It was incredibly trusting. Romantic. Terrifyingly fast. The thing was, Aziraphale had nothing to offer in return. He had notes, of course, gathered and chronicled from the Network, but those seemed meaningless in light of everything that was happening now with the portals. Even the promise that Anthony had never, and would never, be a part of those notes (out of loyalty and protectiveness) seemed a bland offering when compared to the true name of a demon.

How could he be worthy of such a gesture? What had they done in the past to grant such a deep-rooted trust?

"...Spies?" His mind processed that bit of information slower than normal, fogged as it was by the romantic and seductive haze of the last few moments. He looked down the alley and back out to the street, then frowned up at Anthony, the temptation melting away as his fussiness took hold. "What kind of trouble have you gotten into?"