They takes his hand and keep their eyes there, but he's watching them with a careful interest, pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he thinks about how to handle this. He remembers them saying sorry to him when they heard about his death and even that was too much. He doesn't know how to say enough to sate their curiosity and their terrible kindness without getting another reaction like that. And he doesn't want to hear that right now.

His lips press together for a beat, and he... takes the worse way out. Instead of coming up with something to say, he takes their out, his eyes widening with interest. He wants to exchange information with as many of them as he can, and he leans closer as he asks, "Sort of? The child I met, they kept disappearing and reappearing later. Do you mean like that?"