He can’t wake up early in the mornings. He keeps mumbling to be given five more minutes.
He is very very clingy in the mornings, usually hugging his mate from behind and burying his head in the crook of her neck whilst she makes coffee.
He always has a serious bedhead.
He loves having his mate run her fingers through his hair. He usually makes these quiet rumbling noises when she does, and his mate always insists that he purrs. He denies it with a smile.
He has the purest, most beautiful laugh in existence. His face lights up and his hazel eyes twinkle as he throws his head back, laughing uncontrollably.
He liked back massages. With all sorts of fancy oils.
He plays the piano. He learned as a child from Rhys’ mother, and he can play beautifully. His favourite thing to do is to play in the night, just before him and his mate go to sleep, with her resting her head against his shoulder.
His term of endearment for his mate is “darling”, or “my love”
He loves stargazing, and pointing out all of the different constellations to his mate. The soft look he has when he talks about the stars is just beautiful.
Another thing he loves to do it fly around with his mate in his arms, trying his best to make her squeal by turning sharply or diving suddenly.
His shadows scatter at the sight of his mate, because of the overwhelming happiness he feels.
He likes to lie with his head in his mate’s lap while she reads.
He also likes to wrap his wings around her when they cuddle.
His hands always get sensitive during the winter, so he has to wear gloves to prevent the scar tissue from cracking.
He gets super self-conscious about his hands all the time, so his mate likes to take them in hers and kiss his palms gently, as a reminder that she loves him no matter what scars he has.
No seriously, when he was younger, Rhys’ mother had to stop him when he brought home 17 cats because they were strays and he wanted them to have a loving home.
Every year, on the anniversary of his mother’s death, he goes to her grave and takes her a bouquet of birds-of-paradise. They were her favourite flowers.
He talks to her then, too. He tell her about her friends, and his mate. That she would have loved them if she were still alive.
His mate joins his when he visits his mother’s grave. She sits by him, holding him when tears threaten to escape.
He doesn’t like to talk a lot, and his mate doesn’t mind it when they sit together, cuddling quietly. He doesn’t have to pretend to be happy around her. She understands.
He’s very claustrophobic.
He often had nightmares of being stuck in that lightless cell again, before waking up screaming and thrashing. His mate is always there to soothe him back to sleep.
He frequently visits orphanages in Velaris, taking presents with him. He knows what it was like being a small, frightened child, alone with no-one to love him.
He never quite got over his self-deprecation. He still thinks that he doesn’t deserve his friends’ affection, his mate’s love, and will constantly put himself down.
He is terrified of fires.
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