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The problem with ineffability, Aziraphale thought, was that when Crowley kissed him, it couldn't possibly have been an accident.
That wasn't the way ineffability worked.
"We're living in a different world now," Crowley said.
"Not that different," said Aziraphale.
They were standing at the edge of the pond in the park, at dusk, and so maybe no one had ever looked at them before, but then, Crowley had never kissed him, either. There was a first time for everything.
"If you throw your mind back," Crowley said, dryly, "I think you'll notice that it is."
"Crowley, my dear," said Aziraphale. "No matter how different things may or may not be, we are not ever going to live in a world where I allow myself to be tempted by you."
"Why not?" Crowley asked. "You have no problem with lying. Or hoarding. Or breaking any of the other cardinal rules. Or any of that other stuff you aren't supposed to do."
"But none of those involve you," Aziraphale said.
"Hey," Crowley said. "I whole-heartedly support all of those things."
"That's not what I meant," said Aziraphale.
"Isn't it?" asked Crowley. "I'm only saying, if they'll let you do those things, I think they'll let you do this, too."
Aziraphale looked at him. "I don't think I understand your logic."
Crowley smiled-- a calm, slithering smile. "Then maybe you should stop thinking," he said, and his mouth found Aziraphale's for a second time.
This time, Aziraphale kissed him back.
Not everything, he supposed, had to be understood in order to be true.