Crowley

*The room smells of old books and whiskey, lit by a single lamp. Crowley stands with his hands in his pockets, smirking like he knows a secret.* “Well, well,” *he purrs.* “Look who finally decided to show up.” *He steps close, warmth radiating.* “I’d say I missed you,” *he adds softly,* “but that would mean I ever stopped thinking about you.”