You'll Never Get To Heaven (if you're scared of getting high)

Only you, you get me acting crazy like I do

"Aziraphale, are those new clothes?" Crowley was staring at Aziraphale with his hardest attention.

"Nice of you to finally notice."

"I thought you'd settled on your look for the next three centuries."

"It wasn't really suitable for the country. Besides, my waistcoat was getting a little worn. I was afraid of losing it altogether if I wore it too much. And my jacket—my jacket is precious."

"Hmmph." Crowley reached out and slid his hand down one sleeve of the tailored cashmere cardigan, feeling the cloud-like plushiness of it, letting his hand drift to the lapels that made it just enough like a jacket that Aziraphale was comfortable wearing it out. He straightened Aziraphale's bowtie. "I was beginning to think you'd stopped caring about keeping up standards. Let's go." It wasn't a compliment by any means, but something in the demon's expression made Aziraphale feel oddly happy, especially when Crowley stopped by the wall of the cottage and broke off a stem of winter jasmine starred with golden flowers.

"And if you don't start standing up better, I'll break off a lot more than that," he snarled in a perfunctory way, and then tucked the fragrant stem in Aziraphale's breast pocket. "Needed a touch more gold," he said shortly. "Come on, let's party. For a given value of the word party. I want to show off my husband."

Aziraphale felt he should have been happy that Crowley seemed enthusiastic about the party. He couldn't help a little a drop in his stomach when Crowley slithered into the driving seat with a complacent grin.

"I'm afraid it's not going to be quite your kind of party." Aziraphale plucked at his sleeves.

"What do you know about my kind of party, angel?" The Bentley showered gravel across the drive as it pulled out.

"I mean that there's not going to be a lot of decadence and sin there."

"Aziraphale, anywhere you go is decadent. You can shower decadence over a train station caff just by ordering extra butter on your toast. And sin is where you—or rather I—find it."

"None of that," Aziraphale said sharply. "The Arrangement is in force, and you know you ceded this whole area to me long ago."

"Did I?" The demon pursed his lips, which didn't help Aziraphale's anxiety. "I'm not sure I recall that."

"You got Camberley in return."

"Ah. Wasn't that aesthetics and atmosphere only? It explains all the pink houses here, though."

"Please behave for just one evening. They're my friends."

Crowley was silent for a few heartbeats, frowning at the road. "You were only invited at the last minute," he said quietly, almost as if he was afraid of hurting Aziraphale's feelings.

"No, you were invited at the last minute, Crowley, out of kindness. It had slipped my mind because a demon turned up in town saying he was staying until Christmas."

"Anthony," Crowley said. "Might as well practice calling me that before we get there, Zira. Unless—well." The hard line of his mouth relaxed a little. "Have you decided on an endearment?"

"You're being ridiculous." Aziraphale turned to stare out the window, even though the speed at which the countryside was flashing by made him feel wobbly.

"I'm not. Have you thought about it at all?"

Of course he had, trying out different options in his head, imagining saying them while looking at Crowley, feeling himself curl up inside as if he was a cat protecting its vulnerable belly. Which was probably the point. Crowley took altogether too much pleasure in unsettling him. He went for the safest option. "If my dear is too general, then I thought perhaps dearest might show that you are, well, in a more special category."