1 Corinthians 7:9

“We have the forms, of course,” Gabriel sighs, rooting through his desk. “Haven’t had a reason to use them before, so they’re a bit covered in old dark matter, but—here we go.” He turns, and hands Aziraphale a stack of tan folders. “The non-disclosure agreement, the declaration of conflict of interest, all the relevant training modules for compliance, and more.”Aziraphale just stares.“What,” Gabriel says. “We’re a civilized, corporate organization. Did you assume we’d burn you in hellfire?”“A smidgen?”Gabriel laughs, claps him on the shoulder. “We’re going to do something much worse. The paperwork alone will take you centuries.”In which heaven is excessively corporate, and Aziraphale is trying to figure out how to explain to his one-sided crush that he needs Crowley’s signature on forms stating that they’re dating. Nothing stays the same.