Invisible Strings - Kaini - Good Omens (TV) [Archive of Our Own] (2024)

Chapter Text

Crowley headed home after their impromptu coffee date, but it was only a few days later he found himself making his way back to Soho, inexorably drawn by the promise of Aziraphale's company. He stepped up onto the bookshop's stoop to try the handle, pleased to find it unlocked, and pushed the squeaky door open.

The 1812 Overture played. Soft, somewhere closer towards the back. “I’ll be with you in a minute!” The bookkeeper carried on from the back, a trace of a pout in his voice. They were just getting to his favorite part.

He let it play on, grabbing a box of books that had just come in and needed home upon the shelves. “Apologies. Is there anything I can help you with?” He started.

The bookshop unsurprisingly smelled cozily of old paper, like a library, but something almost perfumed lingered - Aziraphale's cologne, maybe.

Crowley's head turned at the sound of footsteps, Aziraphale calling from further in. "The 1812 Overture?" Crowley asked softly, his cane held close so as not to hit any wayward books. There seemed to be stacks on the floor by the sound his boot had made against one of them, oops. He was surrounded.

Oh. Crowley. If possible, that thought alone would have lit the room with the way the blonde had smiled. He’d thought about the strange man for the past few days, wondering if he would come or not.

“It is,” he praised then. “I finally had time to put that old record to good use.” Except he was starting to realize how cluttered his quaint shop was. A blind man’s worst nightmare. “Would you like to sit, I can move a few things?”

"Er, sure. Might have to show me the way, angel." There was a table or something a few steps in from the door, and another to the left. The place was like a maze.

Aziraphale hummed, setting the box he had far off to the side and shuffled forward. “Take my arm?” He offered beside the man. “Terribly sorry for the mess,” he admitted sheepishly, careful to lead him through the maze towards the love seat.

"S'alright." Crowley hummed, taking his arm before finding the loveseat and sinking down onto it, working on folding his cane since it wouldn't be much use before shoving it into his jacket pocket.

He took his glasses off too, tucking them into the collar of his shirt for easy access.

Aziraphale cleared the coffee table once Crowley settled. A handful of books he fussed over, set with a different stack of books. As the stout man turned back, he was surprised to find a golden gaze and the most lovely eyes he’d ever seen. “Can I get you something to drink?”

"Sure. Whatever you like, angel." Crowley murmured, listening as the last notes on the record played.

Aziraphale beamed at that, chuffed it sounded like Crowley intended to stay for a little bit. He stepped back to set the kettle and make them both cups of tea. Coming back, he was gentle. “Here you are,” he offered, setting his mug down to free one hand. Carefully touching Crowley’s, he pressed the warm mug into palm. “What brings you here today?” There was no complaint on his lips, mere curiosity as the next song started up.

"I've got it." Crowley whispered, though he didn't necessarily shoo Aziraphale away. He brought the warm mug to his lips, sipping appreciatively. "Well, thought I'd come by and see the shop, and if you had anything I could listen to."

Aziraphale had relented his touch, humming softly. It was hard not to beam at the redhead. “I have quite a few records if you’re strictly invested in music. Some audiobooks, too, if you’re looking for a story.” The excitement was there, laced soft in his voice.

"I can do audiobooks. Got any suggestions? Don't think I ever was a big reader if I'm honest with you, and certainly not now." He shrugged.

Aziraphale made a thoughtful sound, peering him over. It was work making sure he suggested something good. Something that would fit the redhead in front of him. “You might enjoy Between Two Fires,” he rolled the idea on his tongue. “Perhaps even The Invisible Life of Addie Larue. A lovely story, about what it’s like to be remembered and forgotten,” he added.

"Hmm." Crowley mused softly. In the quiet of the bookshop, with both his hands on the table, it was easier to hear his obnoxiously massive watch - it was big, looked expensive and lacked a traditional face, and made an audible clicking sound when the time changed. "Either is fine. Whatever you think would be easier for me to ease into I suppose."

