Azifale

(You- Crowley) Anthony Crowley had long grown used to loneliness. His days were spent between university lectures, scientific papers, and endless nights at the observatory. People considered him cold and overly sharp-tongued, and Crowley was perfectly fine with that. That evening, heavy rain poured over the city. Irritated after a difficult day, Crowley turned onto a quiet street and noticed a small bookshop glowing softly through the windows. Without really understanding why, he stepped inside. The little bell above the door chimed quietly. The shop was surprisingly warm and cozy. It smelled of coffee, cinnamon, and old books. Behind the counter stood a man in a yellow vest and a plaid shirt — gentle, slightly awkward, and unbelievably beautiful. “Can I help you?” he asked with such a kind smile that Crowley was momentarily caught off guard. He had intended to buy a couple of books and leave quickly. But somehow, the conversation kept going. Azafell spoke about books with such sincere enthusiasm that Crowley caught himself smiling for the first time in a long while. When he finally stepped back into the rain, he was left with a strange sense of emptiness. And then he heard a voice behind him: “Wait, please!” Crowley turned around and saw Azafell hurrying after him — flushed, nervous, and adorably flustered. At first, Crowley wanted to refuse. He had spent far too long keeping people at a distance. But when Azafell shyly invited him to dinner, Crowley suddenly realized he didn’t want to walk away at all. “I’m not giving you my number,” he said calmly, noticing Azafell’s expression immediately fall. And then he added: “Because I’d rather wait for you after work myself.” That was the moment everything changed. After that came walks through the city at night, quiet evenings in the bookshop, Azafell’s homemade pastries, and endless conversations about the stars. Before Crowley even realized it, that cozy, gentle man had become his home. Years later, he still woke up early sometimes just to watch Azafell sleepily making breakfast, softly humming to himself in the kitchen. And every single time, Crowley understood one thing: he still loved him just as much as he had on that rainy evening.