The look of someone genuinely and deeply touched is a rare one. It's a thing that happens every day, but only ever witnessed by one or two people at a time - or so the flitting soft-logic of his thought goes. Midoriya looks like a dappled pink orchid framed in glossy green leaves, blooming right before their eyes.

If he was good-looking in surprise, he's luminous in his happiness. Paul has noticed that happens to people, thinks about it as he rests his emptied hand on Kaworu's chest.

"You're welcome," Paul says, softly sincere, because a thank you like that deserves an answer as heartfelt, "You should keep the notebook. You might like the other drawings. They're of things I saw out in the woods."

He says it, and contemplates the chances Midoriya will try to offer it back. He decides to employ a proactive strategy of distraction.

"All kinds of people would be willing to duel for both of your honors."