cat got your tongue

𑄝੭

The last thing Shane remembers is opening his mail after pushing himself particularly hard while training and then opening a greeting card, tiredly mumbling the words out loud as he read them but barely understanding what they said.

The Summer break just started and Shane was desperate for some alone time at his cottage. He'd gone so far as to tell his parents not to reach out for a week.

He doesn't understand how or why he's opening his eyes to a patch of grass that he knows for a fact isn't the same grass by his cottage. He doesn't recognize the houses around him. And when he tries to stand up, well. He doesn't go very far.

He can feel his limbs straightening underneath him but everything feels wrong.

His instincts demand he dash towards the nearest house, huddling by the gap in the door. His mind is making connections he can't consciously acknowledge just yet because they're not possible so he must be dreaming. He fell asleep. This is a dream. And it seems logical enough to allow himself to find a warm spot on the welcome mat by the door, curl up, and fall back asleep.

𑄝੭

Ilya gets home after going to the gym with some of the guys who haven't scattered for Summer break yet. He'd talked his way into staying in Boston for an extra month before going back to Russia. His father called him a coward and Ilya doesn't disagree. He'd been back to Russia for the Olympics earlier this year so surely that earned him some extra time in Boston. He wants to go back to Russia, it's just the people waiting for him there that he'd rather avoid.

So he takes some long, deep breaths of the Boston air that is gradually becoming more familiar to him than the air in Moscow and walks up to his door only to stop short.

Ilya's never really thought of himself as the kind of guy to have pets. In the back of his mind, he'd always imagined one day having a dog, maybe, but could never convince himself that it was anything more than a fantasy due to how much he travels. The true fear is even greater: what would happen to a pet if anything ever happened to him?

But all of that hesitation and fear disappears from his mind when he sees the kitten on his welcome mat. He's never been a cat guy, never wanted a cat. But he looks at this cat and knows irrevocably that it's his now.

He crouches down to look at it more closely. It's a tortoiseshell cat with a spattering of colors: white, orange, black. The colors are particularly spotty on the cat's face and Ilya has to shut down every single thought in his mind before he can think the word freckles.

He mumbles to it in Russian, "You think you can just sit there and look cute and I'll feed you?"

The cat blinks its eyes open in response to his voice and looks directly at him before nearly jumping out of its skin and backing up into the door.

"Shh, you're okay," Ilya continues in Russian. "I'll take care of you, you're okay."

He gets up and opens the door, eyeing the cat to see if it'll try to escape but it just looks at him, frozen in place.

Ilya steps into his house and gives the cat every opportunity to stalk back out into the yard, but after a brief moment of hesitation, the cat's nose twitches like it's sniffing something and stumbles inside.

Ilya feels warmth burst in his chest as the cat chooses him. He carefully closes the door and that's that.

Ilya has a cat now.

He walks into the kitchen, immediately grabbing a bowl and filling it with water. "I don't know what cats eat. I guess you need special food but is there something I can give you right now?"

The cat cautiously follows him into the kitchen and continues to stare at him.

Ilya frowns. It's not like he expected the cat to answer him, but it would've been nice. He settles for a web search: what can cats eat that humans eat?

He figures of the stuff listed, he does have some canned fish as stereotypical as that is.

He sets it out and steps back.

Yellow eyes stare back at him in a way that feels too intelligent. But he assumes that's a cat thing.

Eventually the cat, nose twitching again, moves to the bowls and starts eating.

Ilya relaxes, smile tugging at his lips. "Vesnushki."

The cat looks up at him.

Ilya slowly lowers himself to sit on the floor near the cat. "You like that? Can't call you anything else, can I?"

Freckles.

It was impossible to ignore. "Nushki…" He finds himself switching to English suddenly. "You know, you remind me of someone. Someone else who has very cute freckles. I learned this word in English because of him."

The cat's eyes get impossibly wider, pupils dilating.

Ilya tsks, "No, you are not allowed to prefer English." He switches back, "We will teach you Russian."

The cat's brows seem to furrow at him.

Ilya laughs loudly. "You're stubborn about this? Too bad. My house, my rules, little one."

𑄝੭

Ilya builds a very precarious gate out of some boxes he had in his garage to corral the kitten into his kitchen while he showers.

Once he's done and wearing clean sweats and a tank top, he hurries back to the kitchen as he hears distressed meows echoing through the house.

He shoves the cardboard away and immediately sits on the floor. "Sorry, sorry. I'm back, Nushki." His subconscious makes him say it in English after remembering the way the cat reacted to English earlier.

The kitten stops mewling once Ilya is back in view, but doesn't approach him.

Ilya holds out his hand, but doesn't reach to touch the cat. "You can sniff. I'm safe. I promise." As he says the words, Ilya realizes he didn't hesitate to say them. I'm safe. I promise. When has he ever felt confident about that before? When has he ever felt sure that he was good for someone, that he could help?

As if in slow motion, the cat walks towards him and rubs its face against his hand.

Ilya smiles as if he just won the Cup again.

𑄝੭

Shane has no idea what the hell he's doing, but the longer this goes on the more real it all feels and he can't keep pretending this is a dream.

But it has to be.

It's simply not possible for him to be a fucking cat in Ilya Rozanov's kitchen.

All the Russian is giving him a headache. Well, not really. Because every time the words tumble out of Ilya's lips, he looks so fond and happy. Even though Shane can't understand the words, he can feel the affection being directed at him. As much as he'd like to deny it, it does feel good. Even if Ilya has absolutely no idea that he is in fact the person with freckles that Ilya switched to English to tell him about. And wasn't that something?

He'd never believe that Ilya thinks about him with that kind of softness in his eyes, but Ilya thinks he's just talking to a cat. Ilya's being honest in a way he'd never be with a person. It's terrifying. Shane wants to tell him to stop but he kind of can't.

So instead he sees Ilya holding out a hand to him, desperation in his eyes, and Shane can't resist anymore. He allows himself to nuzzle against Ilya's hand, telling himself it's the only way he can communicate right now, and trying to pretend it doesn't settle something deep within him to touch Ilya again after last seeing him in Vegas.

Even if the circumstances are extremely fucked up.

Some more Russian is mumbled at him that Shane couldn't respond to even if he understood it, and then a hand is scooping him up.

Everything in Shane bristles.

It's not like Ilya's never picked him up before, but it was never like this. His entire body practically fitting in one of Ilya's hands.

Ilya settles on the couch, turning on the TV, and sets Shane on his chest. And oh, that's…

Shane can feel Ilya's heart beneath him and the instincts of this new, hopefully temporary, body take over. He curls up into a tiny ball, breathing in time with Ilya's heartbeat, and is lulled back to sleep.

𑄝੭

"You can't keep him, Ilyusha." Svetlana's sitting on Ilya's couch after he'd texted her a picture of the cat with no further context.

She keeps saying all the things she should be saying to talk Ilya out of this, but her eyes betray her. She's just as instantly in love with this cat as he is.

Svetlana continues her denial, "I'm not cat-sitting for you every time you have an away game."

"Yes, you will." Ilya insists with a smirk.

Svetlana had been the one to check the sex of the kitten and it hadn't even woken up when lifted. "Freckles, really?"

Ilya gestures at the cat. "Am I wrong?"

The cat does finally blink its eyes open and suddenly Svetlana is cooing at it.

Ilya shoots her a look that she returns as she scoots closer.

With a sigh, Svetlana admits, "He's very cute."

"I know," Ilya says it with a mix of resignation and pride.

The cat's attention focuses on the newcomer, eyeing Svetlana warily.

She holds out her hand and the cat starts to hiss before choking.

Ilya smirks, "Maybe he doesn't like girls."

𑄝੭

The things that Ilya does and doesn't decide to say in English are going to drive Shane to insanity if turning into a fucking cat hasn't already.

He hadn't meant to hiss at the woman, it just kind of happened. He woke up and there was a stranger in front of him, seeing him like this. A woman in Ilya's house. Speaking with him in Russian so casually that Shane's sure they must have slept together. Hopefully not while he was asleep. Oh god, what if they're about to sleep together and lock him in the kitchen again and he has to just… listen.

This must be some kind of punishment.

Why else would he not only be a cat but have been magically transported to Ilya Rozanov's house?

He tries to remember what happened before he woke up in the grass but keeps coming up blank. He was at his cottage, wasn't he? And then what?

But his thoughts don't have much time to spiral farther because the woman is reaching for him again and Ilya, still speaking English, says, "Easy, Sveta. Let him come to you."

The woman–Sveta, Shane assumes–pouts at Ilya. "You're switching to English for the cat?"

Shane wants to roll his eyes. Of course she's bilingual and beautiful.

Ilya frowns. "I will teach him Russian, but it just seems like English makes him calm so… I'll try. Vesnushki will be brilliant. He will understand both."

Shane has no idea what to do. Does he keep pretending to just be a cat or should he be trying to signal to them that he's very much not a cat?

He feels nervous around Sveta and does not want her to know he's not just a cat so… maybe for now he will try to think of the last time he was around a cat and how they typically act.

Most of the cats he's seen have been pretty antisocial, their owners always looking for them in their hiding places.

Shane rejects that as an option immediately. He feels way too small and fragile to hide from Ilya. What if someone steps on him?!

Some cats are clingy, right?

