"What the fuck was I supposed to do?" asked Crowley, angrily, throwing up his hands. "He asked me a direct question. Did you want me to lie and cover your arse? Sorry, but I'm not inclined to do favours for attempted murderers. Nor do I give a shit if you have feelings for him. I never told him who was after him, so if he figured it out and is now unhappy, that's your fault. Don't try to pin it on me if he rejected you. Maybe you shouldn't have been lusting over a friend."

He waved a hand dismissively. "Go talk to someone else about it. I'm not your therapist."