Crowley closed his eyes, remembering the warmth of Aziraphale's chubby hand into his. Everything about the unsufferable being was warm. His smile and his eyes and his voice and -Aziraphale would be mortified if he had access to his thoughts- his lips (an unfortunate incident in Woodstock*).
What was the angel doing now ? Had he been appointed Guardian to Heaven's Doors ? **
Hopefully he was somewhere with leather bound books, herbal tea and atrocious plaids. Crowley groaned. A demon shouldn't be that sentimental.
However, he wasn't stupid. He knew he worried about Aziraphale. The angel was too angelic for his own good.
He wondered how much time it will be before those idiots realised Aziraphale was worth twenty angels when he had the mission of converting man to Good.
Maybe they will let him come back then. Earth was not as fun when the angel wasn't around.
He had never missed someone like that before. He sighed. That was what you deserved for taking a liking of good creatures.
He opened his eyes again and put his now empty glass of whisky on the coffee table. On the book forgotten by his infuriating companion the last time he came to his flat. Knowing Aziraphale, he could find a way to come back just to retrieve the third volume of Studies on Theology left to the snake's care(lessness).
Crowley stood up and went on with terrorising his plants. It had been a few years since the last time he went out. Last time, he had seen Aziraphale's bookshop burned to the ground.
He would enjoy a stroll in St James Park but it would not be the same without his friend's presence. His heart sank at the idea of feeding the ducks alone, looking at Intelligence agents in black glasses and long coats.
He could have work a bit on the Bentley*** but hell, he hadn't plan to go anywhere soon.
He really should stop all this drama. It had been forty-four years since Aziraphale's sudden removal of the Earth.
He had pleaded the angel's case with Adam but the kid had shaken his head sadly and said nothing could be done.
So Crowley had just been waiting all these years, wallowing in self-pity, drinking whisky sprawled on the sofa or sleeping his memories away.
Someone knocked. He jumped on his feet with much more ease than someone drunk should be able to and almost ran to the door. He opened it largely, joy radiating from him.
The disappointment that hit him when he saw his new landlord**** instead of his old chap was so tremendous it took him a minute to close the door.
He went back to his sofa and sat down, defeated.
He felt lonely but what could he do ? Adam and the other kids had families of their own -no matter if it was just a cat or a significant other and children-, Newt and Anathema lived too far from London to be a lazy option and he wasn't going to be Hastur's best buddy.
All he wanted was his angel, with the blond curls, an appaling sense of duty and outdated reading glasses*****.
It doesn't matter how long he had to wait, Aziraphale will return, he knew it deep down in his heart.
That's when he realised it was one thing to Fall and another thing to Fall for an angel.
*1969 was the twentieth century's best year according to Crowley.
**It was one of the most boring thing ever. Peter only did three months before resigning. Since he had been raising hens -but thanks God, there was no rooster in his henhouse (too much bad memories)
***Which could have concurred against Aziraphale's library for Most Burned Thing of the Year when Aziraphale disappeared and hadn't been taken care of after that.
****The last one had just died – there are been five landlords and landladies since Aziraphale's depart and Crowley wasn't sure he actually had seen more than two before tonight.
*****Crowley could swear he saw the same model at the French court in the 17th century.