Paul is accustomed to Kaworu's tendency to fling himself around without regard for gravity. His stomach braces reflexively before the mild impact, then softens underneath Kaworu once more to form a rather flat but still warm cushion.

"Midoriya-kun is right, but you won't, will you, Kaworu?" Paul accommodates the tipping of the notebook for inspection readily. His own inspection of Kaworu's face is the reciprocal other half of it - he's too much a Bene Gesserit not to appreciate the fleeting and subtle arts of self-expression. So he resists the urge to card through Kaworu's gathered hair, settling for a fond brush of knuckles across his cheek.

It's good, being like this. Having two of his friends so close, tangled together, reassuringly corporeal. Midoriya may be trying not to lose himself in the moment, but Paul is long-lost to joyous thoughtlessness.

So he leans in to whisper to Kaworu, with skill born of extensive practice: "It's him as a girl. Don't say anything."

The picture Kaworu has examined is a reasonably good one. It captures Midoriya's expression in the instants of his bright smiles well, and highlights his best features flatteringly without veering from reality. In fact, it barely veers from reality at all, besides the penciled application of eyeliner much like Kaworu's own.