Chapter Text
Aziraphale made his way down the steps to the first floor of his building. He hummed a little tune as he went, considering what he might have for dinner that night. Perhaps he would order in some Indian food. It was awfully cold outside and he could really use a bit of warming up. But first, laundry. Though he didn’t have a washer and dryer in his own flat, he was grateful that his building at least had one for community use. He carried his basket and hummed quietly to himself. His clothes should be nearly done by now, and if not, he could always wait a few minutes in the washroom. He walked into the laundry room and stopped, a frown flicking across his face.
The washer was indeed still running, but he didn’t understand what he was seeing. A large mass of soaking wet clothes were piled up on the table beside the washing machine. He stepped towards them and gasped. Those were his clothes! He recognized his button up shirts and assortment of bowties. They still had suds on them! Aziraphale bent down and peered into the running washing machine. It was filled with clothes, mostly black and red.
Aziraphale straightened up, his face beginning to turn a bright shade of pink in his anger. Someone had taken his clothes out of the washer in the middle of a cycle and replaced them with their own clothes! Oh, of all the horrible, rude, disrespectful things to do! He had lived here for five years and had never before had such an experience!
He huffed and balled his hands into fists. Well, two people could play this game! He turned and marched out of the laundry room and made his way back up the stairs to his flat. He wrenched open his door with more force than was strictly necessary and went to his desk where he retrieved a piece of stationary and a pen. He then made his way back downstairs and wrote out his note.
To: The person who stopped the washer in the middle of my wash cycle and took my clothes out just to wash your own… You are an Asshole! Unfortunately for you, so am I. You can find your wet clothes frozen outside in the snow. If you have any problems with this, come see me in 301.
He straightened up and smiled primly before setting it atop the machine. And then, he did just as he said he would. He pulled the great sopping mess out of the washer and made his way to the front door of the building, which he used his foot to kick open. A thin layer of snow had settled across London in the early January night. Aziraphale felt bad about what he was doing for only a moment before he remembered what the jerk had done. He would not be taken advantage of! This would teach him not to touch what wasn’t his. He flung the clothes across the hedges that lined the front of the building and then hurried back inside and out of the chill.
He carried his own still wet clothes back upstairs. He would need to finish washing them in the sink and then hang them to dry. He couldn’t leave them in the laundry room now, not with the chance that this madman could do something worse to them.
He worried for a moment that he shouldn’t have left his flat number. This person could be crazy. But if he lived in the same building as this person, he wanted to meet them face to face and give them a piece of his mind. And if they never came, well then, they were the cowards, not him.
Crowley was furious. He couldn’t remember ever being so angry. Well, ok, that wasn’t true. There had been a few times. But the point was that he was steaming. When he had seen the note, he almost couldn’t believe it. He had seen the clothes he had taken out of the wash, a bunch of tartan sweater vests and bowties. He assumed they either belonged to an incredibly old man or a nerdy little dweeb. Either way, they were going to be deeply sorry. He wasn’t going to stop yelling at them until they cried. People did not cross Anthony J. Crowley and get away with it! After gathering his clothes, which had indeed begun to freeze to the bushes, and stomping back up to his flat, he prepared himself to go over to that bastard’s door. Coincidently, it was only one door down from him. He had just moved into flat 302 a few days ago and so far, hadn’t met many of the neighbors.
He gritted his teeth as he stopped in front of the door and prepared what he was going to say.
You listen to me you pompous little bastard, I don’t care how old and feeble you are, if you ever do something like that again I will knock in your bloody teeth! I am not one to be trifled with! So unless you think you can win in a fist fight without breaking a hip or snapping your retainer, I suggest you apologize and find some way to make it up to me!
He pounded in the door, his continued inner monologue fueling him on. He waited for a moment and then heard footsteps coming towards the door. He braced his hands on either side of the doorframe and narrowed his eyes, doing his best to look intimidating. The door flew open, and Crowley opened his mouth to begin his rant, but upon the sight in front of him all words fled his head. Because the man standing before him did not look old or nerdy.
