He clasps Paul's arm in return and finds his wrist with his thumb. Midoriya's magnified, filament nerves note the difference between how Paul feels on the scars versus the unblemished skin of his hand. Midoriya looks at two people he couldn't protect and does not allow himself the luxury of guilt.

He blinks. Kaworu produces something in his hand--rather like how Midoriya sometimes pulls his notebook from nowhere, as if dictated by some unseen hand of genre. Kaworu did offer to put eyeliner on him some minutes ago. Midoriya would protest, be hesitant to attempt pulling it off, except he already knows what he'd look like. The drawing told him. He has no reason to refuse.

He sets the notebook down on the couch and scoots closer so Kaworu won't have to reach, curling his legs under his. They bump against Paul's. Midoriya settles languidly again, tilting his face slightly up as his neck finds the curve of the back of the couch.

"Do I close my eyes, or...?"