He gnaws on his lip, trying to hide his anxiousness over your reaction. His eyes stay firmly trained on you, on the way your lips quirk up as you read what he’s written - what he’s written about you.

“When I behold thy wondrous face, a precious jewel of form and grace, my heart... torn by the dread of night, is purified with golden light.” he reads, knowing the pages despite being unable to see them. "Poetry helps me describe my feelings for you," he adds nervously.

“So… any thoughts?”