For the next few days, the brat was mostly always consumed in his painting. Personally, I don't really get it because if you had to paint 'something you love', then wouldn't you paint tuna? I mean it's really quite obvious.

But the painting of me did look… not bad, I guess. It was still incomplete, but basically it was of me just looking out with big round sparkly eyes (please tell me I don't actually look like that) and an open mouth that made it look like I was smiling (I'd rather kill myself than look this happy). In the background you could see a window opening to the view of a blue sky, with rays of light slicing into the room, illuminating the face diagonally.

During the day he always kept it in a corner of the room on top of some grey dry stuff that he called newspaper to dry the horrid smelling stuff on the canvas.

And it was there now, wafting its terrible scent towards me as I waited impatiently for that brat to come upstairs and give me my magnificent dinner. It was taking way longer than normal today, and it was weird – I could hear crashes and shouts coming from downstairs and I couldn't recognize one of the voices.

He probably tripped or something – not surprising for such a clumsy human.

I could hear thumping noises signaling him coming up the stairs, and when the door finally opened, Eren practically threw the food bowl (which he bought home the other day) down onto the floor without even a glance at me and immediately flung himself face-down onto the bed.

I didn't really think much of it and hungrily ate my meal, licking the bowl clean in record time. When I looked up again, the brat was still lying on the bed, not making a single sound.

Strange. So very strange for this noisy, annoying kid to suddenly become quiet like this.

I observed him for a moment longer before leaping up onto the bed and approaching him with silent footsteps. Sitting down onto the soft blanket next to where his head lay, I cautiously reached my paw forward to touch his exposed neck.

Nothing.

Oh my god. He probably died.

I crouched low to peer into his face, which was pressed into the blankets. I noticed that the left side of his face was beginning to turn a weird purply colour. I nudged his cheek with my nose gently, and found it was wet.

I licked my snout. Salty.

More of that mysterious salty fluid fell from his eyes and onto his cheeks and the bed. What the hell were they?

I started licking them away. Although they didn't taste all that delicious, it seemed like that was the only thing I could really do.

Come on Eren, return to your normal bratty self.

After a couple minutes of that, he suddenly reached his arms out around me and pulled me close to his warm body.

What do you think you're doing, you little shit?

I thought about gnawing on the arm which was wrapped tightly around me but thought better of it when he buried his face into my fur, soaking it with the water from his eyes. His shoulder shook too, and his breathing came out in quick gasps. Unsure of what to do, I lightly caress his arm with my tail and tell him to stop soaking my fur with those filthy eye water. He probably didn't understand that because the language of cats is much too sophisticated for an unintelligent human like him.

Eventually though, liquid ceased falling from his eyes and he took in one last shaky breath before sighing and releasing the tight hold he had on me. I made myself walk calmly to the foot of the bed before furiously licking myself clean, feeling the revolting wetness in my fur. Ugh. I glared at the brat with my most livid, menacing glare I had, telling him that I was never going to allow this to happen again. He noticed me glaring and laughed, muttering an apology. And even though a filthy human had just touched CUDDLED me, and I could still feel the disgusting salty eye liquid in my fur, his laugh made me feel happy too. Just a little.

His bratty self was back, I guess.

Still grooming myself, I watched from the corner of my eyes as he slid off the bed and picked up the canvas from the corner of the room. He pulled his bag closer to him and began tossing the tubes of repulsive goo out, and from here I could clearly see a blooming bruise on his cheek. It looked painful, but the brat didn't do anything about it – it was like he hardly noticed it.

His head was at the same level as mine from his position on the floor, and I couldn't stop myself reaching out to touch it softly. He flinched a bit then smiled. "It's okay."

I remembered that foreign voice I heard shouting from downstairs. That person probably did something.

Who was it?