Chapter Text
The first day of school is always a swirl of excitement and nerves. Aziraphale knows that he’s as prepared as he can be. He’s done this what feels like a thousand times, he’s good at it. That knowledge somehow does not stop his anxious pacing around the room1, counting lines of books that will be assigned this year.
What if he can’t do this any longer? He’s hardly interacted with children over the summer, what if he’s forgotten how they work?
Fifteen minutes before his first class is scheduled he takes a deep breath and makes himself walk to the door; opening it and kicking the doorstop into place. He stands at the front of the room and waits, folding his arms behind his back to resist the temptation to shake or wring his hands. He can’t help the subtle rocking from his heels to the balls of his feet and back again, but no students have arrived yet so it hardly matters.
The first child to tentatively inch through the door has Aziraphale relaxing almost immediately, his focus is suddenly concentrated on a small nervous face. He always forgets how small the new Year Sevens are.
The boy pushes his glasses up nervously. “Ah, excuse me, is this English Studies? I think I followed the map correctly, but you never do know.”
The boy’s voice is overly formal, something Aziraphale can relate to along with the criticism it can bring from peers. He offers the child a bright smile, making sure his eyes crinkle with it. “Why yes it is! Welcome to class, my dear, feel free to take a seat anywhere. I am Mr. Fell, and who would you be?”
The boy offers a tentative smile. “Jeremy Wensleydale, but actually I prefer just Wensleydale.” He doesn’t move to take a seat, shifting awkwardly as he glances back through the door. “My friends should be here soon. They said that they didn’t need a map, they're probably lost now.”
He has friends in the class, wonderful. Good friends can provide a buffer for a child like Wensleydale, and Aziraphale does hope that they are good friends. “Well, Wensleydale, it is still early yet. I’m sure they can make it before class, and even if they cannot it will hardly be the first time new students have been late.” He gestures to the classroom with a flourish. “Please take a seat and we can wait for them to get here. There are no assigned seats in my class so even if they are too late for you to sit next to them today you should be able to in the future, as long as you all remain punctual.”
Wensleydale nods and, unsurprisingly, takes a seat in the middle front. Aziraphale tries not to stereotype students on first meeting, but he suspects that unless Wensleydale is pulled into shenanigans or tomfoolery by his friends he will be an easy student.
It’s still a good ten minutes before class when the next wave of children come, four at once. Aziraphale assesses them quickly as he greets them with a sunny smile. They’re led by a curly-haired boy who walks into the classroom with a confidence that Aziraphale rarely sees in eleven year-olds. Which means that depending on how good of a head he has on his shoulders he will either be overbearing or a good active participant in class. Close on his heels is a black girl in a red poncho who walks with the same force as the curly haired boy, but instead of smiling she’s examining Aziraphale with open suspicion. Aziraphale immediately takes a liking to her. Despite himself he’s always been fond of students with a healthy distrust for authority.
The two who are hanging back are a boy with messy hair and dirt smudges on his face, and a-- Aziraphale feels his smile turning into a beam at the sight of the fourth child. The child has clearly been assigned male at birth but is wearing thick eyeliner and purple lipstick. They’re also directing a scowl bordering on sneer at Aziraphale.
Oh, the youth of today are truly living!
By the way Wensleydale brightens at their appearance; these are likely the friends he was talking about.
Aziraphale claps his hands with a wiggle. “Welcome! This is Year Seven English Studies, please feel free to take your seats wherever you wish and class will begin in about ten minutes. There will be introductions at the beginning of class but if you would like to introduce yourselves to me that would be marvellous! I am Mr. Fell, and I am delighted to meet you all.”
The curly haired boy grins, offering a hand to Aziraphale. “Adam Young. And this is Pepper,” he uses his other hand to point to the girl still examining Aziraphale with suspicion, and then moves to indicate the other children. “Brian, Warlock, and you’ve already met Wensleydale.”
Aziraphale nods, shaking the boy’s hand. “I have indeed. He said that you were attempting to get here without a map so I am very pleased that you made it in such excellent time.”
Adam grins at Wensleydale. “See! I told you we’d make it, don’t need any dumb map to lead us here, we just followed the numbers.”
For a moment Aziraphale worries that Wensleydale will be hurt by this, indicating that these may not be very good friends after all. To Aziraphale’s relief and amusement the boy gives an exaggerated sniff. “Actually, I still got here ahead of you so following maps is clearly superior.”
