(She second guesses herself on that? He near wants to start singing his own words as much as it would be off-key about it. He'd even dance for her no matter how poorly he may do at such things with a want to let her know, feel, that she is every bit fine with it being her. He doesn't kiss just anyone, hadn't no less.) ....it is Caoimhe, it is not as if I do this with ill intent, you're the only woman I have kissed. (Truthful in his words, the intense emotions across their eyes in his answer, he means that. No other woman has kissed him.

No other woman has laid hands on him either; not in this way of sweet tender fancies and love gradually radiating though they know not of it being love. It felt so addictive, so sweet he found himself craving for more of her lips. If it went further he'd have to watch at most the cramp space they have and to not do anything foolish like near break a wall or a bookshelf from it.

His sky colored eyes hold in them care, trust, and that foreign sense of love within them as he gently or as gently as he could manage, clings to her in this moment of them alone.) If anything I thought I'd be the more anxious one knowing I tend to argue with myself often on if I deserve something. (A small joke, something to help ease the tension even at his own expense.)