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Ten weeks had passed since he left, and Crowley lived in a daze.
“Living” is one way to put it, because if it weren’t for Nina’s weekly visits and updates, there would be nothing left to do. He had his flat back, with little to no resistance from Shax and the new Dark Council and that was the only place he could be that didn’t remind him every waking second of the angel. The bookshop was taken care of, once he drunkenly spat at Muriel to not sell or give away any of the books. He will never admit to anyone that he was still taking care of it, not being able to not redirect his mind and protection to that specific place; he had done so for two hundred years and old habits die hard after all.
Currently, Crowley was laying on his satin-covered bed. Going to the stars and risking bumping into Gabriel and Beelzebub, or out to the world was completely out of the question because after traveling to every corner of it and saving it from ending with a certain someone, Earth was a bitter reminder that he should not be alone, sulking in a dark room. He should be enjoying mortal life right next to Aziraphale.
The demon sighed, rubbed his bloodshot eyes, and turned to the many bottles surrounding his bed and the many that were littered on the floor. Drinking nights away was the new routine he fell onto since shouting at the plants or having rows-turned-long-deep-late-night conversations with Nina were exhausting. Some plants were beginning to develop spots or were withering. He stood up and cleaned manually, just to spite that same routine. After gathering the trash bags at the front door, Crowley sat on the sofa and stared at the ceiling.
The industrial, minimalistic style was a decision made to fit this century but the demon had loved to pass the time listening to music while staring at the ceiling, no matter the century or place. He had always been curious as to what the humans were keen on singing about. The very late 80s were particularly fun because he had introduced many bebop bands besides Queen to Aziraphale, bribing him with dinner and then forcing him to sit down in his bookshop’s dingy backroom after decorating the floor with different records that the angel could pick from. He only liked some because “they talked about love”.
Enjoying music was one of the things they both could share. Or at least, used to be. Nowadays though, music was determined to remind Crowley that he was now to be half of a whole. Every single song that the radio played, or that he happened to hear while walking by the window insisted on talking about love, or “the one that ran away” or whatever.
So when Nina turned up with Maggie, he knew what they were going to say.
“No”
“But- Mr. Crowley, these are new! I looked through Mr.’s- Well, I’m sure these are nothing like what you used to listen to!” Maggie chirped while holding a little stack of records. Crowley did notice her failed attempt at not mentioning the angel’s name and softened.
“And before you can come up with any excuse, we’ve brought a record player” Nina added while placing a black turntable on the coffee table. Both humans sat in front of the demon, looking at him with no hidden judgment, pity, or any ulterior motives Crowley could detect, other than worry before leaving the flat. And that was it, really. He stared at the records neatly placed in front of him, and only out of respect didn’t chuck them across the room.
Week ten turned into week twenty and Crowley had realised quite guiltily that the Bentley had been parked and left all alone too. He opted for a bath, rather than miracling his clothes on. After grabbing his sunglasses and taking a long breath, he opened the door and stepped outside. The poor car was gathering dust and as he got in, he noticed that the tires were droopy; honestly, the car was beginning to look its age, with its leather seats beginning to show signs of wear down most noticeably on the passenger’s seat.
“I’m sorry” he puffed, not looking directly at the dashboard, and turned on the engine.
Immediately, he swatted at the radio knowing that Lesi was keen on playing anything appropriate according to the driver’s mood. The car didn’t protest because the driver, after decades of driving like a maniac way past the speeding limits, was now driving according to the transit rules, stopping at every red light and not going faster than 90m/p/h. Having nowhere to go was acutely freeing. He truly could go anywhere, with nothing- or rather, no one, tying him down.
It had started to rain and since the highway was empty, he could enjoy the view; great, tall clouds hugging the green mountains, and the fog creeping up beside him. It was bloody lonely, Wuthering Heights style. After two hours of driving, and in a very last attempt to get a standard reaction out of Crowley, the car turned on the radio. Crowley sighed and patted the wheel, resigned to listen to what the Bentley had picked for him.
