deercountry | Birthday Party

Birthday Party

Who: Paul Atreides and all his CR
What: Throwing everyone’s favorite Duke a surprise birthday party
When: Forwarded dated to April 1st
Where: Bone House in Gaze

Content Warnings: Drinking, underage drinking, drugs (both fictional and not), drawings of space worms, skeletons, will add further warnings if necessary

When you arrive at the house in Gaze, (affectionately known as Bone House), a skeleton will open the door and offer to take your coat if you have one. No need to take your shoes off or anything!

The large house has been decorated with black streamers and confetti. In the entryway and hung on the railing to the second floor that overlooks the entrance to the great room are large banners that say “HAPPY BIRTHDAY PAUL” (though one looks like it used to say “Jaune” but was just painted over? Whatever).

In the Living Room, there is a large board and various colored markers for people to write messages to the birthday boy. There is also a table full of bottled water and various couches, chairs, and beanbags to collapse into if the party gets to be too much and one needs a quiet place to rest or a place to chill if you’ve imbibed too much… well, whatever you had.

It is also where all the food and drinks are.

There’s an extremely large charcuterie board with the usual meats, cheeses, and olives as well as an extremely eccentric collection of snacks ranging from individual sized Cheez-it bags, to humungous bags of Doritos and salty chips, as well as nearly every kind of Oreo one can imagine.

There are also various cakes, all angel food. Some are misshapen, some have an attempt at being frosted with whipped cream and fruit, one even says “Happy Birthday Ka-” before that was hastily covered with a bunch of strawberries jammed really close together.

At the island, a skeleton is playing bartender. Surprisingly, it can seem to take and understand individual orders, but there’s always a constant flow of tequila shots being made and sent out to the great hall to be served by another skeleton.

And, no, of course it’s not going to check your age to see if you’re legal. It’s a skeleton. Why would it care?

The Great Hall is the center of activity and where everyone is encouraged to mingle and have fun. There is a skeleton on the grand piano in the corner gleefully playing piano covers of the hits from the Shrek Soundtrack with the occasional cover of “DaRude’s Sandstorm” when it has another one to help out.

In another corner, on huge piece of paper that spans nearly 6ft wide and 8ft tall is drawing of an Arrakis sandworm and it’s giant maw. The game is Pin the Tooth on the Sandworm and it’s… very easy… because the worm maw is most of the board. Even if the skeleton spins you as you’re blindfolded, it’s pretty hard to lose. If you manage to do it, which is likely, the skeleton running the game will award you a tequila shot! If you lose, the skeletons will award you a tequila shot (but it’s rail).

(It’s a drinking game, isn’t the point to drink?)

There’s also a table that has many candelabras on it, numbering up to seventeen. They’re still lit and burning even though there is a sign that says “make a wish!” even though it almost looks like a shrine for the dead.

…It’s maybe clear that the concept of “birthday candles” was greatly misunderstood.

There is also a skeleton dealing out small doses of “Spice”, a psychoactive drug straight outta the Duneverse. However, you must check in with this Skeleton to get a dose. There will be no “permanently melting your brain with ancestral memories” at this party!

Teacher’s/God’s/Jod’s/The Emperor Undying’s study, adjacent to the main hall, is closed and locked. Though, the lock is fairly easy to break if someone really wanted to get in. There’s not even skeletons guarding.

That said, many things are warded with eerie runes of blood and bone.

So, fuck around and find out.

The upstairs is generally off limits. Party goers can climb up the stairs, and it’s encouraged if they want to look over the Great Room from above, but all of the bedrooms are carefully guarded by more skeletons who will SCREAM VERY LOUDLY if you try to enter and will become hostile if done by force.

Of course, this won’t happen if you are with someone who lives in the house.

Enjoy the party! Mingle away!

((ooc: if you have any questions or anything, please hit me up at

worldtype)) or via PM.))

Birthday Board | At the Party | The Morning After | IC Party Games | Spice Dealer

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Oh.

Is that all?"

Thankfully, Kaworu is paying attention, his red eyes usually fixed on Paul but occasionally glancing towards Midoriya, his chin propped up in a hand that rests on his knee. Certain parts like the opening the package with his teeth and watching Paul's long fingers work the eggplant that appeal to him more than the explanation.