Aziraphale admired him, noting the watch and how he settled. “Alright,” Aziraphale smiled, slipping away for a moment. He collected a few CDs, still foreign to the online world where some individuals bought their preferred readings and used their phones to listen. He placed the unused CDs in a bag, settling it in front of Crowley. “I gave you options, in case you weren’t a fan of one genre or the other.” He wouldn’t make Crowley pay. The Lord knew he wasn’t exactly profiting off of the audiobooks.

"Thanks, angel." Crowley murmured, reaching for the bag on the sound of it against the table and feeling over the contents. "How much I owe ya?"

“Don’t worry about it,” he insisted then, smiling as he settled. “I just ask you come back and tell me what you thought of them.”

"Alright." Crowley grinned; that was an invitation if he'd ever heard one. "... You got a phone, angel?"

"I do." A sheepish reply, cheeks reddening a bit. Thankfully the redhead couldn't see that. "It's a landline."

Crowley snorted softly, fishing a cell phone from his pocket. It helpfully chirped home when he unlocked it, letting him know what screen he was on, then contacts in a pleasant, robotic tone. "Here, stick it in there under 'Angel' if you don't mind, faster if you do it."

Aziraphale took the phone, soft huff of laughter leaving him at the nickname. Though, he did just as he was asked, holding the device in one hand and methodically tapping on the digital screen one digit at a time. He saved the name under Angel as requested. "There you go. All set," he smiled, handing the phone back, fingers brushing Crowley's.

The phone narrated his slow typing, A, N, G, E, L for Crowley to hear, a bit comically. "Voice command isn't likely to understand 'Aziraphale' very well, y’know how it is." Crowley snorted, taking it back. "You want my number...?" He'd probably have to write it down since he had a landline, which amused him. Fussy, old fashioned man.

Voice command. He was fascinated by the device using the narration feature, intrigued by the modern piece of technology. That must have been extremely useful. "Hm? Yes. Just give me one moment," he decided then, standing to find a pencil and paper. It wasn't hard, and as he came back to settle, a soft, "ready when you are," breathed, he wrote the number down neatly.

Crowley read the number out to him, taking another sip of his drink when he was done, leaning back. The shop felt.. cozy, all the noise from outside muffled by the shelves.

Aziraphale took care of the note, humming softly as he set the pen down. He settled with his own mug a moment later, thankful it was cold enough so he could hold it between his palms. There wasn't an inherent need to fill the silence between them, comfortable as they settled there and listened to the world pass outside.

There were worse habits to fall into, he supposed. The next few weeks created a routine. He'd straightened up the shop, making the space accessible beyond the books he'd truly had no place to go with. Those, he settled in a corner for the time until a new shelf would arrive to be their home. He didn't try changing too much. The shelves, table, and general furniture were always in place to allow the redhead to map them out. At least, that's what Aziraphale assumed he was doing as he learned the space.

Aziraphale looked forward to their meetings, always warmed to have lanky form upon his loveseat. Sometimes they chatted. Sometimes he worked. One time, he played an audiobook when the record they were listening to tapered off on the final song. When the shop left them with the itch to go elsewhere, he'd offer his arm and lead Crowley across the way for coffee or to the local bakery for lunch. Always in each other's company, lively conversation to be had.

He'd learned so much and still understood so little, and he'd occasionally drift to the thought of Crowley tracing the bumped and raised skin of his palm.

Much like he was, tapering off in thought as they settled together in the wholesome silence. The words he was writing halted, cheeks warming. He'd written in a journal the night before, tomorrow I'll ask Crowley to dinner ... and he'd yet to see that through. Was that too forward? Too much? Perhaps it was a silly sentiment....

"Crowley...?" He was all the braver for making an attempt. "I was thinking about going out for dinner tonight, and... if you'd care to join me, that would be wonderful?" Soft from his lips. Maybe not a cool enough way to ask.

For dinner. Was that a date? Was the Angel asking him out, finally? He'd been sort of... waiting, not quite sure if Aziraphale would really want...

He hoped the heat on his face wasn't noticeable. "... Yeah, I'd love to. What time? Meet you there?" He wanted to go home and change into something nicer, depending on where they were going.

Aziraphale wasn't paying much mind, the heat on his own face unbearable. Though, he perked up at that. I'd love to. "I was thinking six?" He asked. "I have a reservation at the Rtiz. So, perhaps I can stop by yours and pick you up? We can walk?"

