A/N: Written for a prompt from rjdaae, who requested a dating site au.

He was drunk when he downloaded the app and made the account. Definitely desperately drunk, but he thanks any deity that may be listening that he still had the sense to set his picture to one showing only the good side of his face. He was still drunk when he started what Nadir termed "swiping", and found his finger moving right more times than he rightly expected he would. There was very handsome young Navy man – blond hair and blue eyes and a grin that would shame the sun – and he was an instant yes. However, it was the girl who came after him who arrested Erik's heart.

Blonde hair tumbling in waves down past her shoulders. Blue eyes the same as the sky behind her. The next picture was black and white – the girl, her eyes closed, head tilted back, standing behind a microphone, as if she were the goddess of music sent down.

He swiped right before he even realised it.

He rejected a whole string of contenders (and Nadir was muttering about swiping for him) when his phone buzzed in his hand. A match. A match? Who would ever match with him?

Nadir grinned. "I knew there'd be someone."

But Nadir's words all faded before the picture of that girl. So endlessly pretty. So ethereal, so fae. He held the phone, helpless to do anything except stare, and next thing Nadir had the phone plucked from his hands.

"Well you have to message her!" His fingers were already tapping over the screen, faster than Erik had time to compute.

The girl. The music girl. She liked him. She swiped right. She found him attractive. Whatever could she have seen that no one else ever did?

"What—What's her name?" His voice was little more than a croak, and Nadir's grin widened.

"You don't even know her name? It's Christine. And she's agreed to meet you for coffee tomorrow afternoon."

And it was that line, more than any of the wine or the ill-thought shots of whiskey, that made Erik's head spin.

He regained his senses lying on the couch, Nadir hovering beside him. "I knew I should have cut you off hours ago. You're far too skinny to drink all that."

A girl. Something about a girl.

Coffee. Tomorrow. Later today, probably.

His stomach churned and he rolled onto his side, heaving. "I can't meet her," he gasped between gags, "I can't."

"Oh, you can, Erik. And you will. Don't worry. We'll do you up lovely."

Nadir chooses the clothes he is to wear. Nadir carefully daubs the make-up onto his cheek to hide the worst of the damage. Nadir insists he eat something "so you don't faint on the poor girl." Nadir gives him a shot of whiskey "for courage" and walks him right to the door of the café to be sure he can't turn back.

"I'll be waiting out here for you. You'll be fine."

And Erik is such a tangled bundle of nerves and roiling nausea and a still-pounding headache that all he can manage is to nod.

He goes inside, blood rushing in his ears, feeling as if he is walking to his death. The girl will scream when she sees him up close. Will run, and that will be the end of it. He will be left sitting there, wishing with all his heart that he could just die then and there. That he had died last night, and never had to go through with this. That he had passed out long before Nadir even suggested the endeavour. That he had cancelled the meeting in the cold light of morning in spite of Nadir's insistence that he had to go through with it. That the ground would open up and drag him down to hell where he belongs.

He recognises her the moment he lays eyes on her. That tumbling blonde hair still falling over her shoulders, a red scarf wrapped around her throat, cheeks faintly pink from the cold. He has a good mind to turn around and race out. He can outrun Nadir any day. He knows a thousand places to hide in this town, and Carton Estate is home to several of them. He could escape and never have to think of this whole sorry affair again.

And he is just considering the most graceful way to turn around and take off when she smiles at him. And his heart stalls.

It is like a hook beneath his navel pulling him on, that smile. As if the Fates are whispering in his ears, telling him to go on, murmuring that all will be well to fool him, to laugh at him when she does turn and flee. But his legs have a mind of his own, lead him on. They hold up just long enough for him to reach the chair, and he sinks heavily into it.

"Hello," she says, and her voice is like that of the angels. "I'm Christine."

And her hand is soft when it settles in his.

He floats out of the café, still talking to Christine. They have bonded over music. Rachmaninoff and Paganini and Beethoven's Emperor Concerto. The Decemberists. Lisa Hannigan. And they have agreed to meet up again. He will play and she will sing for him.

And she never asked about his face.

She surprises him with a hug before she departs, fading into the crowd down the street. And when he turns, at last, to face Nadir, Nadir is staring after Christine too, tears in his eyes.

"Oh, they grow up so fast," he whispers more to himself than anything, and smiles at Erik. "I told you so."