Adam laughs and lopes over to sit at Wensleydale’s right. The rest of the children follow him, filling in the first row of seats.
It’s a good first class. Aziraphale starts with introductions and then moves onto an overview, which is normally a surefire way to make bright new eyes glaze over in boredom. To his pleasant surprise the first row is actively engaging with it. Pepper and Adam especially are asking questions on what books will be assigned and how much creative freedom they will be allowed for the poetry and creative writing sections.
Aziraphale does his best to give honest answers, noting Adam’s keen interest in creative writing with a thrill. “To be completely honest this class gives less space for creative writing than I would have liked. Even the amount I have is somewhat disapproved of since you will all need to build essay writing skills for other classes.” He tries to stop himself from wiggling but can’t quite manage it. “However! If you do have an interest I host a creative writing club as an after-school activity. It would be marvellous to get some new faces in, we are always reduced significantly with the new school year.”
Adam’s eyes brighten with interest. Hook line and fish, or however that saying goes. “Is it today?”
Aziraphale nods. “Mondays and Wednesdays, my dear. It will likely be a small group today but I would be thrilled if you join us.”
Adam grins and sits back in his seat. Warlock, for some reason, groans.
By the time school is over Aziraphale’s anxiety has melted away. Children can be rude, disrespectful, and genuinely horrid to each other sometimes, but he does love them dearly. Watching someone learn and grow, helping with that process even, is fulfilling in a way that he hasn’t found anywhere else. That feeling has kept him in the profession despite the low salary, long hours of grading and class planning after long days of work, and the general feeling of hopelessness that can come from butting heads with administration.
Creative writing club is in his classroom but he changes the set-up for it, stacking most of the desk chairs against the wall and arranging the rest into a small circle. He tests board pens as he waits, throwing the ones that aren’t quite up to snuff away.
He expects a small group today, some returning students and maybe Adam since he took such an interest in class. He’s proven right, about five students trickle in who he remembers from last year and he greets them all with enthusiasm.
As they start settling in there’s a scuffling sound in the hall and then Adam bursts through the door, almost careening into Aziraphale’s desk before he manages to stop himself.
Aziraphale blinks at the boy, then raises his eyebrows. “Was that truly necessary, my dear?”
Adam grins at him. “Yeah! Anyway it’s fine if my lift sits in for the club, right?” He swipes a hand through his hair, giving Aziraphale a jaunty wink. “He has a visitor's pass and everything! We had a bit of a miscommunication about when he should come pick us up so he’s here early. He said he doesn’t want to go home just to turn right back around to come get us.”
Aziraphale purses his lips to cover up the giggle that wants to escape over the boy’s antics. “Yes he may, if it is alright with him and he has a visitor's pass.” He tries to school his face into something stern. “Somehow, and don’t ask me why I suspect this, some magical teacher’s sense I’m sure- I doubt that he’s going into this entirely willingly.”
Adam shrugs with a breezy lack of care and takes a seat.
Unsurprisingly, it only takes a few moments before pounding feet can be heard from the hall and a harried looking man skids to the entrance of the room, halting with a jerk before actually stepping in. “Adam! You can’t just run off like that! I told you that they’re not going to want a bloo—“ he cuts himself off with a strangled sound, “blasted adult sitting in on a club!”
Adam shrugs, grinning. “Mr. Fell said it was fine!”
The man makes another strangled sound. Whatever he’s about to follow that up with is interrupted by Warlock, who pushes past the man with relative ease.
Warlock is still wearing what Aziraphale is coming to suspect is their signature scowl, but it’s twitching in a way that may suggest amusement. “Come on Nanny, you know when Adam wants something like this he’ll be a pain in the ass until we roll over in defeat.”
As amusing as this spectacle is, Aziraphale feels like it is his duty to step in at some point. As Warlock settles into a seat next to Adam he addresses the flustered man. “Please feel free to join us if you wish. Though, if you would prefer to go straight home with your charges I will make an effort to shoo them out and instruct them to come back on Wednesday.” Aziraphale resolutely ignores Adam’s groan of protest.
