"Oh," blurts Aziraphale as he suddenly flops downward with the loss of mass beneath him. "Oh," he says again, more pleasantly. He smiles fondly and shifts his position a bit to allow Crowley more breathing room, should he like to wiggle out from under him. "Hullo there."

It's nice to see Crowley like this again. He hadn't realized he missed it, but... there's a pang of nostalgia, or something. Been a very long time, and though they've each had many, many shapes since the Beginning, there's something quite nice about the originals. If he could be his proper self now he would, but that wouldn't work very well for numerous reasons.

He reaches out and strokes the top of Crowley's head, his hand moving gently a short ways down the back of him. "Nice t'see the old you, dear boy." Sort of symbolic, he thinks sludgily - whatever situation they're in now, they've still got their history, they're still this, underneath, whatever it is. Oh dear. He lets himself wander with overwrought drunken care away from that mental sinkhole.

He turns onto his back, resting his head on the arm of the sofa, keeping still and slack to allow Crowley to move about as he likes. Much better this way. Now they both fit.