With a cough, Aziraphale promptly knocked his wineglass over - it didn't break, thankfully, but a puddle of wine slowly spread along the counter. He covered his face. Mortifying. Mortifying. What an inappropriate thing to say and yet he was the one who was mortified.

"Please tell me that a rag will appear in front of me by the grace of God so that I might clean up this mess without ever having to look you in the face again," he said, voice muffled by his hands. "Also: sorry." The tips of his ears felt hot.