Something certainly gets his attention, though it isn't clear which; whether it's the sudden shock of the temperature change, or another rasp of fabric against his skin, or the intrusion of another layer of sound, painfully distinct even beneath the pervasive, crushing roar of the rainfall.

Crowley's gaze is still unfocused, a little wild and a lot dazed, but it slides slowly to one side and lands (or thereabouts) upon Raguel.

(There are so few colours here that, even out in the dark and the fog, Crowley has to narrow his eyes against the two blinding points of blue above him.)