Oh dear, there went Crowley, and Az resisted the urge to hurry after him, instead walking as sedately as he could. Was he angry? Was he enacting part of a ritual entrance that Aziraphale, in the comparatively short period between now and before luxurious life ended, had forgotten?

He gestured at Crowley when he entered the restaurant, a vague indication--I'm with him.

With him. Az bit the inside of his cheek and followed Crowley to the usual table for the first time in twenty-odd years.