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    Summary

    Heaven’s Dress Tartan. Crowley had asked about it once, back in 1963. Seated there within the safety of the Bentley, only five years before Aziraphale would break his heart in two in this exact space. Aziraphale didn’t speak more on it beyond giving him a name and reiterating how tartan was, in fact, stylish. Crowley would never admit, even on threat of discorporation, that he had spent the better part of a week researching clan tartans to come up with nothing.

    There was no other tartan in all the world that looked precisely like that.

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