Aziraphale has… regrets.

There are only so many times he can end up in the same man's flat, the same man that makes him feel so badly about himself, without coming to the conclusion that there is something wrong with him.

Why else would he go back, if not for something broken within him?

Gabriel is… handsome, with perfectly white teeth in a very fine smile. He's tall and fit and lives in a penthouse and oh, it had been so easy to get swept up by him the first time. They'd met at a cocktail party and hit it off and Aziraphale had thought that perhaps, just perhaps, he'd finally found someone he might spend meaningful time with.

And then Gabriel had shooed him out of the flat in the morning with his number written on a piece of paper for doing this again and Aziraphale had vowed he'd never see him again. He didn't want to be one of those people, the type without any meaningful relationship.

There was nothing wrong with that whole friends with benefits thing, but it's not particularly for Aziraphale himself. And, he thinks, he and Gabriel don't even have a friendship to begin with.

Gabriel seems to think he's doing Aziraphale a favor by offering to be his personal trainer to lose the gut every time they get together.

But not anymore, Aziraphale vows to himself as he walks through St. James's park.

He breathes in the scent of fresh grass and pond water and water fowl. It's a very specific smell here, one that calms his heart, and he sighs as he wanders to a bench to sit heavily down.

He's just coming from Gabriel's, walking home to his own place which isn't far from here, but he doesn't think he can quite face the bookshop without feeling dirty thinking about the night before.

He must be strong and firm most of all. He's perfectly fine the way he is and he won't let someone try to convince him he's less than they are because he has a few extra pounds on him.

There's so much more to life than constantly embarrassing yourself and being made to feel badly.

He won't see Gabriel again and that's final.

"Can I sit?" someone asks.

Before Aziraphale's had a chance to respond, a man sits next to him, as heavily as he did.

He's all arms and legs, tall and incredibly thin, and Aziraphale peers out of the corner of his eye at him. He's got red hair styled artfully and is wearing all black and dark, unique sunglasses. There's a small snake tattoo by his temple and, well… goodness.

Not the type Aziraphale typically sees in the bookshop.

The man sighs and sprawls out, staring down at his fashionable shoes.

"Rough Sunday morning?" Aziraphale dares to ask. He's highly aware he might be burned for the second time in just an hour, but he's lonely and it's a risk he's willing to take.

"You could say that," the man says as he tilts his head back and looks up at the grey sky above. "Do you ever feel like you always make the wrong choices?"

Aziraphale gapes at the man for a while. "Yes," he says, perhaps a bit too eagerly. "Oh yes, I most certainly do. Especially today."

"Then I suppose you and I are in the same boat," the man says as he tilts his head and peers over his sunglasses at Aziraphale. A strange sort of looks comes over him but it's gone as quickly as it came. "Poor Saturday night choices?"

"You have no idea," Aziraphale says with a huff. "And this isn't the first time either."

"For me neither," the man says. "Never can seem to learn from my mistakes."

"What's your mistake's name?"

The man laughs as he looks at Aziraphale again. "Bee," he says. "Short for... something. Yours?"

"Gabriel," Aziraphale sighs. "A perfect man, truly." He smiles blandly. "For ruining one's self esteem."

"You shouldn't compare yourself to others."

"It's not that," Aziraphale says uncomfortably. He wonders how much he should confess but he's not likely to see this man again. It is a very big city after all. "He tells me I should change myself for him."

"Bastard," the man says as he continues to look at Aziraphale. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"I'm soft," Aziraphale says miserably.

"What's wrong with soft?" the man asks as he flutters his hand. "I like the soft ones myself."

Aziraphale chuckles and looks down at his lap. "Well, thank you," he says. "What's wrong with Bee?"

"She's just… so mean," the man says. "Vicious, really, and not the brightest woman ever. I think the word soft might have been used, too, you know. She doesn't like that." He coughs. "Not that I'm soft, of course."

"Of course not," Aziraphale says, even if he thinks differently. "Well, it sounds rather like we ought to hook up Gabriel and Bee. They can be perfectly mean and soft-hating together."

The man laughs for a while. He grins and holds out his hand. "Crowley's the name."

"Crowley," Aziraphale repeats as he shakes Crowley's warm hand. "That's an interesting name. I'm Aziraphale."

"And that's not an interesting name?" Crowley says with a smirk. "My parents called me Crawley for the longest time. Used to crawl all over the house, even at five. I decided Crowley sounded better at some point."

"Certainly," Aziraphale says as he chuckles. "What did they originally name you?"

"Anthony," Crowley says.

"Hmm," Aziraphale hums.

"Don't like it?"

"No, no, I do," Aziraphale says quickly. "But I rather think Crowley fits you well."

"Me too," Crowley says. "To good names and better choices."

"To good names and better choices," Aziraphale agrees with a sigh.

They sit in silence for a while as they watch the pond and the swans and ducks making their way along the water. There aren't many people here for such an early Sunday morning and Aziraphale breathes in the clear air and revels in the solitude outside of his… new park bench friend.

He's certainly a good looking man, Aziraphale thinks a bit miserably. He's vastly different than Gabriel but there's… something about Crowley that's intriguing and which makes Aziraphale want to get to know him.

Perhaps he can make a friend out of it. He doesn't have many friends, preferring his books, but he thinks he'd like a new one.

"Can I tempt you to some coffee?" he blurts, thinking too much of his time has been wasted feeling badly about himself.

Crowley looks at him in surprise, his eyebrows raised high, before the corner of his lips twitch. "Temptation accomplished," he says and stands from the bench. He extends his hand.