The man flaps his mouth for a second, rather reminiscent of a fish, before shrugging. “Yeah, ok. Uh, thanks.” His face and neck are flushing, which Aziraphale finds rather cute. The embarrassed mental jerk away from that thought is simply a remnant of an old pattern of shame that is irrelevant to the life he’s living now. Somewhat spitefully, he thinks it again, smiling as the flustered man comes to take a seat in one of the desk chairs.2
Aziraphale claps once, getting the attention of the students who have been talking quietly to each other. “Welcome everybody! Let’s go around and introduce ourselves before we get started. State your name and then, if you would like, feel free to share what has drawn you to creative writing.” He jumps right in. “My name is Aziraphale Fell. Feel free to call me Mr. Fell, or Aziraphale within this space, since this is not an official class. I have always been drawn to books, and through that I found a love of writing as well. I write primarily short prose stories, though I have tried my hand at many different things.” He gestures to the room. “I am so thrilled to see you all here today, and I hope to be there to experience your work and see how it grows as the year progresses.”
They move around the circle like that, some responding more enthusiastically than others, all a bit awkward as children often are with public speaking.
When they reach Adam the boy beams. “Hi, I’m Adam. I love writing and I’m going to be a published author someday, but I don’t know if I want to do that full time yet. I’ve written a ton of stories, mostly about cowboys and aliens and dinosaurs and stuff. They’re pretty cool, but I think it’ll be neat to learn writing stuff officially.” He turns to Warlock.
Warlock hunches into themself a bit, but after a moment takes a deep breath and speaks. “I’m Warlock. Trust me, anything you try and say about my name is not new, and if it is I’ll honestly just be impressed. I'm pretty sure I’ve heard it all at this point.” They shrug uncomfortably. “I’m not really into writing, I prefer maths, but Adam wanted to come.” They turn to the man sitting hunched in his seat, likely still recovering from having to chase his charge down the hall.
The man looks back at Warlock blankly for a moment and then starts. “Wait, am I supposed to introduce myself too?” He turns to Aziraphale, obviously confused.
Aziraphale purses his lips in a poor attempt to hide a smile. “Well you are here, however unwillingly, so you might as well. It does feel a bit odd to just be thinking of you as ‘Adam’s lift’ as you were first described to me.”
The man nervously drums his fingers on the table, slouching into a somewhat ridiculous and noodley position. “Uh, yeah, alright. My name is Crowley, I’m Adam’s lift and Warlock’s appointed guardian right now. Uh, I’m not really into creative writing, I’m a biologist so mushrooms and plants are more my thing. I like some audiobooks and podcasts, I guess, and it’s cool that you have a space for this at school. Good for the kids, and stuff… yeah.” He trails off.
Taking pity on him, Aziraphale smiles and moves on. “Thank you everybody! Most of you know how this goes but for those who are new, this club is primarily geared towards peer and instructor support for personal projects. We will normally start with a group activity, before moving onto about thirty minutes of writing. Once we are done writing the floor will open up to share your work and ideas. Nothing is too unformed to throw out to the group; this is a space to grow, not to prove how good you are already.” He looks over the faces in front of him, pleased that even the return students seem to be paying attention. “When you share your writing- if you would only like feedback on specific things, such as structure or characterization, specify the type of feedback you would like before we open up the room for comments. Please be respectful and kind towards others' writing. Think about what is genuinely constructive before you bring it to the table.” He swivels his chair to face Adam and Warlock as the new members of the group. “You are not obliged to share anything until you are ready. I also offer in depth reviews and suggestions for work, but I only do so when requested and I give my feedback privately. You are free to use this time to write anything you want. Primarily my students write prose, poetry, or scripts, but if you have a huge paper or some such due you can work on that as well.”
They both nod.
Warlock’s scowl has taken on a thoughtful edge. “We can write poetry for this thing?”
Aziraphale beams. “Of course! And if you would like any extra resources on the craft please let me know. I am not a poet myself but I have books on books of it, as well as many videos saved of some rather excellent slam poets if your preference leans towards spoken word.” He sighs dreamily. “Truly a wonderful craft. It’s always lovely to see the youth embrace it, I think some of the loveliest works I’ve heard have been from students.”
Warlock is starting to flush and hunch forward, which is Aziraphale’s cue to move on before he embarrasses the child out of expressing himself in the future. “Anywho! I know that took up a bit of time, but in today’s warm-up we are going to build a world together. After we’ve finished we will all write for about ten minutes from within the world that we create.” He stands and moves to the white board, snatching up one of the working board pens. “If you don’t have any personal projects you are working on right now feel free to expand on the piece that you start in the warm up when we move on to our regular writing time.”
