"I thought it would be funny," Paul murmurs, once Midoriya is out of the room, taking his silence on the topic of burrowing worms with him. He would think more about that twitch and its accompanying flush, but Kaworu's hand traces over the back of his, and he can only do so much at a time under these conditions.

Conditions which have changed overnight, a shift in environmental homeostasis. He threads their fingers together and curls closer around the smaller boy, his face returning to the soft refuge of his hair.

"Last night," Paul says, quietly, "What happened with our bet. Was that all right?"

He would tell himself it must be, since Kaworu has let him stay this close, but that's not a real guarantee of anything. Or, as Midoriya pointed out, it might be a matter of memory.