Aziraphale grins and takes it, standing. "Thank you," he says, a touch excitedly. "There's a lovely little shop near my bookshop, if you'd like."

"Sounds perfect," Crowley says as he sticks his hands in his pockets. "Lead the way."

They leave St. James's and make their way through London.

It's as easy as breathing, speaking with Crowley. He's funny and mischievous but he seems like a genuinely good person. He's intelligent and a bit mysterious but Aziraphale finds himself quite enamored in a short time.

They discuss their interests as they walk, television and film for Crowley, and books and bookshops for Aziraphale. They both like fine dining and wine and champagne. Crowley admits to liking the funny plays in theatre productions and even mumbles something about opera being alright.

He likes to garden in his spare time, something that shocks Aziraphale, but also delights him. He tells Crowley that he'd like to pick up cooking as a hobby because he's dreadful at it and instead of laughing at him, Crowley very seriously offers to teach him.

"Teach me?" Aziraphale asks faintly.

"Yeah," Crowley says, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. "Why not?"

Aziraphale smiles. "That's kind of you, Crowley," he says. "I'd like that very much."

"Good!" Crowley says. "There's nothing like creating an exquisite meal for yourself."

"Do you cook often?"

"When I'm in the mood for it," Crowley says. "Which isn't often. But I'm still good at it!"

"I have no doubts," Aziraphale chuckles.

They cross the street to the coffee shop and enter it. Aziraphale orders a mocha for himself while Crowley gets a flat white and they sit at a table in the corner, away from the bright windows.

"Thanks for this," Crowley says as he takes a sip of his drink.

Aziraphale watches him lick the white foam from his upper lip and sighs. The last thing he needs is to find someone else to be taken with. He needs time to himself.

Doesn't he?

Not that he and Gabriel were in any sort of relationship… but he did have sex a mere eight hours ago. Don't people need some time in between? He's not entirely sure how it works.

Not that Crowley would be interested in him either. He's merely a nice person that wishes to teach Aziraphale how to cook and accepts him buying a coffee for him, and well…

"What's on your mind, angel?"

"Oh, nothing," Aziraphale says quickly, then pauses. "Angel?"

"You're a literal angel for this," Crowley says as he holds up his cup. "And for saving me walking home feeling so… dirty."

"Well," Aziraphale says, straightening out his coat, his cheeks warm. "That's good then."

"So?"

"Hmm?"

"What's on your mind?"

"Truly nothing so interesting," Aziraphale says with a nervous laugh. "Merely wondering how my morning turned out to be a nice one."

Crowley looks considering before he smiles. "Suppose we saved each other from the walk of shame."

Aziraphale chuckles. "Something I'll forever be grateful for."

Crowley smiles as he slouches in his chair, peering at Aziraphale from over his sunglasses.

There's something enchanting about his brown eyes and Aziraphale rather wishes he would take off his sunglasses so he can look into them a bit better.

"Can I tempt you to a homemade meal tonight?"

Aziraphale tries not to choke on the sip of mocha he has just taken. He swallows and clears his throat as he stares at Crowley.

Crowley is the definition of calm in his countenance… except for his darling red cheeks.

Perhaps it's not just an offer for friendship, but… Aziraphale still isn't looking for a one night stand.

"That does sound very nice," he says carefully. "But I wonder if it's too soon after our dreadful Saturday nights?"

Crowley shrugs. "Do you have any sort of attachment to this Gabriel fellow?"

"Well, no."

"And I don't to Bee. But maybe it's still too fast," he says and sounds a bit downcast. "Maybe I can take you to dinner instead?"

Aziraphale bites his lip as he thinks about it. "Well…" he says slowly. "A homemade meal does sound very good. And you can show me how you make it!"

"That's what I was thinking," Crowley says with a grin. "If anything, you'll be able to go home knowing how to cook something for yourself."

"Or for you," Aziraphale says before he's really thought about it.

Crowley's cheeks darken again and he coughs as he takes a drink of his coffee. "Mm, yeah," he says breathlessly. "There's that."

"Well then, it's a date," Aziraphale says. "...isn't it?"

Crowley smiles. "Yeah, angel," he says warmly. "It's a date."

They exchange numbers and go their separate ways after they leave the coffee shop and Aziraphale marvels at how he walks home with a skip in his step, rather than shame weighing down his shoulders.

He feels incredibly excited about Crowley, something he hasn't felt in a long time, but it's far too soon to name it anything other than a date.

He showers once he's home and puts on his best waistcoat and merely tries not to sweat through it as he goes about his day.

It's a very long day but at some point Crowley texts him with a devil emoji, followed by the plus sign, and an angel emoji and he laughs gleefully to himself in the shop.

Crowley may not be Aziraphale's type to the outside viewer, but he's certainly not a devil, and he thinks they're a very good fit for each other.

When the time comes, Aziraphale takes the bus to Crowley's place. It's not at all what he'd been expecting, very modern with sharp angles and grey colors, but he finds that he feels at home there. Crowley gifts him an aloe vera plant with a small angel figurine sat in the soil over dinner and Aziraphale gapes at him for a while, until Crowley seems to think he's overstepped.

And Aziraphale can't have that, so he kisses Crowley over their pasta.

Crowley seems shocked by it and flails his arms until they embrace and forget about their dinner for a while.

Aziraphale isn't broken, he knows. He was merely waiting.

There's a silent decision to not take it farther than that yet and while Aziraphale fears it might make things awkward, he comes to realize that, for them, it's a perfect pace.

They might dance around each other for a while, but it's a beautiful dance, made just for them.

And, one day, they will share the most important vows, but for today it's plants and pasta and promises, and kisses stolen at the dinner table.