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Wine it was.
But of course, usually when Crowley was present.
Not that Aziraphale was complaining, loving having the Demon around.
And so, digging into the special case, saved since, well, 1948?
“Thissss, is the good stuff, Angel.” Crowley already wasted, the third bottle consumed.
“Ssssure… is.” Aziraphale not far behind, getting drunk from simply watching Crowley drink.
“Beatsss tea!”
“Hehe, you… think… ssso?”
“I do, love.”
A pause, a. Faux Pas?
Suddenly, Aziraphale sobering up?
“You… called me… love.”
“Oh.”
Oh indeed.
“Do you… love me, Crowley?”
Another pause. Nowhere to hide now, Demon!
“Yeah, Angel. I love you.”