( naturally, aziraphale had been drawn in by the food more than anything else, but when he overhears a familiar voice coming from another tent nearby, he offers a hasty apology to the ordertaker in front of him, shuffling his way out of the line and through the crowd to the stall behind him and a bit to the right. his gaze catches a shock of red, and perhaps he can blame the flush of his own cheeks on the sun rather than the inconvenient and overwhelming desire to see crowley, whom he would know even if he were blind.

he sidles in next to crowley, watching both him and the chef with inaudible amusement, though in the case of crowley, there are distinct undertones of deep fondness: the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the upward turn of his mouth. )

I think perhaps you've surpassed your own limit, Mr Crowley.

( he says it almost as a mother would, or perhaps a wife. chiding, but only because he cares. not that he's terribly concerned, given their particular physiology, but he does find it rather odd that crowley is heckling the humans while intoxicated when he's perfectly capable (and usually quite good at it) sober. )

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. ( to see him, he means. they've always managed to find each other in the past; here and now is no different. ) How long have you been here? ( heckling people or … just in general. )