The last time he held him, Kaworu was scuffed by sand and blood. Midoriya's body remembers this familiar press of a slim one against him (over and over, so many times) and drinks it as if parched. He lets go of his hand and clutches him with both arms. Something missing slots into place. It's an incongruous, almost traitorous rightness in the face of everything that has gone wrong.

"Same reasons I've always stayed. You've been kind to me and to others. I think you could extend that to more people. See how important their lives are like I do. I know a lot of people would hate me for even thinking about helping you. But that's the same thing that ignores people's lives and takes them. It's something that abandons people."

He knows that now, having seen it reflected in the exposed flaws of Hero society back home, whereas before it was just an abstract concept. He presses his wet cheek to Kaworu's temple and closes his eyes. In the days Kaworu was gone, Midoriya would smell his scent out of nowhere. His body was trying to seek comfort in what wasn't there. It's real now.

"I've seen you grow and love. Keep trying. We'll help."

It's automatic to say we. When one of the three is gone, there is a gnawing empty space in what should be a stable, three-sided unit. Midoriya doesn't know how Kaworu feels about Paul now.