He let himself drink in the demon in all his familiar, smug charm, beautiful as anything. How did you tell your best friend of six millennia that the only being, wicked or otherwise, who you'd ever bother to summon would be him? Would always be him. And that you'd already tried it once in the past?

And then there was the other issue, the fact that Crowley was fresh off of what could best be described as their friendship breakup, while Aziraphale remembered... well... A great deal more than he should probably be thinking about.

He speared a piece of apple from his pie and caught his own reflection in Crowley's sunglasses. He tried to school his expression down to some kind of innocence.

"I've never needed forbidden magic for that. Have I?"