"I'm going to regret suggesting that, aren't I." Crowley mutters, but there's no real frustration in it, and he's half-smiling as he looks down at Aziraphale. "But I'm never singing fucking ABBA, fair warning. Not even for you."

He'll listen, though. He'll sit there and listen to Aziraphale sing ABBA to his angelic's heart delight, which is a blessed sight more than he'd do for anyone else.

He leans down and kisses Aziraphale's forehead, mostly to see if he can get away with it. This whole evening feels like getting away with something.