Oh thank fuck, he likes them. Some of the tension goes out of the Soldier's shoulders and they smile tentatively, nodding, because yeah, they made those. Reach over to grasp Crowley's wrist, grateful and relieved and warm and alive-feeling. (They're happy. That's that feeling. Even if they don't have a name for it. This has been a surprisingly mostly great day.)

High fashion. Jesus. (Absolutely not high fashion, pal. Shut up. He likes them.) But they do say, "Don't know that I'd go that far. But I'm glad you like them." Doesn't hide the fingernails anymore, but who cares. Show off those fingers, Crowley. They're great just like they are.