Chapter Text
The stars were, admittedly, gorgeous. Especially when brilliant flaming shards of them fell towards the two solitary angels floating in the midst of the brand-new star factory.
Before he could say anything about this sudden change in weather, however, the other angel lifted his right wing, sheltering him beneath a makeshift awning.
"Oh, thank you," he said immediately, smiling at his companion.
"Don't mention it," the redhead replied, finally sparing him a glance.
His heart caught in his throat at the sight of those adorable dimples on that beautiful, angular face. That smile was even prettier than the brand-new nebula.
"Well, do be careful," he said, feeling as if he was repeating himself. (He was. The other angel probably thought he was too cautious, too annoying. But he couldn't shake the protective feeling taking root in his heart.) "Some of the others might not take kindly to questions."
"I'm sure it will be fine," his companion said.
He wasn't so sure. But he just wrung his hands, smiled, and let the subject lie.
"What are those called?" he asked instead, pointing to the dazzling white streaks falling through the nebula.
"Oh, those?" There was that heart-stopping smile again. "They're called shooting stars!"
"Are they…" He hesitated. "Actual stars? I thought they weren't supposed to move like that."
"Well, they're technically burning bits of space debris," his companion explained, "but shooting stars sounds better, doesn't it?"
"It does, indeed."
Their fingers brushed, nearly hidden by the billowing sleeves of their robes. The sparks the touch sent through him were completely unfair.
He stole another glance at the red-haired starmaker, committing every line of his face to memory.
I do hope he'll be alright…
…and maybe, that we'll see each other again.
*****
"This was…" Asa hesitates, debating whether or not to say completely and utterly enchanting. "Very nice," he says instead, smiling at Anthony Crowley.
The astronomer smiles back at him. "It was, wasn't it? Want to…" He bites his lower lip, his face flickering through at least six different expressions. "Want to do it again sometime?"
"Oh, yes," Asa says, beaming at him.
He can hardly believe this is happening— all his life, he's sucked at dating, as the kids say. But now, on a date with the smartest, most intriguing (and dare he say most handsome) man he's ever met, he's not failing!
Anthony's eyes crinkle when he smiles. Something about that, and the way his cheeks dimple so adorably, gives Asa an odd sense of déjà vu. It reminds him of that strange, starry dream he had last night, though the details feel rather fuzzy right now. He'll have to write it down later to see if that helps bring it back.
"I've got classes this week," says Anthony, interrupting Asa's inner musings, "but I'm free Friday and the weekend, if you want to do something then."
Asa's eyes light up. "You know, I have tickets for an art gallery Friday afternoon… how does that sound?"
"Perfect!" (Anthony's Scottish accent is very pretty, decides a star-struck corner of Asa's mind.) "I can pick you up; just, ah, text me?"
They had, of course, exchanged numbers after all.
"Will do!" says Asa, feeling slightly ridiculous as he wrings his hands excitedly. Scratch that— the way Anthony smiles at him again makes his self-consciousness vanish.
"So, I, um…" Anthony tugs at his earlobe. The nervous gesture is terribly endearing. "I drove here, so… lift home? I mean, to wherever you want to go." He scrunches his nose. "What am I saying?"
Asa can feel just how much he's blushing, but he's smiling even harder. "I'd love a lift. I live over in SoHo."
"Great!" says Anthony. "I'm parked just at the end of the block."
They walk side by side, Anthony on Asa's left. He feels oddly balanced, looking over at the astronomer beside him. They chat about the theme of the art gallery— angelic and demonic figures throughout history— until Anthony stops in front of his car and opens the passenger door.
"Oh," Asa says, pressing his hands to his heart. "She's gorgeous."
Anthony's car is a sleek black vintage Bentley, with a long bonnet and sinuous tyre rims. It suits him perfectly in a way Asa can't properly articulate.
This, too— Anthony standing proudly in front of the car— stirs something within Asa's memory. He resolves to think about it properly when he's back at his flat later tonight. Smiling at Anthony, he climbs in the car, noticing how right the brown leather and chrome finishings look.
"Belonged to my grandmother," says Anthony when he's seated on the driver's side. He trails his fingers lovingly along the dash. "It's a 1933 Derby Bentley, in case you're wondering. My gran always drove so fast, the neighbourhood watch swore she was going to start on fire."
"Oh, dear," says Asa, though he smiles at the image. "And did you inherit her speed demon tendencies too?"
Anthony barks a laugh as he pulls onto the road. "Yes, but I'll tone it down for you."
Why does that sound so utterly romantic? It's just driving speeds.
"I appreciate it, dear," Asa says.
(He still braces himself against the Bentley's door— even Anthony's "toned-down" driving is rather reckless.)
"So, Friday—"
Asa yelps. "Watch out for that pedestrian!"
"Oh, I know what I'm doing," Anthony says with a smirk. "Trust me."
For some baffling reason, Asa does.
"Anyway, Friday," Anthony continues, screeching through the next intersection. "What time should I pick you up?"
"Three?" Asa suggests. He bites his lip, feeling bashful all of a sudden. "There's a lovely little Japanese place nearby… We could go to dinner after, if you're interested."
"Oh, I'm interested." Anthony throws him a grin. "It's a date, Asa."
"A date," he agrees, smiling so wide he fears his heart will split right open.
They make it to Whickber Street in one piece, thank Someone. Even with the less-than-peaceful drive, however, Asa doesn't want to go just yet.
The Bentley screeches to a stop in front of Whickber Street's antique store, above which is Asa's cosy little flat.
"Well…" he says, reaching for the door handle. "I suppose I'd better let you go. Monday morning classes, and all that. Thank you again for the lift."
Anthony's brown eyes sparkle as he smiles. "No, take your time."
There's something about him that makes Asa feel brave. So, praying to whoever might be listening that this won't backfire on him, he reaches out and squeezes Anthony's hand.
"See you on Friday, my dear," he says softly.
That brilliant, crooked grin on Anthony's lips makes the risk more than worth it, and Asa is reminded yet again of his dream. He opens the car door and steps out onto the sidewalk, already dreading the moment they have to part.
"See you, angel," Anthony Crowley replies, his eyes shining in the dark.
Angel. Oh, isn't that lovely. The sound of it strikes a chord deep within Asa's heart and memory.
They wave at each other one last time as Anthony pulls away from the kerb.
Asa's heart is in orbit. He clutches his chest as if that will do anything to bring it back to Earth.
"Friday," he whispers to himself as the Bentley disappears around the corner.
He's never felt more impatient in his life.