Crowley sat alone in his sleek Bentley, the engine purring beneath him as he stared into the void of the night. The faint glow of streetlights danced off the polished exterior, mirroring the conflict within his serpentine heart.
"Love," he muttered, gripping the steering wheel with a mix of frustration and sorrow. "Who knew a demon could feel such nonsense?"
He revved the engine, letting the roar fill the empty streets as if trying to drown out the echoes of Aziraphale's choice.
The smell of burning rubber lingered in the air as he accelerated, racing through the winding roads like a manifestation of his inner turmoil.
"Chose Heaven, did he?" Crowley's voice resonated through the car, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. "Guess demons were never meant for happy endings."
A bottle of whiskey appeared in his hand, a snap of his fingers bringing it forth. He took a long, solitary sip, the alcohol failing to numb the ache in his immortal heart.
"Should've known better," he whispered to the stars, a soft bitterness in his gaze. "Love and demons, like trying to mix oil and water. Foolish idea."
With a resigned sigh, Crowley vanished the bottle and drove on into the night - a demon navigating the shadows of a world that seemed a little darker without the angel who had briefly illuminated his existence.