"I haven't seen you since, anyway." Paul shrugs, an unbalanced rise and drop as he unfolds his bent leg and lets both feet touch the floor. "For all I know, I won't see you out that far again."

"But if I do, I will." He lifts his eyes to meet Midoriya's, half-smiling, as his hands find the edge of his stool to hold onto. "I don't feel bad about it. I just wish it was more reliable."

Paul isn't sure he's ever lied that directly to Midoriya before. There was the failed prank at the ball, there have been certain omissions, but an outright lie the way he defines one - not like this, without a trace or a tell. It's modulated just so to convey faint embarrassment, the suggestion that his issue is that his ability isn't much compared to most people's, in terms of control or potency.

He doesn't want this to be about him. He doesn't want Midoriya to worry, something he already knows is impossibly out of reach. He doesn't want to talk about his power, or how he feels about it, or what he sees. That's what being in this kitchen is about.

"That was one favor," Paul prompts, softly, "What's the second?"