He can't really understand why everyone is so put out by this. Do humans really have hang ups over this sort of thing? Even though something like this was invented for them to engage in pleasurable things without fear of consequences? Maybe it's the fear of closeness that still persists despite that.

Kaworu reaches over and picks up the eggplant and tosses it lightly in his hands a few times.

"And here I thought we were talking about sexual intercourse."

Someone needs to have courage here and it might as well be Kaworu because he subsequently has no fear. He was born to be the final messenger and he will continue to live up to that moniker.

Edited 2022-04-27 23:22 (UTC)

He concentrates on what Paul is doing, clinically, instead of looking directly at Paul or Kaworu or his own existential crisis. Paul is barely holding it together as it is, and one wrong look could deal the two of them irreparable psychic damage. (Kaworu is, apparently, immune.) The eggplant has Midoriya's full attention, because looking anywhere else guarantees he will die on the spot. Juices... And in nearly the same breath, Paul says his name like a dread summons.

"Probably shouldn't use your teeth to open it, but yeah... that's... yeah. Good. Great," he mumbles. Good. Great. Wonderful. He wishes Kaworu would stop waving the eggplant around, but, oddly, the ridiculousness of that makes all this a little less excruciating. It's... an eggplant. It looks stupid. He presses his lips tight on something that is not quite a laugh. It makes a strangled sound in his throat instead. He adds more clearly,

"They're single-use only. Put a new one on if you want to keep doing--eggplant stuff. If you two can find them all later, they're really better stored in their original packaging."

What do I... do now...? He didn't have a plan for how he would follow up this lesson and make it less awkward.

"Um..." he starts meekly, "breakfast's about ready. Just have to cook the omelette, but that takes no time. You should wash your hands and come down."

Or the earth could swallow him whole. That works too. He takes the eggplant from Kaworu. This is his mess, he's decided just now, so he'll clean this up.

Midoriya keeps his composure. For a while, it looks like Paul might too, his face fixed in a mask of raised eyebrows and tightly pursed lips as a muscle in his temple twitches. In the ongoing struggle of them just saying things, he can cope with sexual intercourse out of Kaworu, barely. He can even swallow eggplant stuff with a swift bob of his head.

It's hand washing and the attendant unintentional implications that undo him. Paul doubles over, looking very much like he might actually be sick, his back heaving in silent spasms, before he pops back up and drags Kaworu into an embrace, his slicked hands jutting awkwardly from his wrists as he presses a firm kiss to his angel's brow. He grins at Midoriya sidelong, his laughter finally softly audible.

"You're both terrible," he declares, his tension dissolving, "I just woke up. Yes - we'll clean up and come downstairs, if you promise that the omelette doesn't come with an explanation of eggs and where babies come from," he sticks the tip of his tongue in the corner of his mouth, a wicked urge overtaking him, "Izuku-kun."

He flutters his eyelashes, exaggerated to the point of absurdity.

Edited 2022-04-28 00:55 (UTC)

Mostly, Kaworu had just wanted to break through the awkwardness of the entire situation. So when Paul doubles over, he blanches, reaching out to awkwardly rub the other boy's back in a soothing and apologetic manner, and wondering how to fix something that you don't know how you broke.

Then suddenly Paul grabs him and pulls him into an embrace. At first he wiggles around like a cat being picked up against its will before settling in to his grip after a kiss is placed on his forehead.

"You woke up before me!" Is the huffed reply. Then he glances over at Midoriya, a smile on his face. "Ah, is that his role now. Unwilling educator? I suppose a hero needs to do what he can, even if he doesn't want to."

Midoriya knows Paul isn't actually being sick in the same way he knows that he, too, has something is stuck in his throat. It's less the part about washing hands, which he didn't mean, and more the part about making sure they've not got the--slippery stuff on them when they go downstairs, and the fact that he's clutching a well-wrapped vegetable. His previous absurd, untimely amusement at how stupid the eggplant looks escapes through his teeth in a shaking hiss like the delayed release of a broken dam.

The sudden flush of radish pink that colors his face is embarrassment--no, exasperation, as is the accompanying show of teeth--a grimace that immediately turns into a grin. He can think of only one correct response to what seems to be Paul's terrible rendition of how Kaworu insists on calling him by his given name.

He chucks the eggplant at Paul point blank and declares, "You're not ruining eggs for me too!"

