Of course Paul doesn't get away with it. If that was the kind of person Midoriya was, they wouldn't be friends in the first place. Paul smiles crookedly, a caught out, half-repentant twist under shaded eyes.

"I know," Paul affirms, as easy as that. "I will. I am. Sometimes I feel like all I do is talk about it. Just not today."

He sips deeply from his tea, which has cooled enough to be tolerable. He remembers the first time they had tea, cradled in the curved arc of an altered memory. Midoriya had kept the door closed, then; Paul hopes he'll let it stay closed again.

"Please," he adds, more quietly, and whether that please is attached to the words that came before it, or the ones that follow after, is unclear, "What's the second favor?"