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Aziraphale felt a twinge of pain as his arms fully gave out, going slack as his feet hit the ground again. He gasped as his lungs burned from the exertion, his muscles positively on fire due to the latest attempt to lift his own weight.
“One more try, Aziraphale,” Coach Gabriel called out, drawing sniggers from the small group of boys waiting their turn off to the side. Aziraphale felt himself redden as he stared at his feet and wished he could be anywhere else.
Aziraphale always felt this way (to a degree) in PE class. He resented the physical aggression, endurance, and speed required to succeed that he so desperately lacked. The changing rooms, where half-dressed boys would tease him as he headed quietly to the loo to swap his own clothes. The clothes themselves, where the dress code meant trading his smart uniform for a too-tight white shirt and exercise shorts.
He always hated PE, but with their focus on rope-climbing today, he felt truly embarrassed as he failed again and again to get off the ground in front of all his peers.
Aziraphale dared to glance up and was relieved to see that at the very least Crowley wasn’t laughing. Crowley, who had biting, witty commentary on every comedic text they studied but slept through all class discussions of the sad ones. Crowley, with his pretty hair and love of science and vivid presence and tons of friends. Crowley, who had just climbed the rope with ease, racing to the top without hesitation and jumping down without breaking a sweat.
Aziraphale reluctantly approached the rope again, which swung innocently as a result of his last failed attempt. He reached above him and clasped it between his hands, pausing as he braced himself for embarrassment yet again.
“Come on, Aziraphale, get back at it. I’ve seen girls climb better,” the teacher goaded to the quiet laughs of the rest of the class. Once again, though, not Crowley.
“Oi, you supposed to be teaching ropes or misogyny here?” Crowley called out, and Aziraphale smiled gratefully in his direction. He was shocked to find Crowley looking not at the coach but at him, lips curled up in a sharp smile. Aziraphale felt himself blush under the gaze and hurriedly looked away, focusing back on the rope.
Thinking back to how he’d seen Crowley succeed, he attempted to jump and pull himself up, intending to lock his knees around the rope as he’d seen the agile redhead do. Unfortunately, as his legs left the ground, he felt his grip fail, and instead of catching himself on the rope he felt an intense burning sensation on his palms as he slid down a few inches. He yelped in pain as he let go and promptly fell to the thinly padded mat, tears in his eyes.
“Well, that’s a fail right there, same as last year. Do some pushups, Fell, and lay off the sweets,” Coach Gabriel said in a business-like tone, as though he weren’t cutting through Aziraphale’s last defenses with his cruel words, meant to humiliate.
At that last comment the other kids all started sniggering again, and Aziraphale felt the tears begin to slip out. His palms still fire-hot and his bottom painfully sore from the fall, he scrambled to his feet and hurriedly exited the mat.
But when he looked at his peers, still laughing, and then at Crowley, who wore an expression Aziraphale couldn’t quite place, he bolted for the locker rooms. He couldn’t bear their laughing, or the pain, and knew it would all get so much worse if he cried in front of them all.
“What the fuck Gabe, lay off the sweets, ” Aziraphale heard Crowley shout from behind him. He cringed at the spectacle he was making and ducked his head, ashamed Crowley had to stand up for him due to his own cowardice. “How can you think that’s ok, are you really as stupid as you look?”
“Crowley, get back here!” Aziraphale heard Coach Gabriel shout as the door to the locker room swung closed behind him. Aziraphale hurried to the restroom and turned on the sink, running cool water over his hand and gasping in relief, feeling tears rolling down his cheeks.
The door to the locker room creaked and for a moment Aziraphale panicked, terrified that the coach had followed him in to berate him more. But then Crowley rounded the corner, eyes wide with concern, and Aziraphale almost wished it were the coach witnessing him cry over a little rope burn rather than the boy he’d fancied for years.
“Aziraphale, hey, don’t listen to him, he’s an arse,” Crowley said softly, approaching the sink and wincing at the sight of Aziraphale’s red hands. “I heard he wanted to be a nutritionist but flunked out, he has no idea what he’s talking about.”
“He’s right, though,” Aziraphale whispered, blushing, stepping away from the sink and wrapping his arms protectively around his tummy. Since he was little, he’d always been chubby, and his penchant for sweets certainly didn’t help. He wished desperately to be anywhere else instead of having this conversation with Crowley, who managed to look stunning even in exercise shorts.
