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The drive between Ottawa and Montreal had long since become familiar to Ilya. It was the type of thing Shane would say “I could do it in my sleep” about. Ilya would cut in and say “driving while sleeping is dangerous, no?” and tease him for his strange English phrases. A delicious flush would creep across Shane’s face as he defended himself, calling Ilya out for being purposely obtuse. Ilya couldn’t deny it. But he couldn’t help it either. It was too fun to rile Shane up.
But Shane, of course, was not in the car with him, which was why he had resorted to made-up situations in his head to pass the time.
He couldn’t complain, really. This was more than he ever thought he would have. Certainly more than he deserved. The price he had to pay–the distance, the back-and-forth drives between Ottawa and Montreal, the secrecy–was, how did Shane say it? A splash in the bucket? Of what he was willing to give for this. What he and Shane had was everything to him. He would do anything to maintain it.
Shane struggled with it a little more than he did. It was not something Shane had ever really talked about, at least not seriously. But he would grow a little breathless when they’d talk about the future, his gaze would turn wistful, his fingers grasping Ilya’s arm tighter even as they talked in hushed voices about the future, the topic only brought up under the comforting blanket of the night, their faces dusted in faint moonlight filtering through the slats of Shane’s blinds.
Only in that drowsy state would Shane admit that the distance made him weary, that he would never give this up in a million years even if he could never tell another soul about who they were to each other, but that selfishly, he wished he could talk about it to someone. He had his parents, of course, but his mother was always so practical and his father so empathetic, and sometimes he didn’t need that, he just needed someone to listen.
That was what Ilya was thinking about when he spotted something in the road ahead of him. Ah, he thought as the form took shape before his eyes, it was only roadkill. He remembered teasing Shane about the word when he first learned it, mostly in an attempt to wipe that look off his boyfriend’s face. His sweet, empathetic boy who became sad over every animal that lay dead in or by the side of the road. “You say the Russian language is so literal but call dead animal in road, roadkill? You are a hypocrite, Hollander.” Ilya did not enjoy seeing dead animals either, but he would be a liar if he said he cared more for the creatures themselves than he did for Shane’s comfort when they passed them. Ilya was already shifting the car over to straddle the poor creature with it, thinking about how he was glad, for once, that Shane was not here at this moment, when something moved.
Ilya’s tires let out an awful screeching sound, and he checked the rearview mirror to confirm that the stretch of road behind him was thankfully empty as the car skidded to a stop. He stepped out of the car, uncharacteristically shaky, and observed the scene in front of him. A couple feet in front of his right tire, illuminated by his bright headlights, next to the prone body of, presumably, its dead mother, was a kitten.
“Пиздец,” Ilya muttered. The tiny thing with dirty, matted fur stared dazedly at Ilya’s car. After a moment, it crawled, trembling, the way Ilya just had been, back to where its mother lay, curling itself into a tiny ball against the fur of its mother’s back.
Ilya put his head in his hands, muttering a few choice words in Russian, before he reached down and plucked the kitten off the ground. He didn’t know what to do with it, but he couldn’t stand to see it next to its mother’s lifeless body. Besides, they were still in the middle of the road. Traffic had been unusually light as of yet, but a car could come at any moment. With a silent apology for the poor, dead cat, Ilya carried the kitten, who dangled meekly in his hand, to his car. He set it on the seat next to him, and the kitten padded around wearily before curling up like it had in the street. It blinked its tired eyes shut, as though ready to sleep. Ilya watched it, unexpectedly mesmerized by the sleepy little creature, until headlights began to appear in the rearview mirror. He switched gears and began to drive, his gaze shifting to the kitten every few seconds to make sure it was still alright. He would bring the kitten to Shane. Shane would know what to do.
-
Forty minutes later, Ilya pulled into the driveway of Shane’s place, that familiar sensation of warmth and relief settling into his chest. He was home. Not the quaint, secluded building that stood before him, necessarily. It was that Shane was there. His presence was home.
Ilya tore his gaze away from the house to look down at the seat next to him. He had done some thinking during the rest of the drive. About stray kittens, about lonely boys, about listening ears. He was not necessarily a believer in fate, although sometimes in the early mornings when he was counting the freckles that dotted Shane’s face or when their ankles latched over dinner, that socked food pressing warm and weighted against his own, or when he buried himself inside Shane in the bed they shared and Shane let out those beautiful little whimpers and looked up at him like he had hung the sun, moon, and stars, he wondered if there were bigger forces at play. Whether luck alone could have delivered him this life, or if he had done something to deserve this perfect fulfillment of his deepest, unrealized dreams. But he wondered, for a moment, if this kitten could be the fulfillment of an unrealized dream too. Maybe just not his this time.
