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“I forgive you.”
“Don’t bother.”
The last words of a long-forgotten love. Crowley no longer remembered Aziraphale's voice. He only remembered what his angel looked like because of the pictures hung up on his walls of him.
Crowley drove for what felt like days, and he silently cried to himself. His angel was gone, he had dedicated his entire life to that angel, and for what? What could Crowley do with his life now? He had no purpose, had done all he was good for, and got abandoned in return. Crowley had no friends on Earth; Shadwell had left the country and left no way to contact him; Anathema and Newt were living in America; and Crowley had no desire to travel there.
Crowley sat in his Bentley and grieved. He grieved for the person he loved, for his best friend, his beautiful Angel. Crowley had no desire to return to Soho; he never wanted to see that blasted city again. He drove for hours, eventually landing in Sheffield. It didn’t take long for Crowley to tempt his way into getting a small flat; he moved all his plants into it and settled on sleeping on the floor for the night. He didn’t sleep much that night; he mainly cried and writhed around, trying to get comfortable.
It had been a year since Aziraphale left. He had never come back; he never even sent a letter or called. Crowley hadn’t talked to anybody since that day; he had hardly left his flat. He couldn’t even bear to eat; it all reminded him too much of Aziraphale. Neither Hell nor Heaven had contacted him; he was truly all alone. His plants died after the first couple of months, he no longer talked to them or watered them; they now sat in the corner of his flat, collecting dust. The Bentley hadn’t been driven in months; it too sat below Crowley’s flat, collecting dust and silently begging to be driven.
Occasionally, Crowley would get a knock on the door from some salesman, and he would perk up, thinking it was Aziraphale, but it never was. Crowley spent his days wandering his flat, awaiting his angel's eventual return. He held onto the hope of his love coming back, bringing him into his arms, and finally returning the kiss.
Five years. Crowley no longer had hope that Aziraphale would ever return. He left his flat occasionally now, sometimes he would sit in the corner of libraries and watch the people as they read their books, drink tea, and eat various pastries; they reminded him of Aziraphale. Crowley wondered what Heaven was like with Aziraphale running it, perhaps it hadn’t changed at all, and maybe he was wrong for thinking so highly of Aziraphale. Earth was certainly no different, it was just missing an Angel.
On one occasion, Crowley was sitting in one of his usual libraries when he spotted a familiar face.
“Aziraphale?”
The man turned around to face Crowley and said, “Sorry?” He wasn’t Aziraphale.
Crowley smiled a painful smile at the man, “Sorry, you look like a friend of mine.”
The man laughed, “Yes, I get that a lot, no clue why.”
The fake Aziraphale turned around and continued browsing the shelves, Crowley watched him.
After seven years, Crowley worked up the courage to drive to Soho.
Crowley smiled while looking at the familiar street, Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death had people spilling in and out like usual, and Crowley could see Nina inside. The Small Back Room had a few people in it, and Crowley could see Maggie inside smiling brightly. He didn’t dare look in the direction of A.Z. Fell and Co.
His first stop was Give Me Coffee or Give Me Death. The line was short, and when Crowley reached the front of the line, Nina’s eyes brightened.
“Crowley? What are you doing here? Aziraphale said you weren’t coming back.” Nina smiled at him.
“Aziraphale was here? When?”
“A couple of years ago, he said he was looking for you, he looked a mess. Your usual?”
Crowley’s mouth hung open slightly as he nodded. Aziraphale was here. He stepped aside as the next person in line walked up.
Crowley sat in the corner of the coffee shop for a couple of hours, occasionally Nina would sit with him when there were no customers and they would talk, but before long she had to leave.
After that day, Crowley decided to return to Soho. He moved into a flat not too far from the bookshop, and he felt truly happy for the first time since Aziraphale had left. He visited Nina and Maggie every day, and the three of them became quite close.
After eight years, Maggie and Nina got married. Crowley was the maid of honour. During the wedding, Crowley could swear he could hear a familiar voice, but he couldn’t quite place where he had heard it before.
It had been nearly three decades since Aziraphale left. Crowley didn’t cry for Aziraphale anymore, he had finished his grieving long ago. He no longer visited libraries because they reminded him of his former love, but because he had recently picked up the hobby of reading.
Aziraphale never returned to Soho, as far as Crowley was aware. He had kept a small photo of Aziraphale hanging in his library, sometimes he would look at it and smile at the angel he once loved, the one he couldn’t quite remember the voice of.
Crowley enjoyed his life. He had friends and hobbies, all of which he enjoyed. He missed Aziraphale, but there was no use crying over him, he was gone.
Three decades. It had been three decades since Aziraphale left Crowley. He cried for Crowley every night, even if he could not remember who he was crying for. The Metatron had been furious the last time Aziraphale visited Earth, and Aziraphale didn’t remember why he was ever on Earth in the first place.
Five decades have passed since Aziraphale left. Nina and Maggie had died a few years ago, only a few months apart. They both went peacefully, with Crowley and their children by their sides. Crowley still did a lot of reading in his spare time, occasionally he would visit Nina’s coffee shop or Maggie’s record shop, they were both passed onto their children, and nothing had changed at all, not even Crowley’s order.
Before long, Heaven had gotten their way, and the world had ended. Crowley left Earth without a fuss, only taking his picture of Aziraphale with him. He spent his years in Hell, and occasionally he would hear rumours of the Supreme Archangel throwing another fit over something not even he seemed to remember.