They could probably stay like this forever, locked in each others eyes and smiling like idiots but eventually she says her name and he lowers his eyes for a moment as he tries to regain some sort of coherent thought. A name. His name, it was only proper.
Astrophel shook his head as if to shake away that feeling of having been caught and lost. His smile faded briefly as a hand reached up to gingerly scratch along one of the thin scars etched down his throat. He hated how he could not remember where the damn scars came from. Another shake of his head clears his thoughts once more and he smiles again.
"Astrophel," he replies, finally. "Astrophel Fleetwood. Who is walking with you at this time of evening? Shall I escort you to your destination?"