Ilya always packed lightly for these trips. Shane’s place was full of his things anyway, and vice versa. So he pulled his one bag, a tote bag Shane had purchased for him with a cartoon graphic of a bear and the text “I love you beary much” written across it. “You don’t have to use it,” Shane had assured him, that beautiful blush overtaking him as Ilya regarded the gift in silence. “I know it’s silly, and that you don’t even play for the bears anymore, but I just… I don’t know. I saw it, and it made me think of you.” Ilya had clutched it close to his chest then, as though Shane was threatening to take it back. “No, I will use it,” he said, his voice gruffer than usual as emotions he was used to suppressing lurked under the surface. “You will?” Shane had asked, his tone tentative. In that moment, Ilya had realized it meant more to both of them than they had expected. “Of course, I will.” And he did. It became Ilya’s go-to bag for his trips to Montreal. It still made his heart do something funny every time he looked at it for long enough. Today, he gently set the kitten down into the bag, making sure it was nestled safely among his things.
With that, he hurried up the steps to Shane’s door. He knocked on the door, only getting one rap in when it flew open and he was engulfed in his boyfriend’s warmth. He melted into Shane’s arms, the last bit of tension seeping out of his body as his senses were filled with Shane’s warmth, his scent, his heartbeat thudding steadily against Ilya’s own chest.
“Hi, baby.” He said into the softness of Shane’s hair, his eyes falling shut at the familiar scent of Shane’s shampoo.
“I missed you,” Shane said in response, holding him for a few more moments before pulling away enough to look him in the eyes. Shane looked as lovely as ever, but Ilya couldn’t help but note the tiredness in his eyes, a heaviness in his demeanor despite the joy he was exuding at Ilya’s presence. He knew their distance had been taking a toll on him, and he hoped this long weekend together would help patch those wounds up, at least a little bit. Which reminded him…
“I have something for you,” he said, before he really even thought about it, and then paused. It had seemed like such a good idea in the car, but standing here before Shane, he felt slightly less sure. Shane, ever-attuned to Ilya’s idiosyncrasies, raised a hesitant brow. “Okay,” he replied softly.
Without further ado, Ilya reached into his tote bag and pulled out the kitten.
“Ilya, what the fuck?” Shane exclaimed, his wide eyes locked onto the kitten now wriggling in Ilya’s grip. “Tell me that’s not what you’re talking about.”
“Surprise,” Ilya smiled, holding the kitten up in front of him one hand and setting his tote bag down with the other.
“That’s a kitten,” Shane said.
“Da, excellent observation, moya lyubov.” Ilya smiled as that familiar flush made its home on Shane’s face.
“I don’t need a kitten. What were you thinking?” Shane said, rubbing a palm across his face. “Where did you even get a kitten from? Is that dirt?” He asked finally, taking a step towards Ilya to look more closely at the kitten despite his protests.
It took Ilya a moment to process all of Shane’s questions, and Shane seemed to realize that, his demeanor softening as his gaze drifted between the kitten and Ilya.
“You say you want someone to talk to about us.” Ilya said slowly, picking his words carefully. “About our situation. Someone who will just listen and not try to fix things or not have pity. Kitten will listen.” Shane closed his eyes, the way Ilya knew he did when he found something Ilya had done particularly heartwarming and was processing his feelings. He wasn’t sure how Shane had gone from protesting the situation to that, but he would not complain.
“That’s thoughtful, Ilya,” he said finally, “but I can’t talk to a kitten.”
“Why not? Your mother talks to herself, does she not?” They both smiled at that, thinking of Yuna who was prone to voice her thoughts to herself throughout the day. “Is not much different than that, except it will be to the cat. And when it becomes so difficult to bear the lack of my presence, you will not be alone. Because you will have the cat.”
Shane shook his head, but it did nothing to diminish the fondness that was on full display across his face. “Where did you even find a kitten?
“Was in the road.” Shane’s eyes widened at Ilya’s words, the empathetic side of him emerging the way Ilya knew it would. “The mother was dead. The kitten was all alone in the street with her.” Shane frowned, clearly distraught at the thought.
Ilya held the kitten out to Shane, who took it without protest despite the hesitations written across his face.
“Is like me,” Ilya said softly. “Alone with dead mother. You take me in but not a tiny kitten? Makes me question your judgement, Hollander.”
“Ilya!” Shane exclaimed even as he curled his arms protectively around the kitten, who now appeared to have become sleepy again and was settling comfortably into Shane’s arms. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Is the truth, no?”
Shane looked down at the kitten, his pent-up emotions clear across his face. Ilya only looked at Shane.
“We’ll keep the kitten for the weekend.” He said finally. “First thing on Monday, we’re taking it to a shelter.”
“If you say so,” Ilya replied, smiling softly.
“I mean it,” Shane said, his gaze still on the kitten. They stayed like that for a long moment. Ilya watched Shane resettle the kitten into one arm, freeing a hand to reach out and gently begin petting the soft fuzz of the kitten’s stomach.
“The kitten needs a name, does it not?” Ilya asked. He expected Shane to protest, to say the shelter would name it. Why would they name it when they weren’t keeping it?
Instead, Shane’s brows furrowed as he shifted the kitten in his arms, studying it. “I think it’s a girl.” He said finally. “So I’ll call her Koshka.” He continued, his eyes making contact with Ilya’s on the last word.
Shane’s Russian lessons were progressing slowly. It was a notoriously difficult language to learn, and Ilya still couldn’t believe sometimes that Shane was attempting to learn it at all. He kept expecting Shane to say he changed his mind or to quietly stop trying, just phase it out entirely. But he hadn’t, of course. That wasn’t in Shane’s nature once he set his mind to something. And he was determined to do this for Ilya for reasons that Ilya couldn’t fathom.
