Though his hand remains entirely gentle on hers… it's with a bit too much suddenness and violence that he shakes his head.

"Neither of us could know that."

Even without the war…

There was no without the war. No moment in his life had been unaltered by it… had been less than wholly defined by it. What ifs were worse than pointless.

But before becoming the full of what it would make of him,

(knowing how immediately young that could start to influence a child and how and why it shouldn't)

there were still his own parents to go by

—.

He shakes his head again.

But more softly this time.

Deliberately puts his focus back on their joined hands. Lets them reel him back.

Until he can speak again more gently. With an element of apology in his voice. "…Sorry. I… you know." Looks up at her finally, meaning it and wanting her to see that he did. "But. Thank you. For… thinking that. Of me." Whether he agreed or not, whether it worried him that if untrue she could be disillusioned of it, or worse, made vulnerable for it… still. It was very moving to know she could think that way of him.

His thumb moved across the back of her hand, trying to say what his voice couldn't.