"Plenty to write about, too. Could publish a memoir some day with everything we get up to. It'd be a best seller, angel."

Well, based on content alone. Crowley isn't quite sure how compelling Aziraphale's written word is, these days, but that's what an editor is for anyway. Besides, principle of the thing. He twitches a smile, thinking of the purr of pleasure and the way the angel had tried to suppress it. Not that he's supposed to comment too much on it, apparently, but he does find it rather endearing. A good tell, too, Aziraphale never had a particularly good poker face but it's all far worse now.

Which works in Crowley's favour, of course.