Aziraphale does. He cares quite a great deal about everything to do with Odin, Crowley, and the entire memory business. He’s pretty certain that he’s developed a clear idea about what happened and the circumstances surrounding it, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t want to hear anything else that Crowley might possibly have to tell him about it. There was no such thing as too much information.

Especially not now.

“Thank you,” he says. The glasses reappear on the table near his elbow, pushed there by Crowley, and he stops fiddling with the top of the wine bottle. There was never any issue there anyway.

He’s overly aware of Crowley standing behind him, far too close, and he feels anxiety sparking underneath his skin. It’s fine, he tells himself and pours the wine into the glasses. “I had a similar conversation with him. I believe he meant your memories from the last time you were here. Not, well, Earth,” Aziraphale continues on. He overfills the wine glasses, almost to the point of spilling and he doesn’t think about that either.

It’s fine.

“Said something about how I was the only iteration of any being that currently exists with those memories.”

The bottle clinks against the table as he sets it back down. Curling his fingers around the stems of the glasses, he lifts them off the table.

“It’s, ah. Er-” He forgets what he had meant to say. When he turns around, Crowley is right there. Not that it’s a surprise. He’s already known he was standing that close, of course. Of course, but he hadn’t realised just how close.