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“Oh Crowley, nothing lasts forever”
Those words rang in his ears, over and over.
“Fuck you, Aziraph-ale!” The demon cried out. He was curled up on the couch in the angel’s former bookshop. It was late. He’s been trying to stay away, the memories of the place were too much. Somehow every night he found himself back here. Sobbing into a cardigan that Aziraphale had left behind, struggling to breathe, throat sore with sobs wracking his body. Often accompanied by a bottle. He looked over to the armchair he had sat on the edge of just weeks ago, smiling down at his angel and laughing along.
Crowley sniffed and took a few more sips.
“I forgive you.”
His eyes glazed over, he was so tired. So, so tired of crying, tired of falling asleep on the couch without hearing Aziraphale tapping away at his desk. It was a dark and stormy night. The demon sat up, approached the gramophone, and set the needle down upon the same line of the same record that was his lone source of comfort anymore.
~Love of my life, you’ve hurt me~
“You stupid, stupid angel. Running off to them as soon as they call. Forgetting what they tried to do to you.” He mumbled as he ran the tap. The tea kettle sang softly on the stovetop. Slowly the smell of lavender and chamomile embraced the shop. “All I wanted was to be with you, you wouldn’t have to change for me. What about our side! We were supposed to be partners, ever since that day in Eden with that stupid flaming sword.” He rubbed his eyes harshly and swallowed the sob that was threatening to escape.
~You’ve broken my heart, and now you leave me~
He toyed with the buttons of Aziraphale’s cardigan and looked up. He liked to imagine that somewhere beyond the ceiling the angel was fixing a bath or folding laundry. That Crowley would find him at the top of the steps with a book in hand, or that he’d be across the street with Nina and Maggie discussing a new pastry recipe. But he wasn’t. Every night Crowley sat at the table they used to sit at together and drank a cup of tea just like his angel would’ve liked it. Every night he fell asleep alone, curled under the quilt that he had pulled off of the armchair. It still smelled softly of him, it had soaked up enough demon tears to brew about a thousand kettles.
January 17th, 1881
London
“Crowley, dear, fetch me another log please.” The angel beckoned, looking up for a moment from his book. Though strangely, no demon was spotted.
“Crowley?” He sounded worried now. Where could he have slipped off to? It was terribly frightening outside, the snow had really piled high and the shop was absolutely freezing. A trip outdoors would certainly mean discorporation. The snow pounded against the windows, and large drifts had sealed the front doors of the shop closed. So where was his demon?
Aziraphale placed his book on the table next to him and whipped around. The determined angel was ready to rip apart the place looking for him. However, before he could make a mess, he spotted a mysteriously snake-shaped lump on the couch. Aziraphale reached out gently, caressing the top of his head with his thumb. Crowley was fast asleep, and ice cold.
“Crowley?” His voice was much more gentle this time, and a yellow eye emerged from the otherwise colourless blob.
“Hello there dearest. You’re entirely too cold, even for a cold blooded creature such as yourself.” He smiled down at the snake and scooped him up in his arms, carrying him back to the armchair. “Wait here a moment.” The angel toddled off to dispense another log onto the fire, and settled back in his chair, resting his serpentine friend on his chest and pulling the quilt around them. Crowley curled around him and hissed in delight. The angel was always so warm, no amount of sunlight could compare. He started to read aloud from The Strange Cases of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and Crowley couldn’t help but to think how painful it must be to have two voices within one man, to slowly lose control over your impulses, ones that had been brought on entirely by your own doing.
Under him, his angel was struggling to not trip over any words and hoping that Crowley wasn’t paying enough attention to notice. His face was entirely too hot and he was enjoying this far too much for his own liking.
After a few more pages, they had both lulled off to sleep, but not before Aziraphale tucked the quilt around the small bit of the snake that was left exposed to the cool of the bookshop.
They never spoke about it, but after that, they often found themselves in the same position whenever it got cold. Aziraphale nestled into the armchair with a book and snake shaped Crowley curled up on his chest.
–
Crowley woke up to the sound of a bell ringing. He sat up hurriedly and ran towards the lobby with wide eyes.
“Ello, ello, ello! How are we this morning Mr. Crowley?” Muriel inquired from the doorframe.
His face dropped slightly. He did this every morning.
He isn’t coming back for you.
“Morning Muriel. Nothing interesting last night, I’m afraid.” He faux huffed.
“It’s very kind of you to watch the shop for me at night, I had no idea there were so many robbers and murderers around this part of town! Without you keeping the shop safe at night I’d be in a real pickle!” She smiled up at him.
She still believed everything Crowley told her. Probably for the best as well, because he really didn’t want to explain to her the real reason he was here every night crying into her bosses couch.
“Remember the rules?” He cocked his eyebrow with her as he slung his coat over his shoulder.
“Yes sir,” her shoulders straightened before reciting, “‘Don’t let anyone touch the books, nothing is for sale, and if anyone calls tell them to piss off!”
Crowley nodded in affirmation, “Good work soldier.” He turned to walk out the door before a soft voice called out to him.
“Mr. Crowley?” Muriel gently stopped him.
The demon turned to her. Muriel looked torn. Crowley wasn’t sure she would say anything at all.
Slowly she produced a small letter from her coat pocket. “I think I’m supposed to give this to you.”
He reached out slowly to take the offending item. It was a small ash envelope with a bright yellow seal on the front. As he unfolded the paper inside there was one lone sentence, signed at the bottom with a simple A.
It read:
I miss our side too.