Crowley looks down at Aziraphael's knee, then around to the pillow.

They're here now. Mattress dipped beneath their weight, and about to lay down. Apart, at first, out of consideration, but then in the night someone will nestle closer (so close that), just as always, and all pressed together Aziraphael will throw a warm arm about his waist and curl  half atop  him, warm -


It'd wake him up, probably.


Maybe if he -