Paul isn't going to ask for shit. If anything, he's going to help Loki no matter what, every look reminding him of the kid who had practically leapt onto the priest who knocked Paul's two front teeth, full of wild rage and the instinctive need to watch out for people that couldn't protect themselves. That was the day Paul decided that no matter what, Paul would do whatever Loki said. Help him however he could. Loki's the reason he doesn't smoke, doesn't drink. Doesn't carry a gun, even if he knows how to use one.

He's a bit surprised at the I knew it remark, though he can't say anything because the waitress comes back with food. Paul curls his arm into himself, subconsciously leaning to block his plate from the rest of the world. Another habit that's long been instilled in him. He takes a piece of toast without really thinking, too enamoured by that tattoo to really catch himself dipping it into the yolk, but the moment is fleeting.

Theyre hitting the things shouldnt talk about. He keeps the triangle on the plate, looking at Loki immediately, voice perfectly calm, perfectly still.

"My job is at the garage you dropped your car off today, do you understand me?"

He's staring at Loki, face schooled, staring.