She sinks slowly into a crouch opposite him, eyeing him carefully. It makes sense that someone as powerful as him would be unused to mortal inconveniences like the flu, and would not be the most adept at handling it. She would not go so far as to call it a curse, but maybe for someone like him, who has probably dealt in actual curses, it may as well be.

"Do you want help getting up?" she offers. While Aziraphale may be comfortable enough on the floor, he is also asleep. "Your bed is not that far away."