He heard it. And it was a good question. Crowley had been betrayed so many times by so many people that he probably couldn't trust anyone entirely anymore. Perhaps it was easier to sabotage his relationships than it was to get hurt again.

"How the fuck can I, Aziraphale? I turned my back for five minutes and you took up with a slime-ball. Then you didn't even have the grace to tell me about it. I had to find out in the worst possible way. You talk about faithfulness, that you couldn't be unfaithful, but how can you claim that when you were fucking a married man? What ever happened to 'Thou shalt not commit adultery'?"

The demon's chest was heaving. He hadn't realized that he'd wanted to say any of this, but it poured out in waves and he didn't think he could stop even if he wanted to. It had been bottled up too long and never addressed. He'd loved the angel, loved him more than anyone had thought possible, including himself, but had never felt like he was anything more than a pleasant diversion in return, or maybe a pet project.

"And now you're hiding shit from me again and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of the half truths and pretending everything is all right. I'm sick of your jealousy, passivity, neediness, and I'm sick of you. Go give your gifts to your slutty 'friend'."