It’s nothing much, but it feels appropriate. It feels like the right time or as right as it could get with all things considered. Despite all of his anger and frustration, Aziraphale has yet to forget just how trying this entire day has been. How Crowley nearly ripped himself out of existence, Odin’s insulting dismissals, and the fears of Aziraphale’s that were given further strength.

“Anything is a bit broad,” he teases. It’s weak, but preferable to acknowledging that he’s worried about how Crowley might receive him. Might react. It’s probably fine, but he can’t help but wonder if it might not be.

Perhaps, he's just looking for something to be wrong?

He lets go of Crowley’s hand, briefly unwinding himself from him, before reaching out to wrap his arms around him in an undemanding embrace. There’s room for him to break away, to release himself from Aziraphale’s grip, but Aziraphale hopes that he doesn’t. Hopes that he’ll let him, that he’ll bend to accommodate their slight difference in height, and lean into it.