At first, Paul doesn't fully understand what Midoriya is doing, and it speaks to his trust that he goes pliant instead of rigid, in a bewildered sort of way. His consternation only grows when he does put the intention together, but by then his feet are already being literally swept from underneath him.

He opens his mouth to say something, arranging his arm loosely over Midoriya's shoulder only because it's ungainly to place it anywhere else, but his protest is quashed literally and figuratively by Kaworu flinging himself joyously into his lap. This leaves Paul no choice but to wrap an anchoring arm around his waist, and now in order to free himself he'd have to unseat the giddy angel. He maintains one more moment of awkward poise before he relaxes into it all with a sigh meant to come off as long suffering and instead sounding like the profound relief suffering leaves in its wake.

"Incorrigible," he says, of either and both of them, but there is again something in the warm pressure of bodies against his that unwinds some part of him he didn't realize was so tightly strung. (Or he stopped recognizing it, repressed so long he forgot what it was like to be at ease.)

At least it's still before dawn. The only person they're likely to run into is Gideon, and she would be as impressed as Paul is at Midoriya's might.