Crowley sat in the cluttered bookshop. Thinking. Dreaming, maybe. Although nothing had changed, everything changed. Every piece of furniture was in it’s place, and he made sure it stayed just the way Aziraphale left it, not allowing Muriel to rearrange, change it all. But at the same time, it felt empty without his Angel. The Angel that chose heaven over him.

He swished around a cup of whiskey, swirling the glass to watch the liquid turn. Slumped against the armchair. Staring off into space.