[Crowley snaps his fingers, the first miracle he's really done since Azirapahle arrived, using it to refill the glass. He's taking his time with his own drink, it's more about the ritual of it right now, something to do with himself.]

They were a gift, meant to be a snack, but I didn't have it in myself to eat them.

[Crowley bites his tongue against a sigh when Aziraphale touches him. He hasn't made it six thousand years to be undone by a little physical affection, especially not when it's outside Aziraphale's control.

When he breathes out, his chest feels too tight.] I don't — mind. You can do whatever you need.