[He tenses up on the contact, but he doesn't pull away. His eyes find the patterns in the sand fascinating, and he desperately wants to lose himself in them, but he couldn't.]
[When he looks back up at her, he had his brave face one. It wasn't an empty one, either, his was tempered by his experiences, and the time he had spent recovering after the tragic events that shaped him into the man he was today. It was a work of art, and easily believable. There was only the faintest glimmer in his eyes that something was out of place; a low tremor in his voice.] I'm okay, Euphemia.
[He reached up to put his hand on hers, but he kind of pulled it away, giving her fingers a light squeeze. In one smooth motion he tried to reassure her, as well as put some distance in between them and the topic.]