Work Text:
Anthony J. Crowley was having a terrible, rotten, extremely bad day. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration- he had been through far worse tragedies in his life and pulled through- but, ugh, really, could something go right on this godforsaken day?
First, his fucking phone didn’t charge, died in the middle of the night, so his alarm didn’t go off. If his stupidly loud neighbors in the flat above him hadn’t come home stomping loudly after their latest bar hopping venture at 4 am in the bloody morning, he would have likely missed his flight. He barely got enough phone to get a ride to the airport (a ride in a vehicle that appeared to be held together with duct tape that he seriously wondered if it would even make it to the airport and an overly chatty driver for five in the morning), slipped on an icy patch on the pavement going into the airport, and now he was sat on his sore arse by the one single open outlet near his gate with his shitty cold, terrible, overpriced airport dreg they dared to call ‘coffee’, rapidly texting his boss to let them know, yes he was at the bloody airport (true), yes he had finished the designs to show the client he was meeting in New York (false; but he’d have them finished in plenty of time to impress the ignoramus who wouldn’t know good interior design if it bit him in the arse), and no he wasn’t going to get drunk on the tiny bottles of airline alcohol (true; he’d wait until he was at the hotel to get into that collection of tiny bottles of alcohol).
With a grumble, he set his phone back into his lap and pulled his tablet out of his carry on to go back to working on his design proposals (always have back ups, he’d learned fairly early on), frowning at the blueprint staring back at him. Or what should have been the blueprint, not the glitched out mess displayed on his screen. Fucking cheap ass app that Beez insisted was the best thing to use. He growled and decided to just restart his tablet, leaning back to bang his head against the wall. Could one thing just go right this morning?
He picked up his gross swill of a ‘coffee’ and took a swig, wincing at the flavor… and promptly spilled it on himself when some inconsiderate and unobservant prick hit his outstretched legs with their rolling suitcase.
“Jesus fuck- watch where you’re go-” He snarled, glaring up the person who dared make his morning worse … and promptly found himself rendered speechless. “-ing.”
“I am so, so terribly sorry!” The ridiculously gorgeous stranger replied, bright blue eyes wide and apologetic, hands coming together at his middle so that he could twist his pinky ring.
Crowley stared up at him dumbly, any words he had previously known having gone right out his mind, leaving him gaping and mute. “I, er-”
“Oh dear! Your coffee! And your clothes!” The stranger gasped, head swiveling about. “Ah! A washroom! I will be back in a jiffy!”
“You- what?” But the stranger paid him no mind, rushing to the washroom. Crowley blinked, looking down at his now empty cup and his lap- Shit! His phone! He quickly picked up the device and groaned, noting the liquid on it. He shook it, ignoring the droplets of coffee that flew about, some splattering against his face, and tapped the power button. Please still work, please still work - He sighed in relief when the screen flicked on, asking for his passcode or facial recognition to unlock. Well, at least one thing wasn’t ruined today, it would just be a bit sticky. He set the phone back down and finally noticed the stranger had left his suitcase with him. Feeling nosy, he leaned forward, taking the luggage tag in hand and turning it to read. Aziraphale Porter ? What kind of name is Aziraphale? He mused, before moving on to the address. Oh, also from London. Good. …Good?! He shook his head and dropped the tag, immediately banishing the thought of possibly looking this guy up from his brain.
“Ah, here you go!” The handsome stranger returned, paper towels in both hands, kneeling and holding them forward in offering. “These ones are wet, these ones are dry.”
Crowley reached forward to take the wet ones first, swallowing hard as their fingers brushed. He had had a tremendously shitty morning, of course he was feeling some kind of way about a total stranger- a total gorgeous stranger- offering him some kindness. “Er, thanks?”
“You should hardly be thanking me; it’s my fault you’re wearing your coffee.” The stranger frowned, bottom sticking out just slightly.
Crowley found himself wanting to kiss it away. What is wrong with me??? Maybe he needed more caffeine. “I prolly shouldn’t have had my feet out in the walkway.”
“Probably not, but I still should have been paying more attention.” The stranger- Aziraphale, if that tag were correct- chuckled, lowering himself into a more comfortable crouch and reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a business card. “Here. If you need to get it dry cleaned, call me and I’ll take care of the bill.”
Crowley stared at the proffered card, a small snort of laughter escaping him before he could stop it.
The stranger’s eyebrows knitted together, looking embarrassed, hand retreating. “Sorry-”
“Don’t. Apologize, that is. ” Crowley interrupted, reaching out to grab the card before it fully escaped, trying to ignore the electricity that shot through his fingertips when they brushed the strangers. He offered him a wink, trying to come off as playful. “‘S just not every day that I get a stranger’s number in the airport.”
“Ah, you must not be going to the right airports then.” The stranger chuckled, visibly relaxing. He looked so much better when he was relaxed. “But perhaps I should introduce myself before giving you my cellular number. I’m Aziraphale Porter.”
“Crowley. Anthony Crowley.”
“Well, Anthony -”
“Please call me Crowley. Makes me sound cooler.”
That earned him a laugh and a smile that made his day seem all the less shitty. “Very well. Crowley . I must continue on to my gate, but I do look forward to hearing from you later, yes?”
“If I need the dry cleaning?” Crowley asked, trying to play it cool and not sound like he was desperate for this handsome man to give him permission to contact him for anything else.
“I’m sure you’ll find reason to call me regardless.” Aziraphale winked as he stood and went on his way.
And Crowley, for sure, did. In fact, he hardly waited five minutes before texting: thnx for making my shite morning better.