Aziraphale had a suspicion some drinking direct from the bottle was in order, so a glass seemed superfluous. He frowns, watching Spike drink.

"The, er, the blood... problem." He adjusts his glasses uncomfortably. "I'm afraid I cannot help you with..." He waves his hand unhelpfully at the door. "Much as I might like to."

He hesitates, then allows himself to sit primly on the couch a little distance from Spike. "Are you all right?" he asks in a low voice.