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Generally speaking, crowds were not Crowley’s favourite thing. Too many smells, for one, and too much noise. Over the past couple of decades, Crowley had learnt to tune down his senses enough that large groups of people were tolerable to his enhanced senses. Still, he was looking forward to getting home.
“Can you stop looking like that?” Anathema said, handing him a drink. “The wedding aura is nice here and you’re gonna ruin it.”
“You know I hate crowds,” Crowley said, taking a sip. It was a fruit punch, quite mild compared to what he wanted, but tasted good enough.
“And people,” Anathema said.
“And people.” Crowley confirmed. “Don’t know why I even bothered to come here anyway.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Crowley, we both know how much you care for Nina.”
Crowley made a noise which could have been agreement or denial. What had happened was that Nina had been so sad when she moved into the flat next to Crowley’s, and frankly Crowley had enough of listening to the depressing songs and melodramatic TV shows. So one day, he turned up at her door, bringing food and the rest, as they say, was history. Nina insisted that his friendship played a huge part in getting over her ex-partner.
“So, you don’t want to mingle with the crowd?” Anathema said, “Make some new friends?”
Crowley scowled. “There’s nobody here that I would want to introduce myself to,” he said.
It was a lie. Anathema knew it was a lie. He supposed that was why she laughed. He had caught a strong whiff of that scent as soon as he had entered the venue, and knew the superhero was here as well.
Anathema knew every Super’s face due to her ability, so it hadn’t taken her long to figure out the reason for Crowley’s current mood. “Live a little, Serpent, even villains should have fun once in a while,” she said in a conspirational whisper.
Crowley finished his glass, his scowl becoming more pronounced. “I’m gonna have another drink,” he announced.
“Sure,” Anathema said, with a secretive smile. Crowley hated that smile. “I’m fine with this, thanks. And don’t worry about me!”
Crowley made his way over to the open bar, pondering Anathema’s words. She could be so cryptic sometimes. The smell of drinks was more difficult to filter out as he approached the bar, and the added aroma of the nearby buffet was severely assaulting his senses. So, he couldn’t be blamed when he took a double take on realising who exactly he was standing next to.
The person looked at him, probably sensing Crowley’s gaze.
“Er, hi,” Crowley managed to say.
“Hello,” he replied politely. Some part of Crowley was relieved that the superhero didn't seem to recognize him. However the greater part of his brain drew attention to the fact that he was currently staring at him without any reason to do so.
“I'm Crowley,” Crowley introduced himself, willing his heart to stop pacing at such a fast rate. Bloody hell, why was he acting like a teenager about to go on their first date?
“I'm Aziraphale,” the superhero replied, though he seemed a little wary.
Crowley ordered a Talisker, using the distraction to calm his nerves a little. He pretended that the strategy worked.
“Nice bowtie,” Crowley said, gesturing vaguely towards the other’s neck, “Don't see a lot of that these days.”
“Oh, thank you,” Aziraphale said, his smile turning genuine. “I've always been a bit fond of them.”
“Well, it suits you,” Crowley tried to think of something that wouldn't immediately turn him off. He wanted to keep this conversation going on. “So, family or friend? Of the couple, I mean.”
“Friend. Although, landlord is a more appropriate term. I own the building Maggie works at.”
“Oh.” He came from family money, then.
“And you?” Aziraphale asked.
“I'm just Nina's neighbour. I own a flower shop in Mayfair.” When I'm not busy wrecking havoc on the city, Crowley thought privately.
“How lovely,” Aziraphale said, beaming, and it looked like he meant it from the bottom of his heart. Oh, it was unfair, it really was, that he was just so lovely.
“It's fine, I suppose,” Crowley said, trying to maintain his sauve persona. He racked his brain for the next part of the conversation. “So what's the story?”
“What story?”
“Well, I've never seen a landlord get invited to their tenant's wedding, so there must be some sort of story there.”
To his surprise, Aziraphale flushed. “Erm, well, we're just good friends, I suppose. I've known Maggie since she was practically a child; she used to visit my shop a lot. So she has been an acquaintance for a far longer time than she has been my tenant.”
Crowley's raised his eyebrows. Something was still missing. “So you offered her the place at a lower rent?”
“Something like that,” Aziraphale answered evasively. “Technically, her grandmother used to look after the shop before her. Her and my uncle used to be friends as well, so it’s only decent that the rent price is low.”
