Dick magnet and astrophysicist Anthony J. Crowley has his life all figured out: success in his field, an endless supply of meaningless one-night-stands to fulfill his sexual needs, and Aziraphale Fell – his best friend of twenty-years, only failed-hook-up-in-his-record and favourite person on every known planet – for everything else. Sure, he’s got his Dark Days like everyone else, and he can’t say “I love you” to anyone that isn’t an animal, and sometimes he feels like there could be more to life than constantly skimming the surface of things, but all in all he’s happy with what he has. That is until Aziraphale comes back from Scotland and announces out of the blue that he’s engaged to be married and asks Crowley to be his best man slash maid of honour.
Among traitorous kilts, feral godmothers, angelic baby goats, and unnervingly perfect fiancés, the very real prospect of said happiness not including him forces Crowley to reckon with some pretty hard truths he’s been ignoring all his life. Will he go along with the wedding and carry out his duties as MOH? Or is he brave enough to go after Aziraphale and show him that their happiness is one and the same? And what if it’s too little too late?
While the grooms welcome their guests, family, and friends for the long-awaited rehearsal dinner, will Crowley and Aziraphale finally have a chance to talk things through and confess their feelings?
“How did you get it?” asked Muriel.
Crowley looked at them wide-eyed. “The scar?”
Muriel nodded.
“Ngk, okay, uhm… actually it happened the day Aziraphale and I became friends.”
Muriel clapped their hands in excitement.
“We were at Cambridge, ‘t was Halloween night. I went to Aziraphale’s room because I was looking for someone to ho–”
Crowley stopped when Aziraphale kicked him in the shins reminding him of whom he was talking to. Right, Muriel.
“Someone to hoot with.”
Muriel looked confused. “Like an owl?”
Aziraphale was holding back his amusement, but his impish grin was priceless.
“Yeah, that’s how we called it at Cambridge when we had sleepovers in our mates’ bedrooms.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what we called them,” Aziraphale bickered back. “Crowley was very good at hooting.”
Crowley chewed on the inside of his cheek to hold back a laugh.
“Well, that night I was supposed to hoot with Aziraphale’s roommate, erm…”
“Jerry,” Aziraphale prompted.
“Jerry, thank you, angel, and I ended up meeting him instead.”
“Oh, so you had a sleepover and became friends?” Muriel asked excitedly.
Don’t even think about it, this is NOT the time!
“Ngk. Well, nghhh, not– not as such,” Crowley explained. “Aziraphale wasn’t expecting me and he got scared, and–”
“And I smote him with my wrath!” Aziraphale burst out in his powerful voice, causing Muriel to shriek (and triggering Crowley’s authoritative kink for the first time in twenty sod years).
“He pushed me and I fell, and I hit my head on the nightstand.”
“I spent the rest of the night treating his wound, but it left a little scar anyway.”
“But you know what, Muriel? I’m glad I have that scar.” Crowley was gazing intently at Aziraphale now.
“You are?” asked Muriel.
When the angel’s eyes met Crowley’s again, he was stunned by the reciprocated intensity in them. And maybe it was the alcohol talking on his behalf, but Crowley couldn’t help it, the urge to go on was almost a physical need. “It’s a reminder of the most important day of my life. The day I… hooted with my best friend and my life was changed forever.”
Aziraphale’s lips parted, his mouth falling open to a surprised gasp.
“What a lovely story, Mr Crowley!” Muriel’s eyes were glistening. “I’m curious to hear the rest of it.”
“Oh, believe me, Muriel, I am too.” Crowley made an imperceptible but oh so significant step towards Aziraphale, his eyes never leaving the angel’s as he said, “So… bloody… much.”
