Chapter Text
There was a few thousand years in the early years of the Earth when Crowley was able to roam among humans without having to shield his eyes. Of course these people were more aware of the existence of demons and other such celestial beings and were more pleased to know what kind of being they may be talking to.
However, after the crucifixion of Christ, people became a lot more wary of demonic entities and it made getting work done a lot more of a pain in the ass. So Crowley, as he always did, adapted to the times.
While the Inuits up North had the right idea for blocking out the sun, their own "glasses" weren't really quite Crowley's style. If he was going to gallivant around humans he might as well look damned good doing so. And just as the saying would go, he decided to do what the Romans do.
Well, one Roman. While using his demonic influence on Nero at the Colosseum, he picked up the emperor's habit of wearing cut emeralds while watching the gladiators. Green was not really his style either. It was a fine enough color, as far as colors go, but did not particularly match the dark and dreary aesthetic that he had been building since after his Fall. Smoky quartz would have to do instead. Eventually after some tinkering around he was able to get a glazier to make some glasses he could actually see out of rather than just reflecting his own repitilian orbs back at him.
Despite the fact that Crowley had basically invented what humans would now think of as sunglasses, the real deal did not come around for several hundred years after the fact. And until that point he was still given some strange stares, but not as many as he received when he didn't wear them. One of the things that did leave him a little sore was that he actually could take credit for this influence, but none was given to him. Suppose that was just his luck after taking credit for so many human inventions made under nondemonic influence.
Thankfully, the 21st century was more kind to his apprarance than previous centuries had. The last time that he was able to go without the glasses was back when everyone as as clanking about with giant helmets covering their whole face. No point in wearing the glasses under those. The probably would have fogged up anyway. Nowadays if he were to be encountered by a human while lacking his spectacles, they would be shocked initially, but then figured that he was probably just some weirdo wearing those fancy colored lenses.
The main downside to the glasses was that when he wore them in public, he could not see Aziraphale properly. More often than not the pair would need to meet in public so as not to rouse suspicion from the Higher Ups of both celestial directions. An angel and a demon "meeting" frequently was already a gamble, so private time between the two was scarce to none.
Crowley relished those moments, as few as they were. When he was able to get a good and proper eyeful of the angel, his angel.
The beautiful blue grey of his eyes, brightening and becoming more of a Robin's Egg when handed a beautiful slice of cake, darkening like a thunderstorm on a summers day when a favorite author was scorned.
The whisps of pale blonde, nearly white hair that stuck up haphazardly and curled like a pile of doves feathers on his head.
He could nearly see perfection itself, heavenmade and pure, but left muted and grey through thick reflective lenses. All of this perfect color was completely dulled by the damned ocular prison, tormenting him daily.
And he would never admit that every time he saw his beautiful companion he silently pleaded to whoever may listen for humans to be a little bit less spookable.