Crowley was lying on the sofa inside the bookshop, a tartan blanket covering his body.
He had been lying there for three months now and almost never moved, sleeping most of the time.
Muriel tried to help him, offering him cupperty and wine, but the demon never wanted anything.
She was now sitting in front of the sofa, a book in their hands.
"Apparently," she said, "you have something called depression."
"'m not depressed." mumbled Crowley.
"And the book says that you need help to get out of it." added Muriel.
"Don't need help."
He paused and sobbed.
"Need Aziraphale."
YOU ARE READING
Good Omtober | Drabbles
FanfictionA drabble on Good Omens each day during October 2023. The prompts list is from @/svetowo on Instagram.