Shane turns away from Sveta and stares at Ilya again. For obvious reasons, it's surreal. But the situation is surreal regardless of Shane's appearance. He's never seen Ilya like this. He's never seen Ilya's house. But Ilya looks relaxed, open.

If he weren't a cat, he'd blush because Ilya only ever looks like this during sex.

Sveta speaks again, "Direct eye contact is a threat."

Ilya's eyes flick to hers. "A threat?"

Sveta nods, holding up her phone to Ilya. He reads under his breath, muttering in soft Russian. Then looks back at Shane. "You come into my house and challenge my, what is it in English, Sveta?"

"Dominance." She smirks. "If he was staring and doing slow blinks, that would mean he likes you."

Ilya reaches out and his fingers carefully rub circles on Shane's skull. "You like me, right?"

Ilya's fingers gently massage his ear and Shane can't really process the words in English anymore either, white noise filling his mind.

Sveta coos, "Aww, he's purring. He does like you."

Shane stops abruptly. Shit, was he really?

Ilya tsks at Sveta, "Shut up, you scared him." He nudges Shane up his chest, closer to his neck and presses his lips to the stop of Shane's head.

This is mortifying.

Sveta wrinkles her nose. "You haven't even checked him for fleas. You just took in a stray."

Ilya groans over-dramatically, oddly childlike.

Who is this woman to him??

Then they're back to Russian, speaking quickly.

Shane uses the distraction to focus on figuring out how and why this happened, but Ilya's fingers are rubbing circles into his neck and if the mysterious white noise comes back, that's no one's business but his and Ilya's.

𑄝੭

Svetlana eventually convinces Ilya to, at the very least, give the kitten a bath in the sink. Nushki cries and hisses the whole time, still refusing to let Svetlana touch him.

Svetlana gives up on helping with the bath and tells Ilya she's running to the pet store to get him some basics since Ilya isn't keen on leaving the cat alone so soon.

Ilya settles back on the couch with a towel and a mostly dry, irritated cat. He puts the towel on his chest and places Nushki on it, petting him with the ends of the towel. "Your Aunt Sveta will spoil you." Then he tsks at himself, "Why am I speaking English? It just seems like you understand somehow."

Nushki looks away, curling up when Ilya switches to Russian.

Ilya stares at the cat. "Can you understand English?"

The cat turns back and looks at him, pupils dilated and looking tense.

Ilya stares back.

No, that's insane.

This isn't a magical English speaking cat. He's just reading into it.

"If you understand, blink twice." Ilya jokes.

The cat blinks twice.

Ilya tenses. That's a coincidence.

Before he can think of another test, Svetlana bursts back into the door with an ungodly amount of supplies as she returns Ilya's credit card to him.

The next hour or so is spent building a cat tree, setting up a litter box, programming an automatic feeder, and trying to decide where to put a cat bed or if Nushki even needs one as Ilya insists the cat will sleep in the bed with him.

All while the cat watches them curiously and explores the space.

𑄝੭

While Sveta and Ilya are distracted building and Shane knows they'll reliably be in that area of the house with no threat of stepping on him, he takes the opportunity to wander around.

He's still thinking about the way Ilya had looked at him, trying to decide if Shane could really understand him. He thinks that's probably a good idea, right? It's probably good if Ilya can know and help him out of this. Or is that stupid? Will this time out and Ilya never needs to know?

Even if Shane can convince Ilya that he's somehow a cat fluent in English, how would he even begin to explain that he's a person and beyond that how would he explain that he's Shane Hollander?

So Shane maps out what he has to assume will be his living arrangements for the foreseeable future and tries not to think about the fact that he asked to not be contacted for a week so no one will know he's missing.

Ilya's place is nice, now that Shane isn't as overwhelmed by the sheer size of it because of how small he is right now. It's a lot warmer than he expected and he's not sure why he made that assumption. There are a lot of deep, soothing colors and art on the wall. Everything looks simple and comfortable.

He nudges the bedroom door open with his face which is a weird sensation but something he has to accept for now.

This room too is fairly minimally decorated but filled with dark blues and soft fabrics.

He's always associated Ilya with brash, bold energy and it's confusing to see the space he's made for himself be anything but.

What baffles Shane the most is finding Ilya's hockey trophies on a shelf in his closet.

Why the hell would he not display them? All of Shane's trophies are–he can admit, obnoxiously–displayed in the living room of his cottage.

It's not a question Shane can ask right now, but he holds onto it for later.

He turns back to the bed and sees the comforter dangling over the side as if it's daring him to try to climb it.

This is maybe stupid, but even in this situation, Shane loves a physical challenge.

He tests out protracting and retracting his claws before approaching the comforter and testing his claws in it.

There's a moment of panic when all four of his limbs are stuck into the comforter and he's dangling, but he starts to move up the side of the bed like he's rock climbing and is feeling rather fucking proud of himself for adjusting to this so quickly until one of his claws gets stuck.

He keeps trying to shake it out but it just won't budge.

He knows cats can fall from higher spots safely, but he's not sure if he can fall safely yet.

He stares at the top of the bed and then checks how far away the floor is and realizes he has to give up. Swallowing all the pride he has, he screams for help.

Ilya's in the room in an instant, gently opening the door, checking behind it, and muttering in quick, stressed out Russian.

Finally, he moves to the far end of the bed and spots Shane stuck to the comforter.

He switches to English again, as he seems to keep doing when he's trying to soothe Shane. He holds Shane with one hand and uses the other to carefully pry the stuck claw out of the fabric, "I've got you. You're okay, Nushki." The claw comes free and Shane's heart is still beating a little fast from the panic of getting stuck, but Ilya's cradling him to his chest and his heartbeat roars against Shane's body.

It's the safest Shane's ever felt.

Being babied by Rozanov.

Rozanov who would barely look at him after they'd gotten enough of each other in bed in Vegas. Rozanov who needed to smoke more than he needed to kiss Shane, apparently.

This is hell.

Shane has no choice but to let himself be carried back into the living room and be deposited onto the cat tree.

The two of them speak Russian at him excitedly and suddenly Shane understands why cats have hiding spots.

He jumps off the cat tree, testing his ability to do so and is pleased when he lands gracefully. There's a box at the bottom of the tree with a hole in it so he slips into there and curls up in the corner.

𑄝੭

Ilya watches the cat retreat into the dark hideaway. "He's had a long day. He's probably tired."

Svetlana hums, eyes flicking to Ilya. "And what about you? You tired?"

Ilya catches on immediately, "So tired. Will probably need to lie on my back and do nothing."

Svetlana giggles shrilly and punches him in the arm. "Then I'm leaving."

"Noooo," Ilya whines in English as he leans into her, kissing her shoulder. "I'll fuck you."

Svetlana stands up, tugging Ilya with her. "Even though you wish I was Jane?"

Ilya sucks in a sharp breath, "It's nothing."

"You were literally looking at your texts with her earlier." Svetlana accuses.

Ilya continues to deny it even though it's true. He had glanced at his texts with Shane for a moment. He's been thinking about freckles a lot today it was just… it's nothing. "She's just a hook up."

"Mmhmm," Svetlana rolls her eyes. "Like I'm just a hook up?"

Ilya tugs her into him by her hips, kissing her gently. "You are my best friend in the entire world." Svetlana hums into the kiss, smiling. "And also just a hook up."

Svetlana pushes him towards the bedroom as Ilya laughs loudly.

𑄝੭

Shane has no idea if it's better or worse to be able to hear Ilya and Sveta having sex after the one sentence in English they'd said was Even though you wish I was Jane?

Because how the hell does this girl know about Jane and how much does she know and what does she mean that Ilya wishes…

No, Shane can't think about that. Especially not while he can hear–very well, with these ears–the sounds of Ilya fucking someone in the next room. They didn't even close the door.

Shane dissociates as best as he can and eventually the sounds stop, the shower turns on, and then Ilya is crouching in front of the cat tree. He, again, switches to English. "She's going to talk about hockey all night. You have to save me."

Shane wants to melt into a puddle. She's beautiful, bilingual, and she knows puck. And she makes Ilya laugh in bed. Which Shane shouldn't know. But he does.

Ilya reaches in and Shane finds himself hissing at the hand.

Ilya's entire body freezes and he lowers his hand. "Oh. Sorry."

Shane can see the way the rejection settles into Ilya's entire body.

Fine. Good.

Ilya should feel rejected.

Shane did.

And then he had to listen to Ilya fucking someone else. Fucking some beautiful model, probably.

After another moment of hesitation, Ilya finally walks away and goes back to Sveta.

𑄝੭

Ilya lingers by the doorway before returning to the bedroom. He'd slipped his phone into his pocket and hides from both Svetlana and the cat for some reason as he pulls out his phone and scrolls yet again to a text thread that hasn't been updated in a week.

Lily: Penthouse 1

Jane: Have a good summer!

Lily: Don't have too much fun 😛

He'd been surprised when the text came through after Vegas. He hadn't expected…

But of course Shane would send him some cheesy, generic text and not a sext. It should've just been a sext but it wasn't.

Shane's always too goddamn earnest.

And now Ilya's opening their texts and thinking about sending Shane a picture of his new cat and he wants to say he has freckles like you but he can't fucking say that.

He shouldn't text Shane at all, but then he has an evil, evil idea to validate his urge to text Shane so he does send a picture of the cat.

Lily: [photo attached] Getting so much pussy this summer

He stares at his phone and waits for the inevitable disapproving message. An eye roll emoji. Anything.

