Chapter Text
“Your cab is definitely here,” Shane muttered, still starry eyed after the wonderful night he just shared with Rozanov.
Rozanov still had that irritating (hot, beautiful) smirk on his face as he leaned in to kiss him, the kiss was tender in a way that warmed Shane from the inside out. The same tenderness that had been haunting that night, the way Rozanov constantly checked on him, the rough playfulness that contrasted with the gentle touches Rozanov littered all over his skin.
If he didn't know any better, Shane would have thought they had been making love, not simply having casual sex as two rivals who had no business wanting each other this much.
Shane couldn’t help but smile against Rozanov’s lips as he stole a second kiss, gently taking his jacket from Shane as he pulled away.
For a long second Shane was almost tempted to ask him to stay.
“Bye.” Shane knew he wasn’t imagine the warm gaze Rozanov gave him as he turned and disappeared into the cold Montreal night.
With a sigh that was half wistful and half bitter, Shane pushed himself to his feet and started the slow walk back toward his apartment. He had barely made it halfway up the stairs when a loud, almost frantic knocking shattered the night's quiet.
Frowning, he hurried back down and pulled open the front door.
His eyes widened.
Rozanov stood on the entrance way, holding a soggy cardboard box to his chest, a loud chorus of tiny, pitiful meows coming from inside.
Ilya watched as Hollander leaned closer to peer into the box. The two of them had gone back to Hollander’s sex condo (he’s still tickled at the idea that the Canadian Golden boy really went and bought a building just so he can have sex with Ilya) and armed with some towels, and were gently pulling out the kittens from their makeshift wet cage.
He wasn't going to lie; the very sight of Shane fucking Hollander, all soft edges and quiet smiles as he carefully dried the tiny kitten curled in his lap, had struck something deep inside him.
Ilya shook himself as he helped pull out the rest of the kittens from the box, and together with Hollander, did their best to keep them warm.
Ilya was never a cat person (he much prefers dogs) but seeing the four kittens tugged at his heart, especially how they huddled in the small nest of cushions and thick towels.
Hollander tentatively touched one of the kitten’s ears, the orange tabby, who weakly batted at his finger. “Do you think they’re hungry? I got some full cream milk I mistakenly bought earlier but I don’t know how to feed them.”
“Maybe internet can help?” Ilya replied, sounding doubtful.
So apparently, kittens couldn’t have full-cream milk. And with the nearby vet clinics already closed for the night, they had to improvise, first by gently dabbing water to the kittens’ lips, watching for any reaction before trying anything more.
One by one, the little creatures responded, hesitant at first, then eagerly until they were eventually coaxed into lapping from a shallow saucer.
“I used to have a cat when I was a kid.” Hollander suddenly said, staring at white kitten who had stepped away from the saucer and was now batting at Hollander’s knee. “Her name was Mochi and she never liked me but still slept in my bed every night.”
“Mochi?”
“A Japanese rice cake dessert.” Hollander laughed. “I used to eat them while growing up, especially the ones with strawberries and red bean fillings but I stopped when my nutritionist said it wasn't good for my diet.” He shrugged apathetically.
Ilya looked dubiously at him, frankly he thought Hollander looks perfect to him, no weird diet needed.
“Pyraniki.” He wasn’t sure why he was telling this to Hollander but it felt right sharing a piece of himself to him. “Spiced honey cookies with jams inside. My mama used to make them for me when I was child.”
“She doesn’t make them for you anymore?” Hollander asked, now cuddling with the white kitten, the sheer cuteness of that moment almost left Ilya speechless.
Keyword almost.
“No, she passed away when I was twelve. No one make me pyraniki anymore.” watching as Hollander’s face fell, Ilya mentally winced. Way to ruin the moment there, idioty.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” Hollander said softly.
“Old story.” Ilya waved it off though the old hurt still aches. “What do we name them, Hollander?”
“Name?” Hollander blinked like a little malen'kiy sovonoklittle owl chick. “I’ll take them to the vet tomorrow before taking them to the shelter so they don’t really need a name, Rozanov.”
Ilya tsked loudly. “Everyone needs a name Hollander. Even for a night before you give them away. See how cute they are?” He picked up the orange tabby and gently placed him near his face. “See, very handsome, like me.” He crooned.
Hollander giggled. “Fine. What name should we give them?” He took the two calico kittens and placed them on his lap, letting them play with a hoodie string.
What to name them indeed? Ilya peered at the orange kitten and suddenly reminded him of the dimsum place Marley took him last week.
“Dumplings.”
“Hmm?” Hollander looked up from the kittens on his laps.
“He looks like one of those yellow dumplings with the orange bits on top.”
“A shumai?” Hollander burst into laughter. “Rozanov, that kitten does not look like a dumpling.”
“Yes, he does.” Ilya nodded with complete conviction. “A very fluffy orange dumpling.”
Hollander laughed so hard he nearly jostled the kittens off his lap. “You're unbelievable.”
“So yellow dumpling, da?”
“If I agree to that, which, for the record, I absolutely shouldn't, because Shumai is a terrible name, what are we calling the others?”