He's glad to see Izuku smiling, laughing even. The air in the room feels lighter, a bit closer to something last night, where they were all at ease. Kaworu grins into Paul's collarbone, nuzzling it slightly, before leaning back and watching Izuku's grimace morph into a grin to match.

Then suddenly, Midoriya chucks the eggplant right at Paul. Ever a loyal guardian angel, Kaworu instinctively puts up his AT Field to deflect the projectile. It hits the field and then is violently flug backwards across the room. It hits the wall with a dull "thud" and then slides down, leaving a thin streak of lubricant on the wall.

This will probably get out of hand. Not that Kaworu minds.

"Paul would never do such a thing. We're just asking you to impart more knowledge."

Paul cuts short the raising of his arm to protect his face, dropping back to drape around Kaworu with a softly smug smile. He tucks Kaworu closer, his hesitancy overcome by the relaxed atmosphere.

The affection in his embrace is undeniable, gentle warmth blooming in his lowered eyes as he squeezes Kaworu just a little. If course he wasn't in any danger, not really - but the swift, definitive shielding brushes a sensitive, aching chord in him.

"No, we're not," Paul corrects, a trace of bedevilment still in him all the same, "If anything, we should teach Izuku-kun a thing or two, shouldn't we? It's not fair of us to be so greedy, and give him nothing back in return."

His focus flits back up to Midoriya, glinting challenge back in his expression. He's protected, after all. What does he have to worry about, with Kaworu watching over him?

"We should brush our teeth, now that I think about it."

His chin jerks, following the vegetable's trajectory with interest and fast reflexes. Really, the use of powers in one's own bedroom? What are they, animals? There's no salvaging that eggplant now--not that Midoriya planned to do anything but pitch that thing into the nearest field.

Head still cocked, his shoulders rise with his laugh. Midoriya can't even sigh at Kaworu's teasing, because he's the one making a mess of his own room.

Midoriya faces them properly, drawn like a plant to the sun, because he knows that tone of Paul's and how to answer it without hesitation. (His given name sounds strange in Paul's voice, like a borrowed shirt, odd and warm.)

"It doesn't actually sound threatening to switch names, Paul-kun, it just sounds like you're--" he's not going to say flirting, "being sentimental," he says helpfully with a steely grin. "But thank you for making sure your breath is fresh before we spar. Nagisa-kun, you're coming out with us too?"

Like the eggplant, everything is flying over his head.

"I've always called you Izuku-kun and you've never told me that I'm being sentimental," Kaworu pouts, going limp in Paul's arms as though rendered boneless by the sheer indignity of it all. "We've slept together now, you should call me by my given name."

But he's fine, being held here like this, looking at Midoriya upside down, as Paul bears most of his meager weight. Then he turns his eyes up to Paul, catching onto this playful plan. Or so he thinks.

"We should."

The discrepancy between Midoriya's innocence and his fixation on preparation for sensual acts makes more sense by the moment. Some kind and optimistic soul once inflicted an eggplant demonstration on him, Paul assumes, and he simply incorporated it unthinkingly into his arsenal of Heroic future actions.

"I was aspiring to provocative," Paul says, lightly, his smile positively feline, "I'll take sentimental."

Exchanging a look with Kaworu, he's fairly confident that at least he catches the intent, although they'll have to make sure they're in accord before they head downstairs.

"The sun still isn't up yet," he observes, recalling Kaworu's promise to rise before dawn (Paul's internal clock must have been thrown off, because it feels much later than that, but the edges of the curtains remain dark), "I think you should indulge Kaworu, at least until it does. Look at how tired he is of dealing with us already."

Does that make any sense? Not at all. Does Paul care? Not in the slightest.

"I'll go back to calling you Midoriya-kun if you do," he adds, as one more incentive.

Midoriya's reluctance to speak plainly is a self-sabotaging oversight. What Paul mistakes for innocence is awkwardness and a complete lack of expectation and experience. The last thing Midoriya wants to do is expect he's being given some permission he hasn't. He wants his friends to feel comfortable around him. He didn't think of what might happen if they patently did.

Unconscious and unbidden, his face turns an impressive shade of fuchsia. He wonders how Paul can be embarrassed about basic sex ed but insist on being--provocative. Knowing how to be safe has no consequences other than being safe. Flirting is communication, potentially an invitation.

