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Crowley cried on the way home, driving his Bentley.
It was all too much.
Too much, too fast.
It had been a week since Aziraphale- since he left, yet Crowley couldn't escape him. Everywhere Crowley went, remnants of Aziraphale, of the existence that they had carved out for themselves, followed.
The bookshop. The Bentley. The Ritz. The stars in the night sky. ( Alpha Centauri.)
Stupid, Crowley thought, Stupid kindhearted bastard. We could have been... us.
He slammed the Bentley's door, his own words echoing in his head. Sauntering into his apartment, he miracled up a bottle of wine and sat down on his throne, starting to sob.
Crowley would never admit it, but damn it, he missed the angel. He missed all that was infuriating about him, all that was so lovely and so soft about him. They'd been separated before, thousands of years, in fact, but this one hurt the most.
It hurt because they left each other of his, of Aziraphale’s own accord. It hurt because of Aziraphale’s searing rejection (I forgive you, he had said). It hurt because of how close they had gotten after Armageddon. Aziraphale had left way too soon, too fast. As his heart tightened, Crowley gripped the bottle tighter, claws growing and extending from his nails.
A murmur of apparent confusion and worry rose from the greenhouse, the plants all craning their neck to check on their owner. Crowley popped open the bottle and drank. "Ssshuddup. 'S none 'f your businessss," he slurred, pointing a finger at them in accusation. The plants popped their leaves back into the room from the doorway apprehensively, but their worry still permeated the air.
" 'm fffine. Sssstop worrying." He collapsed his upper half onto the table, drinking intermittently as he did so. Before long, he had finished the first bottle, but the tears did not stop. So he miracled up another. And another. Until he had drunk 6 bottles of red wine altogether.
" 'ziraphale..." Crowley tiredly mumbled, feeling very very empty inside, the claws of his heart repairing and ripping it to shreds over and over again. He blinked drunkenly at his apartment, his vision growing blurry from the tears and the alcohol.
Suddenly, a voice. "Let there be light."
Crowley groaned. Who was it at this hour? Why had another angel come to torment him? "Go awwwaaaay." He noncommittally waved a hand at the entity.
"Oh, my darling. This won't do." A hand cupped Crowley’s jaw gently, lifting it so that Crowley could look at the entity. Shielded golden eyes met shimmering blue ones, and Crowley believed it had to be a dream.
"Aziraphale?" The demon croaked out.
The angel in front of him pouted. "Really, my dear boy. You cannot treat your body this way just because y-" Huffing out a sigh, Aziraphale, or rather, the Aziraphale in Crowley’s dream, roamed a hand through Crowley’s hair. Crowley instinctively leaned into the touch, so soft and warm, but then remembered he was supposed to be angry at the angel for pushing him aside.
"Nnnnnnooo." Crowley whined, pushing away the hand. The angel said nothing, but nevertheless frowned in concern.
The demon continued to sulk for a few more moments, staring at the blurry image of Aziraphale standing motionlessly and pitifully at him. Why? Why now? Oh, he was definitely hallucinating. Crowley squinted further at the figure, too tired to scream, to cry, to shout.
After a few beats, the angel put a gentle hand on his back and on his cheek, caressing it like- like he still loved him. Like that day never happened. Of course Crowley imagined that. He would rather pretend that it never happened than cry about it any longer. "Come on, darling, let's get you to bed," the image of Aziraphale sighed gently, flashing a broken, pained smile at him. And there it was. A painful reminder that not all was well.
Crowley ached.
"Sure, Angel," he murmured, letting the apparition of Aziraphale-- was it really an apparition? It felt so real-- lead him towards the bed in his apartment, all messy and dishevelled from sleepless days and nights, worrying, sobbing, thinking, about his angel.
"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale said with sadness in his voice, miracling his sheets nice and proper the way they should’ve been.
"Ngh," Crowley grunted, his voice rough and hoarse from weeping his nights away. He tried not to think about that or whatever was going on too much, and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted and miserable.
The angel tried not to wince at his lover’s apparent heartbreak, instead firmly but gently helping him onto the bed. From the way the demon looked at him, it was clear that he wanted nothing and everything to do with him, and he didn't know which one would hurt more. Usually, he would chide Crowley for drinking so much, maybe do a minor miracle to help the demon sober up, but he couldn't bear to endure 6 times the amount of heartbreakingly aching looks Crowley was giving him. It just wouldn't do. Not after what they both did.
So, he would just have to have Crowley forgive and forget. He was an angel, after all. Forgiveness was one of his favourite things. He used to think that he was good at it, but now...
Now...
He spared a glance at Crowley, curled up so tightly into a ball, so small on the lonely king-sized bed. Aziraphale's heart did an ugly thing.
"...Crowley?"
"Mngh?" The demon groaned, turning to face Aziraphale, the wrinkles on his corporation all creased with grief and confusion, not recognising the very real figure of the angel in front of him. He looked up at Aziraphale, eyes shining in the dimming light of Aziraphale’s miracle.
"I..." Aziraphale looked at Crowley’s face, meeting his searching gaze. I'm sorry? I love you? What was he to say, for both were true? Instead, he settled on putting his hands in Crowley’s, holding them like they were a fleeting thing. The demon's eyes widened, and stared at their intertwined palms, before looking back at Aziraphale. The angel could see 6000 years of longing in the demon's eyes staring back at him, and averted his gaze.
"Good night, darling. Sleep well," Aziraphale whispered, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s forehead, before slowly slipping away from his grasp. Crowley’s eyes fell slack immediately, drifting away into a deep slumber.
Aziraphale wiped two fingers against his lips, the sin lingering and festering there. He took a breath, steadied a forced smile on his face, and ascended back to Heaven.
And they were both left alone, again.