Otatso Wetlands das himmlische leben

The male's gaze found him quickly; his heart fluttered rapidly against the cage of his chest and his stomach tightened. He shifted, taking some weight off his bad leg, and tried to ignore the hot flush spreading through his ears. Finely crafted as the stranger's features were, they revealed nothing. Alarian was more nervous for it. He remained rooted nonetheless, hopeful and waiting.
Surprise flitted across his face at the dark-furred male's gesture. The expression morphed quickly into something softer, though the undertone of nervousness remained. Alarian moved slowly, hesitantly, to lay as near to the male as he thought he would be allowed. He laid his head on his paws and simply studied him. Some part of him wanted to say something— but a larger part of him rejected the idea entirely. To speak would be to highlight his own inadequacy— he knew he was not interesting. He knew there was no part of him worth knowing; he didn't want this perfect stranger to know that.
If he could not be special to anyone, he would not try. He would be nothing to those around him of his own accord, thank you very much; at least that way, he could sometimes pretend the disinterest was misplaced. So he watched the male, and he admired him, but he could not bring himself to speak. It seemed pointless.