when the demonic miracle pushes him towards slumber, the last thought on his mind is about crowley. his eyes flutter closed, nearly resisting before ultimately drifting off into a slumber. that's how he sleeps, face turned towards crowley like a sunflower searching for the sun, one hand slightly outstretched in front of him.
in his dreams, they are back at his shop. crowley is kicking off his shoes, complaining loudly about what a terrible night they'd had—they hadn't—pouring the both of them a glass of one of aziraphale's finer vintages. aziraphale puts on one of his records and pushes back against crowley's complaints, regaling him with the historic facts of the play they'd just seen.
it's a perfect evening. just of two of them in the shop. )
no subject
when the demonic miracle pushes him towards slumber, the last thought on his mind is about crowley. his eyes flutter closed, nearly resisting before ultimately drifting off into a slumber. that's how he sleeps, face turned towards crowley like a sunflower searching for the sun, one hand slightly outstretched in front of him.
in his dreams, they are back at his shop. crowley is kicking off his shoes, complaining loudly about what a terrible night they'd had—they hadn't—pouring the both of them a glass of one of aziraphale's finer vintages. aziraphale puts on one of his records and pushes back against crowley's complaints, regaling him with the historic facts of the play they'd just seen.
it's a perfect evening. just of two of them in the shop. )