"If I'm the night sky, then you're the sun." He says, then his cheeks turn red and he awkwardly gives her hand a squeeze.
Art stammers as he tries to explain himself. He glances at Thistle's hand, as if suddenly unsure of whether he should have touched it.
"You know, it’s just… the night sky wouldn’t be as beautiful without the sun," he begins, "It’s all dark and mysterious on its own, but the sun makes everything vibrant. It gives color to the world, makes things alive. That’s what you’re like—bright and brilliant and… uh, radiant? Is that too much?"