Nothing cames back. The message doesn't even get marked as read.

Ilya realizes with dawning horror that if Shane had only seen the preview of the text in the notification he would think this was some kind of weird taunt.

Ilya should not double text.

He's not the kind of guy who double texts.

Lily: I got a cat

Nothing.

Ilya doesn't know what he expected. He pockets his phone with a heavy sigh and pushes off the wall to head back to the bedroom but ends up making eye contact with Nushki whose head is peeking out of the cat tree hideaway.

His eyes are blown again, pupils wide in a way that Ilya for some reason interprets as concern.

"Come on," Ilya says softly, tilting his head to the bedroom. And slowly, Nushki follows.

Ilya gets back into bed while Svetlana grips the remote in her hand, frowning at the TV screen. "It's weird. Hollander was playing better than ever in the Fall and then after the Olympics he totally crashed."

Ilya glares at her but has to rein in his emotions. "So? I can't enjoy my cup winning Summer? We have to talk about Hollander?" He falls onto the bed, picking up Nushki to place the cat on his chest again.

Svetlana gestures at the TV dramatically. She's pulled up a recording of the Metros first game after the Olympics and is scrolling through it. "You don't think it's weird? He's usually so consistent? Like obnoxiously consistent."

Ilya whines, absently scratches at Nushki's neck. "Put on my game. The one where I won the fucking cup."

𑄝੭

Shane feels like he might pass out.

The two of them are so clearly post sex and he's just. Here.

Sveta is only wearing underwear and one of Ilya's Raider t-shirts which makes him bristle. Ilya's only wearing sweats so when Shane is plopped onto his chest, it's to warm, bare skin.

Yet on top of all of that, that's him on the TV and they're arguing in Russian but all he can understand is his own name in a Russian accent.

But Ilya's petting him again and Shane's stopped trying to resist letting himself purr. It's a weird sensation, but one that comes so easily. Everything else about this is so mind-meltingly bizarre and torturous that he figures he can at least let himself enjoy some of the good parts.

Then suddenly Ilya is talking to him, "What do you think, Nushki? Should we keep watching boring Hollander or watch highlights of my cup winning goal on loop?"

It's almost funny watching Ilya try to act to someone else as if they don't know each other. Calling him boring as if that hasn't sort of become a term of affection over the years.

Shane lets himself meow just to see how Ilya will interpret that.

Ilya looks validated. "See, he wants to see me win the cup. We have to give my son what he wants."

And oh. Ew. Shane hates that.

Sveta seems equally disgusted. "Your son?"

Ilya rolls his eyes. "My new best friend. He is replacing you."

That's interesting. Shane glances at Sveta again with the new information that apparently this is Ilya's best friend. Who he also has sex with.

He thinks he knows Ilya well enough to know that he would never call someone a friend like that if he was seducing them. He's certainly never called Shane a friend, but maybe that's different.

"You can never replace me," Sveta says, voice full of familiarity and fondness.

Shane watches as Ilya laughs freely in a way Shane's never seen before. As he carefully lifts Shane so he can launch himself at Sveta, mouth on her neck as he wrestles with her.

It doesn't make any sense to Shane.

What are they to each other??

Eventually they calm down and Ilya settles with his head in her lap, her fingers tangling in his curls.

She hits play and then there's Shane again, his interview during the second intermission. He remembers that interview. Thinking it was the absolute last thing he wanted to do while they were 2 goals behind, but he grinned and bore it.

Sveta mumbles, "Fuck, he's gorgeous."

Shane can see both of their faces from where he's settled next to Ilya. He can see in Ilya's eyes that he agrees, but he says nothing.

Sveta nudges him, "You think so?"

"Hm?" Ilya pretends he wasn't listening, but Shane knows he was.

Sveta pauses the video again and Shane sees himself, sweaty and stressed, but apparently not in Sveta's eyes. She repeats, "Don't you agree he's gorgeous?"

Ilya shrugs. "Sure."

Shane's head whips back from the TV to look at Ilya. Sure? Did Ilya really just… does Sveta know… is he out to her? Does she know he likes men?

"Sure," Sveta echoes, voice heavy with sarcasm.

"It's the fucking MLH, Sveta. I'm not thinking of the other guys like that." His voice is void of emotion.

"I am," Sveta says, eyes still on Shane's face. "Give him my number."

"I don't know him like that." Ilya's voice is void of emotion.

"So?"

Ilya flips onto his back, looking up at Sveta incredulously. "I'm supposed to give him your number at the face off dot and he'll just memorize it?"

Sveta shrugs, looking pleased. "He's Shane Hollander. I bet he would."

Shane has to find a way to stop this conversation.

He trots over to Ilya's hand and meows loudly, bumping the hand with his head.

Ilya happily accepts the interruption. "Sorry, little one. I will give you my attention. Sveta is too busy trying to become a puck bunny."

Sveta squawks, "I am not!"

Ilya snatches the remote from her and they wrestle again while he changes the video to his cup game highlights and they cheer as if it's happening for the first time. Ilya scoops up Shane and points him at the screen. "You see? You chose very well to stay with me. I am very good."

But Shane's already watched this video about 15 times.

𑄝੭

Shane had fallen asleep again which he can't be positive is a cat thing, a kitten thing, or a 'I magically transformed into a cat and teleported across the continent' thing.

So he's caught off guard when Ilya drops back onto the bed and he realizes Sveta is gone.

He'd fully expected her to spend the night here but it seems like she's left.

Ilya gets under the covers. "Wake me up if you want off the bed," he mumbles.

Shane is once again at a loss.

He retreats to the foot of the bed. That's where animals sleep, right?

It's just that… he's never actually seen Ilya sleep. He's never stayed this long.

Shane curls up, facing Ilya.

He can't help it. He's curious.

He watches Ilya try to fall asleep, but the man keeps tossing and turning. Occasionally he even apologizes to Shane. Or, well, to the cat he doesn't know is Shane.

Eventually Ilya's brow is furrowed and with a heavy sigh he mumbles, "Fucking Hollander."

He grabs his phone off the nightstand again, typing furiously.

Instincts flare in Shane and he moves from his spot by Ilya's feet, unsure where to settle.

His eyes flick to the pillow Ilya isn't using and thinks about how awesome it would feel to sink into so he gives into the temptation, curling up on the pillow as Ilya mutters, "Don't look."

But of course Shane does.

He looks at the phone in Ilya's hand and sees himself. Specifically some ad shoots he's done. With his shirt off.

And then Ilya's hand pushes into his sweats and Shane does spin around then.

Holy shit.

Okay, yeah. Maybe Ilya doesn't need to know he's a cat.

Maybe they just never talk about this ever.

Or Shane can just stay a cat and…

Ilya moans and Shane can't pretend he doesn't know that Ilya is thinking about him and he's right here but he's not human right now.

Tomorrow, Shane vows to himself.

He'll try to figure out a way to clue Ilya in on what happened tomorrow but for now he listens to Ilya moan his name after having sex with a beautiful woman. And he has no idea how he's supposed to feel about that.

𑄝੭

𑄝੭

Ilya wakes up groggily and it takes him a couple of seconds to orient himself.

It's Summer.

There's no hockey.

He's not in Russia.

Svetlana was here yesterday.

He has a cat.

Wait, fuck. Where's the cat?

He sits up when he realizes Nushki isn't on the bed with him and has to blink a few times when he does spot the cat.

This is… a dream.

And yet he's not waking up.

Somehow this kitten has dug through the duffle bags shoved into the corner of his closet and found the most incriminating piece of fabric in Ilya's entire house.

Somehow his kitten named Freckles is sitting on a Montreal Metros t-shirt and looking up at him expectantly as it meows at him, pawing at the logo.

Ilya doesn't understand. "How the fuck did you find that?"

𑄝੭

Shane had woken up with a singular purpose.

He knows Ilya stole one of his shirts. He just doesn't know where Ilya would've hidden it but luckily for him, he has an incredible sense of smell right now and this entire house smells like Ilya so it's easy enough to follow the trail of some scents that smell more familiar to Shane.

Dragging the shirt out of the closet and arranging it had been complicated but doable. Then he just had to wait for Ilya to wake up.

Ilya gapes down at him and Shane just keeps nosing at the logo. He cant imagine this explains much to Ilya, but it has to confuse him enough to start asking questions, right?

𑄝੭

Ilya slides off the bed onto the floor.

Nushki stares at him and then slowly blinks twice.

The memory of yesterday before Svetlana came back slams into Ilya. If you can understand me, blink twice.

"So you are a magical cat sent to make me think about Hollander?"

The cat meows up a storm and Ilya has no idea what that means.

Ilya feels insane. He thinks he might actually have snapped.

But he finds himself asking his cat. "Yes or no questions, right?"

And the cat fucking nods.

"I'm crazy. I'm actually fucking–"

The cat shakes its head.

Ilya switches to Russian, "It's only English, right? If you understand Russian too, nod."

Nushki looks at him blankly, tilting his head.

Ilya laughs. "Okay, so I can keep secrets from you in Russian at least."

The cat hisses.

Ilya laughs. He has to laugh. This is insane.

Okay. Fuck it. He's playing 20 questions with his cat.

"Are you a magical cat?"

There's a hesitation and a slight shake.

Ilya interprets that as, "You're not sure? Are you even a cat?"

