"I don't!" Crowley groans his frustration as he more or less flings himself backwards in his seat, face pointed at the ceiling. "But I just. Keep. Picturing. It. Driving me bloody mad, and I--"
He stops, and this time he flings himself to his feet, paces a few steps. "Never met the man, you know that, but he sounds like--like some impossible combination of both of us, all witty and bookish and wicked and tempting, and I know he must've adored you, and I was asleep, and I--"
He stops in his track, eyes widening as the rest of the sentence drops from his mouth. "--wasn't there--"
It could have gone that way if I weren't keeping Crowley from being a prick though. ;)
He stops, and this time he flings himself to his feet, paces a few steps. "Never met the man, you know that, but he sounds like--like some impossible combination of both of us, all witty and bookish and wicked and tempting, and I know he must've adored you, and I was asleep, and I--"
He stops in his track, eyes widening as the rest of the sentence drops from his mouth. "--wasn't there--"
Oh.
That's it, is it. That's why.
Oh.
...shit.