For as much Love as there is in Aziraphale's heart, has been, by virtue of what he is, there's a special place in it reserved only, forever only, for Crowley. No one else can fit, no one else can claim it, and the angel keeps it dearly and close.

He lets his thoughts envelop the demon, wrap themselves around him, unclear and vibrant and colorful, mixing together, fading the edges. Stay here, with him, he offers, he asks.

Another quiet sound, a groan, his hands gripping on the back of Crowley's shoulders. If he could pull him any closer, he would. He's almost afraid he can't let go.