Crowley had, by this point, had several weeks to build up these missing memories in his head. He's gone through all sorts of ideas -- some perhaps more wishful thinking than others, some assuming the worst, some the best. Admittedly, none were quite so simple as this. His brain, circling the concept, can't help coming up with really is that it? If this is all it was, why wouldn't he tell him?

He stares down at his hand, sandwiched between Aziraphale's, and feels a sort of peculiar hysteria wash over him. The irritation he had held onto vanishes quickly in the face of surprise, eyes flicking up to fix on Aziraphale as he explains. His mind is racing ahead with his new information, constructing visuals, picking up minute details like the way Aziraphale's hands feel. It may not be as exciting as he had hoped, but there is still meaning in this. There's still hope, there's still something that could go somewhere if they let it. He wishes he could remember, not just because of how much he dislikes not knowing things but --

Well. Maybe it doesn't matter so much.

His fingers tighten suddenly, gripping on as if he's abruptly concerned Aziraphale might let go and walk away. Which he might. He does seem angry still.

"Err," Crowley manages, "sounds nice."

You know. For how much it can be nice if they were still plotting to try and not both be destroyed by their respective sides. Mood might not have been ideal, all things considered. He slides his eyes back down again, feeling jittery but determined to hang onto this for as long as he's allowed.

"Did think it might be a bit more exciting," he admits, "but probably a good thing I didn't... forget something like that."

You know, something more exciting than hand holding. Which he had hoped might be possible. Which might have been worse to forget.