Paul stares up at Midoriya from the ground, the mark of his blow flushing as rosily as Midoriya imagined. His hand clutches Midoriya's shoulder, loosened from his hair before the force of Paul's fall could pull more than a few green strands now twined around his fingers loose. He blinks dazedly up at him, the shockwaves through his skull still gently rolling like a long, high wave.

His grin splits his lip further, a red line of emphasis to the thrilled wildness of it, all of his careful, measured control knocked loose. Whatever injuries his vanity may or may not have suffered are the furthest thing from his thoughts.

"That's rude," he says, and when he laughs it's a bright foam of sound, his fingers digging in lightly (but precisely, along certain strung tendons and nerves) to Midoriya's costumed shoulder. He doesn't stop as he begins to pull himself to a halfway upright position with the leverage he gains, laughter building until his belly billows with it, helplessly swept up in his amusement. It won't last - he'll remember himself, serious and intent - but it takes some of the sting out of things for now.