"Uh-" The question is a surprise, but a small one. Why she'd want to kiss him, he can't know; why anyone would is a mystery only balanced by the fact that precious few ever have. But the idea no longer feels shameful, or catches that fluttering terror of being touched when he wasn't expecting it. "I- yeah, uh."

And he can say none of that.

He takes her hand, instead, and burnishes the knuckles with his own kiss, dry and light and brief. Yes, because words never work out.