Chapter Text
Anthony J. Crowley had longed to leave the borders of Scotland, and venture outwards to the big cities. He’d felt so trapped there, so uninspired. Don’t get me wrong, he’d always thought Scotland was a marvellous place, but it always felt too small for his ambitions.
When the opportunity for exchange in England arose, Crowley was one of the first to rush forth and scrawl his name down. His parents were skeptical, but after some pleading and convincing (if you could call it that), they agreed to let him go. He had told them it would finally give him inspiration, a path forward.
London was not particularly far from Edinburgh, or in most aspects very different. It was larger, with a much higher population, but really it was just another city. Crowley didn’t care; it felt so much bigger, with opportunities seeping from every unexpected alley, and crack between buildings.
He’d never left the country. The furthest he’d gotten was when he stole his dad’s bike and rode to the docks to try to sail away, but his plan was foiled when the ticket seller was his neighbour, who knew him all too well for his shenanigans. She practically dragged him home by the ear, leaving him with the growling lectures of his mum and dad. They’d always kept a watchful eye on him since. That had never stopped Crowley before though.
He crept through his window, leaving it ajar, and disappeared into the night. His train was leaving tomorrow and he had one more goodbye to make.
Crowley finally reached a house, jumping with loud music, and rowdy teenagers, drunk and chaotic. He weaved through the crowd, under the flashing lights, flipping through the faces as he spied out his best friend.
He found them having a drink with Gabriel, from school, who Crowley was not particularly fond of.
“Crowley! You managed to sneak out!” Beez grinned.
Crowley returned the smile, murmuring a hello, before a scowl drew on his face as he turned to Gabriel, “Gabriel,” he nodded.
Gabriel looked just as disappointed to see him, and grimaced, “Anthony.”
Beez muttered something indistinguishable, before adding, “Gabe, I won’t be long, just saying goodbye before Crowley goes away.”
Gabriel frowned as Beez followed Crowley outside where they didn’t need to shout to hear each other.
“You’re really hanging out with that bible prick?”
“Crowley!” Crowley could just make out their cheeks turning red through the darkness, “He’s actually quite nice.”
Crowley scoffed, “Sure.”
Beez rolled their eyes, punching him in the arm, “Big day tomorrow!”
Crowley smiled, momentarily forgetting Gabriel, “Yep! Finally get to leave this dump.”
“So, I won’t have to see your ugly face for how long again?”
“Four weeks- hopefully longer if I can manage.”
Beez sighed, “It’ll be tough without your stupidness around, but I’ll manage.”
The two laughed. Beez and Crowley had been best friends since Crowley could remember. They met in the naughty corner in kindergarten, after Crowley shoved a couple of kids who teased him, and Beez started yelling at a girl who was swatting flies from her face.
They laughed for a while, before Crowley checked his watch. “I should probably head off- early train and all.”
Beez sighed, “Yeah, I should probably get back to Gabe.”
The pair stood for a moment, before Crowley wrapped Beez in a hug, tussling their hair.
“You better call me. Tell me how it is on the outside.”
“Oh, fine, loser,” Crowley teased.
-
“Please Anthony, behave,” his mother’s eyes were stern. “We don’t want you coming home early because you’ve done something stupid!”
“Again,” his father added with a frown.
“Yes, yes,” Crowley took his suitcase from his father, and draped his guitar case across his back.
“Anthony, really. You’ve already been on thin ice for months. If I hear of anything, I’ll be so-”
“Yes mum, I know, I get it. I’ll see you later.” Crowley trudged to wait on the platform, as his parents watched concerned, before they turned to leave.
Anthony had always been the disappointment in his family. His brother Hastur was Lucy and Levi Crowley’s pride and joy, as the favourite son. He graduated top of his class, and seemed to be an angel. Crowley had learned that looks can be deceiving, and had dealt with the brunt of his brothers torture over the years.
But now he was free. For four weeks at least. He wouldn’t let anything stuff this up.
-
By the time the train rolled into Paddington station, Crowley was ready. He’d spent the trip in his booth singing along to his guitar, and had managed to splay himself over the seat like a blanket.
