Aziraphale could look around, yes, and maybe he does spare the room a quick momentary glance. But he's not very inclined to look away from the demon for too long, even though there's something about this moment that gives him butterflies in his stomach. His expression settles into something soft, despite almost wanting to laugh over this whole scene - where they are, in a party thrown by someone they don't know, in a train full of different people and creatures all equally mysteriously stuck in it, apparently soaring through the void between worlds, in an unexpected trip through different dimensions, after helping, in some way, probably, adverting the end of theirs. It's preposterous. You could even call it silly.

And, yet, here they are, slowdancing to some song he's sure Crowley knows better than he does, gently buzzed by whatever drinks they got their hands on, ignoring everything else. He can see the glint of Crowley's eyes through their lacy mask, but not much else. He wonders if he could stand it if he did.

"Didn't take you for a slowdancer." He eventually speaks again. "If I recall correctly, you were much more given to more...energetic styles."