His age actually manages to surprise her. "You're thirty?" she asks reflexively. It doesn't sound scandalized, just curious. In all honesty, she's just been assuming he's in his early to mid-twenties. In her opinion, he doesn't look thirty, anyway. And lost in that thought, it takes her a second to back up the train and remember that he's actually asked her a really important question. "Oh! No. No, it doesn't change anything for me," she says, shaking her head.

Lydia backs it up a little further, replaying his response in her head. Belatedly, she realizes that he didn't say that it doesn't change things, he just says that he doesn't want it to, and she isn't really sure if that's because he's worried about her reaction to his age or if there's more to it. Her lips press together for a moment in thought and she reaches down to remove his glasses, brushing his bangs away from his forehead as she puts his glasses into his free hand for him.

"I don't care how old you are," she admits softly. "I like you. A lot. And I like us. I don't want anything to change." Lydia wets her lips. "Can we just...stay?" The question almost comes out in a whisper, because she's scared. She's afraid of losing him over something that seems so trivial to her, even if she understands why it might not be trivial to him.