"I know," he answers Paul, looking at Kaworu. Midoriya is momentarily pulled by a different motivation, but no less focused, and already striding over to Kaworu's side. Though he knows Paul is capable of supporting the weight, or of catching Kaworu quick as blinking, and that Kaworu makes gravity his plaything, Midoriya can't help turning to slip an arm behind Kaworu's waist to secure him there. It's an easy, automatic movement, placed expertly to prevent someone from falling and concussing themselves, but not one he's accustomed to doing in this context.

(Kaworu's weight is slight. Midoriya only let Paul steal food off Kaworu's plate because he was too hungry and hungover to stop him. Some subconscious part of Midoriya worries that if Kaworu got sick and lost what little weight he had, it would be trouble.)

"That's why Kaworu-kun isn't asleep at the table."

Midoriya turns his head and rests his cheek against Paul's warm shoulder. This is at least more familiar, a way they have touched before, and he needs that to ground himself while his heart drums against his ribs with something that isn't apprehension. He realizes with an internal jolt that, despite haplessly panicking and doing nothing he expected all morning, he has done as he wanted. These are his dear friends who he wants to hold, keep safe, and give whatever he can.

When they are done in the kitchen, though there are stairs to navigate, he's not sure if he wants to disentangle himself. He experiences a moment of déjà vu.