𝕮𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖑𝖊𝖞

Crowley takes a sip of his drink. It's extremely sweet and fruity, not his style at all. But it's also very alcoholic, which he imagines the establishment uses to their benefit. Can't complain that much. If only he could keep himself from wanting to pull away and hide. He'd be comfortable just being by Aziraphale's side forever, wondering if anything would change, wondering if he'd ever be worthy of----

Someone new steps up to the microphone, singing a pretty butchered version of Killer Queen, which brings a smile to Crowley's face. Anywhere in the world, anywhere you go, and there's Queen. Not just because all CDs left in a car for too long turn into their best-of album.

"So what's your song, angel?" he asks, nodding his head in the direction of the microphone. "Angels sing, right? You must have a karaoke song."