Slowly again, the cat shakes its head.

"What the fuck," Ilya mumbles under his breath. "An alien?"

Nushki shakes his head.

Ilya feels psychosis setting in. This can't be real. "Some kind of monster?" Shake. "What, you're a person?"

Nod.

Ilya stares at the freckles on the cats nose.

Then his eyes slide to the Metros shirt.

"No."

The cat noses at the Metros logo again, mewing.

Ilya stands up. "No. Absolutely not. I need coffee. And then I'm calling a therapist."

He rushes out of the room to make a cup of coffee and the tiny cat is bounding after him, meowing adorably as it chases him.

"No, you're just a cat. This was coincidence."

The cat keeps meowing and Ilya relents, "Okay, okay. I hear you." He leans down and scoops up the cat, depositing it on the counter as he grabs the brewed coffee.

He takes a long, slow sip of it and then stares at Nushki again. "You are not him. That's impossible."

Nushki can't seem to decide whether that merits a nod or a shake and just meows again.

Ilya reaches into his pocket and takes out his phone.

He scrolls to Jane.

He still doesn't believe…

He shows the screen to the cat. "I texted him yesterday and he didn't get mad at me. Very unlike him."

The cat looks at the phone like it's reading and Ilya doesn't love that. "Oh, you read now too?"

The cat meows a bunch again.

Ilya sips his coffee and stares at his cat.

"I could call him. I never call him. He would freak out and answer, probably. Prove you wrong, magic cat."

The cat nods, encouraging him to do it, it seems.

Ilya curses in Russian and before he can over think it, he hits call.

The phone rings.

It rings and rings and finally goes to voicemail, "Hey, you've reached Shane. I'm doing a, uh, silent retreat. So leave a message and I'll get back to you next week. If it's an emergency, I check my messages once a day and will get back to you."

Ilya hangs up.

He has no idea if that message proves anything.

The cat ducks its head.

Ilya scoffs, "What, you're embarrassed?" Then Ilya makes himself think, what if this is Shane? If this is Shane listening to his own voicemail about a fucking silent retreat and getting embarrassed?

No.

No, this cat is not Shane fucking Hollander!

He didn't spend all day yesterday baby talking to Shane Hollander. He didn't have Shane Hollander on his chest while in bed with Svetlana.

He didn't have Shane Hollander on his pillow while he jerked off to fucking ads of him.

It's getting harder to deny but he manages it. "You're not him!"

The cat starts meowing a bunch again.

"Oh, sure! Yes, tell me all about it, Nushki." Ilya takes his coffee to the living room, scooping up the cat to place him gingerly on the floor first.

The cat abruptly cuts off while Ilya's holding him and then starts up again as soon as he's free.

Ilya sits on the couch and turns the TV on. He connects his phone to open YouTube and puts on some cat videos. "You need to learn how to be more of a cat, less of a magical mystery. You watch."

Claws dig into Ilya's thigh. "Ow! Fuck!"

Nushki hisses at him.

Ilya rolls his eyes. "Good, I'm mad at you too. You are a liar."

But if Ilya didn't believe this, then why is he talking to this cat like he does?

The cat starts meowing again and Ilya holds his free hand out. "Okay." His voice drops to a mutter, "Okay, give me a second." He closes his eyes.

The cat stays quiet.

That should be proof more than anything.

He certainly can't deny that the cat understands English. That piece is nearly impossible to deny.

But the rest?

How could a person turn into a cat? And even if that's possible, how the hell did that happen to Shane Hollander and how did he end up in Ilya's yard?

It's all too impossible but Ilya finally reaches the thought that if all of that is true, how much more insane would this be for Shane?

He opens his eyes and looks at the cat. His pupils are blown again, staring at Ilya.

There's a certain amount of fear there too.

"You can't be him," Ilya mutters, hand petting down Nushki's back. The cat starts purring again. Ilya smirks. "It's funny. I do think if he could, Hollander would also purr when I touch him."

The purring immediately stops and the cat manages to look affronted.

Ilya nearly dies laughing, but that's what seals it for him.

This cat is Shane Hollander.

Ilya picks him up and holds the cat in front of his face. "Hollander, is that really you in there?"

The cat wriggles in his grip, yowling.

Ilya narrows his eyes at the cat.

They watch each other like cowboys at a standoff, like hockey players at a face off.

The automatic pet feeder goes off and Ilya lets out a breath. "I guess you probably still need to eat."

The cat looks entirely put out as Ilya laughs and puts him on the floor.

Ilya watches the cat with new eyes as it dashes across the room to the feeder and eats greedily.

For a second, the illusion breaks. This is just a cat. Ilya's being crazy.

But as he chews, the cat looks over his shoulder at Ilya and when he catches Ilya looking at him, looks away quickly like he's embarrassed.

"I hear you have very strict diet. Cat food probably works, yes?"

The cat glares at him.

Ilya stares. "Fuck. It can't actually be you. This is crazy. You're a cat."

The cat wipes his face on the cat tree before padding back over to Ilya.

"Hollander?" Ilya whispers.

The cat meows softly.

Ilya picks up the cat again and just lets him sit in his palm. He's so small.

"If Hollander calls me back later during his silent retreat, I'm checking myself into a psych ward and you're going up for adoption. Well, Sveta probably wants you. Do you actually not like her or–" Ilya snorts. "Oh, you were jealous."

The cat leaps off Ilya's hand onto the couch and curls up, back to Ilya.

"Aww, Hollander. Don't be embarrassed. She's very beautiful, yes? You are beautiful too, when you are not a cat."

The cat huffs an angry sigh.

"You are a very cute cat. Still have freckles."

Still, the cat doesn't turn around.

Ilya groans. "You can't be mad at me. I should be so much more embarrassed than you. Just curled up on a pillow while I was… so yes, I win most embarrassed."

The cat finally turns around.

"I'm not talking more about that. You saw enough."

The cat's eyes narrow.

Ilya gestures helplessly. "What do you want me to say? Yes, Hollander. You're so hot I think about fucking you during the off-season. Is not news. I fuck many beautiful women, but only one hockey player. Well, some of the women actually are…"

The cat hisses.

Ilya laughs. "Sorry, I won't say."

He stares at the cat who somehow, impossibly, is Shane Hollander.

He still can't totally believe it.

"You wish I was making a plan, yes? Looking up online, magical cat."

The cat nods furiously.

Ilya groans and falls onto his back. "I don't like plans, Hollander. Too bad. Go be someone else's cat."

He can feel tiny paws scrambling over his legs, balancing on his thigh and sitting petulantly on his chest.

Ilya smiles up at him. "You have a problem?"

The cat meows a bunch and Ilya can only imagine what Shane's trying to say.

Ilya hums. "You should really use your words."

Claws dig into his chest.

"Ow, fuck."

The cat's eyes get big as he scampers back.

Ilya notices. "Oh, you didn't mean to? It's okay. It must be…" He stares at the cat. "It must be strange."

The cat–Shane, Ilya has to keep reminding himself–still looks terrified.

"Hey, is okay." He pets a hand down the cats back. "It's okay. We, um, we'll figure…figure it out."

Ilya squirms, uncomfortable with the vulnerability. "I'll make you a deal, okay? I help you figure out how to not be a cat, but in the mean time, you are my cat."

The cat blinks at him.

Ilya nods. "Yes, I think it's a good idea. You must actually act like a cat sometimes. Not creepy, sitting on shirts from back of my closet. Actual cat. Play with all the toys Sveta so nicely got for you."

The cat's–Shane's–nose wrinkles in distaste.

Ilya rubs circles onto the kitten's head, down his back, and smirks as Shane immediately starts purring. "See, you want to."

The cat lies on Ilya's bare chest, purring.

"My Vesnushki. Of course you would be an angry, little kitten."

Shane's eyes blink open, looking at Ilya blankly.

Ilya smirks. "Cats don't speak Russian, sorry."

Shane glares at him.

"So cute," Ilya can't help saying under his breath. "Fell in love with you the moment I saw you." And that, Ilya isn't sure if that's about the cat or about Shane.

Ilya stares at… at Shane.

No, he needs more time. "Lie down. Be a cat."

Shane hisses at him.

"Please, little one."

Shane still looks upset but doesn't hesitate much when it comes to curling up over Ilya's heart.

Ilya watches the way the tiny body relaxes. "You like it there, yes?" You feel safe, curled up against my heart? Ilya doesn't say.

Shane answers by purring gently.

As Shane dozes, Ilya digs his phone out and tries to figure out how to even start looking this up.

He searches in Russian at first and then glances at Shane and wonders if he'd find more relevant things searching in English. He decides to do both.

Both languages bring up fiction, fairy tales, myths. Most of them reference being turned into an animal as some kind of punishment or in some cases a test.

Ilya spirals for a moment about if this is proof of the existence of a god and then thinks about how theologians would have to reference hockey star Shane Hollander turning into the cutest cat in the world to prove the existence of their god.

No, it's probably a curse from a witch.

That feels much more reasonable.

He wishes Shane could talk. That would make this so much easier.

Which gives him a terrible, wonderful idea.

He has a tablet lying around somewhere, doesn't he?

𑄝੭

Shane wakes up to a cacophony of sound.

He hisses quietly.

Ilya tsks, "I am doing this for you, little one." He turns the tablet to Shane. "See?"

