The shift in the demon's mood is so immediate that it almost feels like seeing him come alive for the first time, as if Aziraphale had hit some invisible switch for him or wound the key at his back. His body shifts from droopy, uncertain lines to loud and exuberant ones.

Bright, bright, bright.

Aziraphale thinks it's a charming look on him, but it is a degree overwhelming. Particularly the arm around him and the abrupt way that Crowley guides him over. The freedom do even this much is still fresh for him, still novel and (quite!) exciting. This sort of thing didn't come to him as naturally as it did Crowley—which is a fascinating thought considering their natures—but he's grateful that one of them can seem to move without feeling weighted down by a mountain of boulders.

"I see this . . . debacle wasn't enough to dampen your spirits any," Aziraphale remarks with a small smile and a fond little huff. He's already forgotten about the empty books, instead looking out at the graves ahead of them.

He begins to speak, ready to give a proper answer to the question before it occurs to him that Crowley had failed to answer his initial question.

How sly!

Aziraphale turns his head, looking over at the demon beside him.

Then very matter-o-factly says, "I thought you said you have an idea."