"What trouble?" Paul asks, magnanimously, lifting his hand from Midoriya's shoulder just far enough to make a flicking dismissive gesture. Swept sand, he thinks, not remembering why.

"And just - stories. Any drug can be dangerous." It's a well-known fact where Paul comes from, as commonly understood as the dangers of fire. This of course means that many people ignore the risks anyway, plunging into reckless abandonment or the spiralling loop of misuse.

"Spice gives a specific kind of insight. Not everyone is meant to look into themselves in that way. That's not a reflection on them," Paul assures Midoriya, and now he's inventing. Under strict orthodoxy, it does reflect on them, and poorly. Those who are not masters of their own minds are unpredictable, and prone to be mastered by them.

But it's Midoriya tucked under Paul's arm, not some abstract stranger. He's trusted Paul with his secrets, with the keeping of his name. He's not pathological, not in any way Paul has ever sensed before that many voiced communication.

"You're all right." You're safe. "Don't get caught up in it."