They get through the world building quickly and Aziraphale is thrilled at the level of engagement from both the old and new students. They start by listing and then voting on genre, settling on science fiction which is a wonderful choice for this type of exercise. Anything suggested is written down as a part of the world, though Aziraphale makes it clear that they don’t have to focus on or include every element in their writing. What they end up with is a vibrant space empire run by rat people who’ve long since exterminated the human race. There are strange cow creatures, jazz bands run by cockroaches, and an economic system that centres on reuse and the repurposing of material goods instead of capitalist production. Aziraphale loves it, the things these children think of when they’re engaged are often beyond what he could have ever imagined.
Aziraphale has almost forgotten about the other adult in the room until he’s handing out paper and pencils to those who don’t have them and finds himself in front of Crowley’s desk. Aziraphale had hardly registered that the man was wearing sunglasses in the commotion earlier and finds that they make his expression a bit hard to read. He can tell that the man is looking at him at least, mouth slightly parted and the remnants of a blush still on his cheeks.
Aziraphale’s eyes flick over him, snake skin boots, tight leather trousers, a blazer and a strange little necktie thing. His long red hair is tied into a messy bun but it’s shiny in a way that suggests good hair products. There’s a small snake tattoo on the side of his face, though Aziraphale can’t tell if he has any others. At a guess Aziraphale would say bisexual, if not gay. At least not uptight about masculinity, and Aziraphale hasn’t sensed any hostility from him over the fact that Aziraphale is very obviously as queer as a three pound note.
Aziraphale smiles, offering him paper and pencil. “It might get somewhat boring in here while the children write, please feel free to join in. Though if you would like to choose a book to read, or want to occupy yourself with your cellular device you are also free to do that.”
Crowley accepts the paper hesitantly. “I suppose I don’t mind joining in. Pretty cool world the kids came up with, you’re a good teacher getting them engaged like that.”
Aziraphale blushes hotly, surprised. “Oh! Thank you! I do try my best, but it really went so well because of the students. I’m sure it wouldn’t have gone nearly as wonderfully if they were not so willing to become engaged.”
Crowley smirks, nerves seeming to fall away as he leans forward. “Yeah, but you brought it out of them. You made a space for them to be creative without trying to control them, or tell them that they can only do things in specific ways. You made the framework, but you’re letting them build on it in the ways that they want.”
Aziraphale is sure that his blush is creeping down his neck now and he wishes that he had any type of control over it. “W-well, thank you ever so much! I do hope that Adam and Warlock enjoy it here for as long as they stay and I will do my best to facilitate their education and growth.” Aziraphale’s voice is getting faster and more high pitched so he snaps his mouth shut, quickly handing Crowley the pencil and bustling back to his chair.
Because they’re running low on time Aziraphale transitions them straight from the ten minute exercise to independent writing, letting them know that they can still share their exercise pieces at the end if they wish.
The room is quiet and Aziraphale uses the time to check over his class plans on the ancient school computer. He’s mostly prepared for this week, though he does want to replace some of the essay examples which feel overly formulaic and dull. There are probably some student essays from last year that he can get permission to use, he just has to find the right ones. He’s absorbed enough in reading through essays that he almost misses the end of the writing time, starting when he sees that they’re two minutes over.
Smiling, he gets up and wheels his chair back to the circle. “Alright everyone! Finish your last sentences. Even if what you’re writing doesn’t feel finished you can always pick it up again later, either on your own or by bringing it back here. I’m always willing to hold onto your work for you if you’re worried about losing it.”
The scribbling of pencils dies down, some students obviously relieved and some disappointed at the end of time. Adam looks perky, Warlock angry, and Crowley’s face is mostly unreadable.
Aziraphale looks around the room. “Thank you. Now, would anyone like to share? You can share something you wrote, either from the exercise or your other work, or you can talk about current or future writing ideas.”
They go around the circle again. Two of the return students share parts of their pieces from the world they had created together, and one shares a bit from a story they’ve been trying to write for a while. The last one is the only one who requests feedback, leaving it general.
When they reach Adam, Aziraphale recognizes the first flash of nerves he’s seen in the boy so far. After a moment the confident smile is back, even as his hands shake a bit holding the paper. “I didn’t have anything in particular I was working on already, so I just kept writing about the world we made.”