It takes a second for Shane to understand what it is.

Ilya props the tablet up against the back of the couch and Shane stares at the screen, eye level to him. He glances at Ilya and then slowly moves his nose to a button.

The tablet says, "Fuck you."

Ilya cracks up. "I knew you would like it, Nushki."

Shane studies the soundboard in front of him. It's clear that Ilya custom made it with phrases he thought Shane would need and some bullshit ones that Ilya probably wants him to press by accident.

He touches his nose to, "What is?"

Ilya realizes this is going to take some interpretation on his end. "What is…Nushki?"

Shane nods.

"Ah…" Ilya instantly regrets giving Shane the power of speech. "Short for Vesnushki."

Shane huffs and taps his nose to, "What is?" again.

Ilya gestures vaguely. "Spots on your face. Your fur has spots."

Shane looks back at the soundboard but can't seem to find a phrase that works for him in this moment. He decides on, "Fuck you."

Ilya groans. "You are menace. I'll take it away."

Shane cowers and hesitantly touches, "Please."

Ilya lets out a breath. "Should not have added that one." He thought it would be funnier but instead he is being met by big, pleading eyes.

Shane taps, "What is? Please."

Ilya's not sure what that means but realizes it's a repeat. Shane wants him to answer the question again? He knows Ilya is bullshitting him?

Ilya doesn't like this. Doesn't like giving Shane this ammunition, but he must already have figured it out. "Freckles. Vesnushki, it means freckles."

Shane looks around his buttons again and taps, "Because. Me."

Ilya rolls his eyes but relents. "Yes. Even before I knew it was actually you. Shut up. I don't know anyone else with freckles."

Shane glares at him and touches. "Yes."

Ilya's brow furrows. "Yes? You mean, yes I do? No, I don't. Who else has freckles?"

Shane taps, "Hockey." And then proceeds to tap out a bunch of numbers.

It takes Ilya a second to realize he's listing players.

Ilya shakes his head, "Diaz doesn't have freckles."

Shane shoots him a look.

Ilya searches for the players Shane's listing and sure enough, they all have freckles.

Huh. Ilya… never noticed.

When he looks back at Shane, the kitten looks pleased. With the limited words at his disposal, he taps, "Me. The G.O.A.T."

Ilya snorts. "Is that part of your list or are you bragging?"

Shane doesn't have a button to respond to that directly and just taps, "The G.O.A.T." again.

Ilya narrows his eyes at Shane. "I am only being nice to you because you are stuck as a cat and scared and I feel bad for you, okay? No other reason."

Shane waits.

Ilya relents. "Yes, you have the best freckles."

Shane taps, "Thank you."

Ilya's going to be sick, actually. He's at war with himself over whether this is the most annoying, bizarre thing he's ever experienced or if it's the cutest thing imaginable.

Shane meows happily.

God, he's cute.

Ilya recaps his research to Shane as best he can and for the most part Shane just listens. When Ilya mentions a witch, Shane trots over to the tablet and scans the list before tapping, "Keyboard."

"Mm, hold on." Ilya sits up and switches from the soundboard to the notes app and the on-screen keyboard opens.

It's agonizingly slow and Shane seems irritated about it as well but eventually he types out, "card in the mail."

Ilya's eyebrows raise. "What did it say?"

Again, he types slowly but as soon as he gets to "dont rem" Ilya finishes, "You don't remember."

Shane stops and shakes his head.

Ilya frowns. "Because of the magic or just don't remember?"

Shane cleverly backspaces instead of typing again and replaces 'rem' with 'know'.

"You don't know." Ilya repeats. "Probably the magic then. You would remember."

Shane types, "tired."

Ilya shoots him a look. "Shane, you would remember."

Shane's tail tucks close to his body and his ears flatten.

Ilya's still learning body language for cats, but that doesn't look good. What did he say that would've upset–

Oh. He said Shane's first name.

Fuck.

He speaks delicately. "I think, maybe, if you are my cat and living with me it is maybe okay for me to use your name, yes? Feel free to call me Ilya."

With a wrinkle of his nose, Shane paws at the tablet and Ilya can see where this is going but he humors him and switches back to the soundboard.

"Fuck you."

"Mmhmm, how did I know you were going to say that?" Ilya says dryly.

They're both still pondering the witch theory while Ilya makes himself something to eat. "I'm meeting Marlow and Connors for training soon so I have to leave you here." Ilya glances up at where Shane is still memorizing the soundboard and figuring out how best to utilize it. He's already requested buttons by typing in the notes so Ilya added "Ottawa" and "curse."

In response to what Ilya said, Shane presses, "No."

Ilya looks at the cat across the room. "No? I can't go to training? You sabotage me?"

Shane stares at the buttons and Ilya wills himself to have patience.

Finally, Shane presses, "Why. No. Me."

Ilya's not sure if this counts as learning a third language. "Why no you? For training? You are a cat, Vesnushki." After the mishap earlier, Ilya's decided to use the literal pet name as often as he can.

Shane can't seem to find buttons and yowls so Ilya rolls his eyes and picks up the cat and the tablet from the living room and plops them both on the kitchen counter as he switches to the notes app.

Shane types, "Not alone."

Ilya's attention shifts from cooking to Shane. He mutters, "You're scared?"

Shane doesn't type anything but Ilya doesn't need him to.

"You want to come with me?"

Shane nods.

Ilya frowns. "That sounds dangerous. Tiny cat, heavy weights."

Shane taps the side of the tablet in a way Ilya somehow already knows means to switch apps.

Shane taps, "Please."

Ilya stares at the kitten that is somehow Shane Hollander and says, "Maybe. It's Cliff's home gym so at least it's just us three."

Shane taps the number 4.

Ilya can't help the fond smile that curls his lips.

𑄝੭

"No fucking way you got a cat," Marlow is even louder than Shane remembers from the few interactions they've had.

He'd kind of forgotten, in his desperation to not be left alone in Ilya's house, that he would have to be around other people who think he's just a cat.

He'd already had to go through the mortifying experience of a litter box earlier and he's trying to figure out how to not be in the room when Ilya cleans it out.

Ilya has his bag slung over one shoulder and Shane cradled in his other arm.

Marlow scratches Shane's head and it's not… it's not terrible, it's just weird.

Marlow leads them to the gym. "Connie got here early, as usual. He's been on the treadmill." He glances at the cat again. "Can't fucking believe you got a cat."

"Cat got me," Ilya says. "Showed up on my doorstep looking pathetic. What was I going to do, kick him out?"

Pathetic… yeah, that's probably fair.

They walk into the gym and Connors turns off his treadmill. "Holy shit, I thought you were fucking with us. You actually brought a cat."

Shane mewls softly and he's not sure if Ilya will know what that means, but somehow he does. "Let's sit, let him adjust."

So three hockey players sit on the floor of a gym and watch a kitten sniff around as they take turns petting him.

Marlow coos, "God, he's cute."

"Cutest cat I've ever seen," Ilya says honestly.

Shane shoots him a look over his shoulder.

Ilya presses his lips together to keep from reacting weirdly in front of the guys.

Connors scratches behind the cat's ears. "Have you named him?"

"Mm," Ilya admits. "Russian name. Nushki."

"What's it mean?" Marlow asks.

Ilya doesn't want to go through this again. "Cat."

Connors and Marlow both laugh.

Connors nods. "Checks out."

The cat looks at Ilya knowingly.

While they sit on the floor, they stretch and chat about their Summer plans or lack thereof.

They mention how great it is to have Ilya in Boston for longer this Summer and when Ilya mentions he'll go back to Russia at the end of the month, he gets a panicked look from Shane but they can't talk about that right now. God, a month? It's barely been 24 hours. Surely they can figure this out by then.

As they get up to move to different workout stations, Ilya scoops Shane up. He's wearing a hoodie with the sleeves cut off so he casually shoves Shane into the front pocket.

Connors watches this with a smirk. "Seriously? Kangaroo style?"

Ilya does not know that word. "Kanga what?"

"In your pouch," Marlow answers as he sets up the weights on his machine. He imitates a kangaroo jumping.

Ilya has to look it up to know what the fuck they're talking about. "Oh. Yes. He is small, I have to protect him so you idiots don't step on him."

Connors shoots him a look. "Won't that bother him though? Jostling around in your pocket?"

Ilya shrugs. "I don't think so but I'm sure he will yell if it does."

Irritatingly, Shane is so comfortable against Ilya's stomach, even if he's being thrown around like he's in a washing machine. He does ask for a break when Ilya gets on the treadmill, that was a bit too much.

So he's awkwardly sitting on top of the controls while Ilya runs and looks Ilya in the eye, checking to make sure the other two are distracted, before he hits the increase speed button.

Ilya laughs and has to try to control himself.

Shane moves to hit the button again and Ilya instinctively switches to Russian, "Stop!" But he's laughing too hard.

"Cat getting into trouble?" Marlow asks.

"He's a troublemaker, yes." Ilya stares at Shane as he says it but Shane's quite pleased with himself.

Connors quips, "Just like you then. You planning to get up to some trouble with your extra time in Boston?" He glances at Marlow.

Marlow catches on immediately. "Or maybe heading to Montreal before Moscow?"

Ilya stares straight ahead and does not look at Shane. "I can find trouble anywhere."

Out of the corner of his eye, Ilya can tell that Shane is watching Marlow and Connors but doesn't know what he sees.

