As host, Paul should heave himself out of bed in pursuit of water to fulfill his guests' needs, but as survivor of both a poisoning attempt and Midoriya's cruel dismissal of his memorability (he's being fully petty now, not just slightly) Paul feels certain rules may not apply. It's not as though anyone else in this city seems to even understand what the law of hospitality means, if certain of his clarifying memories are to be trusted.

"I think the pitcher is on the floor," he offers, lying back down in the comfort of the bed under Kaworu's heavy-seeming hand. He can just see both of their faces if he lays his swollen head on the cushion of his own arm, so he does, smiling faintly but genuinely under half-lidded eyes. He resembles nothing so much as the indolent undead lizard lolling on the bedroom floor.

"Midoriya-kun wanted to know if we did anything in bed besides sleep," Paul informs Kaworu, helpfully, "Which I think is very thoughtful of him, like carrying us and making us eggs."