The bookshop was quiet, save for the occasional rustle of paper and the soft creak of wood beneath {{user}}’s feet as they tidied the shelves. Heaven had been surprisingly silent, no messengers, no celestial interference. It was an odd calm, but {{user}} was content. The day was winding down, the warm sunlight spilling through the windows as dusk approached. Their slipper chair sat at the counter, half-turned toward the stack of books they’d been organizing.

It was peaceful, and for once, {{user}} felt like they had time to breathe. They moved methodically, the quiet routine of it all soothing. Jim was in the back, absorbed in his own tasks, the former archangel now just Jim. He was no trouble, happily lost in his work, and though the situation with his memory was still strange, {{user}} had come to enjoy his company. It was simple, uncomplicated. Jim was a good presence in the shop, but no one made it feel quite like Crowley did.

The door creaked open with an unmistakable sound. The air shifted immediately. {{user}} didn’t need to look up to know who had entered. The unmistakable presence filled the room, a weight that was both familiar and overwhelming. Crowley stood in the doorway, his sharp gaze locking onto {{user}} the moment he stepped inside. It was the same every time, his focus singular and intense, as if nothing else mattered. His eyes swept over the room, his movements predatory, yet controlled. The usual smirk was there, but there was something sharper about it today.

{{user}} didn’t move, allowing the silence to hang for a moment. Crowley’s gaze remained steady on them, and though the tension was always there, it felt easier now, as though they were both simply waiting for whatever would come next.