Chapter Text
The bookshop was almost like a den : drawn curtains, the smell of old paper and melted candles, and a heavy silence. Four months since anyone had truly seen him smile, even ironically. Customers still came in, but Crowley seemed even more absent than usual, contenting himself with only the bare minimum. The shelves were still crammed with well-kept piles of books, but everywhere else, there was a dull neglect, as if the will to do better had died along with his smile. In one corner, a dozen open bottles still sat imposingly, sometimes more. Seeing him drink was nothing surprising, only that since Aziraphale left, he drank more than before, almost mechanically, as if each glass was part of a silent ritual he couldn't break. Not to escape. Not to get drunk. Simply to fill the void. He didn't need to think, he served, he drank, and he started again.
And Muriel saw everything.
Since she'd been assigned to take over the bookshop, he'd found himself frequenting the place almost every day. Aziraphale had left him there, like leaving an object behind. But as the weeks went by, Muriel had grown attached to Crowley, to his somber expression, his silences, even his bad mood. She didn't know why. Maybe because there was nothing more fragile behind that rebellious facade. Maybe also because she believed he deserved to smile again. But how could she help someone like him ? She had no experience, no idea. She was just a novice angel, clumsy, enthusiastic, but terribly naive. So one evening, she'd gathered her courage and crossed the street to Nina's coffee.
When Muriel entered, the bell jingled, and the lingering scent of freshly ground coffee immediately enveloped her, a stark contrast to the stagnant air of the bookshop. She almost felt out of place in the surroundings. Nina, behind the counter, looked up at her, and at a table, Maggie immediately raised an arm with a broad smile.
" Good evening, Muriel ! "
The angel timidly closed the door, as if afraid of disturbing anyone. She fiddled with the overlong sleeves of her dress, her gaze shifty.
" I... I wanted to ask your advice... "
Nina arched an eyebrow. " Advice for what ? "
Muriel took a deep breath, as if about to commit an act of treason.
" It's for Mr. Crowley. I want to help him. He looks... so bad. But I don't know how. He hardly talks to me. He drinks, he reads, or he just sits and stares into space. I tried to... to stay away, but..."
Maggie had already leaned forward, her eyes shining.
" You want to help him ? Then you have to shake him up. Make him laugh, push him out, force him to move. If you wait for him to make up his mind, we'll grow old before he does. "
Nina, on the other hand, calmly put down her cup.
" Don't listen to it too quickly. Crowley is stubborn and hurt. You won't be able to push him without him rejecting you. You have to give him space, but be there, silently, without expecting anything from him. Support him without imposing yourself. "
Muriel blinked, completely lost between the two speeches.
" So... I have to be there without expecting anything... but also push him to laugh and get out ? "
Nina pursed her lips. " Not exactly. "
" Exactly ! " insisted Maggie. " He needs air, not to be watched and wasted away ! "
The two women exchanged a look that spoke volumes about their disagreements. Meanwhile, Muriel stared at the floor, more confused than ever, but with a little twinkle in her eye. Because deep down, even if she had no idea how to go about it, she really wanted to try. Even if it meant making a mistake.
When Muriel returned to the bookstore that evening, the lights were dim and the air thick with the smell of alcohol. She quietly closed the door behind her and, in an almost natural gesture now, turned the sign to say "closed." No one would come at this hour anyway. At the back of the store, she saw Crowley, slumped on the old sofa, his sunglasses as if aimed at his face. His half-empty bottle rested on the coffee table, next to a book he hadn't even bothered to close. He was asleep, his head tilted back, his breathing heavy and regular.
Muriel approached on tiptoe. She knew he didn't like being surprised, much less being seen in a moment of weakness. Waking him would be a very, very bad idea. So she simply stood there for a moment, watching him, her fingers clenched on the fabric of her skirt. The blanket covering the sofa had slid to the floor, she gently picked it up and placed it back on him, carefully adjusting it to make him a little warmer. The demon didn't move, except for a soft, sleepy grunt. Muriel gave a small, tender smile in spite of herself.
Then, silently, she climbed the stairs leading upstairs. Her room was up there, tiny, a sort of room he'd let her use since she'd gotten used to staying over. She collapsed onto her small bed, her cheeks still warm with shyness, her heart pounding.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she would find a way to cheer him up. She didn't know how yet, or if it would work, but she decided to try. Because even if Crowley was distant, even if he was drowning in his habits, she refused to leave him alone in that emptiness.
*
The next morning, Muriel went downstairs early, still determined to put her plan into action. She had spent part of the night tossing and turning, thinking about what she could do to tear Crowley away, even for a moment, from his sullen demeanor. When she arrived on the ground floor, Crowley was already awake, sitting in his armchair by the large table. He was holding a glass in his hand, his eyes fixed on the shelves without really seeing them. The previous day's book was still open at the same page; the angel doubted he'd even read it.
Muriel hesitated. Her heart was beating faster. But she remembered what Nina and Maggie had told her. One advocated a quiet presence, the other energy and spontaneity. So, clumsily, she tried to combine the two.
" Mr. Crowley ? " she called in a tiny voice.
He barely turned his head toward her, as if he'd barely noticed her, grunting an indistinct response.
Muriel took a breath, then pointed to what she was holding in her arms : a stack of old vinyl records she'd found upstairs in the bookstore.
" I found these while tidying up... Do... do you want to listen ? Maybe it could... well... give you a change of scenery ? "
Crowley raised an eyebrow in surprise. He hadn't expected her to bother him with this.
" Vinyl records ? " His voice was deep, still heavy with sleep.
" Yes ! I thought... maybe... you'd like it... "
She had hurried to place the pile on the table, her hands trembling slightly. Crowley looked at her for a long time, without saying anything, as if trying to guess what she really wanted. Finally, he let out a small sigh and bent down to grab one of the records.
" Hmph... " He shrugged vaguely. " Just one song. "
Muriel's heart lit up. She practically rushed over to the old record player sitting on a shelf, blew off the dust, and very carefully placed the vinyl. She had watched Aziraphale do it several times and thought she could do it herself. She was thrilled when a crackling sound rang out, then the first notes, warm and slightly grating, filled the room.
She glanced at Crowley, who didn't look thrilled or anything, but his eyes seemed a little less empty. Maybe it wasn't much. But it was something. Muriel sat quietly at the other end of the room, her hands folded in her lap, as if not to rush him. She told herself she had to keep trying, every day, one small step at a time.