Chapter Text
Aziraphale
This is not the time to be a coward. The sentence plays like a record stuck on repeat in Aziraphale’s brain, over and over again, but instead of giving him courage it only makes his polite smile look forced. He blinks, feeling a strain in the muscles of his cheeks. They’re twitching.
He’s nervous. If it’s not obvious in his smile, it’s probably obvious in his eyes. He’s often been told they’re too expressive for his own good.
“Yes, the reservation is under Eastgate. Aziraphale Eastgate.”
“Wonderful.” The woman at the front desk sounds nice enough, fingers flying over her keyboard, eyes fixed on her computer screen. “I see you booked one of our luxury rooms for a two-week stay, is that still correct?”
“Yes.” Aziraphale takes a deep breath. “That is still correct.”
He shouldn’t be so nervous, or at least not unreasonably so, but there is often a vast chasm between how one should feel and how one actually feels. Aziraphale should feel excited. Thrilled. Impatient, even. And it’s not that he doesn’t feel any of those things. He does. He just can’t ignore the way his hands are shaking.
The receptionist tells him about the resort’s services and amenities, about the conduct expected of him, about the general rules and etiquette of the hotel. Breakfast is included. The spa and the pool are open from ten a.m. to ten p.m. The bar is open twenty-four hours. It’s basic information that Aziraphale can find in the many pamphlets handed to him—pamphlets that he now clutches in a tight grip.
“Do you have any questions, sir?”
“I don’t think so. You’ve explained everything perfectly well, thank you.”
The woman smiles, nodding courteously, before handing him a keycard. It’s made of thick, plastified cardboard, the lettering on it a shimmery golden hue. Eden Hotel & Spa. 207. It looks fancy. Tasteful. Exactly like the rest of the hotel with its clean, sober design—pale oak walls and thin, flowy curtains draped over expansive windows.
“Thank you for choosing to stay with us, sir. We do hope you’ll enjoy the experience.”
Aziraphale forces himself to relax, mirroring the woman’s welcoming smile. After a lifetime spent without much confidence, he’s become brilliant at appearing more confident than he actually is. It’s a skill, like any other.
“Of course,” he answers, rolling his shoulders back. “Yes, I’m sure I will. Thank you.”
The first thing Aziraphale does when he gets to his room is throw himself on the king-size bed and flip through the literature handed to him at the front desk. The second thing he does is call Muriel.
They were friends long before they were coworkers. Theoretically, coworkers isn’t even the right word. There isn’t truly a word to define their relationship. According to Aziraphale’s bookshop accounts, Muriel is his employee, and although they call him boss as a way to tease—and although Aziraphale signs their paychecks—he does not genuinely consider himself their superior.
They are equals. Aziraphale wholeheartedly believes that. Of course, he is convinced that he alone knows best how to manage his bookshop, but he also knows that it’s in good hands now, at least for the duration of his absence.
“Aziraphale!” Muriel answers on the third ring, cheery and audibly excited. “I take it that you made it? Oh, please tell me how it is! I’m beyond intrigued!”
Aziraphale barely waits for them to finish their sentence before he starts talking.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he blurts out. “Me? Here? I can’t even manage to use the urinals in public loos, for crying out loud! And you know I’m still—I’ve never even—ugh. You know. And now I’m supposed to—to—”
It’s a short moment of mild panic, and it would’ve been easy to get over it by taking a few deep breaths, but he finds that it helps to voice his concerns out loud. It almost makes him feel better about the whole thing. He’s never stepped so far out of his comfort zone before. This is all so new to him, and as all new things are, it’s scary.
“Oh, dear.” Muriel’s voice gets quieter. Softer. Like they’re carefully assessing the situation, stalling to figure out the best way to respond. “Remind me, Aziraphale, why did you book this trip in the first place?”
Aziraphale sighs, then coughs, a little unsure. He’s the one stalling now.
“I… I wanted to treat myself to something nice? Luxurious and fun?”
