The night has stilled all around them in the lateness of the hour, no one and nothing awake outside save for some bugs zipping around by a street light. It's like this that Aziraphale feels that they are truly alone and not under someone's watchful gaze that might be lurking about. No, there is a safety here, a calming sensation. And truthfully his body is too boneless and sated to do anything else at the moment but rest, even if what he really wants is to stay up and stretch this night out as long as possible by any means. Should they run out of conversation, Aziraphale would be more than happy to just lie there in silence listening to the rhythm of their breathing fall in and out of sync.

Sleep, however, sounds like both a reasonable and desirable suggestion, now that Aziraphale is warm and clean and smelling of fresh linens left out to dry in sunlight. He nods his assurance into Crowley's chest and crawls in close, nuzzling his neck and generally invading his space. It will be hard to be there in the morning when sense starts to return to him and the dread creeps in with the daylight, but it will get better the next morning. Oh, how he hopes that Crowley will be here the next morning and the one after that.

This is what he last thinks before he drifts off to sleep again, and this time his dreams, intangible and amorphous as they are, only leave him with positive half-memories upon waking.