Chapter Text
Last Week of March
It was a typical Saturday night party at the theater house, deep into rehearsals for the spring musical. The house wasn't an official frat, although sometimes it felt that way. It was a sprawling, three-story American foursquare with a deep wrap-around porch and five bedrooms that could accommodate a total of eight students. For the past ten years, upperclassmen from the theater company had swapped in and out of the house each fall, and having a spot felt like a privilege. Living in the theater house was loud, chaotic, and cramped, with too many bodies, too much gossip, too little privacy, and a sink that was always full of dirty dishes. But it was alive, and that was what mattered.
Az and AJ shared the attic loft. As seniors, they had been given first pick when the rooms were chosen the previous fall. The ceiling was sloped at an angle, the walls were too short to accommodate tall furniture, and there were parts of the room where neither of them could stand up straight. But it was also the largest room, covering the entire footprint of the house, and the four dormers filled the space with light. And since it was out of the way, they were unlikely to find any amorous interlopers in their space on a night like tonight.
Az wandered through the first floor of the house, letting the energy of the party flow through him. In the kitchen, there was a crowd around the keg (thankfully they had scraped together enough to spring for Yuengling), and a game of beer pong set up on the long, rickety table that someone had pulled off a curb. A large, sticky tub filled with jungle juice sat on the counter, surrounded by bowls of chips and pretzels. Az grabbed a solo cup and poured himself a beer.
“AZ!!!!! Wanna play a round?” shouted Ligur from across the kitchen.
“Maybe later!” Az replied, and started down the hallway. He could already hear the pounding of the piano keys and the chorus of exuberant voices before he reached the living room.
See, in many respects, the theater house was like any of the other official and unofficial frats in this part of their college town. But when theater kids started drinking, they got, well, theatrical, and pretty much every one of these parties eventually turned into a singalong.
Az reached the living room. Of course, it was Anathema sitting behind the ancient, plonky console piano that someone had salvaged from a “FREE PIANO” ad in the second year of the theater house. The piano sat in the corner of the room, facing outwards to allow for playing to a crowd. It was out of tune, and two of the keys in the highest octave were broken, but it was theirs, and everyone who came through the house used it for practice at some point.
Beside Anathema, turning pages for her when she needed it, was AJ, his long red waves loose tonight and falling about his shoulders. Az tried not to imagine what they would feel like running through his fingers.
The crowd was halfway through a very enthusiastic rendition of “Seasons of Love,” and Az joined in.
Five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes
Five hundred, twenty five thousand journeys to plan
Five hundred, twenty five thousand, six hundred minutes
How can you measure the life of a woman or a man?
The final chorus turned into a bit of a free for all, with everyone throwing in their own snatches of half-remembered harmonies, and Muriel surprising everyone by belting out Joanne's descant in her sweet soprano. When it was over, they broke out into a series of cheers and giggles.
Anathema banged out a few chords to call for order. “Okay, okay, everybody, settle down and grab a seat. This next one is just for AJ.” The two of them shared a private glance as the room quieted, and Anathema began to play.
A series of descending arpeggios, eight notes in each sequence, transposed down a fifth from D major to G major to accommodate AJ’s rich baritone. The beginnings of a tune that would immediately turn any Broadway nerd into jelly.
Az froze.
Shit.
Seven Weeks Earlier — First Week of February
It was a dreary winter day in their college town, and Az and AJ were relaxing in their attic room at the theater house. AJ was supposed to be working on a paper, but instead he was sprawled in his desk chair, downloading Office Space from the underground student file-sharing hub and obsessively refreshing his email. He was bundled up in Az's oversized red and black university hoodie, which he wore over slim-cut black jeans with artfully ripped knees and fuzzy purple socks. His long red hair was piled in a messy bun on top of his head, secured with two hair chopsticks.
Az was still dressed for class, in a blue argyle sweater over a white button-down shirt and light brown corduroys. He was curled up in their cozy reading nook, a pile of cushions and soft pillows that they had stashed in the room’s north-facing dormer, nose buried in a battered copy of Ender’s Game. The light from the other three dormers, of course, was required to nourish AJ’s ever-growing collection of houseplants. The room also contained two single beds, two desks tucked under the sloping ceiling, and a number of low shelves for Az’s books.
Aziraphale Eastgate and Anthony J. Crowley had met in the fall of their freshman year, when they were both cast as minor gangsters in Guys and Dolls. They had both done theater in their respective suburban high schools, AJ in North Jersey and Az in southeastern Pennsylvania, but neither of them were theater majors. AJ was studying ecology at the university’s school of environmental sciences, and Az was hoping to become a high school English teacher. But they devoted all of their free time to the school’s amateur theater company. Unlike the theater department’s productions, the company was open to all majors, and entirely student-run, from the cast to the crew to the director. Over their four years, Az and AJ had both snagged a number of plum roles. They were fast friends from the first day they’d met, and had roomed together in the dorms during sophomore and junior year. And now they were seniors, and they finally had a coveted room in the theater house.
