[If anyone were to make the dramatic mistake of questioning Paul about his choices now, he'd insist he could have carried Kaworu, and wasn't at all counting on the welcome thrum of blossoming assistance that would have him reeling in the opposite direction if not for all their practice. He readjusts readily in the wake of the shift instead, cradling Kaworu close.
He knows it's something Kaworu likes. He's never been quiet about his preferences, outspoken in every way Paul isn't - and yet, Paul thinks, sweeping them through the loosely gathered crowd with his head high and no trace of self-consciousness (everyone carries their friends, from time to time, his imperious tilt suggests) in his demeanor - and yet. The tremor of nerves between them isn't all just Paul.]
You'll see.
[Or: the first door he comes across, one he would tell the aforementioned foolish questioner he's sure was a guest bedroom, and not the deep closet it turns out to be, stuffed with light spring coats and an inverted bucket in one corner. He sets Kaworu down as lightly as he carried him, but he's slow to unbend, straightening in the dim light that slips in around the door's edges with his burst of heady confidence already evaporating on the threshold of-
He doesn't know what to do with his hands once they're no longer holding Kaworu up. He doesn't know where to look. He hasn't seen what happens next.
He needs to say something. He absolutely needs to say something.]
...is this all right? Is this-
[One hand finds its home buried in his own hair as he tucks his chin, staring at the ground between their feet.]
no subject
He knows it's something Kaworu likes. He's never been quiet about his preferences, outspoken in every way Paul isn't - and yet, Paul thinks, sweeping them through the loosely gathered crowd with his head high and no trace of self-consciousness (everyone carries their friends, from time to time, his imperious tilt suggests) in his demeanor - and yet. The tremor of nerves between them isn't all just Paul.]
You'll see.
[Or: the first door he comes across, one he would tell the aforementioned foolish questioner he's sure was a guest bedroom, and not the deep closet it turns out to be, stuffed with light spring coats and an inverted bucket in one corner. He sets Kaworu down as lightly as he carried him, but he's slow to unbend, straightening in the dim light that slips in around the door's edges with his burst of heady confidence already evaporating on the threshold of-
He doesn't know what to do with his hands once they're no longer holding Kaworu up. He doesn't know where to look. He hasn't seen what happens next.
He needs to say something. He absolutely needs to say something.]
...is this all right? Is this-
[One hand finds its home buried in his own hair as he tucks his chin, staring at the ground between their feet.]
Are you all right?