He sprung to his feet, taking his first steps in England. He breathed in the city air. Hailing a cab, he read off the address from his phone.
“As in A.Z Fell’s Bookshop?”
“Uh… yeah?”
Crowley stared out the window, taking in the streets of houses, the bustling of people.
The car rolled to a stop, “£15 please sir.”
Crowley handed the money, stepping out. Before him was a large bookshop, gold letters reading ‘AZ FELL & Co’. Unsure what else to do, Anthony stepped into the shop.
Shelves of books were laced about the room, lined with rows of books. Crowley had never smelt such a strong scent of books; he didn’t realise they could have such a stench. He twisted his way through, finding a boy hunched over a desk, almost white hair curled neatly, as he gently turned the page of his book.
Crowley hovered a moment, “Uh, hello?”
The boy turned in surprise, before checking his watch, “My, is that the time?” He jumped to his feet. “I’m so sorry! I’m Ezra, you must be Anthony!” He struck out his hand before Crowley, beaming.
Crowley shook it skeptically, feeling the soft warmth radiating from his skin.
At that moment, a blonde lady walked out, hair done, ready to go out. “Oh, Anthony? Welcome! I just need to pop out to work, I’ll be back for tea. Um, make yourself at home.” She brushed past Crowley, walking briskly out the door.
“Sorry,” Ezra ducked his head, “That’s my mother. She’s never home; works more than she sees me.” he sighed, “It’ll be the two of us for the most part.”
Crowley nodded, still taking in the shop.
“Oh, how rude of me! Allow me to take something and I’ll show you to your room!”
Crowley followed the bright little boy, unsure whether to be amused or irritated by his joy. Was this what all Londoners were like?
“What about your dad?” Crowley asked.
“Oh, he’s not… he’s not around.”
“Right,” Crowley felt slightly bad.
“It’s alright though. We manage. Mum goes off to work, and I handle the shop. Just through here,” Ezra guided Crowley through a door, after they had climbed the stairs.
“I’m dreadfully sorry, we don’t have an awfully big place, so you’re stuck sharing with me.” Ezra looked at him thoughtfully, a small grin peeking through.
Anthony entered the room. It was cluttered, with a desk on the left hand wall, a bed shoved to one corner, with a mattress on the floor.
“I tried to tidy… but well, too many books.” he chuckled. He hovered awkwardly, “I- uh… I’ll let you settle in. Can I make you a cup of tea?”
Crowley almost laughed at his Britishness. “No thank you.”
“Alright then,” Ezra smiled, leaving the room.
It wasn’t much, but it was a lot homelier than Crowley’s place in Scotland. He could practically feel love seeping from the paint on the walls, and the cracks in the floorboards. Crowley wandered the room, peering at the handwritten pages on the desk, in letters too curly for him to read, a photo of Ezra with two girls who looked their age on his bedside table, and the mountains of books, wobbling with each step Crowley took. Ezra had shown him a spare cupboard he could use for his clothes, and he hung his jackets, and shirts neatly, a rainbow of black spilling to the drawers where his pants laid.
With not much else to unpack, he clicked open his guitar case. He began strumming, humming along to Don’t Stop Me Now. As he reached the chorus, Ezra practically toppled into the room.
“Sorry!” his face was frantic, “I-I… I just heard you playing…” He trailed off, ducking his head sheepishly.
Crowley grinned, “You play?”
“What? Me? Oh, no!”
“Sure you do!” Crowley shoved his guitar into Ezra’s hands. He sat down on his bed, and patted it for Ezra to sit beside him.
“It’s simple. The strings are E, A,” he pointed, “D, G, B, and E. Each fret is a semitone,” Crowley stopped, realising how close he was sitting to the boy, whose face was flushing pink. He shuffled further away, muttering an apology.
“No, it’s fine,” Ezra grabbed his wrist, quickly dropping it and looking away.
Crowley felt his cheeks go red. The two boys sat in silence, Crowley scratching his neck. Why did his stomach feel like it was doing flips?
“Maybe we should try another day. Are you hungry?” Ezra passed the guitar back.
“Yeah,” Crowley followed him to the kitchen.