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The two of you were settled in on the couch, half watching some crap tv and half just enjoying each other’s presence, when something occurs to you.
“Crowley.”
“Hmm?” He hums distractedly, engrossed in the petty fight happening between two women on the tv. The demon claims to hate reality tv (“Those were one of ours” he’d boasted proudly. How can you watch these things and not sense a bit of demonic influence?”), but it’s kind of like a car crash. As much as you want to look away, some part of your brain is morbidly compelled to keep watching.
You shift around on the couch, so your body is facing him. “Crowley” you repeat more insistently this time.
His eyes break away from the tv at last. “Hn, what? What’s wrong?”
“What day did we go out to lunch at the Italian place?”
Crowley frowns. “Umm… Tuesday, I think. The 23rd. Why?”
You groan and let your body tip forward until you’re resting your forehead against his shoulder. “God damnit” you mutter into his shirt.
He looks down at you in amusement. “Something wrong?”
“I left my CD in your car” you mumble.
“Sorry, didn’t quite catch that.”
You sit up. “I forgot to take my CD out of your car after our date!”
Crowley snickers makes a sympathetic sound that is entirely at odds with the smirk on his face. “It’s been over two weeks; I don’t like those odds.
You glare at the demon. “It wouldn’t matter, if your car wasn’t an egocentric hunk of metal whose taste in music is eternally trapped in the 80s!”
He laughs. “I did warn you. We could have listened to Queen on our way to the restaurant.
You just sigh. This is the third time you’ve accidentally left media in the Bentley, only for it to have magically transformed into something else (usually Queen related) by the time you remembered. Sometimes it doesn’t even take the typical two weeks. You were now the not so proud owner of six best of Queen CDs, one CD that at first glance appears to be a normal Queen album, but when played reveals itself to solely consist of 12 separate tracks of We Will Rock You, and a poster of a shirtless Freddie Mercury. That one you really can’t fault the car for. It had originally been an old Twilight poster that was stuffed inside an old box of stuff from your teen years. The Bentley had probably done you a favor with that one, if you’re being honest.
“The Bentley thanks you for your contribution to the collection.”
You can’t help but laugh. “I hate you.”
Crowley grins. “No you don’t.”
You sigh. “I wont if you go make us some more popcorn.”
Crowley pats you on the shoulder before getting up to do as you asked. On his way into the kitchen, he glances over at his closed bedroom door. He’ll tell you later that he’d rescued your CD and hidden it in his bedside table over week ago.