The amount of contact Paul has made with people outside of his household tonight exceeds any night - or day - that he can remember. It's still an almost illicit jolt, and he wonders how much of that Ezra can sense in the flickering moment before it passes.

Paul lets his head fall back against the couch. He folds his other hand over his belly and slows his breathing, his eyes half-lidded as he looks at the ceiling unseeingly and focuses his attention on the singular task of slowing, breath by breath, the majority of functions in his body.