It was bold. The feathers tangled and brushed in a way they never had before. White against black. He could feel every little shift and minute adjustment in Crowley's wing and he would lie if he said he wasn't flushing a little because of it. But who was there to see and condemn? Oh, the humans perhaps, but they would condemn anything for any reason. Because they didn't like it, because it was hot that day or cold, because they were bored. He hardly cared what they thought.

Instead he beamed at Crowley, lifting his own cappuccino and clinking his against the demons.

"To new experiences."

And memories to carry them through the time when those experiences were far behind them.