Walking back to his flat in the late night almost-silence while shoving fries down his gullet is a lovely respite from the sensory onslaught and staggering migraine he experienced earlier. The dark mutes all the details around him and his solitude feels more intentional. Wrong, but more intentional. It’s like the missing furniture. There’s a space in Crowley’s life where someone should be, but it’s empty. Maybe, wherever they went, they took Crowley with them. Maybe they left this empty, ravaged shell behind. #fanfiction #good_omens #aziraphale/crowley