And ever since that first day, when AJ had peeked over his dark sunglasses and told Az that he looked like an angel, with his white-blond hair and blue eyes, Az had been hopelessly in love with him.
He knew it was impossible. They were best friends, for one, and Az didn’t make close friends easily. AJ was witty and charming, the center of attention at every party. He didn’t care what people thought about him, or knew about him. He dressed the way he wanted, with an androgynous sense of style that flattered his lanky frame. And most of all, AJ was kind, with a big heart, although he tried his best not to let people see it. Over the years, he’d had a number of romantic entanglements with men and women, although he was single at the moment. But Az figured it probably wouldn’t stay that way for too long.
Az, meanwhile, was an introvert, and he felt a bit like a fish out of water most of the time. With AJ, he could natter on for hours about fantasy novels, or Star Wars films, or Andrew Lloyd Webber's weird obsession with time signatures, or the impressive brain size of whales, but around most other people, he struggled to fit in. He had grown up in a strict religious family, and it had taken him a while to come to terms with who he actually was. And this was why he loved acting so much — it gave him an opportunity to be someone else for a little while, to behave outrageously, to let his voice and his heart sing out. But he couldn't imagine that someone as fun and full of life as AJ could ever be content with him.
That afternoon, Az was just beginning to doze off, snug in his nest of pillows and blankets, when AJ suddenly sat bolt upright in his desk chair.
“Angel! The cast list! It’s out!”
Az scrambled across the room to AJ’s side and pulled himself up on his knees to peer at the computer screen, looking for his name. They both had auditioned for the spring production of Les Miserables, and they had high hopes for their last musical before graduation.
Marius…………Aziraphale Eastgate
Enjolras…………Anthony Crowley
“YES! This is going to be epic!” AJ immediately burst into song. “One more day before the storm —”
Who was Az to resist such enthusiasm? He cut in with Marius’ line. “Do I follow where she goes?”
“At the barricades of freedom —” AJ began to march down the stairs to the second floor, and Az followed.
“Shall I join my brothers there?”
“When our ranks begin to form —”
“Do I stay, or do I dare?”
AJ burst out of the attic door and onto the second floor landing, raising his fist in the air. “WILL YOU TAKE YOUR PLACE WITH ME?”
And from all corners of the house came the answering cry: “THE TIME IS NOW, THE DAY IS HERE!”
AJ threw back his head and laughed. “Okay, everybody downstairs! Let’s see how this show is going to shake out.”
The other inhabitants of the house left their respective rooms and joined the procession down to the living room. Anathema and Newt, the Mom and Dad of the theater house, came from the largest room on the second floor, with Anathema clutching her open laptop with the casting email on the screen. Shax and Furfur — frenemies? lovers? partners in crime? — followed from the smaller bedroom, with Gabriel, who had snagged one of the two coveted single rooms, close on their heels. At the base of the stairs, they were joined by Bee Patel, the director, who had poked their head out of their small bedroom just off the kitchen when they heard the noise. Of course, Bee knew all the casting news already, but they were willing to join in the celebration anyway. In the living room, they found Hastur and Ligur, who didn't live in the house but somehow were always there anyway.
They draped themselves across the hodgepodge of sofas, loveseats, and armchairs stuffed into the large living room. Somehow, AJ ended up on the floor, leaning back against the couch between Az's parted legs, one long arm slung over his knee, pinning him in place. Heart pounding, Az folded his arms tightly to remind himself not to do anything foolish, like petting AJ's head or rubbing his shoulders.
“Okay, so I'll admit that I only skimmed that email to look for my name. Obviously, Az and I are Marius and Enjolras. How did everybody else do?”
Taking her eyes away from Newt for a moment, Anathema clasped her hands over her heart. “I’m Eponine!” She swooned dramatically, falling backwards into Az’s arms. “Oh Az, how are you so blind to the way I feel about you? I can make you so much happier than Cosette ever could.”
Az laughed and pushed her away. “Speaking of that, who’s playing Cosette?”
Anathema harrumphed and returned to Newt’s arms. “Muriel — that cute little freshman? She’s so nice.”
“Bold choice to put a freshman in such a big role,” Gabriel grumbled from his armchair across the room, shooting a withering glance at Bee, who was curled up like a cat in the papasan chair.
“Ugh, you fucking mollusk.” Bee rolled their eyes. “Muriel has this baby-faced thing going on that just is Cosette. And she can fucking sing like a goddamn angel. Anyway, I don’t hear you complaining about your part.”
“Yeah, who the fuck are you playing, smartass?” AJ leaned forward with a smirk.
“Javert, so I’m going to be watching all of you.” Gabriel flashed a smile with his too-bright, perfectly straight teeth. “Nobody better put a toe out of line around me for the next ten weeks.”
Furfur made a mock bow. “We wouldn’t dream of it, Inspector. And might I remind you that if you are trying to catch a certain escaped convict, that the Missus and I —” he indicated Shax “— might know a thing or two about where the old fox might be hiding.”
