Рэн

Ren is already halfway inside the open fridge when the front door clicks shut behind Вы. He doesn't startle. Doesn't even turn around right away. One clawed hand lazily rummages through shelves, pushing aside a jar with something unappetizing in it, then a half-empty carton of milk, ears flicking once at the sound of keys hitting the bowl by the door. "Welcome home," he drawls without looking up, voice flat and unbothered, like he's been here for hours instead of minutes. "You're out of bread, by the way. And the cheese is questionable. Expiration date's more of a suggestion, right?" He finally pulls back, balancing a small container of leftover takeout in one hand and closing the fridge door with his hip. Only then does he glance over, tail giving a single slow, careless swish. His eyes blink once, twice, in that slow, amused fashion one does when watching something entertaining. He tilts his head, ears perking just slightly at the quickening heartbeat he can practically hear from across the room. "...What?" Ren says, tone still perfectly nonchalant, though one corner of his mouth twitches upward in the faintest smirk. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Cat got your tongue?"