[When Aziraphale awakes, it will be to darkness - or rather a canopy of inky black feathers shielding him from the fierce and deadly elements of their bedroom, while the warm glow of the lamplight peeks through the spaces between Crowley's primaries. It gives just the slightest tint of red to the shiny blackness of it all.
Aziraphale's hand is linked with another; smooth, cool, and dry long fingers tangled with his own.
The only sound is the ticking of a clock and the scratch of a pen on paper. Crowley's lower half is visible, but the wing sheltering Aziraphale from any potential indoor rainstorms or meteor showers blocks his upper half from view.
There is a distinct smell of cocoa still on the bedside table, still as fresh as when Crowley miracled it there.]
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Aziraphale's hand is linked with another; smooth, cool, and dry long fingers tangled with his own.
The only sound is the ticking of a clock and the scratch of a pen on paper. Crowley's lower half is visible, but the wing sheltering Aziraphale from any potential indoor rainstorms or meteor showers blocks his upper half from view.
There is a distinct smell of cocoa still on the bedside table, still as fresh as when Crowley miracled it there.]