The laugh comes again, as intimate and quiet as the rest of this suspended moment. The world is as slow and golden as honey when Midoriya pets the nape of his neck, his heartbeat just perceptible through the layers of cloth between them.

He should be good. There's no time for the languid project he'd like to make of Midoriya, however tempting the fluttering contact of lips and breath is.

(But he thinks about it: push him up against the wall the way Kaworu showed him, hands framing his blushing, upturned face; kiss each freckle he can see, suck a mark just above the line of his costume so that he's not the only one inflected by their contact. Later.)

"You're ruthless," he says, admiringly, before a soft, lingering kiss, his hand flattening along the curve of Midoriya's firm back.

"I should go," murmured against his mouth, with a trace of regret, "Let you get ready to kick some other ears."