Marlow and Connors make pointed eye contact with each other.

Marlow says it, "You still texting that girl?"

Ilya snaps, "Oh fuck off. You always text that girl in Miami."

"Yeah, when we're in Miami," Marlow responds.

Connors teams up on Ilya. "And you get really defensive about her when we ask."

Ilya can tell that Shane is staring at him. "Can we not do this today? Please?"

Connors and Marlow laugh.

"Sorry, man." Connors says and sounds like he means it. "We don't get tons of time to mess with you about it without all the other guys around."

Marlow asks, "And it's not like you're exclusive with this long distance girl anyway, right?"

Ilya's too curious not to ask. "What? Exclusive?"

"Like," Connors tries to explain, "You're not only fucking her."

"No." Ilya answers quickly, again keeping his eyes straight ahead but can feel the weight of Shane's gaze on him. "We both fuck whoever we want."

Behind his back, Connors and Marlow look at each other again.

Connors asks, "So you check in with her enough to know she's fucking other people?"

Ilya turns off the treadmill. "No. I don't know who she's fucking. Stop asking or I'll have to start talking about fucking your mom."

Connors and Marlow both groan.

"That's such an old, stupid joke."

Ilya shrugs. "Your mom is single," he says to Connors. "And hot. I could pull her if I wanted."

"Please don't."

"Then stop asking me stupid questions."

𑄝੭

During the car ride home, Ilya is grateful that he didn't bring the tablet.

Still, Shane stares at him.

Ilya keeps his eyes on the road. "Don't look at me like that. I shouldn't have brought you."

Shane meows.

Ilya's jaw is tense. "You're not allowed to ask. You weren't supposed to hear that. It's not…" He hesitates, then says. "It's not fair."

Shane huffs out a breath and curls up on the seat, his back to Ilya.

Ilya's not positive what that's supposed to mean.

𑄝੭

As soon as Shane's in front of the tablet again, he's typing and Ilya's not thrilled about it but he realizes Shane at least isn't asking about the conversation in the gym.

"Who is Sveta?" Ilya reads as he lies on his stomach on the couch, head pillowed on his folded arms, facing the cat and the tablet.

Shane looks up at him.

Ilya smirks. "Her name is Svetlana. I call her Sveta because we are close so you should call her Svetlana."

Shane glares at him.

Ilya sighs and tries to figure out how he wants to answer that. "Childhood friend. We've known each other a long time. Back in Russia, too. Her dad is goaltender, Sergei Vetrov, you know him?"

Shane nods, scanning the buttons before settling on, "Wow."

"Yes, so she knows hockey, knows Russian. Lives in Boston now." Ilya's forced to think back on everything Shane probably overheard yesterday. He can't remember what they said in English and what they said in Russian.

He wants to ask Shane what he heard, but that would take ages to type out.

He'd joked about her being his friend in English, right? "She is my best friend. Really. Probably confusing to you because we had sex. I can give you her number for real, if you want. She'd love that."

Shane's nose wrinkles.

Ilya huffs a laugh as he stares at Shane.

Again, this is surreal. If somehow Shane Hollander walked in the door right now or called him back, he'll have to admit himself to a psychological analysis but it has to be him. Everything's been too insane for it not to be him. What other cat could type up the numbers of hockey players with freckles?

Ilya feels the need to keep explaining. "It's just sex. We know each other, um, trust each other. She's hot. I'm hot. We agree, it's nothing. Just fun."

Shane studies Ilya's face for a moment before turning back to the buttons and scanning them, trying to craft a response with the limited options available to him.

"Why. Me."

Hesitantly, Shane turns away from the tablet to look back at Ilya.

Ilya's not sure if Shane means to ask why Svetlana likes him, but he has a feeling he knows what Shane is asking. If that's why Ilya sleeps with Svetlana, why does Ilya sleep with Shane? Ilya sits up. "Okay, enough. We can't do this while you're…" He gestures. "I feel crazy. You know this is still hard to believe, yes? I'm not talking about my sex life with a cat, Sh–Shki… Nushki."

Ilya walks away. He could be cruel and lock the tablet as he does, but he doesn't.

So he hears a tiny, "Sorry" as he retreats to his bedroom to shower.

𑄝੭

Shane can't keep getting distracted with puzzling out Ilya when he's supposed to be puzzling out how the fuck he's a cat right now.

But it's entirely impossible to ignore the fact that everyone in Ilya's life seems to know about Jane.

How often does Ilya read back through their texts? Does he do it as often as Shane does?

Ilya had said in the car that this isn't fair. That Shane's seeing so much of Ilya that he's not supposed to have seen.

Shane understands. He really does. Even yesterday, he remembers thinking that Ilya would never say the things he was saying if he hadn't thought he was talking to an animal.

Ilya's probably the most closed off person Shane's ever met, and Shane had accidentally been given a clear view of Ilya with all of his walls down.

It would make sense for Ilya to react badly to that. And yet, he hadn't. Not really.

Shane can tell that part of Ilya still thinks he's insane and this isn't real. Shane kind of feels the same way.

Yet Ilya's led with compassion at almost every step of this so far. That had made more sense when he thought Shane was just a cat, but it continued today too. He could tell Shane was scared and inconvenienced himself to comfort Shane.

He knew Shane was confused, and tried to explain things that Shane shouldn't have witnessed.

It's way too much to ask of him.

Shane knows it's too much. But he can't stop asking.

He doesn't know how to even this out, doesn't know that he can. Even if he started typing now, it would take so long to say what he would need to.

He reminds himself of the deal they'd made, kind of. That Ilya would help Shane figure this out and in return Shane would at times pretend to just be a cat.

It was a ridiculous suggestion, but Shane realizes it would help balance the scales a bit.

Ilya's embarrassed. Shane didn't think that was possible for him, but Shane also didn't think it was possible that Ilya ever thought about Shane when they weren't together.

Now that Ilya knows the cat in his house is Shane, it would be quite embarrassing to do normal cat things.

So he relents and makes his way over to the bin of toys that Sveta–Svetlana, he corrects himself–had bought for him. Which is bizarre to consider. Ilya's childhood best friend and, what, fuck buddy, had bought him cat toys?

This is all crazy.

Shane grabs what looks like a long wand with a toy at the end of a string and tugs it out of the bin, dragging it across the floor until he's in front of the doorway to Ilya's bedroom and then waits.

When Ilya emerges, he's freshly showered and fully clothed which Shane appreciates. He'd been nervous about it, but was relieved that he doesn't seem to experience any sort of sexual urges in this body. That would've killed him. He's mentally aware that Ilya is attractive, but none of that translates to a reaction in his body. He doesn't want to find out if that would be true if he saw another cat. Some mysteries can remain unsolved.

Ilya stops short and looks at the cat and the cat toy on the floor in front of him.

It takes him a moment, but he must remember the same thing Shane had thought of. Ilya softens. Even this is more intimate than Shane should be allowed to witness. "Ah, Nushki. You want to play?"

Ilya grabs the toy and sits on the couch. He dangles it in the air and watches as Shane figures out how this even works.

Ilya can't help laughing at him, but Shane's doing his best! He swats at the toy and eventually, as everything else in his life, catches on.

He'll deny it later, but he starts legitimately having fun. It's a lot like reaction training. Maybe they should make toys like this for adult athletes…

Ilya baby talks in Russian the whole time and that's fair.

Shane doesn't protest about it. Ilya's allowed the privacy that Shane's presence has completely destroyed.

He hears his name every so often. Or, uh, his cat name, Shane guesses he has to think of it as. Fuck. Ilya named him. Is he going to start responding to that even when he turns back?

"I think you are actually having fun, little one."

Shane reacts to the language change by looking up at Ilya's eyes.

Ilya's staring down at him, fondness on full display.

Shane doesn't know how to feel about it. It's complicated. That affection isn't really for Shane.

Ilya's really enjoying having a cat, even if it's complicated, to say the least.

"You want to try a different toy?"

Shane glances at the bin and nods.

Ilya smiles and stands, dragging the entire bin over to the couch. "We have to test them all, right? Find your favorite." He reaches into his pocket and pauses. "Is it, um… can I send a video to Sveta? Is that too weird?"

Shane makes eye contact with him again. It's definitely weird. But Shane understands. He nods.

Ilya squints. "Yes, it's weird or…" He sighs. "Sorry, um. Can I send videos to her?"

Shane nods.

Ilya's mouth twists with uncertainty. "You're sure?"

Shane nods again.

Ilya opens the camera on his phone, muttering, "It will be blackmail forever, Hollander."

Shane would retort back if he could.

Ilya smirks as he seems to realize the same thing. "You would say, what, like, how could it be blackmail? No one would believe you were a cat?"

Shane nods.

Ilya shrugs. "But you would know. I would know."

Another secret, just for them.

Shane can't allow that thought to rattle around his head too long. He nudges at another toy in the bin.

"Okay, okay. Sorry. You are so hyper. I have to tire you out, hm? Should get some indoor goals, let you play hockey."

Shane spins and looks up at him. He bounds over to Ilya and puts his front paws on Ilya's shin, meowing loudly.

Ilya bursts out laughing. "Why am I surprised? Of course you want that. Maybe. If you are a good kitten."

They keep playing for almost two full hours.

Ilya eventually gives in to his own curiosity and sets up a cardboard box as a goal and manages to find a street hockey puck he knew he had tucked away in his garage somewhere.

