Now that Crowley’s sitting up, Aziraphale takes the opportunity to reach over to the table next to the cot, where he left a stoneware bottle of water for the angel earlier. It’s stayed full all day at his request; he offers it to his lover now with a sympathetic smile.

“I did.” His new purchase is already in the carriage; they’ll find a harp in Florence, perhaps pick one out together. “We can go whenever you’re ready.”