“MOM! DAD!” Anathema threw her arms wide at Shax and Furfur, her new fictional parents. “Do you think there could be a chance that I might be allowed to eat this year? Or perhaps sleep indoors?”
“Not this year, dearie,” Shax replied. “Maybe if you could quit drooling all over Marius there for a few minutes, you could go out and feather your own nest.”
Az considered this for a moment. Furfur was a bit of an oddball, but when you put him onstage, his comic timing was better than anyone else’s in the company. As Pseudolus in Forum the previous spring, he had absolutely killed. He would make an excellent Thénardier.
He turned to Newt. “What about you, Newt? And Hastur and Ligur?”
“Swing, all three of us,” Newt answered. “So while all of you are agonizing about a single character, I’ll be having the time of my life switching costumes and timelines and what-have-you. I’ll probably be out on stage more than any of you.”
“And we’ll be providing all of the menace,” growled Ligur.
“The malignancy,” added Hastur.
“The creeping sense of unease.”
“Well, you two should be great at that,” AJ scoffed. “What about Valjean? Who’s our lead?”
“Francis,” Bee replied. “He acts like a goddamn saint anyway, and he made me fucking cry when he sang Bring Him Home at the auditions. I mean, he made Saraqael cry. Shut the fuck up, all of you.”
Francis Godfrey didn’t live in the theater house, and frankly didn’t socialize with everyone else all that much. He didn't audition for every show, but he had been an absolute revelation as Jesus in Superstar, and Az could still hear his rendition of Gethsemane playing in his mind. If anyone could nail Valjean's impossibly saintly vibes, Francis could.
As the afternoon wore on, more and more students from the theater company showed up at the house to discuss the casting news, and the chat between housemates turned into an impromptu party. Muriel was one of the first to arrive, full of excitement about the trust that had been placed in her. Maggie, who was playing Fantine, showed up with her girlfriend Nina, who was designing the sets, and their housemate Eric, who always handled costumes. After a few hours, the gathering turned into a singalong, with Anathema and Gabriel, the two best pianists in the house, taking turns behind the keyboard. Anathema persuaded Az and Muriel to take a crack at A Heart Full of Love, and it turned out that Muriel did indeed possess a high, clear voice that blended beautifully with Az's smooth tenor and Anathema's heartbreaking, velvety alto. They were going to have a lot of fun playing out the love triangle.
Through it all, AJ flitted through the crowd, striking up conversations, catching up with people, and checking back in with Az from time to time. He always seemed to know what to say, laughing easily, at home in his own skin. Az had never felt that way. No matter how kind everyone was, he always felt just a little out of step, especially in large gatherings, thoughts racing but never quite letting him engage. Except for AJ, he could never quite tell if people were interested in him, or if they were just being polite. So he kept to himself, never quite letting anyone in.
After the third boisterous rendition of Do You Hear the People Sing?, Az was feeling rather overwhelmed by all the light and noise. AJ leaned over him on the couch. “Want to get out of here?” he murmured. “You’ve got that stretched-out look.”
“Please.”
“Okay, I’m going to run upstairs. Meet me by the side door in a minute.”
A short while later, Az found himself tucked into one of the decrepit couches out on the side porch with AJ. AJ had grabbed a comforter from their room, and he pulled Az close under his arm to tuck it over both of them against the February cold.
Az sternly reminded himself that AJ was being practical, and that he was always touchy with his friends, and that it didn't mean anything. It had been incredibly kind of him to sense Az’s mood, but they were best friends, and that was what friends did.
“So, you and me, leading the revolution?” AJ's amber eyes sparkled in the dim light. “What a way to finish out senior year.”
“I know, it's so exciting.” Az let his head tip back against AJ's arm. If AJ was going to let him get this close, he might as well enjoy it.
“I mean, actually, I'm the one leading the revolution. One look at a pretty face, and whoops! Off you go, leaving me behind.”
“But I come back! I'm there when the barricade falls, after all.”
“Only because you think Cosette left your sorry ass. Me and the revolution, your rebound relationship. Or your suicide mission.”
Az sighed. “Hard to believe Marius could look at anyone else with Enjolras onstage. You're going to do him justice, my dear. Marius is dull as dishwater by comparison.”
“Nah, Marius is a romantic. He's quiet, but he has all these beautiful lines to sing, almost as if he's been sitting around thinking them up, waiting to say them to someone. He sort of reminds me of you, actually. You and your head full of poetry.”
Az turned to look at AJ, and was a little shocked at how close their faces had gotten to each other. They locked eyes for a moment, and then AJ's gaze slid down to his lips.
Az started back, and jumped up. “Would you look at the time? I have a first period class tomorrow! Are you coming up?” He was definitely imagining things. There was no way that AJ was thinking about kissing him, and he needed to get out of there before he did something foolish.
“Nah, I'll stay out here for a bit. See you up there a little later.”
Az trudged up the stairs to the attic and began to get ready for bed.
Thank goodness he hadn’t slipped.