"Yes." He can see that, for someone who grew up with the tradition at least, it must be. "I saw some on the ship, but we were busy..."
Harrowhark (a housemate?) has her bones, the comfort of her people. Poor Paul doesn't even have the comfort of pretending to bustle or fumble with domesticity, the efficiency of movement too ingrained in him. He talks about skeletons instead. Oh well, Midoriya thinks as he watches the plates laid out with swift precision. Midoriya settles on his stool, legs down, socks gently resting on rungs. He looks at his friend, a long black bird with iridescent eyes perched with one leg in. A person risen from the dead.
"I never got to thank you. I was too busy running away." He has to thank him, a gesture Midoriya doesn't expect of others towards himself, but one that tugs compulsorily until it's done. "If it wasn't for you, the city would have been overrun, and I'd have been killed."
It's the sort of brutal fact he's used to facing in the aftermath of a fight, but he tempers it by lightly resting a hand on his shoulder. Sometimes Midoriya finds himself filling in for something that isn't there. He feels the absence of Paul's usual touches, that trust he shows. His fingers ache with it, but that is familiar too, from the times he had to let his bones heal and strengthen the sinews around them again.
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Harrowhark (a housemate?) has her bones, the comfort of her people. Poor Paul doesn't even have the comfort of pretending to bustle or fumble with domesticity, the efficiency of movement too ingrained in him. He talks about skeletons instead. Oh well, Midoriya thinks as he watches the plates laid out with swift precision. Midoriya settles on his stool, legs down, socks gently resting on rungs. He looks at his friend, a long black bird with iridescent eyes perched with one leg in. A person risen from the dead.
"I never got to thank you. I was too busy running away." He has to thank him, a gesture Midoriya doesn't expect of others towards himself, but one that tugs compulsorily until it's done. "If it wasn't for you, the city would have been overrun, and I'd have been killed."
It's the sort of brutal fact he's used to facing in the aftermath of a fight, but he tempers it by lightly resting a hand on his shoulder. Sometimes Midoriya finds himself filling in for something that isn't there. He feels the absence of Paul's usual touches, that trust he shows. His fingers ache with it, but that is familiar too, from the times he had to let his bones heal and strengthen the sinews around them again.