Crowley switches his glass to his other hand -- reaches out and laces his fingers through Aziraphale's. His grip is firm, more confident than before, even if he still looks a little pale and unsteady around the edges.

"I'd stay over," he confirms, "if I could. I'd never leave if I didn't have to. Well. Probably would have to leave to eat and all that. Other than the necessary, you know."

Other than that, he'd never leave Aziraphale's side if he could help it. Would happily camp out here, in this terribly small room, forever. He takes a sip of the wine again, awkwardly trying to cover from his verbal stumble. Not the smoothest, he has to admit, but surely he gets points for trying?