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The skyline of Delta City, once choked with ominous watchtowers and patrolled by Vincent’s cruel enforcers, was now a patchwork of gleaming steel and vibrant, defiant murals. Jason, standing on the balcony of their rebuilt apartment, could almost taste it. He inhaled deeply, the scent of blooming vine blossoms, seemingly and oddly comforting. He ran a hand over the smooth feathers of his newly regrown wings.
Neil, Jason's Partner used to have real wings too, which were once a shiny, black colour, but they had been ripped from his back during Vincent’s reign, a symbol of defiance crushed under a cruel boot. He had since gained his wings back, but with the help of some prosthetics made out of aluminum. They were a marvel of Jason's own engineering, a testament to resilience and his unwavering support. Jason's prosthetics may have helped Neil fly again, and helped him feel whole, but they were a constant reminder of what had been lost. And what he'd lost wasn't just his partner's wings. It was Sabrina, his other half, his bubbly demon wife.
Five years had passed since the tyrant’s fall, a hard-won victory that came at a terrible cost, the loss of many diverse Fishlandian Citizens, including Jason's Demon wife, Sabrina. Sabrina was a bubbly soul, with pink hair and loved to bake delicious treats. Sabrina... The memory of her pink hair, perpetually dusted with flour, the scent of her cinnamon-laced pastries, the sound of her unrestrained laughter... it all felt like a faded photograph, precious and painful. He still imagined her sometimes, humming a quirky tune as she stirred a vat of frosting, her horns poking playfully through her hair as she bent over the oven. She was gone, Swallowed by Vincent's brutality.
"Thinking about her again?" Neil's voice was soft, laced with understanding. He appeared beside Jason, leaning against the railing. He was a steadying presence, a grounding force in Jason's turbulent grief. His own scars were invisible, but Jason knew they ran deep.
Jason nodded, a light breeze blowing softly as he shifted. "Always."
Neil squeezed his hand. "She wouldn't want you to dwell. She'd want you to be baking something ridiculous and sugary."
Jason managed a weak smile. "Maybe you're right."
It was later that day, while they were arguing – playfully, for once – over the best way to prune the vine blossoms, that the cat appeared. A scruffy, unremarkable grey Persian cat appeared at their doorstep. It was skinny, its fur matted in places, but its eyes, a startling shade of emerald green, were intelligent and alert.
"Well, hello there," Neil said, crouching down. The cat cautiously approached, rubbing against his outstretched hand.
"He Looks lost," Jason said.
They brought the cat inside, offering it food and water. It ate with a frantic hunger, then promptly curled up on Neil’s favorite armchair and fell asleep.
"We should put up some posters," he added, already heading for the computer. "Someone's probably worried sick."
For the next few days, they meticulously plastered Delta City with "Lost Cat" posters, featuring a blurry photo of the grey Persian cat. The phone remained silent. No one claimed him.
Neil suggested a virtual fundraiser. "We can raise money for shelters while we look for his owner," he said, his optimism unwavering. The fundraiser, advertised with a charming video of the cat batting at a dangling string, went viral. Donations poured in. Yet, still, no owner came forward.
Days turned into weeks. The cat, emboldened by their hospitality, began to claim the apartment as his own. He chased phantom mice, unravelled balls of yarn, and shed an alarming amount of fur on every conceivable surface. He was a chaotic, demanding, and utterly endearing presence.
One evening, Jason found Neil sitting on the floor, the cat curled up in his lap. Neil was stroking its fur, his face unusually relaxed.
"You know," Neil said quietly, "he's been good for me."
Jason knew what he meant. The cat, this unexpected, purring creature, had filled a void. He had offered a distraction from the ever-present grief, a tiny, furry anchor to the present.
Looking at the cat, Jason finally allowed himself to admit it. He felt it too. The weight of the sadness, the constant echo of Sabrina’s absence, had lessened, just a fraction. This scrappy, grey cat had somehow, inexplicably, eased the pain.
"Yeah," Jason whispered, kneeling beside them. "He has."
They looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between them.
"No one's claimed him," Neil said, his voice barely audible. "Maybe... maybe he was meant to be here."
Jason hesitated. Admitting defeat in the search for the cat's owner felt like surrendering a piece of himself to the loss he’d suffered. But looking into the cat's trusting green eyes, he knew what he had to do.
"Let's keep him," he said, the words a little shaky. "Let's call him... Bug."
And so, the cat, the unassuming grey Persian who arrived on their doorstep at the most unexpected time, finally had a name, a home, and a place in their slowly healing hearts.