Kaworu's fingers are welcomely cool as they skim over his face, dissolving anxiety as they glide. He turns his face into the touch and half-closes his eyes with a short, settling exhale.

"I'm all right," he says, his hand drifting down to let him slip his fingers into the anchoring bind of Kaworu's hair, just above his ear. "I feel terrible. There must have been something wrong with the tequila."

As for who brought them up here - Paul glanced at the sleeping form between them, thinking of how easily Midoriya had carried Paul on his back out of a collapsed basement, once.

"Should we wake him up?"