Crowley made a face. “First off, I eat sweets all the time, love me some sweets. Second, why would you make actual life decisions based on speeding up your rope climbing time, unless you want to, I dunno, be a firefighter?” Crowley gave him a lopsided smile, reaching out to give his upper arm a squeeze. Aziraphale prayed he’d attribute the resulting shiver to pain.
“You were so fast…” Aziraphale mumbled, heart still twisting from the laughter of his schoolmates.
“And you’re a fast reader!” Crowley countered. “And I’m slow as shit at reading, mostly do audio books when I can.” Crowley sounded almost embarrassed to admit this, and Aziraphale fought back the urge to get on his soapbox about the importance of accessibility in the appreciation of literature.
“How do you know I’m a fast reader?” Aziraphale asked curiously as the meaning of Crowley’s words dawned on him. He hadn’t expected Crowley to know anything about him at all besides maybe his name.
Crowley’s cheeks reddened remarkably fast. “You, err, you read in the hall. And at lunch. And hidden in your desk, sometimes. Almost always a different book.”
“Perhaps I simply bore easily,” Aziraphale teased lightly, flustered to know Crowley had been paying such close attention as to recognize when he changed titles.
“Somehow, I doubt that,” Crowley said softly. He gave Aziraphale’s arm one final squeeze before letting go, and Aziraphale mourned the absence of the warm, comforting touch immediately.
Suddenly, Aziraphale realized there was something he’d forgotten to do.
“Thank you,” Aziraphale said softly. “For standing up for me. For not laughing.” He blushed, and was shocked to see the tips of Crowley’s ears redden to match his cheeks.
“Would never laugh at you. Think you’re amazing,” Crowley mumbled to the floor, and Aziraphale smiled as the loud and mouthy boy fell shyly silent.
“I think you’re amazing, too,” Aziraphale whispered. He’d never before wanted so desperately to be brave.
Crowley’s eyes snapped up at that, his mouth gaping.
“Really?” Crowley choked out, and Aziraphale nodded, holding his gaze as he reached out to gently take Crowley’s hand in his, ignoring the sting of his palm as his entire body now felt to be on fire anyways.
Crowley blushed even more furiously before darting forward, pressing his lips firmly and entirely too briefly to Aziraphale’s cheek. Nevermind, Aziraphale thought, now I’m on fire.”
“Bye, Angel,” Crowley said rushedly, gaze firmly on his feet as he pivoted abruptly.
Crowley started to head back towards the doors to the gym, leaving Aziraphale frozen in place as he struggled to parse the term of endearment.
“Angel?” He croaked, before he could stop himself.
Crowley spun around, his face, so furiously red just moments before, now drained of color. “Ngk, uh, I mean, well…” Crowley stammered, stumbling backwards.
Aziraphale practically ran the few steps it took to bridge the gap between them and before he could talk himself out of it he pulled Crowley close, tugging him into a kiss. Not on the cheek. Directly on his mouth. Him, Aziraphale, pressing his lips to Crowley’s lips.
Aziraphale pulled away after a few moments of gentle, soft, tender pressure that lit his very soul on fire and surely reduced his body to ash, and found Crowley staring back with a dazed expression.
“Was that alright?” Aziraphale asked, moving a hand to cup Crowley’s face and stroke his cheek. Crowley let out a whimper as his knees buckled, and Aziraphale rushed forward to hold the slender boy up. He might not be able to climb a rope, but it turned out he was perfectly capable of supporting Crowley as his legs gave out, which felt far more useful.
The redhead buried his face in Aziraphale’s neck. “Ngkkkangel,” he groaned, clinging to Aziraphale’s horrid shirt. Crowley seems to like the shirt well enough, he mused as he ran a hand soothingly up and down Crowley’s back.
“I didn’t think you even knew who I was,” Aziraphale murmured into Crowley’s soft hair. “I suppose I was mistaken.”
“Oi, no need to be smug,” Crowley complained into his shoulder. “I’m gonna kiss that rude grin I can hear you making right off your face the second my legs work again,” Crowley threatened feebly as he wrapped his arms around the blond.
“Fiend,” Aziraphale said fondly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.
He hoped the coach wouldn’t mind their absence terribly. Aziraphale found himself not truly caring either way as Crowley pulled back just enough to recapture his lips.
Maybe PE wasn’t all that bad.