Adam reads. He’s written about a space battle between different rat factions, and Aziraphale listens with rapt attention. It’s definitely an eleven-year-old’s work, the continuity is loose and there is no real characterization to speak of, but it’s fun and inventive and Aziraphale claps proudly when he’s done.
Grinning, the boy lowers his paper, blushing a bit at the applause. “Uh, yeah, so any feedback is fine.”
The older students praise the work, and don’t have anything particularly constructive to say. Aziraphale has found that most children are more willing to offer hard advice to students their age or older, which is perfectly fine. The most important thing for Adam to retain right now is his excitement over his own work.
Warlock just shakes their head when eyes turn to them, clutching their paper a little too hard.
Aziraphale turns to Crowley. “I know that you are not a part of this class, but since we have a bit of extra time would you like to share?”
Crowley makes an aborted garbling sound before straightening up a bit. “Uh, well. Is that ok? This is about the kids, right?”
Aziraphale nods. “Of course it is alright. If we didn’t have enough time I would prioritize the student’s writing over yours, but since you’re here we would love to hear your work.”
The blush that never quite left Crowley’s face deepens as he reads, but his voice is smooth and soft, with only the occasional stutter. Crowley is clearly not a professional writer, but his work is engaging and thoughtful. It’s about an archaeologist rat-person studying the remains of humanity and thinking about both what was lost and about the terrible things humans had done to each other even before their destruction. Aziraphale loves it, and appreciates the man sharing his work even in his lack of experience in the medium.
They all clap when Crowley finishes and he smiles, not the smirk from when he was complementing Aziraphale earlier, but a soft thing. Aziraphale feels something in his chest lurch.
Well, hmm, that’s something.
Aziraphale knows his own expression is soft as he looks at Crowley. “Thank you for sharing, my dear, that was both lovely and sad.” He checks the clock and claps his hands on his thighs. “Well, that’s about it for us! Thank you so much everyone, you have all been wonderful and I loved all of the work that you shared. If you would like my feedback on your work please feel free to bring it to me and I can either read and review it for next time, or talk with you about it if you have already read it out loud. I do ask that those who are not talking to me about their work wait in the hall, unless the person getting feedback wishes to bring someone with them.”
Only one of the returning students comes to ask for feedback, the one who has an ongoing story. More will start asking when they have work that they care about more, but this is pretty standard for the beginning of the year. Adam asks for feedback as well so Aziraphale has him, Warlock, and Crowley wait in the hall while he’s reviewing the first student’s piece. Aziraphale feels bad for how much time Crowley has spent at this already, but hopefully they’ll have clarified the pickup time by Wednesday.
Well, hopefully and disappointingly, if he’s being honest.
When Adam’s turn comes Aziraphale greets him with a bright smile, indicating the second chair he has by his desk that is level with his own. “Hello Adam, thank you for coming today, you did wonderfully! I can see your passion for the craft and I do hope you keep coming throughout the school year.”
Adam grins, blushing. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk kind of funny?” He shrugs. “In a good way though. I mean, like, I’m assuming you’re just gay and super camp with it, but you could also be some crazy time-traveller from the Victorian age or something.”
Aziraphale snorts unprofessionally. God, how this conversation would have terrified him as a younger man. As it is, it's just very very funny. “I could of course be gay and a time-traveller. Though I don’t think a Victorian gentleman would get away with being quite this ‘camp’, as you put it. It was quite illegal at the time, you know.”
Adam wrinkles up his nose. “That’s dumb, it shouldn’t have been illegal. Gay people are just like regular people, they're not actually different. Anyway, Crowley says that gender is a social construct.”
Aziraphale doffs an imaginary hat in acknowledgment. “Hats off to that I say.”
Adam giggles. “You’re really funny actually, like, so lame with so much confidence you just end up being cool.”
Some compliments from children are the strangest, most unintentionally insulting things. Aziraphale loves them. “Well, thank you very much young Adam. I will endeavor to continue being confident in my demeanor and general attitude towards life, despite what people may say about me.” He raises his eyebrows. “Now, would you like to move on to your writing? I do believe your lift and friend are waiting for you.”