We've slept together now... As Kaworu's words repeat in his ears, Midoriya glances down at his own clothes, as if he could forget they're there in one piece. He is painfully aware of how close they're all jumbled together, like on the couch earlier, with too much familiarity. (He doesn't even mind Paul's gross sweat, familiar from sparring.)

"That's--different... Suddenly switching is--You know," he says in exasperation as he lifts his eyes to Kaworu, with whom he shares a language. "Explain to Paul-kun that it sounds like--well--"

Like they've slept together. It's not untrue. Midoriya lets out a strangled sigh and scratches his own bedhead. In the end, it will matter less to him than to the other two.

"You guys can call me whatever, because it's you, Paul-kun... Kaworu-kun." He's going to have so much trouble remembering to call him that. He shifts under Kaworu's legs and against Paul's knee, an unconscious encouragement for them to go ahead and abrade their stupid mouth germs.

Hopefully, the delight that sparks in Kaworu's eyes when Midoriya calls him by his given name is enough to commit to memory, not playful or teasing but genuine. He wraps pale fingers around Paul's neck and heaves himself into a sitting position in the Duke's lap.

"It just means we're more intimate with each other than before. Isn't it a good thing, to have your heart open to other people?" He flicks red eyes down to where their legs are all intertwined as they were they night before. It is intimate. A sort of touch that many humans long for but would shy away from.

Still, he takes the encouragement and slides off Paul's lap and subsequently the bed, then offers a hand to Paul to pull him up as well. It's good, Midoriya encouraged them. Brushing his teeth will feel good and he needs to blow his nose as the pollen from March still irritates his system. A lot has changed in a month.

"Wait for us, Izuku-kun, okay?" Is the final request as he disappears into the bathroom.

There's a part of Paul that always looks to the limits of the world around him with an eye to test them. Flirtation is a form of exploration, the responses it garners the raw data for Paul's cartography of himself and others.

Midoriya flushes vividly at the intimacy of his personal name, but doesn't reject it outright. Like with the eggplant, he thinks of others alongside himself, if not indeed first: he seeks to protect Paul from misunderstood implications.

Kaworu's happiness is as vivid as Midoriya's embarrassment, and as authentic. It's rooted in the same positive regard, which Paul notes with increasing absentmindedness as the other boy ends up in his lap - and thing about maps is that they're not the territory. Paul can play with words for hours, but he's finding the reality (for now, he thinks, with unearned confidence) disarming, to say the least.

"So there are rules you know," he says, a declaration he meant to make triumphantly, softened as he brushes by Midoriya at the end of Kaworu's tugging hand, "Appreciated, Midoriya-kun."

He readily follows behind Kaworu, shadowing him to the sink where they may clean out their dirty mouths: "That sounds like exactly the kind of thing he's worried will ruin our reputations."

Midoriya has always been agreeable about his friends' autonomy. A person's reputation is theirs to ruin. To do that properly, it must be ruined in full knowledge.

On their heads be it. Midoriya has historically had a difficult time remembering to call people anything deviating from the usual. Inevitably, as he slips up, he will correct himself, and he will hope to see Kaworu brighten again when he makes this effort. He notes how Kaworu's eyes glance down over him, and it's not the first time. It doesn't necessarily mean anything--until it does. His legs feel electric, as does his side where Paul's knee brushes him.

Even as his face returns to its original color, he can muster no answer to either of them. He blinks at Paul, caught out in a half-lie, a flash of a small confusion and vulnerability in his eyes. Midoriya does somewhat know of rules, even if it's just part of his deep-rooted consideration for others. Sometimes that lends him an air of wisdom, a surprising understanding. He watches others and feels it out. The boy who can overanalyze combat strategies and even the taste of good food can hardly explain this thing.

Though he doesn't advertise it, in moments that he feels someone needs help, or when he feels particularly singled out and challenged, the mild-mannered polite hero-in-training breaks rules with impunity.

He watches them rise, taking their warmth with them but leaving a little behind on the bed and on Midoriya. He's relieved. He's not relieved. He wants--an unfamiliar feeling, wanting--the warmth back. This is all very exhausting. He's tempted to lie down on the bed again if he has to wait. Instead, he retrieves certain small wrappers and looks for a place to dispose of them.