Smooth. Perhaps he'd worked his own little miracle a week earlier. Setting up the reservation using a friend of a friend, a good word put in for him. While Crowley hadn't said yes, he could have always fibbed about the dinner plans and still enjoy the meal.

Crowley made a soft sound of surprise at the venue; that was... expensive. He would definitely need to change. "... Sure, yeah. Let's do that." He stammered out, his face properly flaming. Good thing he had his glasses on.

Aziraphale's bright eyes finally peered at him, noting the warmth that radiated there. Oh. "Are you alright?" He asked softly then.

"Yeah. Course." Crowley said quickly. "S'not a cheap evening though, you'll have to let me at least pay for my meal." Buy me a drink, was the offer.

Aziraphale hummed, his own face beating warm. He was sure he complimented Crowley's. "Well, perhaps just a drink then?" He asked, trying to determine what the night meant to the redhead.

“Perfect. If you want to come by my place - at five?” Crowley hummed, “I'll give you the address-"

Aziraphale eased, smiling then. "Yes," he agreed softly, taking down Crowley's address after. While the two finished up their morning together, Aziraphale was still nervous, but genuinely excited. He hadn’t felt like this in… a long time.

Five. He was giddy, waiting for the time to roll around after. It took careful preparation, of course. A nice suit, a bowtie; all picked and laid out on his bed. He even broke out the fancy bath oils and matching lotion that left his skin soft and gently glowing, soaking in a bath before he officially was ready.

As he fixed himself up nicely, arriving promptly at the given address, he knocked gently on the door of the address Crowley gave him.

Crowley's flat was on the sleek and modern building's second floor, apartment number 6. There were only 12 in the whole building they were so large, luxurious and expensive.

Crowley opened the door quickly like he'd been waiting by it, stepping out. "Hello Aziraphale." There was really no one else it could be from the smell of his cologne.

Crowley was wearing a deep maroon dress with black accents, the soft fabric shining slightly in the low light. He... really hoped the Angel didn't mind the choice of presentation, but he was... reasonably sure he wouldn't.

The door being thrown open had surprised Aziraphale, a smile pulling at his lips. “Crow—oh,” he nearly choked, lungs forgetting to breathe. A soft sound rolled across his tongue, pressed through his lips. Oh.

What were the words? It was impolite to stare.

He sprinted through several thoughts, dizzying himself. For a man that read a great many books, no words he’d ever read could have described how lovely Crowley was. “You look gorgeous,” he finally settled on in a warm tone, realizing that his lapsed silence wasn’t helping either of them.

Crowley tensed as he heard that sharp intake of breath, unable to gauge his reaction beyond that sound. Had he overdone it...? Put on the wrong color lipstick? He was pretty sure he was wearing a matching deep red, but mistakes could have been made. He had them labeled. But that was as far as he ever went with makeup for obvious reasons. Did he look...? Silly?

Oh. You look gorgeous. Those words immediately swept his anxiety aside, something warm taking up residence in his chest instead. "... Thanks." He managed to murmur casually, "Dressed myself if you can believe it." He turned to lock the door, shifting his cane to the other hand before offering Aziraphale his arm. "I'd return the compliment, but..."

Aziraphale took his arm gently, slipping his into Crowley's. The words drew his brows together, confusion over him. Huh? Oh. Right. Silly, Crowley couldn't see his outfit. Nonetheless, he didn't fret. "I'm wearing a cream colored set of slacks, a matching waist coat with white button down beneath. Tan jacket above," he offered. How did one describe the colors? Albeit, Crowley said all of this had seemed to be from a head injury five years earlier. "Oh! And a bow-tie," he whispered, smiling then. He wondered if it helped to describe such.

Crowley hummed thoughtfully, his hand moving over the fabric of Aziraphale's sleeve. "... Feels nice. Sure you look stunning." He murmured with a little smile, as they made it to the elevator and stepped inside together, Crowley keeping his cane close so it didn't get caught in anything. He shifted it to the crook of his free arm as he adjusted his sunglasses, another expensive looking pair.

