Random Oneshots Pt. 2

Aziraphale x Crowley: {Missing You} [F]

POV: 3rd Person

  Crowley lies on the angel's bed. There are bottles scattered around the room, his hair has been long overgrown but he doesn't go out to get it done. It's been months since Aziraphale had left him to go to heaven. Crowley wishes for him to be happy, happy with his decision to leave Crowley even if the demon is hurt in the process.

  Aziraphale is probably enjoying his time, changing the world and making it a better place while he lays in a room that was full of books, warm hues of colors, but it felt so cold. He'd laid there ever since Aziraphale left, conjuring himself new bottles of alcohol and laudanum to consume.

  The room had technically become his nest, he'd never left it, hadn't showered - not that he'd ever need to - and his glasses were somewhere else. He'd been sobbing on and off. Sobbing until he got tired and couldn't breathe, and until then, he'd drink a bit more, and take a bit more of the laudanum.

  He'd laid out all of Aziraphale's on-earth outfits that he didn't take with him, hand grasping at the bow tie that had miraculously gotten into his pocket when he went back and sat in the Bentley. That moment when their eyes met, when Aziraphale went with the Metatron. He'd hoped that the angel would change his mind and come back.

  It was always too late when Crowley decided to act on something. He was always too late. How the bookshop burnt down, how it's only now, after 6,000 years, that he'd acted on his feelings and gotten hurt.

  Stupid Crowley. He'll never come back.

  He wept, long hands tightening around the bow tie, shaking on the bed, face planted onto the pillow that still lingered with Aziraphale's scent, the old smell before perfume or anything had been made. The scent he remembered when he made Nebula and Aziraphale had praised him on how pretty the universe was.

  And how he'd hugged him after Crowley's shoulders dropped with disappointment and frowned, complaining about how 6,000 years was not enough for the Nebula to start or do anything.

  How he'd let Crowley under his wing to shield him from the rain. How he'd hugged Crowley again after seeing his upset face towards the children who don't know what was going to happen once the ark took off.

  "Angel.." he sobs, curling up even deeper into himself. With his worsening mood within every minute of every new day, the worse he looks, and he doesn't bother to change it because it doesn't matter now.

  "C-Crowley?" He could hear Muriel try again as they knocked on the door. It must've been another day by now because Muriel had only stopped to go upstairs every day, and only once because they'd always thought that maybe Crowley would come out.

  Even Maggie and Nina had tried to get him out during the first few weeks, but had given up after the shouts he'd given back. Yelling and screaming, throwing tantrums for them to leave him alone. Within each interaction with others, he'd only found his temper to shoot up into the heavens.

  Even Beelzebub and a few demons had visited him, seeing him in this state, but nothing had worked. He was just better off here by himself.

  "Go. Away." He says in a warning tone, and then screams, curling up more into a ball and into his chest, a hand grasping at his hair while the other held the bow tie close to his chest along with a nice beige coat.

  And Muriel gets the message, and leaves him alone.

ʚɞ

  Aziraphale sits at his desk, writing away on stacks and stacks of paperwork. He'd missed Crowley the second he stepped on the elevator with the Metatron, which was why he'd left Crowley his bow tie.