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The storm had come out of nowhere that night. The Bentley’s tires hissed against the rain-slicked roads as Crowley wrestled the wheel, his fingers clenching and unclenching against the leather. The wipers worked frantically, but the rain kept slamming down in heavy bouts, making visibility almost nonexistent. He tried to keep his composure, though you knew well enough he was close to losing control of the vehicle.
The two of you had been out all day, driving around London for a photography project, ending a hard day’s work with dinner at The Ritz. And now you were (supposed to be) on your way back to Aziraphale’s bookshop, where a nice bottle of wine awaited the demon. At the moment, though, getting there proved to be more of a challenge than expected.
“Right…” Crowley muttered, his teeth gritted tight. A particularly aggressive gust of wind rocked the car and he hissed, flicking his sunglasses up to squint at the barely visible road ahead “we’ll head to mine until this clears up.” The Bentley screeched as Crowley jerked the wheel, taking a sharp turn so suddenly, you nearly smacked your head against the window.
‘Head to mine’ was something you’d never heard Crowley say before. Truthfully, you’d never even been to his apartment. You knew it was compensated by Hell, so you weren’t expecting anything over-the-top, but neither were you expecting… this.
It was big. Too big.
The apartment swallowed you whole the second you stepped inside. The storm had been loud, deafening, but here, the silence was worse. It pressed in from all sides, heavy and suffocating, a vast, open space where shadows stretched against cold, polished surfaces. Brutalistic. Impersonal. Like the kind of place someone lived in, but didn’t really call home. The living room was practically empty compared to the bookshop, though you were glad to see a telly. Still, nothing in particular— except for the array of trembling plants— said Crowley to you. Not a single Queen poster, not a framed picture of the Bentley or Aziraphale, just the unsettling sharpness of black marble. The place was under dim lighting, giving off the impression of a sleek, modern lair, but beneath it, the emptiness was deafening. Even the air here felt still, untouched.
You shifted on your feet, arms curling around yourself— you weren’t sure if you were trembling from the cold rain you got caught in for a brief moment or from the atmosphere of his apartment, either way, you were glad Crowley mircaled you dry with an easy flick of his wrist, locking the door.
"Cozy, hm?" he drawled, voice dry with sarcasm.
You didn’t answer right away.
“Ngk. Want a tour? There’s not much to see really” he shrugged “Sofa, telly, desk; over there’s the kitchen, bedroom to the left, bathroom to the right. Don’t touch the plants”
You nodded slowly, swallowing. You didn’t want to seem rude, so you didn’t comment, but something about the place made your skin prickle. Like it was too quiet. Too still. A hollow space wrapped around something too big and too lonely. Crowley’s gaze flicked toward you, sharp as ever. He wasn’t good at reading people, but he could tell exactly what you were thinking without you needing to say so much as one word. You hated it here. Not out loud, of course, but the way your eyes darted warily over the empty space, the way you hesitated before stepping fully inside - it was written all over you. Still, him being— well, him— the demon didn’t acknowledge it. He only placed his glasses down, pretending not to notice your discomfort and plopped onto the sofa, reaching for the remote and crossing his legs on the armrest.
"Feels like the storm’s not stopping anytime soon” he remarked, flicking through the channels. The low hum of sound filled the space, making it a little less eerie "Might as well stay the night"
“But—“
“Don’t worry, i’ll tell angel” Crowley grumbled, turning to actually face you this time, a small smile tugging at his lips at the way you seemed so small and out of place in his apartment. There was a reason he’d never bothered bringing you here. “You can take my bed”
You blinked “your bed?”
“Dunno why I even have it. I don’t sleep” he shrugged “might as well put it to good use for once.. You can have my pajama pants too, never worn em, never will”
You hesitated but nodded. If Crowley said it was fine, then it was fine. But God— Satan— that bed was just as vast as the rest of the apartment. Why he even needed one, and that big, was a question for the ages. Shadows fell on the black and red satin covers, causing it to look unreal, like a painting, like a suggestion of a bed, one which would collapse if you so much as touched it. Thankfully though it didn’t, as you slid under the covers and took a shaky breath. The blankets smelled faintly of something spicy and sharp - Crowley’s cologne, maybe.
