As you walked down from the flat upstairs of the bookshop from a nap, you hear your father Aziraphale humming. At the bottom of the stairway you stand in you pajamas and bedhead hair. Stifling a yawn.

Aziraphale looks over at her and smiles warmly. “Well good-morning darling.”, he says fondly, simply watching you for a moment as he takes you in. The sight is sweetly captured to him. To see you fully relaxed but also messy.