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Ilya Rozanov was by far not an elegant cat, whatever that meant. He was mean, for one thing. His orange fur was scruffy and worn, patchy in places, with scars scattered all over his body like ugly little trophies. Some of them were fresh, thin pink lines still angry beneath the fur. Others were old and white, half-hidden.
He wasn’t an indoor cat either, oh no. Ilya stalked the alleys, slunk along fences, got along more with dogs than cats, got into fights with anybody he had trouble with, and Ilya loved trouble.
Especially when it involved a certain tabby named Hayden.
Last night they’d hissed and batted at each other for a full hour, fighting over a box of two-day-old pasta Ilya had dragged out of the garbage. Stupid Hayden thought he had some claim to it just because the dumpster was “his home.” As if the street cared. Ilya would’ve gone for his eye, if Hayden’s billion kits hadn’t been watching from behind him, tiny faces peeking out from a ripped couch cushion. Ilya wasn’t soft, but he wasn’t a monster either.
And man, that guy really needed to get neutered.
Anyway, the point was: no one tamed Ilya. Not the neighbourhood, not hunger, not fear. Winter had tried once, pressed its cold teeth into his bones, but he’d snarled right back and lived. Not even that black Japanese bobtail who always stared at him through his window.
No. Especially not him.
Ilya was doing his usual patrol of the local neighbourhood when he passed by that damn bobtail’s house. Same place as always. Warm yellow light in the evenings. Clean porch. A stupid little wind chime that clicked softly when the breeze passed through. Soft fur. Naive eyes.
Only today, the cat wasn’t sitting safely behind the glass like always.
He was outside.
Standing awkwardly on the porch, paws close together, tail tucked tight to his legs like he was trying to make himself smaller. His ears flicked nervously at every sound from the street.
Ilya slowed.
He should’ve kept walking. He knew that. But his paws carried him closer anyway,
“What are you doing out here, princess?” Ilya called, voice rough, teasing, carrying easily across the quiet street.
The other cat froze, like a deer caught in headlights. His whole body went stiff, eyes wide. For a second, Ilya thought he might bolt.
“My name is Shane,” he replied instead. No trace of humour. No snap. Like he didn’t even realize Ilya was joking.
That surprised him.
“Okay, Shane, I am Ilya,” Ilya said, strolling closer, deliberately slow. “How about you go inside before some stray does not like the sight of you.”
It was meant to sound like a threat. A warning. Something sharp. But it came out wrong. Softer. Almost careful. That irritated him.
“My mom- I mean, owner left the door open,” Shane said, stumbling over the words. “I got, uh… I didn’t like it, so I came back.” His ears flattened as he spoke, embarrassment and annoyance mixing together on his well groomed face.
Ilya circled him slowly, a predator’s habit he didn’t bother hiding. Up close, Shane smelled like ginger and something sweet and clean. Soap, maybe. Fresh laundry. Ilya probably smelled like garbage in comparison.
Still, Shane didn’t back away.
Didn’t run.
“Mmm,” Ilya muttered. “Soft little thing like you, could get eaten out here.”
“I’m not that soft,” Shane grumbled, defensive, and that made Ilya chuckle.
He liked that Shane didn’t cry. Didn’t fold. Even if he clearly didn’t belong out here.
Ilya was about to say something else, something clever or cruel, when the front door opened behind Shane. A beautiful woman leaned out, her voice warm and sing-song.
“Shane, sweety, what are you doing out here? Come inside.”
Something in Ilya’s chest twisted.
Almost melted.
He covered it fast with a mocking laugh,
Shane shot him a flustered look. “Shut up,” he hissed, then bolted inside, fur puffed up, pride clearly wounded.
“Stay safe, princess,” Ilya called after him, winking before turning away and continuing his patrol. But for some reason, as the other cat echoed faintly in his mind, his heart felt lighter than it had in a long time.
He only looked back once.
After that day, Shane couldn’t get that gruffy orange cat out of his mind.
He’d seen him around plenty of times before, strutting through the streets with his head held high, clearly spelling trouble, but this was the first time Shane had actually spoken to him. The first time he’d heard his meow. Rough and low and warm in a way that lingered.
He didn’t know why the other cat wouldn’t leave his thoughts.
Ilya hadn’t come back all week.
The absence lingered like an itch Shane couldn’t scratch, leaving him restless, pacing from window to window, tail flicking in irritation. He scolded himself for it. It wasn’t like he liked Ilya. He was just curious. That was all. Curious about how someone could live like that. Free. Reckless. Untouched.
Shane was once again sunbathing, but instead of in his usual spot behind the window, he returned to the porch. Paws tucked beneath him, eyes half-closed. Not waiting for some stray. Definitely not.
