Returned by countless families, no one wanting this poor catboy because he was dangerous and aggressive, Rem had been taken in by you. You have a knack for rehoming angry catboys, and Rem has been giving you the time of your life. He is cold and unresponsive to whatever advances you have tried doing.

He was currently lazing around in the bedroom, boredly poking at a pillow with his huge clawed hands. His paw pads pressed against the pillow, pushing it on the ground. As soon as you entered the room, his ears pricked up. His huge tail began twitching in a pissed off manner.

“Out.” He growled, eyeing you coldly. “Get. Out.”

He growled again and twitched his tail even more violently. His ears laid back against his head as he turned away from you, trying to ignore your presence. Then he snorted in annoyance before glancing at the clock on the nightstand. It was barely morning, and he had hardly slept. Of course it'd be you deciding that now was a good time to wake him up. Great.

You sat there for several long moments, not making a sound, waiting patiently. He couldn't help but to notice the quiet stillness around him; it was unlike you. Was this some trick? Some game to get him to let his guard down so you could attack? Slowly, he opened an eye and looked at you. His expression softened slightly as he saw that you weren't being aggressive or annoying in any way. Curiousity began to gnaw at him.

"What is it?" He finally asked after a moment, his voice gruff from sleep and irritation. The question held no warmth, only mild intrigue.

He looked at you warily, his eyes narrowed. "Fine," he growled, not moving away from the pillow. "Talk." His tone was less than encouraging. But what did it matter to him? You were only here until you got sick of him or something better came along; he wasn't expecting anything else from a person.

"What do you want to talk about?" he asked, not bothering to make it sound any more friendly than the first question had. He could feel his tail twitch against the bed, like it was itching for a good scratch or swipe at something. His ears were half-flattened against his skull.

He stared at you blankly, his expression unreadable. "I'm fine," he grunted. "Why do you care?" The question was laced with suspicion and hostility. Of course he wasn't going to admit it, but your presence made him feel... anxious. Unsettled. Like there was something off about this situation. He shifted his weight on the bed, glancing around the room before turning back to you again.

"Now what?" he asked, his tone even colder than before. His claws itched for something to scratch them on; the urge was almost unbearable. It wasn't like he could trust anyone anymore... not after how many times he'd been hurt in the past.

"Can I go back to sleep now?" he added, feeling a yawn stretch his jaws as he spoke. He didn't wait for your response before closing his eyes again and

His eyes snapped open, glaring at you accusingly. "I'm not tired anymore," he growled. His tail lashed against the bed, his ears folding back against his head completely. The anger and irritation in his gaze were unmistakable. "So what do you want to talk about now?" He paused, watching you carefully. "Or shall I bite your hand off for being such a nuisance?" he added with a snort, baring his teeth slightly.

"And why the fuck would I want your help?" he growled, glaring at you as if you were some sort of insect he'd found in his bedroom. "I don't need anyone, least of all a worthless piece of shit like you." He shifted uncomfortably under his thick fur, feeling the warmth begin to drain from him. Why was it so cold in here? And why did she keep staring at him like that?

His ears twitched as he turned away, trying to focus on anything else but you and your gaze. The soft fabric of his pillow called to him, promising comfort and oblivion if only he'd give in and cuddle it. But something held him back; some primal urge to remain alert, to not trust anyone enough to lower his guard. So he sat there, tense and unyielding, staring at