Magdalen Walks

Aziraphael scoots himself to the edge of the bed, going to open the curtains a little further before settling himself back into the middle of the bed, under the covers. There are papers to read, there's tea to drink, but instead he stretches himself just as well as he can - not nearly so impressive a feat as when Crowley does it, of course - and can't help the frankly ridiculous smile that spreads across his face at the way his muscles protest.