A familiar silhouette appeared below.
“Is this part where you let down your hair?” Ilya drawled down below, before scampering up the grass.
Shane nearly scampered to his feet, “I don’t think my fur is long enough for that,” he said, a beat too fast, too honest.
Ilya laughed, loud and unbothered, confusing Shane but the sound made him purr, quiet and begrudging. He hated that his body betrayed him so easily. They were so close a few more strides and Ilya would be right beside him.
The thought sent a thrill racing down Shane’s tail.
“God, you’re so boring,” Ilya remarked, long tail swishing. “Is she where you get your boring from?” He flicked his gaze toward the house, towards the owner.
“She isn’t boring,” Shane shot back. Because she wasn’t. She watched hockey with him. She yelled at the TV and spilled popcorn and laughed when he knocked it over. She gave him plenty of treats and scratched behind his ears just right.
“Mmm. Right.” Ilya tilted his head. “How about you? You boring?”
“I don’t think so,” Shane said, swallowing.
The truth was, he was boring. He knew it. He never left his safe bubble. He never got dirty. He’d never been in a real fight. Not like Ilya, who never listened to anybody, who patrolled the streets like he owned them, who carried the city in his scars.
“Prove it,” Ilya said. “Come down. Enjoy the wildlife.”
“No. No, thanks.” Shane’s voice dropped. “I like it here.”
“Okay.” Ilya shrugged easily, like it didn’t matter. Like it didn’t sting at all. “If your mind changes, you know where to find me.”
And then he was gone.
Shane lay back down slowly, staring up at the sky, trying to temper the disappointment flaring in his chest. He failed. His mind filled with images of running alongside a scruffy orange blur through the night.
Somewhere Ilya paused, glancing back at the house once before disappearing into the dark, already irritated with himself for hoping, just a little, that the soft cat might follow.
Weeks and months went by like this, meet ups, Shane on the porch, or peeking his head out a cracked window. Never too far. Always safe.
Every day on Ilya’s route he would stop and talk to Shane, pretending like he didn’t look forward to it all day. It seemed the more they talked, the braver Shane got. Ilya liked it. Maybe too much.
But today it was raining. Not just raining, storming.
Ilya hated thunder. It reminded him of his deadbeat father, who would hiss and rough him up whenever Ilya didn’t hunt well enough or was too careless. Even now, the sound crawled under his fur.
He knew the bobtail wouldn’t be out today. Not in this weather.
Still, Ilya strolled by anyway. Just for a glimpse, maybe.
And there Shane was.
Shane waited outside, shivering, taking shelter beneath a rain gutter. Brown eyes found blue and Ilya immediately made his way over.
“What are you doing out? Go inside,” he hissed, forcing authority into his voice. Another thing he learned from his father.
“I was waiting for you, come” Shane said, eyes wide, body shaking.
He moved along the side of the house, glancing back, waiting for Ilya to follow. And he did.
Shane stopped at a crack beneath the garage door, prying it open further before slipping under.
“Come in,” Shane said.
Ilya paused.
Never had he been inside the other’s home. Nor did Shane come to Ilya’s alley. They didn’t do this.
“Please,” Shane pleaded.
So Ilya followed.
Inside were blankets and toys and pebbles, laid out clumsily, like they didn’t have impossible thumbs to make things neat. The space felt warm, hidden. Safe.
Shane looked at him, entirely too earnest, and Ilya’s heart felt like someone was kneading it too hard.
“Will your mom care?” Ilya said hoarse. Looking around like she will appear and shoo him out of the home he clearly didn’t belong.
“She won’t know. Lay down,” Shane said.
Ilya lay stiffly on the blankets. Shane huddled close, deliberate about not touching, but their breaths mingled anyway.
“Why?” Ilya asked, a casualness in his voice he did not feel.
Shane paused, head lowered, almost shy.
“Didn’t want you to be cold.”
Shane was so good it hurt. Ilya almost wanted to leave, just so he wouldn’t ruin him.
Then thunder struck.
Ilya’s fur jumped right out of his skin and he let out an embarrassing mrppph.
“Hey, it's okay,” Shane said softly. “Thunders just showing off.”
Shane huddled closer, bodies curving into each other, warmth finally shared. He was warm and soft, just like Ilya imagined.
A beat passed.
“Thank you,” Ilya managed.
“No problem,” Shane said, sincere. “You deserve to be looked after.”
He said it like he truly believed it, like a useless stray such as Ilya deserved comfort. And wasn’t that everything?
They stayed like that until the storm passed.
Tails interlocked.
Hearts glowing.
