Chapter Text
Crowley didn’t believe in soulmates. He didn’t. Why’d he have to follow destiny’s plans when he could make his own? Who cared if his soulmate was supposedly the perfect person for him, he should be allowed to choose who he loved. So what if his heart clenched every time he saw a couple walking hand in hand, oblivious of everything but each other? It was out of disgust, obviously. It didn’t matter to him that most find their soulmates around his age, it didn’t. He certainly didn’t care that his friends had already found their soulmates, not at all.
He didn’t need a soulmate, he was happy on his own. Crowley had a good life, with his little flower shop, and his Bentley. A soulmate would just interrupt it with their own problems, or something. Relationships require time and effort that he didn’t have right now. That was what he told his friends whenever they pestered him about going to conventions.
Your soulmark, a tattoo above your heart, was the missing half of your soulmate’s tattoo. When you touched, your tattoos would glow and complete themselves. At conventions, people went around shaking hands, hoping to find their soulmate by shaking as many hands as possible. Hoping that the next person they touch would light up their soulmark. It sounded depressing, in Crowley’s opinion. Even if he wanted to find his soulmate (which he didn’t), he’d rather they met naturally, instead of in a hot, crowded convention center, surrounded by people desperate to find the connection they had.
A soft beeping pulled Crowley from his thoughts. He swiped away the alarm on his phone and grabbed his plant mister. As he walked through the aisles, spraying his plants and keeping an eye out for any brown spots, he thought of one of his regulars’ comments about maybe splurging on an automated system that would water the plants for him. The gardener huffed a sigh, waving the idea away. Not only did he not have enough money, but it also took away the personal touch of gardening. Watering the plants by hand distracted him from boredom anyway, it wasn’t like business was booming or anything.
Aziraphale sighed as he closed up. It was another slow day for his book shop. If he had a choice, he’d stop selling the books altogether, as he loved all the books in his collection. However, taxes still were a thing that had to be done, so what could you do.
He had been rather successful when they first opened. There weren’t a whole lot of small privately-owned bookshops what with corporate consolidation, and people appreciate the quaint, homey feel of his store. But apparently, that just wasn’t enough these days. Several regulars mentioned setting up a website, or a facebook page, but Aziraphale wasn’t really tech-savvy. Newt had tried to help him once, but not only had the site crashed, his laptop somehow short-circuited as well. Aziraphale was sure that Newt meant well, but good Lord, that man should not be trusted around any electronic device.
Flicking off the lights, Aziraphale made his way to the flat upstairs where he lived. It was small and cozy and him , but he always felt as though it was missing something. That something was missing from his life. Or rather, some one .
It wasn’t as though he was in a hurry to find his soulmate. Aziraphale was rather satisfied with the way his life was now, but… he just couldn’t help but wonder. What did his soulmate look like? When would they meet? What were they doing right now? Were they thinking of him too?
As Aziraphale took off his clothes, getting ready for bed, he paused in front of his mirror, looking at the pair of colourless, feathered wings that lay above his heart. Sometimes he mused what his soulmate’s tattoo looked like. What went with a pair of wings? A bird? An angel? A wad of cash?
Slipping on his pyjamas and snuggling under his covers, Aziraphale thought of the bedtime stories his mother would tell him about soulmates. The idea that God would split your heart in two and give one to your soulmate, how the action caused the soulmarks on your chest. She would tell him about famous couples like Cleopatra and Antony, Achilles and Patroclus, and Adam and Eve. It was silly, really, but it was one of his only memories with his mother. Her soothing voice, the feel of her hand running through his hair, the scent of her perfume that tickled his nose. It was to these memories that Aziraphale drifted off to sleep.