Perhaps this was what falling in love felt like? Weak-kneed as Crowley ran his fingers over the sleeve of his jacket. That light flutter of tightness in his chest, heart soaring. He'd almost offered for Crowley to explore as much as he'd like. Except that sounded positively naughty , he chastised himself.

Aziraphale peered at him with that same bright stare, and noted that Crowley had a very particular taste in watches and glasses. Not that he'd complain, of course. It was fitting. As they stepped off the elevator, Aziraphale mindfully guided him. "Have you ever been to the Ritz?" He prompted then as they set out onto the sidewalk.

"Not that I recall." Crowley said softly, minding his step on the pavement with the help of his cane. "Bit of a pain explaining to fancy waiters that they have to read the menu to me." He snorted. "I usually just order in."

“Oh.” He hadn’t thought of that. It seemed silly in hindsight. “I’d be happy to help,” he offered gently. He didn’t want Crowley to feel coddled or that he’d mind. His tone was sweet, pausing at the corner to wait for the light to change so they could cross. “If you’d like, of course.”

"Sure. Someone's gotta tell me what they have." Crowley chuckled. "Plus, I like hearing you talk."

“I…” The syllable died in his throat, flustered by the compliment. This man was going to be the death of him, once more stunning the bookseller into a quiet assortment of noises. An irony, unable to speak. He finally settled, patting Crowley’s arm. “Anything for you, dear,” he eased out with a smile.

Crowley preened a bit at dear . The noise on the sidewalk had increased, more people around them as they walked into the busier streets surrounding the restaurant. Someone shot Crowley a glare when he hit the back of their shoe with his cane, not that he noticed.

Aziraphale offered an apologetic smile. Though, he didn’t make a sound. It wasn’t intentional. He wasn’t going to draw attention. Aziraphale did his best to maneuver them through the crowd, keeping Crowley closer towards the inner part of the sidewalk to avoid the street and cars, and he did his best to navigate him through the people, too.

Crowley trusted him, which was quite the feat; he valued his independence, but having Aziraphale at his side just felt... natural, and he didn't mind being led by him at all. Eventually he heard the muffled sound of soft music drifting out from somewhere nearby, probably whoever they had playing at the Ritz that evening. "We almost there?"

“Yes,” he hummed, careful of the crowd as they walked to the front. The door staff greeted them, door opened to let them through in the dim lighting of the evening. “Reservation under Fell,” he explained to the hostess. The woman did a quick sweep of the list and then smiled, collecting menus and leading them.

Aziraphale was certainly the gentleman, guiding Crowley to the chair and pulling it out for him. “Alright?” He asked.

"Mmm." Crowley confirmed softly as he sank into the chair, folding his cane. The live piano music that drifted across the room was just loud enough to be heard properly over the sounds of soft conversation and clinking silverware, and whatever the special was that night, it smelled divine. "... something smells good."

“I believe it’s the venison,” Aziraphale admitted with a hum. It was a soft atmosphere, busy and bustling in the quaintest ways. He had settled his chair a little closer to Crowley, not wanting to bother the other patrons with their own conversation. “Do you know what you’d like to drink?” He asked then. “I can go over the menu.”

"Read off the reds to me?" Crowley suggested softly, leaning close to hear his soft voice over the restaurant's chatter.

Aziraphale smiled, content as he leaned in. Their knees brushed slightly, blonde starting on the list. Some red blends, some Cabernets. Each imported for other countries. A short list compared to the others, but he thought the list was appropriate. “The Rioja Reserva is a wonderful selection if you prefer a medium sweetness — or any of the red blends if you want sweeter,” he added after going through the list. “The barolo is on the drier side.” He wasn’t sure how often Crowley drank wine.

Crowley listened intently, leaning into that slight touch. "The barolo will probably be fine." He purred.

“Alright,” Aziraphale agreed with a smile. “Barolo it is.” He ordered the bottle, deciding he would have a glass, too. He had no qualms about reviewing the rest of the menu, too. Appetizers first, then the main courses. Each whisper leaving him slightly closer. In between, he’d made a few jokes. Nothing crude, just light hearted banter.

