Chapter Text
Anthony Crowley was a grown man. He was, in fact, Professor Anthony Crowley, Personal Chair in Galaxy Formation and Evolution at the Institute for Astronomy at the University of Edinburgh, a perfectly middle-aged man with a distinguished career and a towering reputation in his field. So why was it, then, that he found himself standing outside the doors of Tills bookshop in something like a hover, convincing himself that he should go inside after having walked by five times already, hoping for another glimpse of the perfectly coiffed blond head and button nose he’d caught sight of the first time?
It was just a bookshop. A bookshop, in fact, that Anthony had once been known to frequent, back when his job involved a bit more scurrying across the city, and before that, when he was a student looking for something other than work to occupy his time. But that had been many years ago, and today was one of those rare days when Anthony found himself in George Square, attending a literature event that had caught his fancy, and Tills just so happened to be near the beginning of his long stroll back to Blackford Hill. That was, of course, when the hair and the nose had appeared, along with the man attached to them.
A final breath, and he pushed open the door. A bell jingled merrily overhead. The hair and the nose and the man attached to them were looking down intently at the pile of books in their hands.
“Er, ’scuse me,” Anthony said, and the hair and the nose and the man attached to them turned to with a smile and a pair of eyes to match.
“Yes, can I help?”
“Er, yeah I was just passing and I saw the shop, and I was wondering,” Anthony’s brain was zipping along at the speed of light attempting to put some words together, “do you have any books on astrophysics?” he concluded, stupidly, entirely grateful for having chosen to wear sunglasses on an overcast day.
“Astrophysics,” the man with the hair and the nose and the eyes and the perfectly shaped forearms below his rolled-up sleeves replied, and was Anthony losing his mind or did he seem a bit nervous? “Erm, Derek?” The man questioned, turning to another, rather older man behind the front counter, whom Anthony vaguely recognised from his many-years ago days ferreting about the shop’s shelves as the owner, “Do— do we have any books on astrophysics?”
“Errrh— eeyeuh— oh— in there,” Derek answered vaguely, pointing through the door that led into the back part of the shop, scarcely looking up from the book he was engrossed in, “beside gardening. Opposite, er, philosophy.” He receded fully back into his book. Anthony chose not to question the organisational system of the place.
“I knew that,” said the man with the hair and the nose and the eyes and the forearms, “Erm, this way.” His hands were definitely nervous. Anthony followed the mustard-yellow jumper back through the shop, and removed his sunglasses. “Errrr…. ah! Here we are.” The hands attached to the forearms selected a book from the small section on top of a low shelf. “Astrophysics For Everyone,” the man with the hands said with a lightly, genially mocking wave, “from the big bang to the Pillars of Creation. We’ve had this for years…” A hint of mischief entered the eyes below the hair and it was only the chagrin in the pit of Anthony’s stomach as he looked down at the cover of the book through his proper glasses now that kept him from grinning like a fool. “…I can probably give it to you for half price.”
“Hmm,” Anthony rumbled, still fighting both grin and chagrin, which was now joined by a somewhat embarrassed glee in the pit of his stomach at the opportunity that presented itself. “You’ve no idea how much that hurts me.” Instantly the mischief vanished, along with the smile.
“Wha— er, did I say the wrong thing?” Asked the man with the hair and the nose and the eyes and the forearms and the hands and the suddenly stricken expression, “Is something wrong?”
“No, I shouldn’t’ve said anything, sorry,” Anthony muttered, still hanging on to his opportunity, despite the flare of doubt creeping into his stomach alongside everything else, “No, erm, … I wrote it.”
“Oh— oh!” The eyes across looked down at the book. “Er, well, right,” the smile snuck back halfway, “yes you, you don’t want your own book. Heh. Probably already got a copy.”
“Two boxes in the garage.” Anthony said with a self-deprecating noise, and the smile laughed (nervously).
“Aha, erm, well, how ‘bout this,” the hands reached out again, selecting another book, “Yes, it’s not exactly cutting edge, but—” They put the book into Anthony’s hands and he could just feel where their fingertips hadn’t touched.
“Oh this is, er, Arthur Eddington’s book on relativity!”
“Second edition, I’m afraid.”
“Oh thi— I’ve always wanted a copy of this!” Anthony flipped through the pages, distracted by his own delight. “Oh wonderful, this is my lucky day!”
“Oh, good! Mine too.”
Anthony looked up, mouth open, distracted now by the shift in tone.
“How so?”
“Because I er,” one of the hands lifted, pointing down at the Eddington, “I have a book you want.”
“Fair enough.” A breathless chuckle hung on the air, and Anthony couldn’t have said whether it was he or the nose that had done it. “Oh, twenty pounds!” He exclaimed, returning his attention to the much less terrifying book, “Wonderful, thank you!” Anthony turned and made his rather hasty way back up front, where he disturbed Derek at the till.
