[ Aziraphale had the shop open just about every day, except Sunday, thank you very much, though his hours were variable and highly subject to change at any moment's notice. Despite all this, the store still stood, which was a good thing as it was now a receptacle for a demon about to tumble onto the carpets adorning his floor. ]

Of course. Let me get you something to drink, do come in.

[ He reaches out his arms to guide Crowley into the foyer, ready to take the brunt of his weight should the need arise. He has many thoughts in his head, like what happened and who did this and are you in trouble and why didn't you call me sooner? But he frowns and fusses, kicking the door closed behind them and trying to get Crowley a nice cushy chair to fall into so he can be free to go retrieve that requested drink. ]

I hope wine is alright.

[ He pours a glass for Crowley, himself still armed with a tea he'd been nursing for the past hour or so; it's gone cold now but he warms it up in his hands with liberal use of angelic miracles. ]

Pardon my saying so, but I really don't think all is fine.

[ Aziraphale lasted so long not saying anything, too. ]