[More mild than modest, Kaworu's smile is openly pleased now. This is shameful, but it feels good to be praised by Shinji, and for this particular quality. Yes, he could protect Shinji. From anything, and for an eternity, he can and will keep Shinji safe. That's how he can feel now, at least. Kaworu is capable in a game of tag if nothing else.] I'm glad I can do something like that, [he says, soft, but unrelenting in that force. It's internal so much of the time—Shinji might never have seen it to this degree, he realizes. Not in this lifetime. Kaworu exhales. Shinji's touch is the only thing that could cause him to relent.

Maybe he does seem modest, though. His eyes are lowering from Shinji's eyes, their held gaze melting away to bare a slip of self-consciousness. It isn't easy to perceive, but it's there, while Shinji's fingers rearrange Kaworu's longer hair. Shinji's hands are like a florist's; in comparison, Kaworu's hair is like weeds. He's noticed, during brief glimpses in mirrors, that it's grown out into something uncomfortably familiar. If it gets too much worse, he will look fifteen again. It makes him want to recoil from himself.

But he can't be too displeased, beneath Shinji's attention. He's a few degrees warmer than cool, for once. His eyes raise back up, too.]

Do I seem like I need to wind down? [It's a little playful, but mostly it's a self-criticism. His face has got the sort of grin usually granted by pianos, though.] Well, I wonder what that sort of thing is like.