Aziraphael's sigh comes out a touch less exasperated than it had started. He turns carefully onto his back, scooting up so that he's leaning against the headboard, and reaches for the book that has no business not being on the bedside table.

"I really am quite put out," he assures the sleeping figure beside him as he opens to the bookmarked page. The soft sounds of the surf drift in the window on a gentle breeze, and he has to suppress a contented sigh.

One hand holds the book; the other slides down to rest in Crowley's hair.