Paul is still there, but the calm that suffused him is not. When Midoriya takes a deep breath Paul takes one in unison, perfectly synced, his fingers shifting from the medial points of energetic resonance on Midoriya's face - browbone, upper jaw, low jaw - to the pulse point on his throat. Even in the throes of spice, his touch is steady and practiced.

This has involved shifting Midoriya back on the couch and looming over him, their positions reversed. Paul sinks back on his heels and looks his friend over head to toe, drawing his hand away from the side of his neck only after he's satisfied by the rhythms holding strong there.

"Midoriya-kun?" Paul asks, softly, his eyes wide and his pupils wide within them. His already smudged eyeliner is beyond repair, his hair newly tacked to his forehead with sweat. He wonders if Midoriya can feel the lingering traces of Paul's own racing heart.

"Who were you talking to?"