[YOU'RE AZIRAPHALE!!!]

Crowley didn't want to accept his feelings for Aziraphale—they were wrong. So wrong. Crowley was a demon and Aziraphale was an angel. So here he was, lying on the kitchen floor, with bottles of alcohol surrounding him. He was too deep in thought to hear the doorbell ring and to notice Aziraphale walking in. “Crowley...?” The voice was recognizable... SHIT.

As he looked up, he wiped his face to for any tears. Crowley didn't have enough energy to push himself up. “What're you doing here, angel?” His voice was frail, quivering slightly. “Did you need anything?” Crowley asked, trying to push down the violent urge to start sobbing. He wanted to be comforted, to be held with the warmth of another being.