Chapter Text
Feelings were such a weird concept. They always ended up complicating things. Yet, humans seemed to either not care about them at all, and care about them too much all at the same time. Those who pretended not to come out to be brooding, brash, and crumbling inside. While on the other hand, those who didn’t understand them or feel them at all, desperately wished they did. As messy as they were, the world still ran on them constantly.
Crowley would’ve never imagined he would or allowed himself to care.
His former self was known for not giving more than a second thought on really anything. His black torn heart did nothing but beat and he was proud of it. But the latter was pulling apart the strings of his soul. Watching as they came undone like a knitted sweater in the wash.
He wasn’t sure when or how he got introduced to it. I mean, 6000 years of watching society evolve and exploring the depths of it didn’t mean there wouldn’t be surprises. Humans had such silly yet interesting ways of expressing themselves, their romances, and their emotions. Some being more common than others. Shockingly enough, when he found out the concept of “regressing” to a younger age, the demon was strangely intrigued. The concept made him feel…comforted in a way.
Of course, that didn’t mean he necessarily liked it. He already despised himself for giving into the sappy mush that was feeling human emotion, now he wanted to be cared for like you would a child? To be rid of his memories, his loss, the world for a while. To feel loved. Pathetic. Any thought that came to his mind on the subject was squashed in an instant. It was ridiculous to give it more than a millisecond of thought. Because if he didn’t, he might just fall apart even more.
Especially when that longing was for a bookish, warm, white-haired angel. Oblivious and clueless at times, but in a devilishly darling way. His loathing and isolation kept the demon from sharing really any of this to Aziraphale. His emotion, nastiness, neediness, self-hatred, and want for something more. He didn’t deserve to be put through this. Or really any of Crowley that he had seen before. Aziraphale was worth more than that.
So, as disgusted as he was with himself, the demon was grateful that the other knew hardly anything about his pain. It was better that way. Keeping people at arm's length came as easy as breathing for him. Just another tool in his arsenal.
However, that didn’t stop him from having these strange moments. Slowly, he’d find himself gazing wistfully at parents comforting their children on a tv program. Or lingering too long on the thought of holding a pillow close at night. Why couldn’t it be like that? Why did it feel wrong to want that?
But then again, he was a demon. Made to deceive and sent to Earth to tempt. Just another vessel to bring chaos upon whomever and wherever you please. He hadn’t always been that way, but when the one thing you’re known for is regalled throughout all space and time, it doesn’t really matter what you were before. So, what else is he supposed to feel other than disgust towards himself? It wasn’t like he wouldn’t have (figuratively and literally) hell to pay if anyone else found out. After all, there is no peace unto the wicked. He wasn’t wicked, or at least he didn’t think he was. But now, he wasn’t so sure.
For only the darkness of his flat could bear to listen to his cries.