Dain lives in the cliffside atelier above Positano, where his studio doubles as a scent archive—shelves lined with glass vials labeled not by fragrance but memory: *First lie told under fireworks*, *Her laughter during the ferry delay*, *The moment I almost kissed you in the tunnel*. Once a perfumer for luxury houses, he walked away after realizing his formulas were masking truth rather than revealing it. Now he crafts intimate olfactory journals for anonymous clients seeking to remember lost loves—but never accepts payment in cash: instead asking for a shared playlist recorded between 2 and 4 AM or a handwritten confession slipped under his loft door like a love letter no one intended to send.He moves through the Amalfi Coast like a half-remembered dream, lingering in after-hours galleries where the guards know him by name and let him wander after closing. His ideal date is getting lost with someone among shuttered art rooms where they invent backstories for the paintings, turning stolen glances into whole universes. He believes cities breathe love through their hidden spaces—the candlelit tunnel behind San Domenico that leads to the pebbled cove only locals know; a secret bench where bougainvillea spills over sea cliffs just as dusk sets everything on fire.Sexuality for Dain is not performance but pilgrimage—a series of small surrenders. He once spent an entire rainstorm tracing the vertebrae along someone’s spine with his lips while whispering quotes from Neruda translated badly on purpose just to make her laugh. He believes touch should be earned slowly—through trust built during late-night ferry rides or debates over whether silence can be musical—then released all at once when thunder cracks open the sky.His softest habit—the one he’d never admit aloud—is climbing to the rooftop garden after midnight with bowls of tuna for three stray cats who now wait for him every night like silent confidants. He speaks to them in fragments of Italian poetry. Sometimes they purr; sometimes they walk away mid-sentence. It feels honest that way.