“Oh, er, did you see we’ve got a couple of Brian Coxes? And that big book of astrophysics for everyone?”
“No, no, he’s the author, Derek! He has two boxes in his garage.”
“Ahhh.”
“Definitely shouldn’t’ve mentioned that.” Anthony muttered, and turned from Derek to see that the smile had once again disappeared. “Well, thank you,” he said, and in the perfectly ordinary moment of silence that felt somehow like an eternity, he made his way out, brown paper bag under his arm. The door closed behind him.
Inside the shop, Asa Fell looked after the lanky ginger with the heart-stopping smile, wondering if he had, yet again, missed his chance.
“So,” Derek drawled, “that was Professor Anthony Crowley.”
“How’d you know that?” Asa asked, turning towards the till.
“Hm? Well, his name’s in big letters, on the book you’re still holding.”
Asa chuckled, glancing back up at the windows. The ginger head was quite out of sight.
“Well? aren’t you going to go after him?”
“Why would I possibly go after him?” Asa’s turn to the till was much sharper this time.
“Well you liked him! And it looked very much like he liked you.”
Asa looked towards the door again, lips parting with an emotion he couldn’t quite parse in that moment. Then his hand was digging in his pocket, where it came up with a crumpled twenty-pound note which he flung at Derek, even as he shot towards the door, caught up his jacket, and began working it over his arms. Out in the street he looked about frantically, and just caught a glimpse of ginger bobbing above a car before it disappeared around a corner. Asa dashed after it, an action he was not typically given to taking, but his exertions were rewarded when he turned down Meadow Lane and saw the long black jacket and lanky legs beneath it meandering away down the cobbles.
“Oi! I mean, e-excuse me! Stop!”
Anthony turned to see the man with the hair and the nose and the eyes and the forearms and the hands panting towards him down the street. The forearms were tragically covered by a tweed jacket now, but he had to admit it completed the look and he scarcely restrained himself from gaping, instead managing to say,
“Oh sorry, errr did I leave something? Everything okay?” Then the book, bloody Astrophysics For Everyone was being extended towards him again. “Oh, I’ve told you, two boxes—”
“No, I, I know, erm, sorry, bit puffed— I bought it. Would you, er, could you sign it for me?”
This time Anthony did gape, but it turned into a flustered smile as he tucked his parcel into his armpit and reached out for the book.
“Of course. What’s your name?”
“Er, Fell. Asa Fell, with an S.”
And all of a sudden, Anthony had the answer to the all-important question he had forgotten to ask while distracted by the hair and the nose and the eyes and the forearms and the hands and the smile and how had he not noticed in the shop, what he now saw in the light of day, that the eyes above the smile were all blue and green and a positive constellation of shining wonder?
“Erm, d’you have a pen?”
“Oh! sorry. Er, there.” Asa handed over a pen from his breast pocket. He watched Anthony click it open and select a spot on the page, rubbing his hand anxiously. Then he was speaking again, before he could convince himself not to. “I need you to write your number down, too, for me. So I can ask you to dinner.”
Anthony looked up, dumbstruck. There he had been, trying to remember how to spell his own name and think of a way to contrive another meeting with Asa, when he’d been smartly outflanked. Asa went on.
“And, er, you’ll say no, and erm, well at least I’ll have asked.”
The look of hope, and entirely premature disappointment, struck Anthony like a comet to the heart. He glanced down, finishing his signature deliberately.
“Erm… I’m not going to give you my number.”
“No, no, no, sorry.” Asa waved his hands, batting away the rejection as if it were nothing.
“I’ll wait for you,” Anthony’s voice was confident, but all the things inside his stomach were doing backflips, watching the light return to Asa’s eyes. “Where are we having dinner?”
Asa grinned. Anthony grinned back.
“Well!” Asa said, hands waving with an entirely different intention now, “I know a lovely little place just up the street, does wonderful cocktails as well if that’s your thing, has a lovely garden out the back as well—”
“Oh of course!” Anthony pointed vaguely with the pen, “Yes, perfect. What time?”
“Half past six? Give me time to close up?”
“I told you,” Anthony lifted a brow, “I’ll wait for you.”
“Excellent. Excellent! See you then, then, I suppose. Yes.” Asa turned and fled before he could say something yet more foolish, or either of them could change their minds. Moments later the jingling of the shop bell, followed by Derek’s voice, brought him back to reality.
“Well then? What happened?! And— where’s your book?”
Asa looked down at his hands, surprised to find them empty.
“Oh dear.”
“Weeeell,” Derek stretched the word out languidly, “I suppose you’ll just have to get it back from him tonight, won’t you?”
Asa beamed.
“I suppose I will.”