"It - "

He wants to say it gets better. And perhaps it does, eventually, with the passage of time, but this isn't -

This isn't the same.

Crowley's frame of reference is different.

"I... will have to take your word on that," he says instead, returning her rueful grin.

And then, because he can do nothing else, and because there's nothing he can really say, Crowley does reach out, scooting over far enough on the couch to fit one warm arm around her shoulders.