Aziraphale was finding that love could be a quite a—Oh, dear. Crowley must be rubbing off on him more that he thought. Well, love was really annoying, at any rate.
Of course, as an angel, it was sort of an obligation to love all creatures, things, and pretty much anything else that made it's way onto God's good earth (1). However, there is a difference between obligatory unconditional love that you couldn't get rid of if you tried, and actual love. Rather unfortunately, the angel had begun to think that his feelings for Crowley might be edging a bit past the unavoidable ones.
The posed several problems. For one, the higher ups (2) weren't likely to be too keen on an angel consorting with a demon. Secondly, at this point, Aziraphale highly doubted at reciprocation of his feelings. Frankly, if there was, it would rather unnerve him. It didn't seem to fit with Crowley's nature. Thirdly…Well, he was halfway through a bottle of wine at the moment, so unless he sobered up, thinking of a thirdly was not likely to happen anytime soon.
Crowley took that wonderfully opportune moment to waltz into the shop, wholly uninvited, and make his way to the back room. Aziraphale was about to object, upon the discovery the demon was carrying a rather fine bottle of wine (3). He was allowed to sit at the table and materialize another glass for himself, on the condition that he wouldn't skimp when filling the angel's glass.
A while later, Aziraphale was thinking blearily that they might have overdone it a bit with the wine. He could sober up, theoretically. But Crowley seemed a bit too far gone for that at this point, and it would not be at all enjoyable to have to drive an utterly smashed demon back to his flat. So Aziraphale opted to stay pleasantly drunk as well. Though when Crowley fell asleep sprawled across his lap, he couldn't help but look up in disgruntled exasperation.
Oh, well. He'd work on it. Luckily, since the convenient avoidance of Armageddon, he could take as much time as he wanted.
(1) Obligation in the sense that he really didn't have much of a choice in the matter.
(2) Not to mention to lower downs.
(3) Rather fine meaning, in this case, that it was made with grapes from the long lost continent of Atlantis, and the last people to drink any of it were two rather scruffy looking persons who got delightedly drunk on a very small amount of it. At least in Aziraphale's mind that's what it meant. In truth, he had simply drunk a bit too much wine, and was being influenced by the book he had finished just prior to breaking out the aforementioned wine.