Shane absolutely loses his mind.

Ilya lounges on the couch and watches the cat sprint around the living room, batting at the puck until it's in the box. Then he dives in and nudges it out and starts all over again.

He does take more videos, but those are just for him. He spends the entire afternoon laughing with Shane, not a single word in any language necessary.

𑄝੭

Ilya orders take out and then plops back on the couch, eyeing the cat. "What does Shane Hollander do during the off-season?" He asks, but it's an indirect question as Shane leaps onto the couch, more coordinated now after playing with all the toys and figuring out his limitations.

Ilya keeps talking to himself. "Probably watch hockey stuff. Movies. Or do you just watch tape?" Ilya makes a face. "Ugh, you probably watch replays of yourself and take notes on how to improve, don't you?"

Shane ignores him.

"You do. God, you are so boring."

Ilya connects his phone to the TV and pulls up YouTube. "You ever watch the CWHL?"

With reluctance, Shane shakes his head.

Ilya laughs softly. "The women are hot."

Shane actually manages to roll his eyes.

"Not your thing, I know." Ilya smirks as he finds an old women's hockey game to put on the TV.

They sit back and watch in silence for a while, Ilya occasionally glancing at the cat and wishing it was easier to know what Shane would actually think about this.

Ilya has to ruin the moment and say, "Should I tell you which of them I've slept with?"

Shane hisses at him.

Ilya laughs loudly.

As the game goes on, Shane leaps onto the back of the couch and takes a minute to find a spot, finally settling on the couch cushion behind Ilya and nuzzling against the back of his neck, eyes on the TV.

Ilya reaches behind him, muttering softly. "You are sweet, hm? Always want to be close to me?"

Shane has started to think of English as for him, the human. But something about Ilya's words feel like they're more directed at him, the cat.

Maybe it's too blurry. Maybe Ilya doesn't even know what he means by saying that.

Ilya's fingers massage the top of Shane's head and Shane lets himself purr as he cuddles up on the couch and watches hockey with Ilya.

𑄝੭

As it gets later, Shane wonders what Ilya would be doing if Shane weren't here. Would he be getting up to trouble as the guys implied earlier?

There's no way this is a normal night for Ilya Rozanov… right? He just won the fucking cup. Shouldn't he be out partying?

As Ilya turns off the TV, he glances at Shane. "I think you don't need to be around for my nighttime routine tonight, yes? Go hide in the cat tree or something."

Shane does not need to be told twice.

He dashes into the dark nook in the cat tree.

Ilya laughs. "I will play music. Unless you want to hear?"

Shane hisses loudly.

Ilya laughs again and closes the door to the bedroom and one of the worst playlists Shane's ever heard in his life starts playing.

And that's the soundtrack to Shane's spiraling thoughts of, is he thinking about me?

𑄝੭

Ilya lets Shane into the bedroom. "I was thinking about beautiful, woman hockey players I've slept with. If you were curious."

Shane hisses again.

Ilya laughs softly and watches Shane try to leap up onto the bed and miss. He stands back and watches as Shane tries again. "You need help, or…?"

Shane leaps, extending his claws to catch himself, and then climbs up the rest.

He sits on the bed and turns back to Ilya, looking smug.

Ilya smirks. "Yes, you have gotten very good at being a cat. You want a trophy?"

Shane looks towards the closet and meows.

Ilya frowns, following Shane's gaze. "What?" His eyes catch on the glint of the trophies in his closet and he tenses. "Oh. Not tonight, Nushki. I just relaxed."

He gets under the covers and turns off the bedside lamp.

Shane hesitates, unsure where to position himself tonight.

Last night, Ilya didn't know Shane was more than a cat.

It shouldn't have been an assumption that Shane would spend the night in Ilya's bed again and yet neither of them had questioned it. Until right now.

Ilya sounds pretty tired as Shane walks up and down the bed, indecisively. "Sleep anywhere you want, Shane. Is okay."

Anywhere he wants.

Shane's not sure if Ilya really means that.

He thinks about how vulnerable Ilya had been today, how much Shane had learned about him. He lets himself be a little vulnerable too.

Shane climbs onto Ilya's pillow and he groans, nose wrinkling, until Shane settles in the crook of Ilya's neck and shoulder, curling up into a ball.

Ilya's lips curl into a small smile. "So clingy, little one."

Shane gently starts purring and they both fall asleep a lot easier than the night before.

𑄝੭

𑄝੭

Ilya wakes up to a weight on his chest and blinks open his eyes to a grumpy kitten meowing at him incessantly.

Ilya grimaces, "Early. Sleep." He closes his eyes again, and the meowing gets louder.

"Nushki, sleep."

Sharp pain makes Ilya's eyes snap open. "Did you just bite my nose?"

Shane's eyes are wide as he stares at Ilya.

Ilya wonders if Shane had even meant to do it or if it was some kind of weird instinct. "Are you okay?"

Shane nods, but he doesn't look totally okay.

Ilya rubs at his eyes, willing himself to be more awake. "Is something wrong?"

Shane meows a lot in the way that Ilya has somehow learned means he wants to say something.

Ilya nods, "Okay, okay. Hold on. It's early." He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and sees that it's 7a.m. He glares at the cat. "7 is probably late for you, isn't it?"

Shane nods.

Ilya rolls his eyes. "So boring."

He eventually sits up, swinging his legs onto the floor and Shane leaps off the bed expecting Ilya to get up but Ilya's still dragging himself into consciousness.

Shane yowls at him.

Irritation floods Ilya's voice. "Yes, Shane. I heard you."

Shane grumbles, slightly mollified by his first name spoken by Ilya again.

Ilya's trying to get up. Really, he is. It's just not as easy every morning. And this morning, it's not so easy. He'd rather spend five more hours in bed, if he had a choice.

But Shane needs his help, or something. So Ilya wills himself to stand.

He forces himself to trod into the living room and finds the tablet where they left it, plugged in and propped up on the couch.

Shane's watching him curiously.

𑄝੭

Shane feels bad waking Ilya up, but this feels important and he can't just sit around waiting for Ilya to wake up.

But then he watches the way Ilya moves as he walks out of the bedroom and can't help feeling concerned. This looks like more than just tiredness, but Shane doesn't know how to ask right now.

Ilya's quiet as he unlocks the tablet where it had timed out, then he props it back up for Shane and scoots away, leaning against the back of the couch like he needs the support.

Unsurprisingly, Ilya hadn't included an "are you okay" button on the soundboard.

Shane taps, "You. Good."

"What?" Ilya's eyes are barely open. "I'm good?"

Shane doesn't know how to correct it so he just presses those buttons again, hoping Ilya will realize that's not what he meant.

Ilya looks at Shane blearily. "You're asking if I'm okay? You woke me up for that?"

"No." Shane taps.

Ilya laughs, but it's a harsh, humorless sound. "I'm fine. What do you need?"

It's annoying to do, but Shane had figured out how to switch to the notes app on his own and he doesn't really want to ask Ilya to do it for him right now.

He types out, "Remember."

Ilya's trying to stay focused, but he has to keep forcing his eyes open. "You remember? The card?"

Shane nods excitedly.

"Oh, that's good." There's barely any emotion in Ilya's voice.

Shane knows something is wrong, but doesn't know what.

He goes back to the sound board. "You. Good."

Ilya practically hisses at him. "I'm fine, Shane. Leave it."

Shane flinches, hackles rising. He taps. "Sorry."

Ilya's eyes squeeze shut and he takes a couple deep breaths. "Fuck. No. I'm… I'm sorry. It's not your fault." He tries to keep himself calm as he says, "What did it say? The card. Can you type? Is it too long?"

Shane uses the buttons as much as he can. "No. Curse."

Ilya squints. "It's not a curse?"

Shane nods.

He stares at the buttons again. "Good. Curse."

Ilya's too out of it for this. "I thought you said it's not a–"

"Good. Curse." Shane types again, interrupting. Signaling that Ilya should think of the words a different way.

Ilya's thoughts are too muffled. "Sorry," he whispers. "Sorry, I'm trying."

Shane watches Ilya and doesn't know what to do. He taps. "Thank you."

Ilya laughs, but it sounds closer to a sob.

Shane gives up on the tablet for now and crawls into Ilya's lap, meowing softly.

Ilya swallows, but has an easier time with the cat than with the complicated theorizing about a curse or not a curse. "Sorry." He's still whispering, like it will stay a secret if he just says it softly enough. "Sometimes mornings are… hard."

Shane climbs up Ilya's shirt, being as careful as he can with his claws and then nuzzles into his neck like yesterday and purrs.

Almost against his will, Ilya smiles. "You're sweet," he says like he did yesterday. But today the words come out almost desperately and are joined by a tear falling from one of his eyes.

Without thinking about it, Shane's tongue darts out and licks it away.

Ilya chuckles softly. "Did you just lick me?"

Emboldened by Ilya's laughter, Shane does it again.

Ilya's lips stay curved into a smile. "Pervert."

Shane bites Ilya's jaw lightly and then licks him again.

Ilya wipes at his eyes. "I'm okay."

Shane lets Ilya fall back asleep.

This can wait.

With the tablet unlocked, Shane can type while Ilya sleeps.

𑄝੭

When Ilya wakes up again, the feeling of being weighed down by a thousand bricks hasn't fully gone away but it's maybe a little bit better.