Adam nods, but then corrects Aziraphale. “Warlock is my twin actually. Well, sort of, we’re not related but his parents are my biological parents and my parents are his biological parents. There was a mix up when we were born, so now everything’s kind of weird. I like having a brother though, he’s really cool and he helps me with my maths homework and everything.” Aziraphale blinks in surprise but waits patiently as words pour out of Adam’s mouth. Over-sharing is very common with children, especially ones this young. They will simply tell you the most bizarre things about their lives like it’s nothing. “Crowley used to be Warlock’s nanny and he’s being paid to have Warlock stay with him because Warlock’s parents suck and don’t know what to do with him now that they know he’s not biologically theirs. Which is stupid, my parents don’t care. My dad said he’d shoot Mr. Dowling if he tried to take me away, but I don’t think my dad even knows how to use a gun, and he wouldn’t do that anyway because he knows that killing people is bad. He was just really angry.” Adam nods. “Anyway, do you think my story was good?”
Aziraphale takes a second, wondering if he should address any of that. After a moment he decides that it’s not his place unless Adam asks directly for advice. “My boy, your story was wonderful. It was incredibly creative and I absolutely loved what you did with the spaceships.” And then to transition to something constructive without tamping down Adam’s enthusiasm. “You have wonderful action scenes, so what I want you to work on next in a piece like this is for you to think about why those action scenes are happening. Why are they fighting? You had the characters thinking about strategy, but what are they feeling? What stake do they have in it? You don’t have to make it serious if you do not want to. It can still be fun and adventurous, but once you know those things you can flesh out your work in the most delightful ways. Even if you are the only one who knows those background details, it will still influence how the characters act within your work.”
Adam nods seriously. To Aziraphale’s relief he doesn’t look disappointed, just thoughtful. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Make it like, deeper and stuff, but I can keep it fun?”
Aziraphale nods, smiling. “Of course, it doesn’t have to be sad! But fleshing out what’s happening in the background and in the character’s heads, and keeping it consistent, will lend a level of depth and continuity to your work that can be combined with your creativeness and sense of fun.”
Adam nods again. “Ok. That’s pretty good advice I think. I’ll start working on the background and characters. I was thinking of expanding the rat thing into something bigger but I might change some stuff around…” Adam trails off, clearly still thinking hard. Absently he stands up, still distracted. “Bye Mr. Fell, I’ll see you tomorrow for class.”
“Toodaloo” Aziraphale waves goodbye, amused by Adam’s distraction.
Aziraphale expects the trio to leave after that. Instead Warlock comes in next, arms crossed, papers clutched tightly in one hand.
Covering his surprise Aziraphale smiles. “Hello Warlock, would you like me to look over your work for next week?”
They nod sharply, looking at their feet. After a moment they shuffle up and thrust the papers into Aziraphale hands.
Aziraphale accepts them carefully. “Thank you. I look forward to talking to you about your work on Wednesday. Would you like any of the materials I was talking about earlier? In regards to poetry?”
Warlock blushes, but nods. “Uh, yeah. I used to think poetry was dumb, but actually that’s a dumb thing to think. I only thought that because things that are emotionally vulnerable are feminised which makes people think that they’re less valuable.” They make an awkward throat noise that reminds Aziraphale of Crowley. “Or that’s what Pepper and Crowley say anyway, and they’re both pretty smart.”
Aziraphale nods solemnly. “They sound like they are, yes.” He considers for a second, then decides to ask. “Warlock, my dear, if you are comfortable telling me would you mind if I ask what pronouns you use?”
Warlock blinks up at Aziraphale, surprise clear on their face. It quickly clears as understanding takes over. “Oh yeah, you’re totally gay. Sorry, I knew that somewhere in my head it just didn’t fully register for some reason.” They seem to consider for a moment as Aziraphale does their level best to not break into uproarious laughter. “Umm. Still he/him for now I think, but I’ll let you know if that changes.”
Aziraphale nods, not quite laughing but mouth trembling with mirth. “Wonderful, thank you for telling me. Please let me know if there are any ways you would like me to support you in the future, in this or anything else.”
Warlock shrugs, an actual smile threatening at the corners of his mouth.
Aziraphale gives Warlock three poetry books. He then has to ask the boy to send in his caretaker, since Warlock doesn’t have an email to send links to but is keenly interested in slam poetry.
Now that no one is having their work reviewed there’s no reason for Crowley to come in alone, but he does anyway. Aziraphale can hear Adam’s laughter in the hall so it’s probably alright.
