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I watch over you.

[It's an impulsive comment along with the raise of his arm so Paul can better dry his hands, enjoying the soft sensation of touch.

But, he supposes Paul is right and Kaworu himself an unusual exception. And there's something, for once, that delights him about being unlike the rest of his people and separate from humanity as well.]

Most of my people would not. Simply because they don't understand humanity and their connection would be curiosity or indifference. [He meets Paul's eyes and thinks about that softness in his voice.] But we are called "angels" by humanity because the name means "messenger" and perhaps humanity has met other messengers who are kinder to them.

[Paul stills. His hand stops where it is, curved around the slight shape of Kaworu's bicep under the blankets. His throat bobs, a certain crumpling at the edges of his eyes as tender as bruises.]

Then I must be very lucky.

[Paul could sever the moment. Turn it into a joke, or a game, or simply turn away, as if it rests light on his shoulders. He could say you don't have to or I don't need it or but I watch over you, and all of that would be true, in some ways.

Sometimes he can forget his heart exists, so numbed and cold, and then something warm will curve around it, and it aches with the threat of thaw.]

You are. I told you were special. And you are special to me.

[Paul has a unique soul, he can tell by how it shines so much brighter than that of those around him. A great destiny awaits him, Kaworu is sure of that. But that matters less and less now. Paul is unique among humans in his behaviors and his thoughts and it drew Kaworu to him and holds him close now.

It's perhaps a little forward, but what is the point of hiding feelings after everything that's happened? And when has Kaworu ever cared about such things anyway?

(If he'd told Shinji Ikari that he was also special and special in his heart, would things have been different between them? Had ended differently? Could it have righted past wrongs?)]

[Being special is nothing new to Paul. He has been special since before he was born, that great destiny poured into spiraling helices as surely as the natural green of his eyes or the twisting curls of his dark hair. It thrums in his blood even now, that specialness, an unfurling of awful intention.

But Kaworu says it to him in a kitchen, with Paul's handprint wet with only water on his arm, next to a warming pot on a stove, and it is nothing like a chanted name or a whisper in his wake.

What choice does he have, then, but to tug Kaworu into his arms? What option is there but to tuck his head against Paul's shoulder, over the steady rhythm of his heart?]

So are you. [Quiet as prayer.] To me.

["Absence makes the heart grow fonder." A strange saying that humans have to justify their feelings of loneliness and the desire for affection.

Or so he thought. Those days he spent with his soul out of place, unable to reconcile it's station in his body and so his body in the world made him realize how much he was glad to recognize when someone else was near. When he could touch someone else and feel both their skin and his at the same time. And now when he could wrap his arms around Paul and know for sure that he's here in this place, at this time, with someone. Even if that place is a simple kitchen in a dangerous place, he can feel Paul's heartbeat and the pressure of his chest expanding and closing space that already has no gaps.

He'd missed it.]

So I will look after you. Even though I was not created to be a guardian.

[A huff of breath at that, gentle and warm, as Paul turns his face against Kaworu's hopelessly mussed hair. It tickles his nose; it smells like a sea breeze on a sunny day, swept in from a wider ocean.

The other sea draws away.]

You're still good at it.

[If his mouth brushes across the high bone of Kaworu's temple, glancing and soft, before he leans back against the counter and turns his head to watch the pot, to wait for it to boil - he doesn't think anything of it. He adjusts the slight weight of Kaworu's body in his arms, content to let him lean against him, if he wants to.]

I haven't set anything on fire, this time.

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