“Nope. Try again.” Muriel chuckles. “C’mon. You know it.”
“I wanted to get out of London,” Aziraphale tries, and he has a feeling it’s still not the answer Muriel’s looking for, but that doesn’t make it any less true. “This resort is peaceful, in the countryside, with beautiful gardens…”
“And naked people,” Muriel says, sounding like they’re smiling. “Right? So, why’s that, then? Why not go anywhere else instead?”
It’s becoming obvious what answer Muriel is looking for. It’s not just a feeling anymore. It’s undeniable.
“Fine, you’re right.” Aziraphale resigns himself to speaking with full honesty. “I know. The whole point of my being here is to help me be more confident in my body.”
It’s a massive challenge, one that Aziraphale isn’t even sure he’ll be able to conquer in only two weeks. As he pictures himself parading in the gardens with his genitals out in the open, he isn’t convinced he won’t immediately shrivel up and try to hide in a thick prickly shrub, scratches in intimate places be damned.
But it’s worth a try. It’s worth the effort. He knows he isn’t sculpted like an adonis—he never was, even during his youth, let alone now that he’s got wrinkles and stretch marks and a noticeable gut—but he’s tired of hating himself for it. He is so beyond tired, and he needs to get over himself. This nudist experience feels like a great way to rip that plaster off. And, one single line from the resort’s pamphlet keeps echoing loudly in his mind: We are strong believers that learning to love yourself as you are is simple—indeed, as simple as taking off your clothes.
Of course they make it sound so easy.
“Well then.” Aziraphale can almost see the way Muriel smiles around those two little words, full of pride and gleeful innocence. It’s comforting to imagine. “Go ahead and take off those clothes, mister. Be free.”
Aziraphale snorts, slightly shocked.
“How do you know I haven’t already—”
“I know you, silly. Now, you’ll have to excuse me, I do believe a customer just walked in. If I am to follow your instructions, I should try to scare them away at once.” Muriel chuckles. “But I’m serious, boss. Be free. All you have to do is be yourself. See you in two weeks.” They pause. “And not one day before!”
Click.
Aziraphale is stunned silent for a few seconds before he starts laughing at the ceiling. Muriel is… something. Eccentric in a way that would be exhausting if Aziraphale had never learned how to deal with such a little firecracker of pure energy. Ditsy in a way that would be annoying if they weren’t so wholesome and kind to others. But, ultimately, loveable in a way that is absolutely undeniable—Aziraphale doesn’t know what he’d do without them in his life. They might very well be his only friend in the world.
He decides to listen to their advice. Go ahead and take off those clothes, mister. Be free.
Nothing can really go wrong, can it? It’s not like he’ll risk meeting anyone here—or certainly not anyone he’ll ever see again, out there in the real world. So who cares if they get an eyeful of his private bits? Who cares if they notice the fat rolls in his back, or the cellulite behind his thighs? Who cares what they might think, or how they might feel about it?
Yes, Aziraphale reassures himself. You’re perfectly fine. You can walk out of here and explore the grounds.
Yes, yes, he’ll be perfectly, entirely fine.
He doesn’t even have to talk to anyone, does he?
“First time?”
Aziraphale gasps, nearly jumping out of his skin. He’s been admiring an oil canvas in the lounge for a few long minutes now. There’s always something about abstract art that hypnotises him, as if he’s getting sucked into the painting. He can easily lose himself in it—which is exactly what happened here. He did not hear footsteps in the room, nor did he notice a presence by his side, before a feminine voice brought him out of his reverie.
“Excuse me?” Aziraphale crosses his arms over his chest and turns to look at the stranger. She isn’t wearing a single article of clothing but her long, raven-coloured hair flows down her upper body, acting like a curtain over her exposed breasts. The big fluffy slippers on her feet must be the reason why Aziraphale did not hear her sneak up on him. She is rather gorgeous—slim figure, full lips, big doe eyes. And American, judging by her accent.
Aziraphale smiles, awkwardly.
