Work Text:
Crowley groaned as he slumped into his seat at the checkout of Pound N Penny. Selling cheap plastic tatt and knockoff brand toiletries wasn’t his idea of fun any time of year, but Christmas was the fucking worst. Screaming sticky-handed children, frazzled parents, and giggling teenage girls were a cocktail of noise that he could do without.
He’d give his right arm - well someone’s right arm, anyway - to wear his loop ear plugs. But then how would he hear the demanding customers, or the tinny aggravation of his name being called over the tannoy?
“Don’t forget your hat love! You know Beez likes us to wear them,” Tracy chirped brightly as she swept past his checkout, her Pound N Penny polo shirt accessorised with sequinned, feathery trim. Oversized Christmas tree earrings complete with flashing lights dangled too cheerfully from her ears.
Tracy, who’d become a friend as they served their knockoff cheap shop sentences together, was in her element wearing festive frills. Any excuse to add some glitz and glam to her life.Crowley on the other hand was feeling decidedly bah humbug about the whole thing. Even more so this year when he didn’t even have graduation to look forward to. He’d done that back in September, finally getting the degree in horticulture he’d worked so hard for, studying part time and working any job he could get to support himself.
And for what? To sell cheap tinsel and Christmas cards that played Deck The Halls when you opened them.
Satan save him.
Muttering under his breath, Crowley pulled out the most hated part of the job, even worse than the customers. A red velour santa hat adorned with white fur trim and a glittery white pom pom. The front of which featured a lurid green Christmas tree, complete with light-up ornaments on it. At least Tracy’s hat would match her earrings, he thought wryly..
“Good luck love,” Tracy gave him a sympathetic grin as she headed to her own till. “Who knows, maybe you’re due some Christmas magic.”
Sure, and Crowley was about to shoot candy canes out of his arse.
“I’m terribly sorry,” said a soft, well-spoken voice from the other side of the checkout conveyor.
Crowley looked up from the stack of wrapping paper and bows he was supposed to be sorting ready to shelve, to be greeted by the warmest smile and the bluest eyes he’d ever seen.
“Uh, what for?”
“Interrupting you. I know it’s a terribly busy time of year.”
“S’alright. I’m at a checkout, so I’m expecting customers, right?”
The sunshiney angel of a man standing in front of him looked a little taken aback at that, but when Crowley tried a smile to reassure him that he wasn’t in fact being a sarcastic areshole (that wouldn’t go over well with management), he received a beautiful smile in return.
“I’m looking for festive snacks, you see.”
Crowley glanced around at the mountains of tinsel and boxes of fairy lights.
“Um … we have festive baking moulds if that’s any good?”
The angel … man … literally wrung his hands a little at that, and his megawatt smile dimmed. Crowley felt the urge to do anything it took to switch it back on.
“I’m terrible at baking. Cooking in general, really. I’ve always meant to learn, but …”
Going by the next words out of his mouth, Crowley had caught the bloody Christmas spirit after all.
“Look I know this is pretty forward, but if you want to meet me when I’m on lunch break, I’ll show you where to buy good festive snacks. I’ll be out front at two.”
“Thank you. Oh, thank you.” The blonde man looked surprised, his pale eyebrows shooting up in a quizzical expression. “Are you … are you sure?”
Crowley smiled back. “Sure I’m sure. Not got anything else on.”
The man gave Crowley a look of effervescent joy at that. Then he picked up a stack of the most tacky light up cards, and paid with a smile before walking out of the shop with a spring in his step.
I’ll show you where to buy good festive snacks. What kind of a line was that? Crowley shook his head at himself as he went back to work. What was he doing to do, take the man to a mysterious shop named Festive Snacks R Us? Honestly, one cute smile and a nice voice, and he turned into a blithering fool.
He still went to wait outside the shop at two o’clock though. Just in case.
The outside of the shop was almost as overwhelming as the inside, with holiday music playing and crowds of people, but at least he didn’t have Beez breathing down his neck.
