He's in the middle of poking Kaworu's foot with his own to chide him. He chokes on the last of his green tea instead.
"--Shouldn't lie down just after a big meal," was what he was going to say to Kaworu, and what he coughs out now, in a strained mutter as he avoids their eyes and tamps down a blush. He should be thankful they allowed him a break to eat in peace. He has a fleeting thought that Paul and Kaworu joking like this to him must be a fluke and doesn't make sense... It's not joking. It makes perfect sense--just like, well, sitting tangled close together. That felt right. In a bid to keep what felt right, Midoriya doesn't want to leave one of them, even if only for a few minutes.
"I can wait for you, and keep Nagisa--I mean, Kaworu-kun awake." The first of many stammering corrections, his face mobile with self-consciousness.
Midoriya stands, gathers dishes, and turns to hand them to Paul. While Kaworu is blatant in his wants, Paul tends to choose his words carefully. Midoriya suspects what Paul is doing, again. Why does he feel like Paul is daring him? There's only so much Midoriya can take. He lets a soft breath out through his nose. Midoriya's response to being pushed is to push back, but he doesn't know how to do it with words like silk.
He only knows how to flick his eyes up to Paul's, his face set and unmoving. It's an open, direct look that will be familiar. It belongs near a sparring ring, not a kitchen table, though it's not unkind. Steady and quiet, it's lost some of its frenetic energy after the battle in February. It's a look Midoriya wears before deciding to improvise something he doesn't know how to do, whether or not he has the confidence or skill. It's ruined by a thin rosy wash slowly spreading across it like the dawn that won't come.
no subject
"--Shouldn't lie down just after a big meal," was what he was going to say to Kaworu, and what he coughs out now, in a strained mutter as he avoids their eyes and tamps down a blush. He should be thankful they allowed him a break to eat in peace. He has a fleeting thought that Paul and Kaworu joking like this to him must be a fluke and doesn't make sense... It's not joking. It makes perfect sense--just like, well, sitting tangled close together. That felt right. In a bid to keep what felt right, Midoriya doesn't want to leave one of them, even if only for a few minutes.
"I can wait for you, and keep Nagisa--I mean, Kaworu-kun awake." The first of many stammering corrections, his face mobile with self-consciousness.
Midoriya stands, gathers dishes, and turns to hand them to Paul. While Kaworu is blatant in his wants, Paul tends to choose his words carefully. Midoriya suspects what Paul is doing, again. Why does he feel like Paul is daring him? There's only so much Midoriya can take. He lets a soft breath out through his nose. Midoriya's response to being pushed is to push back, but he doesn't know how to do it with words like silk.
He only knows how to flick his eyes up to Paul's, his face set and unmoving. It's an open, direct look that will be familiar. It belongs near a sparring ring, not a kitchen table, though it's not unkind. Steady and quiet, it's lost some of its frenetic energy after the battle in February. It's a look Midoriya wears before deciding to improvise something he doesn't know how to do, whether or not he has the confidence or skill. It's ruined by a thin rosy wash slowly spreading across it like the dawn that won't come.