When Kaworu sits up Paul slips a loosely anchoring arm around his waist, the one dislodged from the affirming press on his chest. They must look a sight from the outside, he thinks, tangled up into a heap like sunning half-grown cats.

"It's usually easier that way. Close them like you're asleep, not like you're squeezing them shut." Paul is only a little bit teasing in his instruction, his bare wrist pliant and relaxed under Midoriya's thumb. He's rarely had this done for him, but he has seen it done many times, though never by someone sitting on his lap to someone he just finished sketching.

He idly wonders how close he came in his drawing. He's curious to find out, and while he waits, he starts counting the visible freckles he can see again. He's still not sure he got the number right the first time.