This Evan, old as he is, has been well versed in the language and look of loss, and in the devastating effects of love, though none of his have been lifetime-spanning romances. That equivocation that she does is so, so familiar to him and he feels a pang for one so young being subject to the need for it.

But instead of asking after her loss, or immediately answering her question, he reaches up and catches her hand. His eyes stay locked on hers, full of measured consideration, even as he tilts his head down to kiss her fingertips.

He pauses when he's done her index and middle fingers. The need for due diligence weighs on him, although the part of him that deeply and privately resents the fact that he's a creature of limited existence bucks at that need for responsibility.

"Hmmmm." He decides on a middle road, one she can brush off if she'd like. "Remember that, although he may someday become someone like me, I am not that boy you're thinking of. If this will too much change your view of him..." He lets that hang long enough to try for another press of lips, this to her ring fingertip. "Then I suppose you should stop me." He does not want her to stop him, he realizes.