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Crowley sighed, fiddling with his sunglasses before tossing them onto the seat next to him. He turned, his arm resting on the window of the Bentley. As he lay his chin on his hand, he glanced absentmindedly at the bookshop. Inside, he could see Muriel puttering around, beaming at a customer whose expression was becoming more confused by the second. No doubt they had asked for a book about something in the human world that Muriel had not yet learned about, and who therefore was quickly talking them into spirals of absurdity. It was actually quite effective at keeping people from buying any books, as they became so perplexed by what Muriel was saying that they would quickly bow out of the shop with an awkward laugh and a hastily conjured previous appointment.
It was just what the angel would have wanted.
Crowley hadn’t been back inside since - well he hadn’t been back inside for some time now. Yet, somehow, he always seemed to end up parked outside, searching the windows for a glimpse - of what, he didn’t know. Aziraphale was gone, in Heaven, and that was where he was staying, he had made that much clear.
Crowley took a shuddering breath and looked away. His plants sat in the backseat, still in their boxes and withering. He hadn’t felt like moving them all back into his flat, hadn’t felt like taking care of them at all, and although they were trying their hardest to stay alive for fear of what might happen to them, it was beginning to become a losing battle.
A little boy passed by Crowley’s window with his mother, holding a yellow balloon. On the other side of the street walked a young couple, one staring adoringly at the other as they passed in front of the bookshop.
Crowley snarled and with a wave of his hand the yellow balloon popped and the young man stumbled on the sidewalk, releasing his partner’s hand as he tripped on seemingly thin air.
Crowley snatched his glasses up from the passenger seat, throwing them on and grabbing the wheel, ready to drive viciously away, when he froze. He had given one last glance in the direction of the bookshop and through the window he thought he had seen a flash of curly white hair. His heart pounded in his chest and he stared unblinkingly at the bookshop.
It couldn’t be.
His heart skipped a beat as Aziraphale came into full view, talking with Muriel as he rearranged a top shelf of books.
Crowley gripped the wheel tight to stop his hands from shaking. What was he doing in the bookshop? Had he come back? Had he realized - before he knew what he was doing, Crowley had thrown open the door of the Bentley and was sauntering full speed towards the bookshop.
He was almost to the door when he stopped. What was he doing? He hadn’t been inside the bookshop for months, hadn’t had any contact with Aziraphale. He couldn’t just waltz right in.
Before Crowley could decide what to do, a bell jingled as the front door opened and out walked Aziraphale, holding a sign. He stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes landed on Crowley standing uselessly in the middle of the street.
He swallowed, then nodded slightly as he said, “Crowley.”
“Angel,” he replied, as nonchalantly as he could manage. “What are you doing here? Not enough good to be doing in Heaven?”
“I could ask the same of you,” Aziraphale answered, eyebrow arching ever so slightly.
“I asked you first,” Crowley replied, arching an eyebrow in return.
Aziraphale turned to the front of the shop and affixed the new sign to the window as he spoke.
“If you must know, I pop down to the shop every once in a while, just to see how Muriel is getting on.”
He turned back to Crowley. “Well within the rights of the Supreme Archangel,” he said in response to Crowley’s skeptical gaze.
“And what about you?” Aziraphale asked uncomfortably, bouncing on his heels. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh you know, just spreading malice and fear as I’m meant to,” he responded icily. Whatever was left of his heart had sunk right into the ground. Aziraphale hadn’t come back to apologize. He was still as entranced by Heaven as ever.
“Ah yes, I’ve been given reports of some of your recent wicked activities.” Aziraphale was clearly trying to infuse as much malice into his voice as he could, but he looked away from Crowley as he did, sorrow more than anything edging into his voice and his eyes.
“No matter, however, my replacement should be here soon to thwart you.” He turned to go back into the bookshop, but before he could, Crowley had lunged forward and taken him by the arm. Aziraphale turned quickly back.
“Crowley!”
“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, removing his sunglasses and moving closer to the angel. “Please.”
Aziraphale’s eyes widened and Crowley thought he saw his face soften, thought he felt the angel move ever so slightly closer to him, before his face hardened again.
“Let me go, Crowley.”
Crowley, shocked by the coldness in Aziraphale’s voice, dropped his hand from the angel’s arm, stepping back.
Aziraphale’s brown eyes stayed locked onto Crowley’s golden yellow ones.
“Let me go,” he said again, softly, before turning on his heel and marching back inside the bookshop, once more leaving his demon alone on Earth.