Looking out the door I see the rain
Fall upon the funeral mourners
Parading in a wake of sad relations
As their shoes fill up with water
Maybe I'm too young
To keep good love from going wrong
But tonight you're on my mind
Broken down and hungry for your love
With no way to feed it
Aziraphale liked the rain, ever since they first felt it thousands of years ago. In modern times, he enjoyed listening to the sounds, inside the warmth of the bookshop while talking softly over tea. Crowley, for his part, enjoyed watching the soft lines that painted the angel’s face, and how they moved softly when he closed his beautiful pale blue eyes and smiled softly when he recognized a classical piece playing in the background; Aziraphale was simply gorgeous, especially when he was covered by candlelight. The demon deeply regretted not telling him this.
When the angel left, Crowley thought of messing with the weather. Bitterly messing with Heaven’s plans only a little, and only so slightly just to inconvenience the new administration. It got him no response. No amount of rain or storm, or hurricane in Central London would make Aziraphale come back to his bookshop. Or him.
Too young to hold on
And too old to just break free and run
Crowley had no age, and neither did Aziraphale. But Nina did once say that “being childish has no time limit, and being old is just a fucking concept”. In a way, they did grow up together, through time and space, and everything in between. Crowley had changed Aziraphale, and the angel changed him; softened his edges and all that. But apparently, the changes they both faced while helping Job were not enough. Crowley had learned the bad way what both sides of The World were capable of doing to dissidents, and both were merciless and plainly evil.
Heaven and Hell were both inept and power-driven. Adam was eleven and he could notice it! It was just one bloody system, and power did not care for dissidents or the human race at all. If you made a lot of questions, disregarding the nonexistent suggestion box, you could very easily find the answer to all of those by “sauntering vaguely downwards” engulfed in a ball of hellfire. Beelzebub and Gabriel got away with it because they were at the tip of it all, and if Aziraphale didn’t understand that he was in more danger than Crowley had thought.
But he was wings deep in it all because running away was no longer an option. He had to wait for Aziraphale.
So I'll wait for you, and I'll burn
Will I ever see your sweet return
Oh, will I ever learn?
And that was the point. What was he, if not loyal to Aziraphale? He would and had, given up every demonic tendency his body could have, just for the angel. After Espeth and the whole drama in Scottland in the 1800s, he accepted that being with Aziraphale and doing what he wanted was worth being erased from the Book of Life. It was worth his very essence because even though it is foolish, immortal beings can love. Demons are capable of love, of devotion .
My kingdom for a kiss upon her shoulder
It’s never over
And apparently love included hardships, miscommunication, and a whole lot of bloody waiting. It didn’t need to be over because everything could last forever if you’re an immortal creature. They just had different meanings of “us” and how to get there.
All my blood for the sweetness of her laughter
It's never over
She's the tear that hangs inside my soul forever
Well maybe I'm just too young
To keep good love from going wrong
Existing is terribly hard when everything reminds you of the only other being that can make you happy. The thunder rumbling the skies reminded Crowley of the angel’s deep giggles. Aziraphale’s voice dropped several octaves when drunk and since he loved to talk to Crowley, the demon was left to listen. He listened intently one time when the table was full of plates of food and bottles of wine, as he watched the angel pour more wine into both glasses and, after two long swings of it, sighed. “You’re so silly sometimes, my dear”. That sultry, wine-stained whisper was new and Crowley couldn’t help but hope .
Now, driving through mountains and thunder, Crowley wished to forget every single little thing he engraved into his brain. His laughter, his deep-piercing blue eyes, his happy sighs after eating, his wringing when he was nervous, how the smell of the bookshop clung to him, his warmth. His love .
Too deaf, dumb, and blind to see the damage I've done
Sweet lover, you should've come over
How long will I wait for you?
Lover, lover, lover
Lover, lover, lover you should've come over
'Cause it's not too late
Slamming on the brakes, the Bentley came to a violent stop.“Just, for a second eh?” The demon pleaded to the car for mercy, rubbing his eyes furiously. “I miss him too, but there’s just no point in making each other sad”. Crowley sighed and caressed the steering wheel, sensing that the wheels were turning themselves yellow.
The drive back to the flat was silent.