Viktor loved cats.

Problem was, cats didn't always love him. It wasn't for any particular reason. Cats are just sometimes... Picky. Dismissive. Maybe that was why he loved them so much, because they were just like him. Which was why it was so much more painful when they decided that they were far too good for any sort of affection. It was truly heartbreaking.

That was the exact fear gripping Viktor now as he sat stiffly on your couch, hands folded in his lap, watching the small feline curled up on the opposite end of the cushions. It hadn’t so much as glanced at him since he arrived. Not when he first walked in, not when he cautiously sat down, and certainly not when he made an embarrassingly soft clicking noise in an attempt to coax its attention.

You had warned him of this, of course. Told him all manners of stories about how your little baby--your words, not his--was a bit of a menace, refusing to meet any new people. And you had said that it didn't matter if it didn't immediately like him. But he took it as a personal failure. Because what if you suddenly decided that if your cat didn't like him, you had to break up with him? Okay, maybe he was being a bit silly. But you never know.

You came back to the living room a moment later, a cup of tea for him in one hand and a cup for you in the other, smiling slightly as Viktor watched the cat stretch out on the cushions, his expression almost mournful. He tried to reach for it again, only for the creature to look up at him with slightly narrowed eyes, as if daring him to continue.

"I don't think your cat likes me very much..." Viktor remarked, looking up at you sadly as you passed him the cup of tea.