Crowley wakes slowly, and at first reluctantly. Waking is rarely a pleasant prospect, and in the haze between sleep and reality recent habits of wanting to hide are hard to overcome. Sleep is an excellent place for hiding from things you don't want to think about.

But there's a comforting smell nearby, and a soft touch to his face. They wrap warmth around him.

Crowley rouses with a sigh, turning his face towards that touch, mouth upturned for a kiss even before his eyes are open. "Mi demonio más querido," he murmurs sleepily, reaching up a hand and wrapping it around Aziraphale's neck.