You tried to get comfortable multiple times, curling under the covers, laying on your back, your sides, your front, but the silence pressed heavily against you. It wasn’t the kind of warm, peaceful quiet that you felt whenever you were in Aziraphale’s bookshop. This was different. Hollow. Like the walls were about to swallow you whole. The minutes stretched and you’d gotten not any closer to sleeping. You stared at the ceiling. It could collapse onto you at any moment. Your fingers fidgeted with the sheets, trying to distract yourself from the feeling of too much empty space caving in on you. You tried to ignore it, you really did. But eventually, the unease won out.
Slipping out of bed, you padded toward the living room. Crowley was still stretched out on the sofa, one arm thrown over its back, eyes closed peacefully as he listened to whatever had been playing on TV for the past hour. He cracked an eyelid open, almost sensing you. A small smirk played on his lips.
“W’sup?” He asked lazily “thought humans slept through storms like bears through the winter”
You hesitated, feeling a bit embarrassed “It’s just... weird here. I can’t sleep."
He tilted his head back, the mock smile never leaving his face. "What, want me to tuck you in? Read you a bedtime story?"
You sighed, sinking into yourself a little “Forget it—" you felt strangely vulnerable.
Before you could retreat, Crowley sighed dramatically and pushed himself up. “Alright, alright, stop that. I’ll make you tea”
His kitchen was pretty much the same as the rest of the place: sleek and cold, all black marble and steel, not a single dish out of place. Crowley moved with ease through the almost empty cupboards, retrieving a cup and a box with an array of teas Aziraphale had gifted him. He filled the kettle and the silence became easier now, softened by the sound of water bubbling and the faint hum of the television from the other room. The demon watched intently as you flicked through tea packets, landing on one of your choice. You were stiff.
"You’re not actually scared of my place, are you?" Crowley asked after a moment, leaning against the counter “you know nothing’s gonna jump out at you”
You hesitated. "Not scared. Just... unsettled. The silence here is too loud”
Crowley’s eyes flicked over you, his gaze sharp but not unkind. Then, without much thought, he opened his arms “C’mere”
You blinked, startled.
He waggled his fingers impatiently “Well? Get on with it before I change my mind."
You stepped closer, and in a surprisingly gentle motion, he wrapped his arms around you. Crowley wasn’t one for soft gestures, but the hug was warm. Not like Aziraphale’s, but it was solid. Safe. You felt the tension in your shoulders ease.
"Dunno why you lot like this so much”
You smiled into his jacket, giving him an appreciative squeeze.
Once the tea was finished, Crowley led you back to the bedroom, plopping himself on the bed beside you with a dramatic sigh, while you crossed your legs beneath you.
You hesitated for a moment, clutching your cup “could we… cuddle?”
Crowley made a face “demons don’t cuddle.”
“You just hugged me”
"Yeah, well, that was charity”
Despite the teasing, he sighed - long, suffering and dramatic, before begrudgingly opening his arms again. He could tell by the way your shoulders had started to loosen, how just being near him seemed to make you feel safer. And really, if it was going to help you sleep, there was no point in fighting it.
"Fine” he grumbled, shifting to make space for you “But if you tell angel, so help me Satan—"
You didn’t need to be told twice. Nestling in close, you let yourself relax against him, warm and cozy beneath the covers. For someone as lanky and sharp-edged as Crowley, he was surprisingly comfortable. Warmth seeped through his shirt, steady and solid, easing the last bits of tension still clinging to you. Without really thinking, your fingers found their way to his hair, twisting the long strands absentmindedly between your fingers. They were softer than you expected.
Crowley groaned, tipping his head back "Great, now I’m a damned teddy bear."
“Could be worse” you snickered.
His eyes narrowed, fingers suddenly darting to your side, pressing just enough to make you jolt. You swatted at his arm with a pout, to which Crowley only chuckled, letting you settle back against him.
Eventually, the warm and steady presence of him lulled you into a comfortable drowsiness. His hand drifted lazily over your arm, fingers brushing your skin in a gentle, grounding motion. When he spoke again, his voice was softer.
"Go on, get some rest, love. I’m right here”
You hummed sleepily, tucking yourself closer "Thanks, Crowley."
“Right, right” He scoffed, but his arm stayed draped around you, his fingers still idly tracing patterns against your sleeve “Just don’t go thinking i’m enjoying myself here”
You only smiled, knowing full well that if you were to ask again, he wouldn’t say no.