The celestial elevator opens onto a street in Mayfair just as Aziraphale had willed it to. The lifts took some getting use to, not that Aziraphale had used them much. They operate off seer will-power and that confidence was something the Supreme Archangel lacked when he first entered said role.
Aziraphale's first month or two back Upstairs was a mess to say the least. He's always had a slight problem of being a people-pleaser and that quality doesn't translate well to good leaders. It took practice but Aziraphale found his stride in time.
The angel takes a deep breath and straightens the lapels of his grey suit jacket before stepping out of the lift. The sterile white light that he brought with him from Heaven illuminates his back and turns his hair into a white blur.
The elevator shines an unnatural light onto the rainy April street. It's only early afternoon but an overcast darkens London.
Aziraphale's white oxfords splash in a puddle as he steps into the road. Once he would have spent more time than needed standing on the pavement, bogged down by worries about what he'll be met with when he crosses the street but Aziraphale has learned that the best way around fear is straight through. He steps onto the curb and only pauses for a second before entering the revolving door. He returns the doorman's greeting and walks right along to the lift where he selects the sixth floor.
It's only once in the confides of the metallic box, the silver walls bathed in a soft light that's come to feel so foreign, that Aziraphale's confidence wavers. Here he realizes exactly where this lift will take him to- who it will take him to. A lump forms in his throat that he attempts to swallow. He stretches his fingers. He can feel the sweat seeping through his palms.
Get it together. You're the Supreme Archangel. Aziraphale closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. It isn't the time to unravel. The elevator dings as it arrives at its destination. Aziraphale clears his throat and straightens his tie before stepping out.
His feet know the way. They've walked this hall before. His steps click on the epoxy flooring. They're the only sound other than Aziraphale's heartbeat, which he's sure must be reverberating with how loud it seems.
When the angel's feet find themselves at the door of the end flat, they stop before a welcome mat. That's new. Aziraphale takes a deep breath. He turns to look back at the elevator at the opposite end of the hall. It isn't to late too turn back, the thought is very unwelcomed but sneaks in nonetheless. Stop that! Come on, Aziraphale! Buck up.
When Aziraphale's knuckles finally tap on the door the noise they cause is measly. No possible way anyone could've heard it. He summons all his courage to wrap harder.
The minute and a half, tops, it takes for the door to unbolt feels like eons. Aziraphale's breath hitches as the door opens. He feels weak. This is really it.
A short, athletic-built woman stands on the other side of the door. She knits her brow as she looks him up and down.
"You're not the takeaway guy."
Aziraphale looks down at her with more confusion than she to him. "No. No I'm not," he finally manages. He double checks the door number. Yes, it is number 612.
She seems to follow his eyes to the door number. "Wrong flat?"
"Uh, no. This is-" What is going on? He looks at the welcome mat then back at her. He clears his dry throat, "is um- is this your flat? I mean to ask, uh, might there be another resident at this address?"
The woman brings the door halfway shut, defensively. "This is my flat. I got a boyfriend staying here, though. He's in the other room," she adds quickly.
Aziraphale smiles nervously at her. Boyfriend? Could that be? "Is- is your boyfriend- does he happen to be a redheaded fellow?"
The woman squints at him. "No? He's blonde. Look, I think you've got the wrong address." She goes to shut the door.
"Wait!" This is too important to give up that easily. "I'm looking for a friend! This is- or at least was- his flat." She opens the door back just enough to look through.
"I've lived here since last May, man. If this was your friend's place he's been gone awhile. Sorry." She closes the door softly, leaving Aziraphale alone in the painfully familiar hall on the unfamiliar door mat.
Aziraphale looks around and fidgets with his pinky ring before turning and walking, slowly, back to the lift. The whole way down to the lobby his brain is wracked with questions. This is going to be much harder than he thought it'd be.
***
Hi guys! Are you ready for this ride? I hope you all enjoy my fic and if you do please vote for it and feel free to comment.
I'm going to mention a song on my hood omens playlist, "Neil Gaiman made me cry again," at the end of each chapter. It won't have much significance to the contents of the chapter but, nonetheless, this one's Strangers by Kenya Grace.
YOU ARE READING
Please forgive me
ФанфикAziraphale really thought that taking the job upstairs was the right thing to do, even though it broke his heart that Crowley didn't come with him. It's been almost a year and a half now and Aziraphale is finally realizing that he can't stop the 2nd...