Shane was in love with Ilya. That was a known fact, something he had accepted as easily as the sky being blue, kibble being delicious, and his heart beating for one Siberian stray. And look he loves his home, he loves his mom, but ever since that rainy night months ago, blue eyes found him everywhere. In the lights, in the shifting hues of his water bowl, in the quiet, aching spaces of his heart.
The visits weren’t enough anymore. He knew that made him greedy, but he wanted the whole damn thing.
So Shane was going to run away.
He was leaving domesticity and safety for Ilya, and maybe he was crazy, but he didn’t give a damn.
He followed the dark alley where he’d seen Ilya disappear before, padding carefully as the streets grew louder, loose cats yowling from rooftops, feral canines snarling and laughing in the shadows. Shane felt small, shaking, painfully out of place. He just wanted to find Ilya, to make all the trouble fade away like it always did when he was near.
“What’s a pretty thing like you doing out, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart, a word that usually brought comfort when it came from Ilya’s lips, curdled into fear when it came from the brown-marked boxer blocking the alley. The dog’s grin was all teeth.
Shane swallowed and tried to channel what Ilya would do. He puffed his chest out, standing twice his size, chin lifted high.
“I’m looking for my big, scary boyfriend,” Shane said, trying to emphasize the scary part.
The boxer didn’t look scared. If anything, he looked amused as he stalked closer.
“Boyfriend, huh?” the dog drawled. “Don’t see him anywhere.”
Before Shane could get another word out, the boxer lunged. Claws dug into him, throwing him hard into a dumpster. The world went hazy, ringing in his ears. Shane struggled, desperate to get up.
Shane needed to see Ilya again. I can’t die like this.
He wanted to make Ilya proud. Wanted to die on his paws, not broken and helpless.
Before he could move, an orange blur slammed into the boxer’s head.
Mrpphh-
It was Ilya. Of course it was. Shane had never doubted he’d find him.
“DO NOT TOUCH HIM!” Ilya roared, tearing into the savage beast’s fur with his teeth.
The boxer managed to roll away as Ilya lunged again, eyes wild, hackles raised. Terror flashed across the dog’s face before he bolted down the alley. Ilya gave chase, a blurry streak of pain and fury.
“Ilyaa,” Shane yelped, voice small and breaking.
Comfort mattered more than vengeance.
Ilya skidded to a stop and ran back, eyes glossy, body shaking. He held his paws out for a heartbeat before pulling Shane into his arms, claws carefully retracted as he wrapped around him.
“Are you crazy?” Ilya demanded. “Do you want to die?”
Shane could hear what he really meant: don’t you dare leave me.
“I needed you, Ilya,” Shane said softly. “I ran away. I’m not going back.”
“Like hell you are,” Ilya snapped, scruffing him. “I am taking you back right now.”
Shane went limp in his mouth, refusing to cooperate.
“No,” Shane said. “I choose you, Ilya. You are my life now, okay? Please don’t fight me on this. Okay?”
Ilya froze gently, releasing him. Shane could see the battle in him, fear clawing at his mind, love burning in his chest.
Love won.
“Okay,” Ilya said quietly. “I love you.”
Holy shit.
“You… you love me?” Shane blurted. “You’re not just saying that because I almost died?”
He couldn’t stop the insecurity creeping in. Ilya was brave and powerful, everything Shane wasn’t. How could someone like that love a domesticated cat like him?
“No,” Ilya said, voice rough. “I am saying that because I almost died.”
Shane’s heart felt like it was bleeding open, filling with love for this man, for the dangerous world he lived in, and for the beautiful home they would make together out here, in Ilya’s world.
Shane had been besotted with some orange stray for the better part of a year. He flirted shamelessly through the window, pressed himself against the glass with pathetic little trills. He got cuddly on the doorstep, rolling onto his back like he lived there. Sometimes they even snuck into Anya’s garage for late-night rendezvous. So when Shane up and went missing for three days, Anya wasn’t surprised in the least.
She made forty missing-cat posters and plastered them across town. She called every animal shelter nearby. She left kibble on the front porch every night, door cracked open, hoping he’d wander home like nothing happened.
Apparently, all she really had to do was walk down the alley behind the liquor store near their house.
There he was.
All cuddled up with his man.
Shane looked up at her with wide, doe-soft eyes, his orange companion draped possessively. The look on Shane’s face said everything: but mommy, I love him…
Traitor.
Anya set the cat carrier on the ground, popped open a can of tuna, and slid it inside. Shane, who had been her cat for the last two years, didn’t fall for it. Turned his nose up completely. It wasn’t for him anyway.
Instead, she gently tapped the orange fluff ball beside him.
The stray sprang awake instantly, alert and suspicious. After he checked Shane for injuries, the orange cat noticed the food. His little pink nose twitched. He sniffed, followed the scent, and walked straight into the trap.
