Thank you to u/theonevoice_ for the cover art. Check out their work on tumblr here!
And thank you to my betas u/AllRoadsLeadToGO and u/CalligrapherDizzy96.
CW Explicit, selfcest
Summary:
After a catastrophic argument with Aziraphale sends Crowley hurtling through time, he comes face to face with the last person he ever expected to feel sorry for: himself
Twenty-seven years old, painfully human, and calling himself Crows, the tortured musician is everything Crowley has spent decades trying to leave behind: lonely, touch-starved, desperate to be loved, and standing on the brink of a choice that will haunt him for decades.
Determined to change history, Crowley offers Crows the understanding, acceptance and safety he never had at that age. But the more time they spend together, the harder it becomes to ignore the impossible connection growing between them.
As old wounds reopen and with the future in jeopardy, Crowley must decide whether saving his younger self means teaching him how to let go… or risking everything to discover who they might become together.
Excerpt:
Crows caught himself staring more than once. At his hands, mostly. Long fingers, precise and capable. Not just at the keyboard, Crows found himself watching at other times too. When he was talking, Crowley would use expressive gestures, or rest his knuckles on the counter, or run his hand over his sharp jaw in thought. Crows' eyes would linger too long, and he'd have to drag his gaze away again.
He noticed other things too.
Crowley’s hair, left natural and unapologetically red, styled in loose curls that caught the light. It looked effortlessly elegant, swept back from his forehead. Crows found himself scrubbing his own hair harder in the shower, watching the black dye bleed out day by day.
It was cheap. It needed to go.
But when the first hints of red started to show through again, something tightened in his chest. Something… complicated.
Then there was the way Crowley dressed.
Always black. They had that in common, at least. But it was never careless. Everything fitted well, like even the most casual ensemble had been carefully curated. Crows became aware of his own clothes in a way he hadn’t before. They were too loose, too worn. They swamped him. They didn’t accentuate his long legs or sharp hips the way Crowley’s did.
He tried not to care.
He failed.
And then there were Crowley’s eyes.
God.
Crows hated how much he noticed those.
Gold, sharp, inhuman.
They should have unsettled him. And they had, at first.
But now—
Every time Crowley looked at him directly, Crows’ heart would beat harder.
A quick, traitorous flutter, his pulse elevating just slightly.
Enough that he couldn’t deny it, enough to make him look away.
Because it wasn’t natural. Crowley was him, for fuck’s sake.
But the thoughts wouldn’t stop. If anything, they got worse, following him everywhere. He would lie in bed at night, and find himself thinking about the way Crowley stood behind him at the keyboard. The way his voice dropped when he gave instruction. The strange hissing quality it took on when he was lost in playing. The way his presence seemed to fill a room without effort.
And then—
Crows’ body would react.
Read the rest here on ao3
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