastur and Ligur were already standing inside, on their phones.
“Morning,” Crowley muttered lowly in greeting.
The pair grunted a greeting in return, nodding their heads.
Hastur stepped forward. “The electrical contractor called. His truck hit a deer last night, and he won’t be in ’til tomorrow. The shelves are late because the shipment of pine had been delayed. And there’s some question about whether we’re installing the stairs in the right spot.”
“Great, just great.” Crowley rubbed his face. “Are we still on schedule?”
“We should still open for Thanksgiving.”
Crowley breathed a sigh of relief, dropping his hand from his face.
“We should announce ourselves soon to the neighbourhood,” Hastur spoke. “I imagine the minute they hear, they’ll be lining up to picket the big bad chain store that destroys everything they hold dear. But we’ll seduce them with our square footage, deep armchairs, amazingly swift checkout lines, discounts, and cappuccino. They always hate us at first, but we get them in the end. It’ll be the end of western civilization as they know it.” Hastur chuckled lowly, padding his fingers together[6].
“Great.” Crowley replied blankly. “Any other news I should be aware of?”
Ligur stepped forward then. “I have an unfortunate announcement to make.” He faked being somber. “City Books on 23rd Street is going under. Another independent bookstore bites the dust. On to the next!” Ligur smirked wickedly.
/
From: Angel_of_EastGate
Topic: Too Comfortable in Life?
Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life. And sometimes I wonder, do I only live such a small life because it is what has become comfortable to me? Sometimes I wonder if I haven’t been brave by doing something greater with my life. When I read books of such wondrous adventures and experiences, I sometimes wonder if my life shouldn’t be more like that.
- Sincerely, your online correspondent and friend
Newt came into Aziraphale’s shop, shaking off the cool autumn chill. “Did you guys see the sign?”
“Sign?” Aziraphale and Anathema questioned together.
“An Eden Bookstore is opening just around the corner; that’s what all the construction is.”
Aziraphale gasped. “Oh, no!” [7]
“What does this mean for us?” Newt asked.
Aziraphale gathered himself, putting on a good front for his employees as if he wasn’t concerned at all. “It has nothing to do with us. It’s big, impersonal, overstocked and full of ignorant salespeople.”
“But they have discounts.”
Aziraphale raised a finger. “But they don’t provide any service. We… do!”
Later, Anathema and Newt were doing their research on Eden Books on their phones.
“You can buy anything. They even have a website where you can buy stuff from. They ship it to you in a day.” Anathema spoke to Newt.
“What if they put us out of business? I can’t lose this job, Anathema, I suck at doing anything else.” Newt's face fell.
Aziraphale's spirits fell to, his face screwing up in worry. Oh, why did that big, bad, evil bookstore franchise have to open up on his corner? They were so… impersonal. Look what they were doing, they’d put him and his employees out of a job. Did they not care even in the least bit? Was there no humanity left in the world?
[1] like those one might find in their grandparents' house.
[2] Weekends at 2 p.m., except for Holidays
[3] Aziraphale was, indeed, a bit of a hopeless romantic.
[4] Why anyone should be obsessed with Austen was lost on Crowley
[5] This is why Crowley always wore sunglasses
[6] like an evil Disney movie villain
[7] “I’m doomed,” Aziraphale thought to himself.