The door clicked shut.
“Mrrpph.”
Shane immediately shoved his face against the bars, touching noses with the stray through the carrier, a soft reassuring sound vibrating in his chest. Like he was promising everything would be okay.
Anya scooped Shane up with one hand, carrier in the other.
And that was how Anya ended up with two cats.
She took the newest member Ilya, a name that came to her in a dream, to the vet for a check-up. She tried to take him alone, but Shane wasn’t having that. Now she had a heavy lump of Shane in her lap while Ilya sat as far away as possible on the chair beside her, completely unperturbed.
Shane eventually jumped down, stretching luxuriously. A bold black Maine Coon, probably belonging to the guy behind the counter, strode over and sniffed him. Shane politely sidestepped and awkwardly positioned himself away.
The Maine Coon brushed their tails together.
Ilya’s head snapped up.
And in a move nobody could have seen coming, he hopped down beside Shane, looked the Maine Coon dead in the eyes-
and peed on Shane.
“Oh my God, ILYA!” Anya yelled, shooing him away.
Shane let out a startled yelp, horrified but strangely non-combative. Ilya looked smug. The Maine Coon, having received the message loud and clear, bolted.
“I’m so sorry,” Anya told the staff, mortified. “He was a stray. He’s still learning.”
A small brunette guy behind the counter, name tag said Chiron let out a low chuckle. “It’s okay, little guy. Just marking his territory.”
“No, it is not okay,” Anya said, flustered. “If you have a rag, I can clean it up.”
“Don’t worry about it. What’s the breed?” Chiron asked, petting a cocky Ilya, who only half-heartedly batted his hand away.
“A Siberian who needs to learn manners,” she replied.
That’s when Dr. Rose walked in. “How’s my favourite little guy?” she cooed at a thoroughly offended Shane, who was giving Ilya the cold shoulder.
“Well, currently not well,” Anya said, “but I’m actually here about our newest addition.” She picked up Ilya, who took one look at Dr. Rose and softly hissed, strange, because Dr. Rose was great. Shane adored her.
The ginger vet held her arms out. Ilya tried to jerk away, but she caught him. “Oof. Heavy little guy. Let’s get you your shots, huh?”
Ilya fought the entire time wriggling his lean body, while Anya tried to hold him down for the vaccines. By the time they were done, She had thirty-four scratches and not a shred of dignity left.
Fucking Ilya.
Ilya was not taking domestic life well.
First, Shane’s mom Anya, was not a saint like Shane said. First she kidnaped him and his lyubimyy then she tries to choke him with a stupid black-white-red collar. Next, she steals all of Shane’s attention, leaving Ilya cold and alone in their nest! (Read: pillows and one cat bed).
Just to see them on the couch fucking cuddling, ignoring Ilya’s glares.
The final straw was her berating him for marking Shane via his urine. What was he supposed to do? Let some slut flirt with his man? Absolutely not.
Then to make matters worse, she holds him down while evil Dr. Rose stabs him with tiny pointy things.
Now they have beef.
He tolerates her because Shane loves her. But they will not be buddy-buddy, and absolutely no cuddling. Thank you very much.
So when Anya picks him up, Ilya thinks: food time. Instead betrayal.
Next thing he knows, he is in a porcelain death trap. Full of water.
As this bitch tries to drown him.
Ilya yelps, claws scraping tub walls. “SHANE! SHE IS KILLING ME!”
Shane stumbles in panicked, then takes a look at the scene. “Ilya, it’s just a bath,” he says, calm, like his mom is not murdering his boyfriend.
“I can not breathe,” Ilya cries. “Just know I love you. Whatever happens, I am with you. Safe in your heart.”
Shane the traitor just laughs.
But then he climbs in the tub too, presses close, gives gentle kisses, purring reassurance while Anya shampoo his fur.
Team work. Against him.
Shane knows his boyfriend is not the biggest fan of his mom. He hopes with time they will get along, that she will make Ilya feel loved just like she does for him.
After a long day of kneading and grooming each other, Shane wakes up alone in bed.
As thunder crackled outside.
He searches for Ilya, finding only cold space beside him. That is not okay. Ilya is terrified of thunder.
Shane goes searching downstairs.
There he finds his tough street cat Ilya curled up in Anya’s lap, shaking, slowly relaxing under her steady pets.
Shane’s heart melts.
Anya looks up, bring finger to lips, shushing. She knows how delicate this scene is.
Shane decidedly curls around her leg quietly, placing one paw on Ilya’s back. Just enough to say, I’m here.
Finally Safe. Warm. Right where they belong.
Sleep finally takes him.