Bright blue eyes widened to mirror his own shock. A halo of white gold hair curled upwards from his face and a slightly upturned nose sat above a perfect set of pink lips. He was in fact wearing a cable knit sweater, but it didn’t look frumpy or unflattering at all. His shoulders were broad and looked wonderfully strong.
Oh, for fucks sake. He was hot.
Crowley had not planned for hot, and he was now staring open mouthed at the angelic looking man in front of him. The other man seemed to gather his wits more quickly than he could.
“I presume you are here about the laundry?”
Crowley snapped his mouth shut and straightened up, forcing his mind to get back on track and focus on the matter at hand.
“Yeah, in fact, I am. What the hell is wrong with you?”
The blonde frowned. “What’s wrong with me? What is wrong with you! You’re the one who took out my clothes first and just left them on that table. Who does that?”
Crowley scoffed. “You could have put yours back in after mine were done!”
He sputtered, and Crowley tried very hard to not think about how adorable that was. “Sir, I rather think it is the other way around! I was using it first and you are the one who should have waited!”
“Crowley.”
“What.”
“My name is Crowley. Don’t call me sir.”
The blonde narrowed his eyes. “Do try to focus.”
“Oh, I am focused. Look mate, just apologize and-“
“Aziraphale.”
“Bless you.”
The blonde glared. “It’s my name. If I can’t call you sir, then you cannot call me mate.”
Crowley raised an eyebrow. “Aziraphale. That’s a weird name.”
“Oh, and Crowley isn’t?”
“It’s my last name, for your information.”
Aziraphale scoffed. “Of course it is.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means,” Aziraphale said as he crossed his arms, and in a manner that made it obvious he thought he was an imbecile, “that you seem like a complete pompous arse. You clearly value yourself above everyone else and think you’re so much better than me.”
Crowley shrugged and grinned. “I know my worth.”
“Yes, well, I think you’ve vastly overestimated. I bet you think you’re the most attractive person in any room.”
Crowley ran his eyes down Aziraphale’s body. “Usually, yes.”
Aziraphale seemed to misconstrue his once over and puffed up indignantly. “Just because I don’t look like you, that doesn’t make me any less attractive to the right person!”
“Woah, hey, calm down!” Crowley said, holding his hands up. “That wasn’t what I meant.”
Aziraphale raised his eyebrows, clearly not believing him. “Oh no? Please, I’ve known plenty of people like you. You think you’re God’s gift to Earth and mankind. Well I have news for you, you’re not.”
Crowley’s mouth twisted. “What, and you’re so great? I bet you sing in a choir and bake bread for orphans. A right angel you are.”
“Is that supposed to be an insult? You do realize doing things for other people isn’t a bad thing, correct? Oh, what am I saying? Of course you don’t know that. If you did, you wouldn’t take people clothes out of washers!”
“Look, angel, just apologize and we’ll forget this ever happened.”
The man in front of him bristled, his blue eyes going sharp and furious. “I will not apologize! You are the one who needs to apologize you wretched man!”
Crowley growled and leaned in further. “Trust me when I say that you do not want to make an enemy of me. Things will go much better for you if you play nice.”
Aziraphale bared his perfect white teeth and straightened to his full height, which was nearly as tall as Crowley himself. “Are you threatening me?”
He snorted. “No, I’m only letting you know how this can go.”
“Well,” he said as he turned up his nose, somehow managing to look down on him, “then I should inform you that I am not a man to be intimidated. I can make like life every bit as horrible for you as you can for me.”
He slammed the door right in his face. Crowley was left gaping at the smooth wood. What the hell had just happened? He hadn’t even looked intimidated in the slightest! Crowley took a step back and kicked the door, making it shake on its hinges.
“This is not over!” he hissed.
He had no idea if the man could hear him, but it didn’t matter. If this ridiculous, bowtie wearing, stuck up, attractive… no, no, not that. If he thought he could just do this and get away with it he had another thing coming! He would show him why people did not mess with Anthony J. Crowley!