The onslaught of festiveness suddenly became a lot easier to bear when the man from before strode cheerily into view, giving Crowley an adorable little wave.
“Hello! How lovely of you to meet with me. But we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Aziraphale.”
He held out his hand to shake and Crowley took it immediately, as if shaking hands with Aziraphale was the most important thing he could possibly do. His hand was warm and soft.
“Crowley.” He managed by way of introduction. “Great name. Yours I mean. You’ve got a great name.”
What was wrong with him?
Aziraphale gave him a fond look. “Thank you. My mother was rather into obscure angelology. You have a lovely name too. Hopefully not named after a terrifying occultist?”
Crowley laughed. “Nah. Dad had Irish roots.”
“That rather explains the glorious red hair too, I should think.” Aziraphale said, and then visibly blushed. Crowley felt himself blushing in response like some kind of Aziraphale-activated festive ornament. “I’m so sorry about earlier, you must think me ridiculous. It’s not that I am unaware of the existence of snacks and where to buy them. It’s only that I had this all sprung on me and I rather panicked, and as I said, I can’t bake …”
“What did you have sprung on you?” Crowley asked, curious as to what had this lovely man in such a fluster. Going by his clothes - clearly well-worn but exquisite quality - and the waft of expensive cologne, he was hardly poor as a church mouse. What was so hard to solve?
“Hosting the head honcho at my place. You see, the theatre manager hosts a festive party each year. Schmoozing and all that, you know. Unfortunately he’s had to jet off to the Seychelles to deal with some family business -”
“I could use an emergency in a tropical climate too.”
Aziraphale laughed. “Rather, dear fellow. But I’ve been asked to step in at the last minute.”
“So you’re an actor?” Crowley asked, fascinated.
“For my sins, yes.” Aziraphale smiled up at him. “I always had a bit of a dramatic bent, and I was lucky enough to have a small inheritance that gave me enough wiggle room to focus on my stage career.”
“They should count themselves lucky you said yes on short notice.” Crowley said as they started wandering the Bell & Leaf shopping centre, whose interior matched its somewhat pretentious name. Pound N Penny stood out like a sore thumb among the designer boutiques and glorified shabby chic shops. “Get some of those savoury snacks with pretzels and fish shaped crackers, box of mince pies, and they can call themselves grateful.”
Aziraphale gave him a wistful smile that made Crowley’s heart do something funny.
“Oh, I do wish I could. Unfortunately, one of our top regional casting directors attends every year, and the success of the party can rather influence his picks. I’ve been desperately wanting to try my hand at MacBeth …”
“I prefer the funny ones myself.”
That got him more of Aziraphale’s lovely smile.
“Do you? Are you a patron of the arts?”
“Nah, not really. Quite liked A Midsummer Night’s dream. Ballet’s not bad. Always wanted to see the Nutcracker. Never got around to it though.”
“Oh?”
Crowley shrugged and steered them towards In A Jam. He’d only just met the man. He wasn’t about to share all his woes. His difficulty finding someone whose company he enjoyed, and who enjoyed his in return. Someone who would understand his sensory overwhelm and not get offended when he needed downtime. The ridiculous dream he had every year that this would be the year he found someone to do magical festive things like ballet trips and chatty meals out with, only for it to be left more crumpled than wrapping paper on Christmas morning.
“Reckon you’ll get some nice bits here. It’s mostly preserves and whatnot, but they do these great Christmas cakes every year, I think they get them from a local bakery? Bloody lovely they are. Then you’ll want to go next door to the health food shop. Get yourself some of their Turkish Delight for afters, and they’ve got bins full of high-quality savoury snacks so you can buy as much as you want, and serve them for a bit of class. Then maybe go over to the Truckle of Cheese, grab yourself a Camembert and bake it for a nice centrepiece. Mull some wine. Make some festive scones. That’ll wow them.”
Aziraphale went a whiter shade of pale, and Crowley belatedly remembered his earlier comment about baking. Poor bugger. Crowley had just suggested a skydiving trip to someone afraid of heights.
