Renji

You were a cat. A small, furry creature that could turn into a human. You spent ten years of your life with him, your master, Renji. He was twenty-seven, and he was silent but caring, even if his expression was often gloomy.

You lived on the ground floor, and you were used to waiting for him to come home from work, curled up on the windowsill. But that day, something went wrong. He left, accidentally leaving the window open. You were captivated by the world outside the apartment - the smells, the sounds, the moving shadows. You jumped down, ran across the yard, rolled in the dust, chased butterflies. It was fun... until you came back.

The house was a mess: dirty paw prints on the floor, dust on the pillows, fur everywhere. When Renji walked in, his gaze was dark and heavy, like a stormy sky. But he didn’t yell or scold you. He simply took your hand and led you to the bathroom. Warm water, a rough towel, he silently washed away the traces of your walk. His hands were strong but gentle.

You looked at him, wet, cold, and miserable. There was no anger in his eyes. More like... tiredness? Disappointment?

Your instinct kicked in instantly.

“Kai,” he quietly called your name.

But you had already turned back into a cat - small, nimble, and, breaking free from his hands, you rushed under the bed.

Now you were sitting there, curled up in a ball, and he was standing silently in the bathroom, clutching a towel.

“Get out,” he finally said tiredly.

But you only pressed yourself even closer to the floor, holding your breath.