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[terriblepurpose]

[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.