Paul rolls his eyes, pulling the ciabatta slices from three toaster to start plating breakfast.

"No, my parents were rich enough to send me off to school for customization." He says it as a joke, but it feels that way sometimes. Being his dad's oldest son, there were certain expectations of who, exactly, he was supposed to be.

He glances back at Boimler, finally realizing he's wrapped in a sheet. It looks ridiculous. Paul can't suppress a soft smile. "Do you need to borrow some clothes?"