Aziraphale flashes Crowley a smile. “Terribly sorry about this. I do not mean to take up even more of your time, but if you wouldn’t mind punching in your email? Warlock is quite interested in this form of poetry.”
Crowley shrugs. “Yeah, no problem.” He saunters over to Aziraphale, pressing up against his side to gain access to the old computer. “And don’t worry about the time. I was complaining but I don’t actually have anywhere else to be right now. The kids had a lot of fun today.” Crowley is typing and Aziraphale is frozen. Crowley smells like dirt, but in a strangely appealing way. Fresh soil. “I was worried about the new school, especially for Warlock. I think Adam could survive most anywhere and make it better along the way, but Warlock’s more vulnerable. I know they both have friends here but knowing there are good teachers too is a huge relief.”
Crowley steps back, expression sincere. Aziraphale squeaks back to life, hoping his blush isn’t too obvious. “Oh, yes, well . . . no trouble at all really. If Warlock ends up having any bother with teachers or peers over the way he presents, or anything else, please let me know and I will see what I can do.”
Crowley nods. “I really appreciate that.”
They’re both silent for a moment. Aziraphale knows that Crowley should head home now, they should both head home now actually as it is getting quite late and someone will surely kick them out of the building eventually. But he doesn’t particularly want the other man to leave, and Crowley seems to be hesitating too, as if searching for something else to talk about.
Eventually Crowley clears his throat. “Hey. So. This is a completely deranged thing to say, but the way you teach is incredibly attractive.” Aziraphale’s mouth falls open, but before he can figure out how to respond Crowley rushes on. “I know we just met, and there are probably rules or something against seeing parents, but if there’s not, would you want to get a drink or something? Warlock is over at Adam’s half the time so I have plenty of free evenings.” Crowley waits, rocking back on his heels as Aziraphale’s mouth flaps. After a moment he seems to wilt. “Sorry, stupid idea, I made it weird. Thanks for being so great— at, uh, teaching. Sorry for coming onto you.” He raises a hand in an awkward little wave and begins to turn towards the door. “Ciao.”
As Crowley turns to go, Aziraphale kicks back to life. “Wait!” Aziraphale raises a hand as if to pull Crowley back, but isn’t close enough so it just hovers awkwardly.
Crowley turns back around, eyebrows raised over the sunglasses.
Aziraphale gulps, feeling far out of his depth. Thirty screaming children he can handle, but this? This is terrifying. “Ah. Well. That is— you see.” He shakes his head, attempting to dislodge the cobwebs from his thoughts. “No, it is not against any rules or laws. It is rather socially side-eyed of course but I have never seen any personal harm in it… ur.” He pauses again, hand still awkwardly outstretched. “Yes. I would love to go for a drink with you, I mean.”
Crowley breaks out into a huge grin. “Great. Awesome. Uh, I’ll just give you my number then?”
Aziraphale nods numbly, pulling out the mobile that he was bullied into getting in order to have a reliable way to contact fellow teachers or emergency services on field trips. It even has texting capabilities, though he doesn’t really understand what’s happening on the teacher group chat at any given point. He’s pathetically grateful for the phone now as he and Crowley exchange numbers.
When Crowley and the children leave, Aziraphale sits back in his chair, processing.
Good lord, this is happening. Aziraphale doesn’t remember the last time he went on a date, or even ‘got a drink’ with someone. Four? Five years ago now? And it hadn’t gone particularly well either.
Gosh, it will be awkward if this doesn’t go well. He’s Warlock’s teacher after all, they’ll surely see each other again at school. For parent teacher meetings if nothing else.
But wouldn’t it also be awkward if it goes well? What if he and Crowley start dating? He’ll be dating the guardian of one of his students, which just sounds incredibly embarrassing all around. Groaning, Aziraphale covers his face with his hands.
Worth it though, and not just for how tight the man’s trousers are.
1. Some might say that his classroom is a disorganised mess, but he knows where everything is and by the end of the year so will even the newest students. [ ▲ ]
2. The chairs are made for children up to 12th year so they fit a skinny adult well enough. They would not have fitted Aziraphale comfortably, something he’s complained about to administration repeatedly because some of the larger teens also have trouble. Luckily Aziraphale has his desk chair to round out the circle. [ ▲ ]