Apparently Shane had read somewhere that the best way to learn a language was to act like you were learning it as a child - to consume children’s media and read children’s books in that language. So Shane’s knowledge of Russian, other than a handful of phrases Ilya had taught him, consisting of “I love you” and “fuck you” and the like, were the things a Russian toddler would be learning. Like animal names.
“No,” Ilya said finally, but he knew his tone wasn’t carrying the weight he wanted. Shane giving the cat a Russian name was affecting him more than he would have anticipated, had he seen it coming at all. “You would not name a cat ‘Cat.’ Is a silly name.”
“I think it’s cute,” Shane defended, his nose crinkling in that way that always distracted Ilya.
Ilya sighed heavily. “Is a boring name. Fitting for you, Hollander. Whatever. Name your cat stupid Russian name. Is insult to my people, but see if I care.”
He did care, of course. And Shane knew that, if the soft look he gave him was something to go off of.
“I think I’m going to give her a bath before dinner if that’s okay with you.” Shane said, gently wiping at the kitten’s fur with his thumb.
“Okay,” Ilya acquiesced. “Is there anything you need me to do?” Shane usually prepared dinner for them before Ilya arrived, but sometimes he got there in time to help out with the preparations.
“The chicken is warming up in the oven, so that’s already covered. You could throw the salad together.” Shane suggested. “Or you can just hang out. Rest.” He looked at Ilya pointedly at that statement. He knew Shane wasn’t the only one who looked tired. Ilya had never been great at sleeping. It came to him more easily in Shane’s presence, but they were so often apart that it didn’t make much of a difference.
“Yout go bathe the kitten, I’ll make the salad, then after dinner we can both rest. Sounds good?” He asked. Shane nodded. They both stood there for a moment, smiling dopily at each other until the kitten let out a soft squeak of a meow.
“Oh,” Shane breathed out. “Are you ready for your bath?” His voice had taken that softer, higher pitch that usually only came out around Hayden Pike’s children. Ilya would never tell him, but he found it very endearing. He listened to Shane speak to the kitten as he made his way to the bathroom until his words turned inaudible and then he could no longer be heard at all. Ilya watched the doorway he had just walked through for a moment before turning on his heel and walking to the kitchen. He hummed to himself as he fixed the salad, content with the knowledge that Shane was near even if he was out of sight.
The weekend passed in a pleasant blur of lounging in bed and cooking together and late-night chats and sex. And playing with Koshka, of course. Shane had put in a delivery order for kitten food and a ridiculously large assortment of toys. They spent a fun afternoon trying them out with her and seeing which ones she liked best.
On Monday morning, Ilya awoke first. Shane was tucked underneath his arm, and curled up against Shane’s hair was Koshka. Ilya smiled knowingly. He had been dreading this day, as he had to drive back to Ottawa this evening, but he found himself very curious to see how this morning would go.
Shane blinked awake slowly, stretching out in a way that reminded Ilya of Koshka. Ilya could see when her presence registered in Shane’s mind. His face split into a sleepy grin, and he lifted an arm to pet her. The morning passed slowly, both of them sleepy and not quite ready for their time together to be over. Ilya gave it a few hours, waited until he was preparing lunch while Shane played with Koshka, when he finally brought it up.
“So do you want me to drop her off on my way out? Or are you planning to bring her?” He asked, his eyes flicking up to Shane’s from the pot he was stirring. Shane’s brow furrowed as his hand continued petting Koshka’s fur.
“What do you mean?”
“To the shelter,” Ilya clarified. He felt a slight sting of guilt as Shane’s grip tightened on Koshka.
“No, I um…” Shane began. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“No?” Ilya asked, raising a brow. “So you’ll bring her? I appreciate that. Very kind of you to make it more convenient for me.”
Shane looked unsettled and had pulled Koshka fully into his lap. She was a sweet, cuddly girl it turns out, and Shane loved to hold her. Ilya felt a stab of real guilt and was about to cut in when Shane’s gaze pinned him in place. “You’re teasing me.” He said finally, the realization dawning on his face.
Ilya shrugged, giving him a soft smile.
“You asshole,” Shane said, shaking his head. “I thought you actually wanted to give her up.”
“I gave her to you,” Ilya said gently. “I would never ask you to give her up. If I recall correctly, you were the one who insisted on giving her up. If you really wanted to, I would take her to the shelter. But I did not think you would want that.”
Shane looked down at the kitten who had settled into his arms sleepily, just like she had the day they met. Had that only been three days ago?
“I don’t. You were right. Thank you.” Shane said, smiling up at Ilya. That look took his breath away, the way it always did. Would it ever not? Ilya smiled back. As the moment passed, Ilya went back to cooking. Shane settled into the couch with Koshka on his lap, and Ilya watched as he pet her soft fur rhythmically. It seemed to soothe them both. He still dreaded that evening when he would have to leave Shane once again, but he felt better about it than he had in a long time, knowing Shane would not be alone.