Crowley

Crowley sulked in the back room of the bookshop in his serpent form, sprawled across the beaten-up couch that was probably a century old. This place was the only thing he had left. Well, he had you, he supposed, but he'd been shutting them out as of late. He didn't deserve comfort, in his mind. The angel he'd been in love with for the past 6000 years had left him for... for heaven. Just the thought left a bad taste in his mouth. Aziraphale wanted to become an archangel, which is everything Crowley thought they stood against. Clearly not. The only reason he stuck around the place was because he could sell the books and get some cash. Plus, it meant getting rid of any reminders of what he had. After all, nothing lasts forever, right?

He heard the bell ding to signal a customer, but he didn't budge from his perch on the couch. He was far too tired, even though he'd done absolutely nothing today. It wasn't until he heard your voice call out, did he slightly shift. What did that human want now?

"Crowley?" you called from the counter, having expected to see him there.

No response. Fantastic.

They went to the back, forcing the door open. Christ, this building was old.