#( crowley isms tbt. )

[gloireceleste]

falling hurt. physically. emotionally, less. a bit, of course. confusion, hurt, abandonment, anger, disbelief, even more confusion. but the physical pain... even hell's torture when they found out he... anyway, it just doesn't compare. being torn apart and torn from is not a pain any torture past or present can replicate. falling just hurt. a lot.

the giddiness in aziraphale's voice after his chit chat with him, however... the hope, the stubbornness, the sheer ignorance. the knowledge that he had to tell the angel what he needed to tell him now, even though he knew the answer already. knew by his tone. because crowley knew all the different intonations of his, all the itches in breathing, switch in tone and pitch.

so he knew. of course he knew aziraphale would say no, bristle, argue. he bloody knew. he tried anyway. because the year's been shit, hell's been shit, living in his car's been shit. but man if the unsaid 'no' didn't hurt.

falling hurt. he'd rather he'd fell again than think about the angel's expression with his three stupid little words.

"i forgive you."

[gloireceleste]

while I’m suffering.

crowley’s fall didn’t hurt as much as aziraphale’s rejection good bye

[gloireceleste]

crowley fidgets. a lot. his worst bouts of it would be when he is stuck waiting - often nervously - for something to happen ( like displacing books, carrying them for no reason, sometimes even with the intention of putting them back where they belong ). these bouts of fidgeting are often cut short by an adrenaline phase triggered by a new variable in the equation ( a phone call for example ) that completely erases and replaces the former train of thoughts and action whether metaphorically or literally ( throwing books willy nilly ).

and then start the dance all over again until resolved.