There's something profound about it finally being said. About it being said by Aziraphale, to Crowley. He loves him. Oh, they knew. They both knew. But it's different now, because they're here, actively loving each other. Being loved by each other. And Heaven and Hell can go stuff it for all Crowley cares. This is what he wants.

He brushes his fingertips across Aziraphale's face.

"I'm not supposed to love anything at all," he replies. "Not part of the demon gig. Don't need anything, don't care about anything. Certainly not angels." He smiles, a little crooked smile. "But I was never a very good demon."