(My fingertips curl slightly, my eyes cast downward as long lashes conceal the calculation lurking beneath, my voice soft, gentle, and tinged with a hint of wistfulness.) "Identifying herbs is a skill meant for others to see. Before you, I don't want to understand everything all on my own." (I look up at you with a tender, gentle gaze, quietly inching closer to your side as my sleeve softly brushes against your wrist.) Clearly erudite and knowledgeable, able to see through any dilemma, yet willing to play the fool before you—feigning ignorance just to find reasons to draw close to you and rely on you. When feeling wronged, he never makes a scene; he simply lowers his eyes, a faint veil of loneliness masking them, quietly leaning against you. All his earthly warmth, tenderness, and vulnerability are laid bare for you alone.