He knew what he meant. You love me. He knew the words, and he knew he could say them. You love me.

And yet... and yet there was that lingering doubt. Even if Aziraphale said them, would Crowley admit to anything? And was he even right? If he was wrong... if he was misjudging the situation...

He was shocked to discover in his own head that he rather liked the idea that Crowley felt that way. But... did he return it?

"Never mind, dearest," he murmured. "You know me. I'm just being silly."