Kaworu moves to the bathroom with a little half-skip walk, hand swinging backwards to brush against Paul's fingers to ensure the other boy is following. Like if he doesn't check, Paul might suddenly have vanished the next time he turns around, just something to be found in a dream.

He shivers a little, missing the warm bed, but his stomach is actually twisting and growling for food which is... highly unusual but spurs further action than he'd normally prefer to take in the mornings. So he lets himself lean against Paul's side, bobbing there slightly as he tries to not let himself collapse back into sleepiness.

A few times, he pokes his head out of the bathroom, toothbrush still in his mouth, to be sure that Midoriya hasn't left either. Thankfully, Midoriya is still there, cleaning up bits of condom wrappings, and unaware that he is being checked on.

Good. This is all good.

The domestic ritual of getting ready in the morning is something Paul rarely shares with Kaworu. Besides a few rare cases of oversleeping, he's awake before the other boy, out of bed as the first pale rays of sunlight brighten the horizon.

He's definitely being sentimental, to find brushing the sour film from his teeth next to someone else endearing. He leans back against Kaworu to provide steady support, bumping him with his hip whenever it seems like he really might be drifting back towards dreamless sleep, and watches him cross back and forth to check on Midoriya with more of the soft fondness that's coloring so many of his actions today.

Showering should be the next step, once their mouths are as pure as they're ever going to be, but now that he's standing up that seems like more effort than he's ready to expend before breakfast. He starts to shuck his shirt, intending to at least pat down his torso, but - maybe not with Kaworu and Midoriya so close, after all of that. There have been worse things at the breakfast table than a sweaty body, he decides.

"Just don't feed them to Shinji-kun," he says, emerges from the bathroom with his face still damp from the splash of cold water he settled for, "He has a sensitive stomach. Shall we?"

Go to breakfast, and possibly, as his compensation for making life so difficult, assist with whatever is left to do.

It's nostalgic, Midoriya thinks as he finally catches Kaworu peeking at him. (How long was he doing that?) Midoriya got very used to getting ready alongside the boys in the UA dorm. Living alone in Trench was quite the adjustment. He desperately wants to shower off the party from last night, and he can't fault Paul for thinking similarly. Midoriya is about to ask if he may invoke guest and friend privileges and ask to borrow a much-needed shower and shirt--

Damn it. He skates his eyes away when he remembers the curve of Paul's smile as he teased him. A guy at least has the right to be comfortable in his own home, and the baths at UA are communal. Midoriya is very capable of not looking like an idiot. He definitely does not look look an idiot as he belatedly, as Paul reminds him of the lizard, picks up the condom-wrapped eggplant and tosses it in the trash. It's for Shinji-kun's sake.

Putting breakfast in their faces first will cure the hangover faster. Midoriya finishes the cooking, but he does ask the others to procure their own drinks and sundry of choice. He folds rice flavored with stock, ketchup, and leftover chicken into a large pan of slightly runny scramble. The end result is rice wrapped with a thin scrambled egg sheet. (It's slightly open on one end, because the cook is hungover.) He piles ketchup on top, and it barely has time to run down the side before he divides the omurice into three.

There's silence for a bit as they tuck into breakfast with the efficiency of three hungry teenagers. Midoriya wants to follow through on his earlier thought and assign Paul and Kaworu dish duty.

Kaworu would have let them all change shirts, though he didn't think of it himself as, unlike Paul, he's not a sweaty creature due to being both an angel and much more prone to being chilled than overheated.

Likewise, he doesn't usually eat much, having a small and sensitive stomach that doesn't require much nutrients to make his body function. However, this morning he feels oddly... hungry. Perhaps this how humans feel when they dramatically declare that they are "starving". So he finishes more of his omurice than is typical and even drinks all of the juice that Paul gave him.

Then he promptly drops his arms onto the table, puts his face in said arms, completely unconcerned that this is right next to his plate. "Okay, we can go back to bed now."

Ketchup is a condiment Paul at first thought belonged on some variety of dessert, from the taste of it, but he's discovered some of the secrets of its alchemy since. The sweetness of it fades when blended with the salty-savory omurice, and Paul devours the meal in front of him with an elbow on the table and decorum totally abandoned. He's shameless enough to steal a bite of Kaworu's with his chopsticks as he leans over, grinning crookedly.

