Paul's eyes flicker to Cain's face-- read the anguish written there-- and Paul exhales. This is no longer about yoga right this second. Something bigger's here, something raw for the other man.

He almost asks who but memory surfaces, mention of a son along with the wife. Ah. And here's he's asking shit about babies. Great. Great.

Paul draws his hands back from adjusting Cain's position, sits with his ankles crossed and his hands resting in his lap.

"How old was he last time you... saw him?"