To Midoriya's credit, he remains still, apart from a small huff of surprised breath. His small revenge (copying Paul) worked out, the drawing is almost done, and the spice helps. When everything pulses with rainbow light and he can still feel the imprints of emotions around him, it's hard not to calmly lose himself in it all. Still, he has to blink away the afterimage of someone flopping down, catlike, and his augmented nerves clamor for importance when the slight weight of legs tumbles on him. Even the hairs on his arms tingle.

"Paul-kun hasn't said anything, so I don't think he wants you to spoil it," he says, low and dreamlike.

It's been two months since he came back from home and reacclimated to his memories here. He recognizes the feeling for what it is now: It's less confusing this way, being pretty sure why his eyes linger on the rise of Paul's shirt a few seconds longer. As long as no one draws attention to it or flusters him, Midoriya enjoys an inner peace knowing that, yes, boys are cute.

Midoriya is less cute these days. His smiles are warm but hushed, his laugh a rare surprise even to himself. Even the faint pink tint that blooms on his cheeks as Kaworu reminds him he's under scrutiny isn't accompanied by stuttering or moving. The forest dragged something relentless and resolute from within him and put it on the outside. It lowered his lids, dampened the expressive freedom of his mouth, and put shadows in his voice.

There is a stamp of permanence to it like the doubling of his scars. Nothing will be the same, including him, but the party helps to remind him of happy times. Sometimes, when Midoriya is caught off guard with a bright smile, Kaworu's hard work pays off not only for the birthday boy, but also for the people around him who joined the same fight.