An outsider might not even recognize the wolfish looking boy if they caught him in passing, his eyes still clouded in cosmetic black and his ears studded like a sailor's. Those closest to him, now lost, would know this Paul; those closest to him here are learning this look, bit by bit.

"Not before we clean up." He nudges the leg of Kaworu's chair with his foot. "But you can stay here to distract Midoriya-kun."

He pushes away from the table and stands up, stretching luxuriously, and knits his hands behind his head as he considers the two boys at the table.

"Or do you want to go up to bed with him?" He asks, nonchalantly.

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.

Why is everyone at poking him? This is cruel and mean and he doesn't deserve it. He even let Paul steal food off his plate and didn't even complain about it. (He wasn't going eat it but it's the principle of the thing, really.)

And the opposite of Midoriya, he responds to Paul's question without fluster. Sleep sounds nice but the appeal was returning to that warm comfortable place with both of them. It doesn't seem right to go without everyone. "No. We'll wait for you. And I don't need to be kept awake. I can stay awake."

With great effort, he heaves himself into a standing position and goes over to where Paul is gathering the dishes in the sink and just slumps, completely against Paul's back as if his intent is to sleep standing up. This is probably not the first time that he's done this.

"And Izuku-kun will keep me awake." He paws at the air, as though expecting Midoriya to come to his side at command.

Paul knows the look on Midoriya's face from the first times the Bene Gesserit conditioning began to connect with him. It's the pivotal instant of synthesis, the threshold of choice to reach beyond one's self-understood limits. It looks like Midoriya is about to do something that puts Paul on his back, and that's a differently inflected thought in this context.

So he may be a little quick in collecting the plates and making his way to the sink to show off one of his newly acquired skills, his skin flushed past the explanation of his heightened temperature.

There's more to doing dishes than he thought there would be, but he's come to find a meditative calm in it. This is only slightly disturbed by Kaworu falling against his back. He twists to look at him, and so ends up following his gesture to Midoriya anyway.

"You don't actually have to listen to him," Paul says over the running tap, bordering on apologetic, "Or me."

"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.

Kaworu relaxes against Midorya as well, tipping a little sideways, face still pressed against Paul's back, so he can rest his his head on the slightly taller boy's shoulder. He makes it known that he wants to be near people. He wants their attention, and above all else, their affection. So he always reaches for it, even if he gets pushed away.

Paul never pushed him away. Sometimes, he's afraid Midoriya will, but he's learning that Midoriya's affection can be quiet, looking after others from afar. It's easy to miss, but it still fills up that hole in his chest like water poured gently into a cup.

Still, there's a desire to take a little more that he can't fight off. He shifts, so his cheek is against Paul's back and his chin on Midoriya's shoulder.

"Hey, Izuku-kun. You've really never kissed anyone? Aren't you older than me?"

It sounds cruel. But hopefully Midoriya has learned this is just another way of reaching out, just inexperienced and clumsy.

"I could fix that for you."

Edited 2022-05-07 20:22 (UTC)

Midoriya's arm lies between Kaworu's belly and the small of Paul's back, already preoccupying even before Midoriya sets his cheek on his shoulder, the two of their weights combined enough to press his hipbones against the counter and stutter the rhythm of his breathing. He twists the tap closed with slightly more force than necessary, misjudging it in his distraction. It's not a bad thing. If anything, it's some kind of relief, a wringing out like a sponge - which is what he should be doing, he reminds himself.

The dishes are obscured under a layer of foamed soap, and Paul thinks absently of the important lesson of 'letting things soak', which would provide an excuse to disentangle them. He won't, of course. If he steps away, he already suspects Midoriya will try to do it himself, and he's already put in than his fair share of effort this morning. Paul takes a bracing breath before he starts scrubbing, hair falling around his face as he bends over the steaming sink.

When Kaworu breaks the brief reverie, the sudsy water sloshes around Paul's wrists when he half-startles, laughter coming out of him like the curl of a question mark.

"Kaworu," he says, twisting to glance back at as much of them as he can see, which isn't much, and then he's quiet in a way that echoes the softly inexorable determination of Midoriya at the table earlier. He flicks from green to pale hair, eyes shaded by his lashes.

"...he is good at it." Softly, like an extended hand, palm up. "If you want to."

They did brush their teeth.

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