“But you're the one who's currently renting it out to her,” Crowley pointed out. “With a discount that’s higher than the average.” The last one was a guess, but red flushed up to Aziraphale's ears. Jackpot. “How much?” Crowley asked, terribly amused, “Twenty percent? Fifty percent? Sixty?“
“If you must know,” Aziraphale said, glowering at him, “it's four records a month.”
“What?”
Aziraphale didn't seem to have heard his exclamation. “You see, there's a lovely old gramophone in my shop which belonged to my uncle, and it's so hard to find undamaged records that would play on that model. So I let her keep the shop, and every month she gives me a new collection and we call it even. It’s the best for everyone, really.”
Crowley stared at him, for a moment, then two. He couldn't help the startled laugh that burst out of him, completely unbridled. “Oh you really are an angel, aren't you?”
“Pardon?” Aziraphale's face gave way to surprise.
Too late, Crowley realised his mistake. I’ve been calling you angel in my head since you stopped my plans of a duck-apocalypse at St. James’s Park seemed an unsuitable answer. He tried to think of a valid reason. “Nnh, yeah, when I saw you earlier, you looked like an angel, with your hair and all, framed in the sunlight. It looked like you were glowing, so I just thought you as an angel,” Crowley gulped the remaining of his drink in one swallow, wincing at the burn on his throat. “And now, you're telling me you act like an angel too. So, er, yeah.”
The surprise left Aziraphale’s face, though a faint blush remained. That left him staring at Crowley with a searching look on his face. At least, that's how it appeared to Crowley. Dammit, why does he keep putting his foot in his mouth?
“I could stop, if you want to,” Crowley offered.
“No need, it's alright,” Aziraphale said, seeming to regain his usual composure. “It's been a while since I have received a compliment, I suppose.”
Crowley's immediate thought was, I can compliment you everyday if you want. He stomped the thought under his feet, and shot his virtual ray gun at it for good measure. “Well then,” Crowley said, discreetly wiping his sweating hands, “I'll just carry on calling you our Guardian Angel.”
“Why would you call me that?” Aziraphale asked. Crowley was relieved to find that the question was more amused than anything.
“Saved me from boredom, didn't you?” Crowley said, grinning. “Would have been absolutely terrible otherwise, standing here, drinking by myself.”
“Truly a horrible fate,” Aziraphale said, the lines around his eyes crinkling as he smiled. For Somebody's sake, he was so adorable. What was Crowley supposed to do in the face of such cuteness?
He should ask if Aziraphale would want to have dinner with him. Or a drink outside this wedding. Just to get to know him better.
Unfortunately, life did not care for his plans. Crowley barely had the thought of asking Aziraphale to a drink sometime when someone let out a cry nearby.
“Shax has attacked our area,” a wedding guest said, clutching her phone to her chest. “My employees say she's emptying all the tills.”
“Oh dear. Oh no,” Aziraphale said, wringing his hands. Crowley resisted the urge to hold them and calm him. “This is not good, not good at all. I need to-”
“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked. The whole room was in chaos, with people speaking quickly over each other, others calling their shop numbers. Apparently multiple Soho shop owners were present there. All the sudden noise assaulted his sensitive ears, making him wince.
“I live nearby, and I need to get back,” Aziraphale looked at him with wide eyes, “I need to check my shop and uh, make sure it’s all in tip-top condition.”
Right. Aziraphale was a superhero. He probably wanted to go off and do his heroic acts.
“Okay,” Crowley said. He knew Shax. Though her main aim was to climb the corporate ladder at her workplace, she occasionally terrorised the city for stress relief. Crowley would absolutely have a word with her about not interrupting him.
“Here,” Aziraphale said, shoving something into Crowley's hand, “in case you ever want to resume our conversation. I'm sorry, I must leave now. It was truly a delight to meet you, Crowley.”
Crowley watched as he dashed out of the building, muttering excuses to people in his way. Only when Aziraphale was completely out of his sight did he look at what he was given. It was a business card, with ‘A.Z.Fell and Co.’ neatly printed in the middle, followed by an address and a phone number.
Crowley's heart skipped a beat, and despite all the chaos around him, he smiled. With his mood lighter than it had been a few minutes ago, he set off to find Anathema.