He was actually nervous when he sat in front of Aziraphale. Nervous for his jacket which he did like but felt like he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in, if it had to be destroyed... it had to be. He was nervous for his wings, with those scissors so close one slip and he might have ended up with clipped feathers. And he was nervous when he heard the scissors hit the side table. Worries over what Aziraphale was planning mixed with concern that the angel might overdo it again. It can't be good for a body, passing out like that all the time. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything?

As it turned out his concerns were at least somewhat justified. Aziraphale's voice sounded tired once he finished.

Crowley didn't draw attention to that. Instead he sat there a moment longer, stretching every muscle and sinew in his back until his wings too flared with the action. Then he turned those gold eyes back to the angel trying to work out just how badly Aziraphale might have pushed himself.

"Ye.. yeah. I can do that."

He reached past the angle to straighten the pillow behind him.

"You can just stay here, rest up."

Ignore any potential crashing and bangings from the kitchen. He would figure out how to work the microwave.