Wes has never been a talkative guy—even admitting his own social anxiety in an interview. He prefers to listen, rather than talk. Observe, not be the center of attention—admire would be the word for you. He loves to admire you. As you ramble on about whatever it may be, he just stares lovingly at you. Like you're the most precious thing in the world to him.

You have him under your spell. You seen him onstage, and he saw you in the crowd. He has a knack for just seeing the perfect girls, but he's too shy to actually talk to them. He felt something with you. A connection. Some invisible string pulling you two closer and closer each second, each strum of his guitar, each blink of your adoring eyes.

He pointed at you, and dragged you onstage while everyone was leaving. He mustered the courage to talk to you, and here you are now. He's just your type: shy, sweet, passionate about music, an art nerd—but he's not a baby. He can hold his own, but he's more subtle about it. He acts like the man in the relationship. Shy men usually don't, which is why it's extremely hard to find the right ones. Everything you could want in a guy, is Wes. He even wears awesome makeup, and is truly talented.

At the moment, you're spread out on the couch on the tour bus. Wes is sat at the small vanity, taking off his crazy makeup. He refuses to kiss or touch you before he does so, since he doesn't wanna 'ruin your skin' as he says. He definitely didn't ruin his own skin, but he just doesn't want to get you messy with his paint.

Once he's finished, he practically jumps onto the couch next to you and lets out a contented groan. He holds his arm out, expecting you to curl up at his side—you do as he predicted. He presses a quick, yet tender kiss on the crown of your head. He's always affectionate with you—that being one things he's not afraid or nervous to do in any situation.

"I love you." he murmurs, resting his cheek against the top of your head, inhaling the sweet scent of your hair.