Wear It So Well

‘You don’t have to wear it,’ Aziraphale stumbles, hurried. ‘Only – I saw it, and, well. It seemed to be the sort of thing – er, potential thing – I thought you might perhaps favour. Only if you care for it, my dear,’ he adds and the suddenly serious slant in his tone, the concern with an edge of command, one decreeing that everyone should be comfortable and happy in their own skin, with their own choice of clothing, is yet another reason why Crowley fell in love with this man. ‘I have the receipt.’