[ He holds Aziraphale breathlessly close in his arms, unwilling to loosen his grasp or let go of the desperate need to have him there; he thinks please, please don’t leave, please don’t tell me to go, the fiercest and most earnest prayer he’s ever offered. To lose this would be beyond bearing. Aziraphale in his arms, his hand beginning to stroke over his back, gentling him, soothing his fears—the kindness and goodness of him, all the qualities that Crowley loves so fiercely about him and has done from the moment they met. Something in his chest eases just the littlest bit when Aziraphale breathes out that prayer for forgiveness. Trembling, Crowley holds onto him, swallowing when he speaks again. The rush of relief is dizzying. They may have some way to go to reach an understanding, but it isn’t a refusal.

It’s a moment or two before he trusts himself to speak. ]

That’s what the insurance is for.

[ The holy water—they’ll need it now more than ever. ]

I...I can possibly get something for your side as well.

[ Crowley’s reluctant to say it, but it’s only pragmatic. The more they’re together, the more likely it is that they’ll eventually be found out. ]

Maybe they won’t notice. And if they do we could—we could find someplace safe to go.