Chapter Text
This was the weirdest goddamn dating agency Crowley had ever seen. Ok, so he’d never actually seen a dating agency before – hadn’t that whole industry died out when websites and apps came along? Put in your info, get a match, blah blah?
He’d nearly fallen off his chair when he’d called the mysterious number and a chirpy voice on the line had said - no, he actually had to visit, in person, to be interviewed by Mr Fell himself, before he’d be ‘considered’ as a client. Wasn’t he paying them, for Someone’s sake? A not insubstantial amount of money at that.
He had only called because Nina had given him a thick ivory business card that just read “Aziraphale Fell” with a phone number underneath in embossed gold. On the other side, just a golden line drawing of a pair of wings. No email, no website, not even a bloody company name. Nina had been with Maggie for six years now though, and he knew of no more disgustingly happy queer couple than them. She’d been the first person he’d asked about finding someone dateable, as he’d vaguely remembered the story that she’d met Maggie through a dating agency.
When Crowley had puzzled the problem of wanting a relationship, but not go through all the rigamarole of finding the right person, he thought, why not outsource? He outsourced lots of things he didn’t have time for. Someone else ironed his shirts, didn’t they? Maybe there was a professional out there who could "find me somebody to love", as Freddie Mercury had put it. So he’d approached Nina, and she’d handed over the card with a coy smile. She’d held on to it as he’s gone to take it from her though. “Trust the process, Crowley.” She’d said. “You have to want to do this properly.”
Crowley had sneered at her and tugged the card from her hand. What was that supposed to mean anyway? Of course he wanted to do this properly, otherwise he’d still be using Grindr.
He was second-guessing that decision now, though, as he sat opposite some eccentric professor-type, with fluffy hair and a tartan bowtie that actually matched his chairs. There was no way this posh dandelion was going to be able to help him navigate the gay dating scene.
Aziraphale peered at him over gold rimmed spectacles perched on the end of that ridiculous tipped up nose. He had his pen poised in the air. An actual honest-to-God fountain pen. Crowley wasn’t sure he even still owned a biro. He glanced at the antique desk across Aziraphale’s office for confirmation. Yep, no laptop. No electronics of any kind, in fact. My God, was that a letter opener? Antique furniture, bookshelves (so many books, what was that about?), a carpet thick enough to sleep on. The smell of bergamot and wood polish in the air. Expensive and tasteful. Jesus Christ, was this some secret society he was about to join?
He realised Aziraphale was still waiting for an answer, with an eyebrow quirked, following his opening warning about looking for a proper relationship.
“Uh… yeah? I mean… yes. I’m not looking for a casual arrangement. Serious, me.”
Aziraphale’s expression immediately cleared into the sunniest smile Crowley had ever seen. It lit his whole face – the whole room – and Crowley fought his instinct to smile back.
“Splendid! Now, Muriel did tell me your pronouns were he/him, but I do like to check before we begin.”
At Crowley’s confirmation – since when did a guy in a three-piece suit and gold rimmed spectacles ask about pronouns? – Aziraphale continued with another smile. “Wonderful. Let me briefly outline the process. I’ll take some basic details now, but then I’ll need to get to know you a little more. I find three meetings, informal interviews if you will, give me enough to work with. Once we’ve completed these, I will then curate a selection of candidates that I believe will prove to be a good match for you. You can agree to meet them or not, as you wish. I can also arrange these dates on your behalf – some of my clients would rather not have their secretaries or personal assistants privy to their personal lives.”
Crowley took a sip of coffee – it was really good. Expensive, like everything else in Aziraphale's office. “Sounds painless enough. What if they don’t want to meet me?”
“I only present candidates to you who have already agreed to meet you.” Aziraphale reassured.
“Oh, right. And… do you have lots of clients then?”
Aziraphale’s eyes twinkled. “More than you would imagine, my dear.” He held his pen against his pad and leaned in. “Right then, let’s begin with the preliminaries. First off – may I enquire about the sunglasses?”
Crowley sat in the back of a black cab heading to his next meeting and tapped out a message to Nina.
>>Crowley>> just left some secret office above a Soho bookshop. WTH did you get me into?
>>Nina>> Oh you went to see Aziraphale then?
>>Crowley>> u didn’t warn me some bloke dressed like my granddad would ask me if I topped
>>Nina>> he did NOT ask you that
>>Crowley>> bloody almost. I didn’t have “talking about my sex life with a guy in a bowtie” on my thursday bingo
>>Nina>> Aziraphale’s a gem. won’t have a bad word said about him. and he’s brilliant at what he does. U know he’s God Father to half the posh kids in London?
>>Crowley>> come on
>>Nina>> who do u think introd Ligur to Hastur?
>>Crowley>> u’re shitting me
>>Nine>> Nope. he officiated their renewal of vows last year. take him seriously.
Crowley put his phone back in his pocket and blew out a breath. Hastur and Ligur, bloody hell. Media magnate and film producer, they owned half the Shard and were London’s queer power couple. They had been clients of the cuddly blonde with a fountain pen?
He had exaggerated to Nina a bit, but it was true he’d found the process alarmingly intimate as Aziraphale had calmly asked him about the sort of men he found attractive, and whether a lack of regular sex would be a deal breaker for him. Ugh. He felt his face heat up just recalling how he’d stuttered and made “ngk” sounds as Aziraphale had asked so politely and pleasantly, as if he were asking how the traffic had been getting across town.
He hoped the next interviews (three? Wouldn’t he be bloody dating Aziraphale at that point?) weren’t as uncomfortable as the first one.