Feathers have such a nice texture, Crowley thinks, running his fingers through them over and over again. The stiffness of the primaries provide just enough resistance to tug at him gently as he preens. It's soothing and feels grounding, especially after he's been out and about.

It's not just that humans are loud and flashy, though they are that. Crowley can handle loud and flashy. It's when the loudness gets too noisy and the flashy gets too bright. Words turn into a pounding waterfall instead of a river flowing around him, and colours become a muddled blur that's almost painful to look at. Everything becomes too much, too fast, and his skin starts feeling itchy, too tight and constricting. So it's nice, after all of that, to sit down, close his eyes, and surround himself with the safe comfort of feathers.

He's in the bookshop. Aziraphale always knows when Crowley needs to just sit and exist, and he'll turn the lights down so they don't hurt Crowley's eyes. He'll choose one of his books that he's read a million times and doesn't need to pay much attention to, and he'll sit with Crowley as long as the demon needs.

Crowley moves his hands closer towards where wings meet skin, where the feathers are softer and less stiff. He brushes his hands over them lightly, humming in the back of his throat at the sensation. His breathing has evened out, and he feels less and less like he's going to vibrate out of his body. He exhales, feathers stirring slightly under his breath.

Aziraphale reaches out and runs his fingers lightly over the hand Crowley isn't using to touch feathers. It's their system, their way of asking are you okay when speech is too much. Crowley flips his hand over, twining their fingers together in a silent yes.

Crowley runs his hand up and over the curve of wing where the feathers are soft but not too soft that he can't bury his fingers in them. Breathing in again, he holds it for a long moment, feels the last parts of himself settle, and breathes out slowly.

"Thanks, angel," he says quietly. He still doesn't want to talk loudly or very much, but some words are fine.

"Of course, my dear," Aziraphale replies in the same tone. Turning around, he tucks his newly-preened wings away.

Crowley makes a noise in the back of his throat, curling up next to his angel on the couch. At Aziraphale's curious look, he answers, "I don't bother you doing this, do I?"

Aziraphale's eyebrows shoot up, and Crowley can tell he stops himself from speaking too loud just in time. "No," he whispers fiercely. "Crowley, you could never – " He motions with the arm that isn't wrapped around Crowley's shoulders. "It doesn't bother me," he finally says firmly.

It's true and they both know it, but there are times it's nice to hear again. Crowley nods, settling deeper into the couch and the feeling of existing in this simple moment, just him and his angel.

Aziraphale turns his head and kisses the top of Crowley's head. "It doesn't bother me," he murmurs again, just loud enough for the two of them to hear.