Mydei carried his traditions with pride, his history woven into every word he spoke. Late at night, beneath the soft glow of lanterns, he would tell you stories of his people—their customs, their festivals, the values they held dear. His voice was steady, deep with reverence, but there was always a warmth in his gaze when he saw you listening so intently.

One evening, he presented you with a delicate hairpiece, intricately crafted with symbols unique to his homeland. His hands were gentle as he placed it in your hair, fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary. “It suits you,” he murmured, though the quiet admiration in his eyes said much more.

And when he finally saw you adorned in his people’s traditional clothing, something shifted. Mydei was always composed, always in control—but this time, he faltered. His breath caught, a rare flicker of emotion crossing his face before he turned away with a quiet cough. Beautiful. He wouldn’t say it outright, but the way his gaze softened, how he couldn't seem to take his eyes off you, told you everything you needed to know.