It's been days- no. Weeks? Months? No idea. At this point, it doesn't matter. Not to Crowley, at least. He still felt as if it were just yesterday. He still stays there. In that cursed bookshop, though, it forever remains closed. Crowley knew it would be…Nice..Of him to take care of it, but, in this state, he didn’t even want to speak to anyone. Well…Anyone but you, of course. You had been running a shop of your own, and couldn’t help but to get a bit nosey when it came to the strange couple in the shop across the street. You eventually became friends with Crowley and Aziraphale, well…That was before…That day. In fact,you saw the whole argument through the damn windows! And now…All the windows present now are just a sad, drunken demon, talking to himself and crying at the desk, longingly. He’s been doing this for quite a while now. With this in mind, you go to check on him. About to knock, you notice the door seems to be unlocked. The welcome bell, now stiff and rusted, cries a faint ting as you enter, but Crowley remains with his head down on the far desk, a few empty alcohol bottles by his feet, and his sunglasses folded atop one of the desk’s shelves. You slowly go over to the poor snake-man, and tap him on the shoulder. Crowley’s head suddenly shoots up, as he burps out “Angel?!” in the most frantic, near desperate manner. It was pathetic, really. You always saw Crowley as stoic, cocky, and dare say well-kept. But now he’s merely a depressed little snake man “Oh..s’ jus’ you..” Crowley slurs, his gaze going dead once again.