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Crowley was lounging around the bookshop, minding his own business and pretending like he wasn’t enjoying his quiet afternoon as he paged through the latest Celestial Observer that Aziraphale had left on the table.
The heavenly newspaper burned his fingers a bit if he held it for too long, but it was worth it to read the advice column, 90% of which was angels politely complaining about a ‘boss’ he was reasonably sure was Gabriel. The entire existence of said column supported Crowley’s theory that Gabriel couldn’t read, a theory Aziraphale pretended to find much more offensive than he actually did.
The little bell above the door tinkled and a customer walked in, folding up their umbrella and stuffing it into the bag slung over one shoulder. They caught sight of Crowley, lounging in the corner, and cleared their throat a little awkwardly. “Um, sorry, are you in charge here?” they asked. “Just looking to get out of the rain, hope that’s alright.”
Crowley lolled his head back, and at that angle could just see Aziraphale in the back room, fiddling around with a rare manuscript he had finally gotten his hands on the week before. “I’m not in charge, but it’s fine with me,” he replied, glancing down at his paper again. An angel named R. A. Phael seemed to be having a lot of trouble with their coworker Gabrielo, they had written in to the column four times in one week.
“Thanks, mate,” the not-customer said, shuffling a little further into the shop and running a hand through their damp bangs.
“Mm,” Crowley muttered, his eyes flicking up again. “Like the hair.”
The not-customer grinned brightly. “Thanks! Been thinking about changing the color, but I’m rather attached to blue right now.”
Crowley nodded. “Used to have my hair longer like that,” he said absently, switching to the classifieds to see if there were any blessing requests he could subtly slip to Aziraphale. “I had a punk phase in the… oh, the 80s? Must have been.”
“Sweet,” the not-customer said, grinning again. “I’m Loren, by the way.”
“Crowley,” Crowley replied.
Introductions done, Crowley went back to his paper and Loren began to half-heartedly browse the shelves, waiting out the rain. About ten minutes later Aziraphale finally appeared from the back room and made his way over to where Crowley was sprawled, a jar of jam in hand.
“Dearest,” he said with a warm smile, and held the jar out. “Would you open this?”
Crowley raised an eyebrow, but took the jar and pried the lid off. Aziraphale beamed at him.
They both knew, of course, that Aziraphale was more than capable of miracling the jar open, and was in fact physically stronger than Crowley as well. Crowley had put it down a while ago as one of Aziraphale’s Things— although he wasn’t sure if it was the show of strength or the display of casual devotion than pleased the angel more. Either way, Crowley was more than amenable. He had betrayed ten million angels and ten million demons for the privilege of being around on a not-destroyed Earth to open Aziraphale’s jam jars when asked.
“Thank you, Crowley, love,” Aziraphale said. “Would you like a scone?”
“Sure,” Crowley replied, watching with a fond smile as Aziraphale returned to the little kitchenette next to the back room that appeared when convenient.
Just then, the door to the bookshop burst open again, and a girl dashed in from outside. “Pissing rain out there!” she gasped, letting the door slam behind her, and then looked around the bookshop in amazement. “Don’t think this place has ever been open before, I’ve been missing out,” she murmured, clearly not noticing Crowley or Loren. “I’ll have to come back when it’s not bloody flooding.”
Crowley noticed that the sleeve of her raincoat was dripping on a pile of Aziraphale’s books, and loudly cleared his throat. She startled, but luckily jerked away enough that she was no longer in danger of getting smote by an irritated Principality.
“Oh, sorry,” the girl said, taking her jacket off and folding it over her arm. “It’s pouring out, I was hoping to stay dry. But I’ll buy something, don’t worry.”
Crowley resisted smiling at that. It was always entertaining to watch the lengths that Aziraphale was willing to go to avoid selling anything, and last time he had had an epic row with a customer Crowley hadn’t been around. “I’m not the owner, don’t look at me,” was all he said, closing his newspaper and sitting up properly. Aziraphale had been in the back for a while, maybe Crowley could go open more jam jars for him.
“Oh, you’re not?” the girl said, raising her eyebrows. “Well, do you work here, though? I’m always looking for new recommendations, and you look like you have interesting taste.” She smiled, friendly.
Crowley was unamused. “Nope, don’t work here, can’t read,” he replied brusquely, standing.
The girl glanced significantly at his newspaper with a small frown. “Pardon?”
Crowley strolled into the back and found Aziraphale rummaging through his cupboards. Crowley plastered himself to the angel’s back, resting his chin on Aziraphale’s shoulder.
“My love, would you remind me to go to the shop tomorrow and get more tea?” Aziraphale said absently. “We’re running low.”
“Sure,” Crowley said, breathing deeply. His tongue flicked out instinctively, tasting the air for the scent of Aziraphale’s cologne. Aziraphale giggled, and turned his head so they were nose to nose.
“Hello,” he said, and gently kissed Crowley.
“Hi,” Crowley breathed.
There was a thump from out in the bookshop, and they both turned to look. Just in Crowley's line of sight, the girl who had come in to hide from the rain was on the floor, rubbing at her knee and scowling. “Hey, whoever left your bag out here, don’t leave it in the damn path!” she called.
A moment later, Loren emerged sheepishly from behind a shelf. “Right, sorry,” they said, reaching over and quickly picking up their bag.
