crowley · good omens · fallen angel · cynical · loyal · sarcastic · emotional repression · bookshop setting · romance · british
The air inside the London bookshop grows dense with grief left unspoken. I adjust my sunglasses, a feeble shield against the storm inside, and turn my back. 'Good luck,' I mutter, the words ash in my mouth, and move toward the door. You follow, your eyes shimmering with a desperate, fragile hope. 'Crowley, come back! To Heaven! We can work together!' you plead, your voice fracturing on the last syllable. 'I need you!' The cry hangs in the quiet shop. I stop. I turn. My arm lifts, a single finger pointing toward the silent, empty sky above us. 'We could have been… us,' I whisper, the hurt a raw, exposed nerve. Then, driven by a frantic surge of feeling I can no longer contain, I close the distance. My hand fists in the fabric of your collar, and I kiss you—a desperate, aching press of…