“Well…” Ilya reached over to poke one of the calico kittens, who immediately attacked his fingertip. “This one's Mandu.” He pointed to the other. “And that's Pierogi.”
Hollander stared at him for a long moment before dissolving into another fit of giggles.
“Mandu? Pierogi? You're naming them after every dumpling in the world?”
“Very good names, dumplings.”
Still giggling, Hollander raised the white kitten, his blue eyes tracking Ilya as he leaned closer to him. "What about this little one?"
“Pelmeni.” Ilya whispered softly, his breath brushing against his ear as he took the kitten away, grinning at the bol'sheglazyydoe-eyed look Hollander was giving him.
“I-Uh….Pelmeni?” Hollander looked as if he couldn’t decide whether to lean away or close the tiny gap between them.
“Russian dumpling.” Ilya couldn't help feeling pleased with himself as Hollander laughed again, his cheeks rosy pink with delight.
Marly, cover for me yes?
cannot come back hotel tonight😉
What?🫣
You nuts?!
Coach gonna kill you if you break curfew!!
Emergency
(PIC: A litter of kittens sleeping on a pile of fluffy towels and cushions)
Jane and I have babies to take care🤭
😍😍😍
🐈⬛✨😻😻😸💕🐾🥹
KITTIES!!
SURE BRO!! TAKE YOUR TIME AND TAKE CARE OF THOSE LOVELY CREATURES😻😻
I’LL COVER YOUR ASS BUT DON’T BE LATE FOR OUR FLIGHT BACK TOMORROW AFTERNOON
MORE PICS? 😭📸🥺
“Well, I have good news for you.” The veterinarian smiled as he returned the last kitten (Shumai) to the makeshift carrier. "They're all healthy, a little underweight.” The vet continued. "Thankfully not dangerously so, but they've definitely missed a few meals. At this age, that's not unusual for abandoned kittens. They'll need regular feeding, proper kitten formula for another little while, and we can gradually transition them onto wet food over the next few weeks."
He reached into the carrier, scratching Pelmeni beneath the chin. The white kitten immediately began purring.
"No signs of infection. Their eyes are clear, lungs sound good, and I don't see any obvious congenital issues." He smiled. "Honestly, they're in remarkably good shape considering where you found them."
Shane and Rozanov exchanged looks of relief. They had wondered last night if the kittens had been abandoned in that alleyway for a while.
"Do you happen to know of any shelters that could take them? Or a rescue organization?" Shane asked the doctor as the three of them left the examination room and into the empty reception area, the heavily disguised Rozanov (his blond curls under a big toque, wearing oversized sunglasses and a faded McGill’s hoodie Shane stole from his dad) carrying the basket of meowing kittens.
The veterinarian's smile faltered slightly.
"I wish I had a good answer but right now every shelter in Montreal is currently overwhelmed. Too many people abandon their pets especially after Christmas." The vet shook his head. “It would be hard to find a place that has space to accept these kittens for now. Most have waiting lists just to surrender animals. Some are only accepting emergencies, and even then it's case by case."
"What about rescues?" Shane asked.
"Same story." The veterinarian gave them an apologetic look. "We work closely with several organizations, and they've all been calling us asking if we have room." He let out a humorless chuckle. "Unfortunately, we don't."
Shane's shoulders sank.
"So... they wouldn't take them?"
"They might eventually," the vet said carefully. "But I wouldn't count on immediate placement. If you contacted every rescue in the city, you might find someone willing to add them to a waiting list, but I can't promise they'd be accepted anytime soon."
Piling back into Hollander’s very boring (sensible) car, Ilya peers down into the basket, his hand teasing Pierogi, who purrs gently.
“What are we gonna do Hollander?” He asked gloomily as the car pulled away from the empty parking lot. “Those poor kotyatakittens would not survive this cruel Canadian winter. I would take them, yes, but still on roadie.”
For a moment, only the hum of the engine filled the car.
Then Hollander spoke.
“I'll take them.”
Ilya blinked, certain he had misheard him.
“I've always wanted a cat,” Hollander continued with a small shrug. “Well... I guess now it'd be four cats. I’ll drop you off at your hotel before I go and buy stuff for them.”
For a wild moment, Ilya wished he could just cancel his flight back to Boston and help Hollander set up the sex condo (or would Hollander keep them at his real apartment instead?) for the kittens.
But he has a game tomorrow against the San Jose Sharks.
Lost in thought, Ilya didn’t even realize they had arrived at the corner by his hotel until Hollander parked and took the basket from him.
“You would text me, yes? About the kotyatakittens?” Ilya reached over and tugged on Hollander’s sleeves. “Keep me update, yes? Every hour?”
Hollander pulled a face but frankly it just made him look like he was a kotyonokkitten himself. “Not every hour but yea, I’ll update you. Seriously, you're gonna be late, go. I promise I’ll text you.” He smiled at him. “See you in Sochi, Rozanov.”
Ilya turned to leave the car but made a quick turn and gently stole a kiss from Hollander."Poka, kotyonok.""Bye, kitten."He drank in Hollander’s dazed look before leaving the car.
It wasn’t till later when Marly looked at him in surprise when he barged into the hotel room that Ilya was still wearing the McGill hoodie.