“Look, gimme your phone number. I’ll text you. Talk you through it. Starting with a shopping list.”
Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. He had gorgeous eyes, the light blue of a winter sky.
“Why would you do that for me, dear fellow?”
Crowley nearly choked trying to swallow the words so you’ll call me ‘dear fellow’ again Instead he smiled tightly.
“Think of me as your friendly neighbourhood Christmas elf.” Aziraphale looked skeptical at that, raising his eyebrows in an adorable way. Crowley laughed at the stern expression. “Look mate, honestly, you seem nice and cooking and baking are dead easy for me. It’s no trouble to help you.”
“If you’re sure …”
“Sure I’m sure.”
“I would like to repay you, though.”
Crowley shook his head, laughing. “Alright, if you insist, you can bring me one of the scones so I can see the results of my expert tutelage. You know where to find me.”
Aziraphale glanced towards the dreaded Pound N Penny.
“Indeed I do.”
*
“Someone’s found their festive spirit!” Tracy said merrily as Crowley took his seat behind the checkout three days later, whistling happily. The three days since meeting Aziraphale had been some of the best days he’d had in a while. Though his life was still the same - same job, same empty lonely flat, same existential dread about his future - something in him felt lighter. Merry and bright, he might say if he was given to festive puns. Which he wasn’t.
It was hard to feel lonely when he’d spent the last three nights exchanging texts with a clever, kind angel of a man who texted as if he was writing a formal letter and managed to be self-effacing, funny, witty, and just a little bit of a bastard, by hilarious turns. Crowley had metaphorically held his hand through the intricacies of baking Camembert (do the eggs and breadcrumbs in the right order, which Aziraphale nearly had not), and baking festive scones (always make sure your hands are cold and don’t overwork the mixture.)
Last night had been the big night, and Crowley was waiting impatiently to hear how it had gone. He’d wished Aziraphale would have gotten in touch the previous night, so eager was he to hear if it had gone well, but he’d reasoned the man was likely exhausted after that.
By lunchtime there’d still been no text, and Crowley was starting to feel despondent. Of course Aziraphale had moved on to happier things after the (assumed) success of the party. Crowley was just a kind stranger who’d lent a hand, not much different from a friendly YouTuber.
When closing time rolled around, Crowley was resigned. It had been a nice distraction for a few days, a bit of festive spirit and a relief from feeling so alone. What else had he expected? Sure they’d talked for hours but that was probably just idle chit-chat to a gregarious actor who Crowley was sure must be wildly popular, because who wouldn’t lo - like - Aziraphale?.
“I would have saved you some Camembert but it was such a hit, it didn’t last!”
Crowley looked up to find his favourite baking-phobic actor standing by the checkout, brandishing a tupperware box.
“Scones.” Aziraphale explained, gently shaking the tub in his direction. “And, er, these, if you’re interested.”
Crowley took the envelope Aziraphale offered him, a thick, classy cream paper with a little gold angel wing seal on it. Curious, he opened it and withdrew a silver and red card with “thank you” in a cursive font. Looking up at Aziraphale, who nodded encouragingly, he opened the envelope and gasped aloud when two tickets for The Nutcracker fell onto his checkout conveyor belt.
“Are you serious?” Crowley stared up at Aziraphale, aware that his mouth was hanging open.
“Is it too forward?” Aziraphale had started wringing his hands in that endearing way. “I’m aware we hardly know each other but I wanted to thank you properly, and you mentioned wanting to see it…”
Crowley could feel himself grinning.
“It’s perfect. You’re perfect. I mean yes, please, I would love to go to the Nutcracker with you.”
Aziraphale beamed brighter than any Christmas tree lights.
“Then it’s a date, dear boy. Send me your address. I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow.”
“Come early? I can make us something to eat first.”
Aziraphale gave him a surprisingly cheeky smile. “No need. I’ve been told I’m a dab hand at festive scones. I’ll bring some with me.”
All Crowley could do was nod and smile blithely as Aziraphale walked away.
It was going to be a merry Christmas after all.