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Crowley sat in his favorite armchair in the bookshop, absently listening to the ticking of the grandfather clock as the sunset painted the walls a deep rust color. He swirled his glass of wine in his hand, frowning down at its lack of a companion to toast. How strange it was to be in the bookshop by himself, though it had happened a few times that he could recall–when they ran out of wine or when Aziraphale popped over to the coffee shop for a baked treat. Even so, with Aziraphale off to Edinburgh and no set date of return, the bookshop still felt at peace, if only for the lingering angelic aura.
“Can I ask you a question?” Jim blurted from behind Crowley, making him jump and slosh a bit of wine onto one of Aziraphale’s precious vintage rugs.
“Bugger,” Crowley swore under his breath, snapping his fingers and miracling away the wine, even though Aziraphale would undoubtedly still know. Crowley turned in his chair to find Jim staring at him with that unnervingly vacant smile, and the demon rolled his eyes before slipping his sunglasses back on and flopping in annoyance back into his chair. “Yeah, what is it?”
“Do you miss Aziraphale when he goes away?” Jim asked, shuffling around Crowley to lower himself into the opposing chair. Crowley leaned forward to stop him–that was Aziraphale’s chair after all–but dropped his hand back to his thigh when he realized he was too late. He sighed and rubbed an eye beneath his glasses before taking a gulp of his wine.
“That's an odd thing to ask,” Crowley grumbled, eyeing Jim suspiciously. He seemed as genuinely curious as ever. It was downright disturbing. “Why?”
Jim straightened and seemed to only now consider why he was asking, and his smile faltered slightly. “I don't know, I guess… I feel like I'm missing someone, but I can't remember who or… why.”
“Probably your former dickish self. No one loved him more than you did,” Crowley taunted, smirking at his own wit before taking another sip of wine.
“No, it’s not like that. It's like…” Jim’s brow furrowed in thought as he tried to formulate an explanation, before realization seemed to hit him like a crowbar to the cranium. “Oh! It's like… earlier, I misplaced my mug of hot chocolate…”
“Oh Satan I'm going to need more wine,” Crowley drawled, dragging himself from the chair and attempting to flee to the back parlor. Unfortunately, Jim followed.
“I’m serious, that's exactly what it feels like! But it's not just disappointment…” Jim explained as Crowley poured another heaping glass of alcohol. “It’s like… longing. You know? It hurts to know it's lost and… growing cold without me. It feels like, maybe I’m missed too.”
Crowley slowly stopped pouring his wine as the liquid neared the edge of the glass, his eyes narrowed behind his dark lenses. “You think your hot chocolate misses you?”
“No!” Jim shouted, throwing his hands up in the air and then ruffling his own hair in frustration. If Crowley didn't know any better, he'd have sworn Jim's chin quivered as he turned to look out into the bookshop. Somewhere in the depths of the bookshelves, an insect buzzed. “Forget it,” Jim said, his voice breaking slightly. “I'm probably just confused. Like always.” He walked sullenly to the front of the shop and flipped the open sign to closed, before locking the door and pulling down the blinds. Instead of turning back into the shop, he just stood there, almost as if he were waiting for someone.
“Yeah,” Crowley said quietly, startling Jim as he approached. “I understand. I suppose… I smile more when Aziraphale’s around. When he's gone I just… can't find much to smile about.”
Jim smiled with relief, and tears seemed to form in the creases of his strange green eyes. “That's a good way to explain it,” he said as he approached Crowley, quickly wiping the mist from his eyes and putting his hands triumphantly on his hips. “It's good to know there's someone who understands. But Aziraphale will be back in no time, you'll see. And so will your smile,” Jim said, reaching to pinch Crowley’s cheek and receiving a swat to the hand. Jim grinned and held his hands up in surrender, turning to fetch his feather duster and whistling a vaguely familiar tune while he worked.
Crowley felt a distant pang of empathy for the lumbering dolt, and immediately growled at himself for having felt it. He stormed to the back of the shop, where he remembered spotting Jim’s mug. He warmed the ceramic with a handful of hellfire, blowing out the flames before displaying the mug dramatically in front of himself.
“Look what I found,” he deadpanned, though Jim’s excitement wasn't hindered in the slightest. He practically tossed his duster behind him and scooped up his mug lovingly, pulling it close to breathe in the sweet scent.
“Thank you, Crowley,” he said, his earnestness making Crowley’s skin itch.
“Don’t mention it. Really,” Crowley said, fetching his own glass of wine and returning to his armchair. He looked over at the vacant chair opposite him, and tipped his glass in its direction.