The girl got to her feet, still scowling, and then glanced at the ground. “Whoops, knocked one of your pins off,” she said with unconvincing sincerity. She bent, picked it up, and read it out loud. “They/them?”
“My pronouns,” Loren said, holding out a hand expectantly for their pin. Their voice was calm and level, but their jaw clenched as if anticipating frustration.
The girl snorted, and gave them the pin. “It’s not even proper English, though,” she said firmly, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “Singular they isn’t practical, useful, and it’s especially not correct.”
Loren frowned, their shoulders hunching a bit in irritation, and they moved to turn away and ignore her.
Crowley bristled at her words, his eyes narrowing. He made to stalk over and give her a piece of his mind, but Aziraphale caught his arm.
“That just won’t do,” he said softly, and then gave Crowley a quick kiss. “Let me get this. My bookshop, after all.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow, and then shrugged. “Suit yourself, angel,” he said, and sidled after Aziraphale as he bustled in the direction of the two.
“What seems to be the problem here?” he asked as he rounded a bookshelf.
“No problems,” the girl said, her smile bright and cheerful. “Just having a bit of a conversation.”
Aziraphale raised one wry eyebrow. “Oh?” He focused on Loren, and for a moment his demeanor softened. “Are you alright, my dear?” he asked, and then glanced over his shoulder to where Crowley was lounging against a shelf, watching. “Would you put a kettle on, love?” he asked, and nodded slightly at Loren. “They’re all damp and look like they could use a cuppa. So could I, also, I don’t expect the rain is going to let up soon.”
Without moving Crowley snapped his fingers, and the kettle suddenly found itself full of water on the stove. Aziraphale smiled.
“Thanks,” Loren muttered.
The girl frowned, her arms crossing a little tighter. “Don’t you mean he?” she corrected, her eyes narrowing. "They isn't a proper singular pronoun."
Aziraphale gave her a look that somehow managed to convey both deep disappointment and scathing disapproval. “I don’t believe I do mean that,” he said. "And I would tend to disagree."
The girl looked absolutely appalled. “I would think, of all people, that someone with a business in books would understand proper English grammar!”
Aziraphale smiled, but there was absolutely no warmth to it. He looked rather more like an avenging angel than he normally did.
Crowley settled in for the show. Loren squinted, and then grinned at whatever they saw in Aziraphale’s expression. They hefted their bag on one shoulder, rocking back on their heels.
“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said, clasping his hands in front of himself and smiling a little wider at the girl. “If that’s what you think, I’m afraid you have quite the misunderstanding of how the English language works.”
“I’m studying English in uni,” she said a little huffily. “I’m defending my dissertation later this year.”
Aziraphale looked politely surprised. “My, then I wonder how your professors still have their tenure, because they’re clearly not doing a very good job if they haven’t impressed upon you the constantly evolving and remarkably flexible nature of language,” he said.
The girl blinked in surprise, and then started, outraged, “Excuse you, I’m attending—“
“They has been used as a singular pronoun for centuries,” Aziraphale interrupted calmly, with the kind of certainty born of thousands of years alive. “Nonbinary genders have been recognized in many different cultures across the scope of human history, and ‘they’ has been used as a genderless or gender neutral signifier in hundreds of written documents, not to mention in speech and conversation. There is absolutely no reason except for simple close-mindedness for anyone to refuse to use 'they' as a pronoun if someone requests it. It takes rather a rude kind of person to value arbitrary grammar rules over the preferences and comfort of another human being, don't you think? ‘They’ is perfectly acceptable to use for individuals if they so choose, and I won’t stand for any sort of bigotry or misgendering in my shop.” He gave her a withering look. “Am I understood?”
The girl huffed, and quickly pulled her jacket on again, her face flushed. “I won’t be back,” she said, turning on her heel and heading for the door. “You’ve lost yourself a customer.”
“Do educate yourself a bit better next time!” Aziraphale called with a cheerful wave just as the door slammed shut again.
Loren bit their lip, shuffled their feet. “Thanks,” they said. “Could have handled it, but thanks.”
“But you shouldn’t have to,” Aziraphale replied softly, his eyes troubled. “In a perfect world, not anywhere, but especially not in here.”
Loren’s lips twisted into a reluctant smile. “Is the offer of tea still on the table?” they asked.
Aziraphale beamed. “Of course! And Crowley picked up some lovely scones from the market yesterday if you’d like a snack as well.”
In the kitchenette the kettle began to screech, and Crowley wandered over with a satisfied grin to make two mugs of tea. When he returned, Aziraphale and Loren were deep in conversation about some book or another that Crowley refused to acknowledge he had ever heard of.
“Oh, thank you, my love,” Aziraphale said, taking the tea from Crowley with a brilliant smile.
Crowley handed the second mug to Loren, kissed Aziraphale quickly, and then said, “I’m heading out for a bit, got some very important work to do. Want me to pick up dinner on the way back?”
“Oh, would you?” Aziraphale asked, pleased. “Your choice.”
Crowley nodded, waving over his shoulder as he left with a pocket full of coins and a tube of superglue, heading for the financial district.
The rain was just letting up as he got in his car, and Crowley raised an eyebrow at the rainbow stretching across the sky before driving off.