He doesn't move, but he does find himself redistributing tension and weight in little ways to accommodate Kaworu's shift--awfully close. Midoriya feels warm. The last thing he sees are Kaworu's red eyes cut sharp by his own delinations.

A lot of nerves are concentrated in the face. Each one of them tingles under Kaworu's hands. Midoriya's lips part slightly in surprise. He should have thought spice-senses would make it feel like this. His quiet breathing sounds like an entire ocean to him as he tries to stay very still. He resists a strong urge to scrunch his eyelids as something traces their delicate skin.

Kaworu proved he was good when he improvised on paper, so he trusts him. It's not quite the same on skin, but a steady hand helps. When it seems he's done, Midoriya opens his eyes and blinks experimentally. He used to express wide and round with his eyes, as he does briefly now, but nowadays they often suggest a steady, gently almond-shaped point. The liner accentuates this.

He hardly feels different of course. He might forget it's there, smudge it, and belatedly remember to wash it off. Lacking a mirror for a second opinion, he looks at Paul instead.