Don’t wake up, Crowley told himself.

In any other situation, it wouldn’t have seemed important. He sat on the couch. Golden Girls played on the screen in front of him. He had his feet up on the table in front of him, next to the wine and the fruit platter.

None of that mattered. The angel sitting on the couch next to him was what mattered. And not just sitting there next to him. Sitting right next to him. Leaning into him, Crowley’s arm around him.

Not his usual dream. Crowley dreamt a lot*, as often with Aziraphale in it, but not as casual as this. It was usually them going out, doing their normal. Or staying in, doing more usual. Or doing things that they had never done. Dreams were like that, Crowley sometimes let his mind go on without deliberate input.

Aziraphale was soft. Crowley had known it to look at him, but it was another thing with Aziraphale’s head on his shoulder, staring ahead at Crowley’s favourite show, asking questions that reverberated against Crowley’s chest.

That was all. Crowley hadn’t thought about this while awake. At least, he didn’t remember having done so. Or maybe he thought about it all the time, but he ignored it, because he’d been waiting to take his angel home for thousands of years.** And now that they were here…

It was a dream. Don’t wake up, he reminded himself. If he did, this would be gone. This was really all he wanted right now. Later he might want to move, go for a drive, cause some trouble somewhere. He wouldn’t want to stay here forever.

Except for right now. Right now he wanted to.

“Is everything all right?”

“‘S fine, angel.”

Don’t wake up.

Aziraphale slipped his fingers over the back of Crowley’s hand. Crowley worried that if he did anything more than he already was doing his brain wouldn’t be able to process it and that would wake him up.

“How many episodes are there?”

“Hundred and eighty.”

“Goodness.” Aziraphale chuckled. “Well, that means we’ll be at this for a while.”

Crowley swallowed. Don’t wake up.

“Shall we go to dinner? I think we’ve been at this all day.”

“Yeah.”

Except that meant moving. Crowley couldn’t move, couldn’t ruin this.

Aziraphale squeezed his hand, but didn’t move. If Crowley couldn’t keep him there with his mind- well, it was his dream. He could keep Aziraphale here as long as he wanted. As long as he didn’t wake up.

But Aziraphale left him. Crowley felt cold. He could have put on another episode. Was it ending?

“Crowley?”

The demon rearranged his sunglasses, as though they hadn’t been perfectly on his face the entire time. “Yep?”

“Did you not want to get out?” Aziraphale either looked concerned or put out. Crowley didn’t want to think about it.

“I don’t want to wake up.”

“Pardon?”

Crowley said nothing. He felt far too awake now and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Aziraphale smiled down at him. “Come on, dear. Let’s go for dinner.”

Crowley went with him. They went to the Ritz. Crowley didn’t wake up at all.

He was already awake.

---

*As he slept a lot and tended to practice his brand of creative thought.

**Television hadn’t been around for all that long either. Not enough time for him to imagine this particular scenario. So he says.