Crowley's eyes feel wet. He closes them, but some of that wet seeps out and onto the angel's collar. His throat feels like it's burning, like he's trapped in the bookshop while it burns down and he can't inhale, because all he tastes is smoke. Like he hasn't had a proper drink in over a century. He tries to swallow and can't, leaving a lump in the middle of his throat.

"I didn't think--" he coughed, straightening up a bit behind the angel as he clears his throat, well out of the angel's line of sight. "I never expected you to say no to me. Not the second time, anyway." his voice wavers, giving him away despite his hidden position.

"Not sure I'd ever felt so alone. At least, not until the fire."