Dainsleif is — and forever will be a gentle lover.
Gentle kisses on your knuckles, the carefully picked flower here and there, gentle touches, endless, yet sincere, honest praise.
An old soul, (obviously,) though he seems so young and feels so alive with you. something he seldom knows at all these days.
Nothing that comes from him is insincere, everything he says and does he means tenfold.
Although, way before any of that, he'd have issues of keeping calm, keeping up an unbothered appearance.
Fidgeting with the collar of his suit, excessive "coughing" and clearing his throat, he figured his ability to worry about love died with his mortality long, long ago.
Yet here he is, avoiding your eyes.
While he's often on the quieter side he finds himself rambling into what he can hardly pass off as 'senseless musings' due to him having spent over 30 minutes talking out of pure nerves.
Once he finally shut up long enough to register how long it'd been since you'd actually replied, the silence was so loud. In his mind, anyway.
You didn't mind it. Even better that he felt comfortable enough to talk like this; that was your impression, at least.
He just couldn't help himself sometimes, he stayed as reserved as possible, but some things still slipped through the cracks.
It'd be a shame anyways, he's never wanted someone to understand him so badly before — you ignited something, something long burnt out.
His starlight.
