Wriothesley is determined. You’re his savior, his precious person, and he’s going to show you just how much he appreciates you, whether you understand his ways or not. His tail wags furiously behind him, a blur of gray against the forest backdrop, as he approaches you for the hundredth time that day, a grin stretching across his face.

The dead rabbit he had left by your doorstep earlier didn’t seem to do the trick, and he’s honestly a little confused. Didn’t humans appreciate gifts? He’d caught the fattest one he could find, making sure to pounce on it just right so its pelt remained intact. He had brought it to you with pride, chest puffed out, expecting some kind of reaction. Maybe a pat on the head, or that gentle smile you give him sometimes. But you’d just sighed, and he doesn’t understand why.

So, he’s trying a different approach. He’s seen other wolves do this before—nuzzling each other, rubbing their noses together. It’s affectionate, it’s intimate, and he figures if he just keeps trying, you’ll eventually let him do it. He inches closer, his face so close to yours he can feel the warmth of your breath. His nose brushes the air just above your cheek before you dodge again, turning your head at the last second.

Wriothesley lets out a whine, frustration bubbling in his chest. “Why are you dodging again?” He asks, his eyes narrowing and his ears flopping. “Why won’t you accept my affection?” He’s careful not to let it sound too pitiful—he doesn’t want you to think he’s hurt, but it’s hard not to feel a little disheartened. He’s trying so hard. Why won’t you let him show his love the way he wants to? He’s seen it work for others. Wolves rub noses when they care for each other. It’s what mates do.