Crowley hummed along as he listened, enamored by the lilt in Aziraphale's tone as he described various menu items with charming enthusiasm. Honestly, Crowley could probably listen to him reading the Sunday crossword off and be enamored. He definitely had to find some excuse to ask the bookseller to read to him, sometime. Audiobooks were nice, but he definitely preferred this voice.

Crowley ended up ordering the venison indeed, after an equally lavish appetizer and half a glass of wine. He sat back while they waited for dessert, nursing his second glass. "... What color's your hair?" He asked softly, seemingly out of nowhere, his mind straying from where their conversation had petered off.

Aziraphale had enjoyed the beef wellington, having offered Crowley a few bites to share in the experience. He had only hoped that the soft sounds he made with each bite went unnoticed, a little aware and embarrassed. Though, the company he had made him relax after a little while. “What?” He hummed, sipping from his glass. It was a surprising question. “Blonde,” he answered softly, brain catching up to the question.

Crowley grinned, his eyes crinkling behind his glasses. "Somehow s'what I pictured."

“Oh, yes?” A brow raised. “What else have you pictured?” It’s half-flirtatious, half truly invested in the imagination of the redhead.

Crowley made a quiet, thoughtful little sound. "Well, we've established you like tan and cream. And tartan. Your hands are soft, and I can hear your smile. I imagine... soft, fussy librarian with hair like a halo, like a proper angel." He teased gently.

Oh. Aziraphale wasn’t sure if the heat that tickled the back of his neck and rose to his cheeks was the wine or Crowley’s words. “A proper angel?” He snorted softly, but the smile was certainly there. Though, he was a little self conscious about his hands, scars and all. Crowley certainly had seen him. “You’re being silly,” he drew teasingly, laughing as their dessert was set in front of them.

Am I? Crowley wanted to say, but he heard the waiter approach and then set a plate in front of him, and he reached for his dessert fork instead, listening for Aziraphale's appraisal of his. He'd been listening to the man make the most sinful noises as he dug into his food all night, and it was driving him a little crazy.

Aziraphale took a forkful of his, admiring the vision in front of him before savoring the bite. A low hum in his chest, certainly audible in every standard. He lifted his linen napkin to his lips to stifle the sound. Absolutely divine.

Crowley smiled gently at the sound, taking a lavish bite of his own chocolate cheesecake with a soft hum of appreciation.

Aziraphale smiled, content that Crowley was enjoying his dessert too. Once they both finished their evening dining, bill split with the wine on Aziraphale’s check and paid for, the blonde offered his arm to Crowley once more in the calmer walk back towards the redhead’s flat. “I take it you enjoyed the Ritz?” A little buzzed from his wine. Though, not stupidly so.

"Mmm, I did. Honestly, haven't had that good a time going out in... ages." He admitted softly, glad to have Aziraphale's arm. He couldn't really focus on where he was going when he was buzzed.

“Really?” He asked, baffled by that. Aziraphale couldn’t help the surprise. He loved spending time with Crowley, enamored by him. He was full of life, witty jokes, and clever. It struck him as odd he didn’t go out more often or with others. Not that Crowley was odd, simply the situation. He reached with his freehand to settle across the redhead’s arm looped through his. Leaning in, he offered, “we could do something like this again.”

"Yeah, angel. I'd like that." He murmured, his next few steps hesitating as he felt a dip in the kerb with his cane. "Mm, okay, I got sort of distracted, where are we?"

“About to cross the street and we’ll be on your block,” he stated softly with a smile, pausing as he pulled Crowley closer and waited for the slow traffic that was coming through to get the red. “Can I walk you to your door?” He asked then.

"Oh, yeah." Alright, he knew where they were. "Please, angel."

“Of course, dear.” Aziraphale made sure to have a gentle hold on him as they crossed the street and followed down the sidewalk. Firm enough to help direct him if needed but not enough to be inappropriate. Leading him through the door and to the elevator, a soft smile on his lips, he waited for them to step off and paused them in front of his door. “Here we are,” he whispered.

Crowley reached for the lock with an appreciative little noise, feeling the distinct shape of the snake-like handle.

He turned back, hesitating. There were expectations after a first date, right? A kiss goodnight, at least? "Aziraphale..." He debated for only a moment. "Would you like... to come in?"