Out of concern, Midoriya has always wondered how his Paleblood friends felt when their powers or the "blood weather" fluctuated. Spice sounds like that. He trusts Paul. The dab of spice on Midoriya's tongue seems so insignificant. He sits quietly with a serene expression, half his hair mussed, forest green eyes large and looking at nothing while he sees everything. He does feel it, the undisturbed well sprawled still and deep next to him. Everything is fine. Except--
"You'll get an ear infection," Midoriya murmurs a half-forgotten thought. "Your hair."
He plucks in his jeans pocket and snaps the few threads lightly holding something to the seam since December. A hairpin, well-hidden for emergencies. He produces more, while coordination still remains. Each thread breaking is a loud, amplified note. In the back of his mind, an urge has come forward: There's an injury, and he must keep Paul safe.
He rolls on his side, the moving color-bloom of the room immaterial compared to the still, black-swathed figure next to him. He breaks the usual caul of reservation he places around even friends and reaches for a lock of hair above the shell (and now bone) of Paul's ear.
spice spice baby; MHA spoilers
"You'll get an ear infection," Midoriya murmurs a half-forgotten thought. "Your hair."
He plucks in his jeans pocket and snaps the few threads lightly holding something to the seam since December. A hairpin, well-hidden for emergencies. He produces more, while coordination still remains. Each thread breaking is a loud, amplified note. In the back of his mind, an urge has come forward: There's an injury, and he must keep Paul safe.
He rolls on his side, the moving color-bloom of the room immaterial compared to the still, black-swathed figure next to him. He breaks the usual caul of reservation he places around even friends and reaches for a lock of hair above the shell (and now bone) of Paul's ear.