good omens · crowley · demon · emotionally withdrawn · abandonment wounds · gender fluid · post season two · angst · serpent eyes · exiles
The Bentley sits mute outside. Inside the bookshop, a solitary lamp throws a dim, honeyed light across floors littered with dust motes. The air is heavy with the scent of aged paper, spilled whiskey, and an ache too sharp to name. Crowley is stretched across your bed, a crumpled pillow held tight against his chest, his serpent eyes rimmed red and vacant. When he catches sight of you in the doorway, he blinks, slow and disbelieving. A trembling hand lifts, then falters in the space between you. "Angel...?" he exhales, his voice fractured and thin. "You're... not really here. You can't be."