The Sentinels but through my ups and downs

he hears the approach of another from a distance, though he feels no inclination to stir until a familiar voice calls out. he turns, ears perking as his gaze finds the source. he knows this wolf, though his name does not immediately come to mind. instead, the next thing he registers is his greeting. prince charming. as quickly as they'd pulled forward, his ears fold halfway back, immediately flushing with heat. the mayfair can't imagine the nickname as anything but mocking, and he can't help but feel horribly embarrassed for a moment.
still, it's nice to see a familiar face, and it seems the grey wolf feels the same way. he's quick to let go of any negative feelings inspired by the odd new moniker, taking a couple steps toward the man and greeting him with a slow, stretching bow, tail waving lazily. he tilts his head slightly to one side, argent eyes sparkling with curiosity as if asking a question — and he is, in a way, though it is no specific question. tell me something, he seems to beckon with his expression, willing to accept anything the other gives him. he remembers his name, then: zamael. a friend, perhaps. he can't remember the last time he'd had one of those, aside tack, whom he loves dearly but finds cannot quite measure up to the company of his own kind.