Chapter Text
It had been two months since the eager bookseller's assistant had taken over the shop. At first, Muriel had significant trouble figuring out just exactly what a bookseller's assistant was, but they caught on quickly with the gentle encouragement from Maggie and Nina. Thanks to Crowley, not a single book has been sold. He had made that very clear to Muriel that not selling books is a key part of being a bookseller. Muriel questioned this contradictory title internally but did not dare mention their uncertainty to Mr. Crowley. Nina had a good word for him at the moment - ah, what was it again? It fit so perf- ah! yes. Tetchy. That's the one. Mr. Crowley is tetchy.
From an outsider's point of view, Crowley was more than tetchy. He was downright miserable. He rarely left the bookshop, and when he did it was to storm over to Nina's coffee shop to make another ludicrous coffee order. He never stayed long, always antsy to return to the bookshop.
"He really doesn't trust that new assistant, does he?"
Nina said to Maggie as they both watched Crowley practically sprint through the traffic to reach the opposing storefront. Crowley hadn't even sat down today. Maggie looked confused for a moment and then replied.
"Oh, Nina come on, you must realise he's only so urgent to get back there in case- well in case, you know".
Maggie was looking at Nina with the eyes she usually employs when a customer tries to ask for a latte with no milk, eyes trying to import understanding. Eyes met with Nina's clueless ones. Maggie sighed.
"He rushes back there every day in case Mr Fell returns, he is still hopeful, don't you see?"
Crowley, careful not to spill any of his fresh coffee, burst through the shop door with such energy that the closed sign flew off its hook, and landed at his feet.
"Hellooo, anybody there?".
Muriel popped their head up from a book. They were nestled neatly into a corner armchair, wearing their new uniform. Mr. Crowley had called their police uniform obnoxious, so after a quick dictionary search, they now opted for brown cord trousers, a cream turtleneck, and a pair of slightly odd tartan shoes. Muriel borrowed these from Mr. Fell. They figured Mr. Fell wouldn't mind them borrowing some of his human bookseller clothes while he was away, you know, to fit in! Although, Mr. Crowley did give them a funny look when he first saw their new outfit. Muriel gently placed their book down and made their way over to Crowley. He couldn't hide the slight disappointment on his face when he saw Muriel was alone.
"Oh, right, you, of course".
He began making his way towards the back of the shop. He had a lovely red wine practically calling his name. Muriel called out.
"Oh, Mr. Crowley! Before I forget".
Muriel was holding out a letter.
"For the last time, you do not have to call me Mister, it is just Crowley."
He reached out and took the letter between two fingers and began muttering to himself.
"Honestly, if downstairs keep trying to contact me about that bloody apartment, I may just have to-".
He stopped himself mid-sentence as his posture straightened in surprise. Crowley recognised this scrawly handwriting and poor spelling. Beelzebub. Thinking of their name didn't elicit the same deep fear in him as it used to, now it just reminds him of what could have been. Crowley shakes his head quickly. He has to forget about him. Once he starts thinking about Aziraphale- ah, well, he's done it now hasn't he? Too late. That red wine is calling out again.
His coffee was long abandoned. As he made his way to the backroom of the bookshop in long strides, his fingers broke the envelope seal. A couple of possibilities flew through his mind. Maybe they were re-inviting him to the position of Duke of Hell. Seems a much more inviting prospect now, in the aftermath of things. Maybe they were writing to brag about how Beelzebub and Gabriel had got what Crowley couldn't. Maybe. Crowley's jaw stiffened. He took an unrestricted swig from the tall bottle of wine. Then he read the note.
CROWLEY WE WILL B WANTIN 2 CEE YOU WE WILL CEE YOU AT RESIDUNCE OF AZIRAPHALE WE ARR BACK FRUM HUNNYMOON.
Crowley blinked a few times and then reread the note. He doubted either of them even knew what a honeymoon was. He supposed he should probably be grateful it wasn't something worse, but then again, what could they possibly be visiting him for? He couldn't imagine anything worse than having to deal with the happy couple. He reached for the bottle. That's a problem for tomorrow.