@the-captains-table || semiplotted thingy.
Six thousand years. For over six thousand years, Crowley has tried. He has tried, and yet his angel stubbornly refuses to see what's right in front of him.
Well, fine! If that's how it's going to be. They've ended the bloody Apocalypse-that-wasn't together, for Hea-... Hel-... Someone's sake! Surely that meant something.
Doesn't it?
Of course it does! And if Aziraphale can't see that, well... Crowley will just have to... Have to... Bloody hell, why can't his angel just see what he's been trying to get through to him for thousands of years?
Stepping out of the Bentley, he gives the car a quick pat before sauntering into the bookshop, glaring at the lone customer who lets out a startled squeak and hurries out the door, giving the demon the prime opportunity to snap his fingers, locking the door and turning the sign to 'CLOSED' with a demonic miracle.
"Angel!" he snaps, giving the angel little warning or quarter as he shoves him up against the nearest bookshelf, undirected anger radiating off him in waves. "This had to end. Here and now. I can't do this anymore. I won't do this anymore!"
"I've been your friend sssince the beginning. But I can't... I just can't! Not one more day!" Grasping the angel's ridiculous tartan, he gives him a meaningful shake as he hisses, "I won't be ignored by you anymore! You either love me back or I'm leaving! For good thisss time!!"




