It makes laugh. Not physically, mind you, but in some part of him. Maybe it's the moment, tainting all of his thoughts with comfort, with joy, with love and affection and all the feelings that make him feel energize, make him feel right. But it may also be the harmlessness in most of Crowley's sins. The lack of maliciousness. Oh, it makes the angel feel so silly for all the times he was ready to accuse Crowley of some or the biggest crimes by humanity, or even others. The angel is not a fan of discord, no, and he would very much rather everyone be happy, and comfortable, and safe, free from harm, but it's not their frustration or annoyance or embarrassment that bring him joy.

It's Crowley. It's who he is. For all his contradictions and for all his lack of malicious intent. For all his smartness and his cunning. For all his kindness and devotion. For his company. For all the lunches and all the late night drinking.

The angel leans forward slightly, reaches his arms up to wrap them around his neck and hold them there. An awkward angle, an indiscretion, but just this once, it should be fine.