“Sorry.” The woman chuckles. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I only meant… It’s your first time here, right? At Eden.”
“Goodness.” Aziraphale rearranges the flaps of his robe (it’s silk, cream-coloured, and hugs every curve of his body) before tightening the knot at his waist. He isn’t the one standing stark naked but he still feels terribly exposed, knowing this young American woman has seen right through him. “What gave it away?”
“Obviously the robe,” the American answers with a shrug. “And, I won’t lie, you’re staring straight into my eyes like you’re afraid I’ll slap you in the face if you look down.”
“Oh.” Aziraphale blinks, looking anywhere but her eyes now, over her head and past her shoulders. “Yes, I suppose that would give it away.”
The warmth of the woman’s smile, the empathetic glint in her gaze, helps soothe some of Aziraphale’s nerves. His shoulders sag, the tension in his body leaving him.
“My name’s Aziraphale.” He smiles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you…?”
“Ana, short for Anathema. Pleasure’s all mine.” Ana smiles back. “I swear I didn’t mean to call you out or anything. There’s no issue with you keeping your robe on. Although…” She raises both her eyebrows above the rim of her big, circular glasses. “You might start feeling overdressed pretty soon.”
Aziraphale laughs, genuinely delighted by Ana’s wit. He feels the belt around his waist start to loosen with the way his body shakes, but he doesn’t hurry to fix it. He lets it be.
“I’m not exactly planning on keeping the robe on,” he specifies. “At least not for my entire stay. I hope.”
“How long are you staying for?”
“Two weeks.”
“Oh! Two weeks! That’s great. I wish I would’ve done that, too. My first time here I only booked a massage. But hey, I loved it so much that I dragged my fiancé with me the weekend after. Now we’re here all the time.”
It’s at this point of the conversation that Aziraphale nearly forgets their states of undress (well, of near undress, on his part).
“You’re regulars, then,” he realises out loud. “Is that… is that the case for most people here? Mostly regulars?”
“I think so, yeah. Newt—that’s my fiancé—is on a first-name basis with most of the guests at this point. Right now there’s Maggie and Nina, lovely couple, who’ve been coming here even longer than we have. Gabriel and Bea are… maybe not as lovely, but they sure know how to have fun.”
Aziraphale gulps. He should’ve expected it, but it quickly dawns on him that Ana is strictly mentioning couples. Couples. People in relationships. People who have found love, who have partners to share this experience with.
Whereas he’s obviously alone here. Pure dread hits him hard. Is he alone in being alone? Oh, God.
His embarrassment must show plainly on his face, because Ana gasps and clasps a hand to her forehead.
“Oh! How could I forget?!” She smiles. “The most regular of regulars. Crowley showed up last week. I’m pretty sure he’s staying for the month. He does it every year. Tall, slender guy who will not share the level and tone of his hair dye with me, no matter how many times I ask. It’s deep red, almost burgundy. Suits him well. I just think it would suit me even better.”
Aziraphale chuckles, unsure if he is feeling relief or intrigue or even further embarrassment now that it is clear Ana was able to see right through him. It’s like she noticed his blush and wanted him to know about this strange man who’s made a tradition of spending an entire month by himself in a high-end nudist resort.
In the end he decides it’s sweet. At the very least, well-intentioned.
“I’m looking forward to making all of those acquaintances,” he says, but then he feels compelled to rectify, “I mean, not that I’m here to meet people. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“Of course. Don’t worry, I get it.” She turns her head to look behind herself, back towards the restaurant area. “Right. I think Newt must be getting tired of waiting for me by now. It was lovely to make your acquaintance, Aziraphale. Hope to see more of you around.” She winks, quite obviously—but innocently—teasing him for not being nude yet.
Aziraphale bursts out laughing as Ana walks away. He is left standing in the hall, wondering what he should do with his time once he’s done visiting the hotel and its amenities.
Perhaps a swim would be nice.
It is a gorgeous and sunny day after all.