He stretches a bit. Sleeping on the couch isn't terrible, but it's definitely not as good as sleeping in his bed.

He thinks back on snapping at Shane, at a fucking cat. God, he's pathetic.

He also thinks about Shane curling against him, licking his face.

What the fuck are they doing?

It's so easy to ignore the implications of all of this when they can't really talk about it.

A sound in the kitchen finally makes Ilya open his eyes.

He makes immediate eye contact with Shane, on the kitchen counter, having just pressed the button to start the coffee machine. He looks smug.

Ilya's lips curl into a grin again. "How long did that take you?"

Shane meows senselessly.

Ilya has to laugh. "How many tries did it take to jump onto the counter?"

It takes a second but he manages to force himself up, and moves to the kitchen.

There's a discarded coffee pod on the counter with tiny teeth marks in it and Ilya assumes Shane somehow managed to get a new pod into the machine.

He grabs the old pod and tosses it in the trash.

Then he moves in front of the coffee machine and pats his hand down Shane's back, rubbing at the muscles in his neck. "You made me coffee?"

Shane purrs, pushing against Ilya's hand affectionately.

"You're sweet," Ilya says yet again as the coffee finishes and he grabs it, holding it close to his chest. The words thank you are on the tip of his tongue but he can't quite make himself say it. He's not sure why. It feels too real somehow.

He leans back against the counter and looks across the room, away from Shane. He feels like he owes him an explanation even though he really doesn't want to say anything.

"My brain is, um, it's bad, sometimes. All the time, maybe. But very bad sometimes. It's very bad right now." He's learned the English word for depression but he doesn't want to say that either. "Please don't tell anyone."

Shane butts his head against Ilya's arm.

Ilya continues. "I know you can't now, but… later…" He swallows. "Only Sveta knows and I didn't really mean for her to know either but, you know, we've known each other a long time. Lots of chances to get into fights and be awful to each other. She's seen me when it's bad. You have now too, I guess."

He sips the coffee and feels marginally more functional even from just the placebo of the taste of it.

"Fuck," he mutters, glancing at the tablet. "You needed something, right? You said you remember."

Ilya scoops up the cat and moves back to the couch, staring at the words Shane must've typed while he was sleeping.

"Fan sent a spell to fix what is broken with honesty. Drew a cat. Thinks something bad happened for me at Olympics because no playoffs."

Ilya has to read it a few times but it doesn't totally make sense. "So… you think this is an accident? That you are a cat? Fix what's broken… why the Olympics?"

Shane moves to swap apps but Ilya reaches out and does it for him.

Shane taps. "Me. And. You."

Ilya feels a chill go down his spine. "What, you think someone knows?"

Shane taps. "No."

Ilya swipes back to the notes app and reads the message again. "Fix what is broken with honesty… what, they think you had your heart broken at the Olympics or something and that's why you played shitty the rest of the season? Sveta said the same thing yesterday, in Russian I think. She was also wondering why you were so inconsistent afterwards."

Shane stares at Ilya distantly.

Ilya blinks at him. "What?"

Shane turns away and lies down, back to Ilya.

Is Shane mad?

Ilya rewinds the conversation as best as he can.

What, they think you had your heart broken at the Olympics?

The fantasy of these past few days vanishes as the ice cold memories wash over him. He remembers snapping at Shane in Sochi, pushing him away. Dealing with his father and with Sasha.

He remembers the bathroom in Vegas where he found Shane crying, clinging to a sink, screaming at him for ignoring him for months.

And then they had the most intense and yet detached sex they've ever had.

We are not anything. Go away, Hollander.

I have an early flight tomorrow.

Today is not a good day for those memories to resurface.

It's terrifying to consider that that's what Shane means. That he actually did break Shane's heart in Sochi.

That shouldn't have been possible. Shane shouldn't care about him. What reason has he ever given Shane to give a single shit about him?

So has this all been some kind of sick karma? Shane got to see how embarrassingly desperate Ilya is for him?

There's a lot of things Ilya could say, but the first thing he thinks to say is, "That day in Sochi was a lot like today."

Shane turns around, but stays curled up. Eyes on Ilya.

Ilya licks his lips and says the next two words with more meaning than he's ever embedded into words in English before, "I'm sorry."

Once those words are out, the rest pours out of him. He lets out a sigh but it comes out shaky. "Fuck, Hollander." His voice wobbles. "I was so fucking… scared of you. I thought, I don't know. Maybe my dad would disown me or something. I don't know." Ilya thinks about getting back after the Olympics and hating the sight of all the American trophies he'd won, knowing they'd never be enough for his father.

"Everything was… bad and I wanted you but it's fucking Russia. And then you walked over like it was nothing and I was so fucking scared and I snapped. And I kept being scared. And then the stupid awards script in Vegas and you were so close and I could put my hands on you again and I wanted you but I couldn't let myself want you too much. So I invited you to my room but kept you at a distance. And you asked so many questions. If I liked Russia. I never… I never thought about not going back to Russia before and then you said it like it was an option and I realized… realized it was."

Ilya gestures around. "So here I fucking am. Summer and not in Russia and a not cursed cat in my fucking living room because I…" He doesn't know if he can say it. "Because I hurt you."

Shane gets up finally and walks to the tablet. He stares at the buttons before giving up and pressing the top of his head to it, whining miserably.

"I know," Ilya says softly, petting down Shane's back. "Fuck, I'm sorry. It must be hard to not be able to… finally we talk and you can't." Ilya laughs but he's just as miserable.

"I was scared too."

For a second Ilya thinks he's hallucinating Shane's voice, but he blinks a few times and…

"Hollander?"

Shane pats his chest, his very human chest, and looks up at Ilya. "Holy shit."

They stare at each other and then with no hesitation Shane throws himself at Ilya, straddling him and kissing him hard.

Ilya moans into the kiss, but then pushes him away. "No. Stop. No fair. You can talk now. You have to talk."

Shane whines, nuzzling into Ilya's neck.

Ilya laughs hysterically. "You are still mostly cat, hm?"

"This is weird," Shane whispers. "I feel so weird."

Ilya's hands cup Shane's cheeks. "Hi. It's really you."

Shane laughs. "Yeah, um. Really me. Sorry for making you feel insane."

Ilya has Shane Hollander in his lap and no idea what to do about it.

Shane's eyes are sparkling with unshed tears. "I know you, um, just said… a lot of… stuff… but can you give me a second to adjust to my whole body changing?"

Ilya snorts. "Is it important that you do that while sitting in my lap?"

Shane's lips quirk up at the corner. "Isn't that what I've been doing the last few days?"

Ilya holds his hand out palm up. "Mostly in my hand, or in my neck, actually. I could put you back in my pocket?"

Shane hesitates, but hopes Ilya won't make fun of him as he nuzzles his face into Ilya's neck again.

Ilya hums happily. "So clingy, Nushki."

Shane laughs, "Knew you were gonna keep calling me that." But he keeps his face tucked into Ilya's neck and clings to him, feeling Ilya's hands rub at his neck and pet down his back.

Ilya tsks, "You forgot how to purr already?"

Shane hums softly, the closest approximation he can manage.

Ilya smiles.

They stay like that for a while, both just… processing that these last few days were… real.

Shane finally speaks again. "Sorry all of this is happening on a bad day for you."

Ilya laughs weakly. "Don't worry about that, Hollander."

"Don't." Shane says softly.

Ilya waits. "You have more words than buttons now."

Shane huffs. "Don't call me Hollander."

Ilya feels himself blush but would deny it if asked. "Only if you do the same, remember?"

Ilya feels Shane's lips press to his neck and then he hears a whispered, "Ilya…"

Ilya melts into a fucking puddle. "Shane," he says it desperately and then they're kissing again.

Shane pulls away, eyes bright. "Why does everyone know about Jane?"

Ilya groans, and pulls Shane back. "No, keep kissing. No talking."

Shane lets himself be kissed while he laughs, pulling away again. "You really look up my ads at night to–"

"Shane, shut up."

Shane's practically wheezing. "Svetlana said you wished–"

"Oh my god, okay. Yes. You learned a lot about me. Congratulations." Ilya interrupts before he can finish that sentence.

"Why are your trophies in the closet?"

Ilya groans, dropping his head back against the couch. "You should be a cat again. You're better as a cat."

Shane grinds against him. "You really think so?"

Ilya glares at him. "You're playing dirty."

It's tempting to ask Ilya to move to the bedroom, but Shane knows they can't do that yet. They can't leave everything unsaid anymore.

Shane sobers, finally making himself think back to what Ilya said earlier. "You were scared of me?"

Ilya nods reluctantly. "You're very scary. Sharp claws."

Shane deadpans. "What were you scared of?"

Ilya thinks about Shane admitting to a broken heart.

Ilya tries to meet him in the middle. "I was scared you'd find out how much I want you."

Shane looks a little guilty. "I think I know now."

"Yes," Ilya says defeated. "I think you do."

Shane doesn't even wait for him to ask, "I want you too."

They lean in to kiss again and then–

Nothing.

Ilya opens his eyes and Shane is just… gone.

Ilya wants to scream.

Great, so now magic can cockblock him too?

His phone vibrates in his pocket and unsurprisingly, it's a video call request from Shane.

Ilya answers it and sees Shane in Ottawa, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

Shane looks equally as pissed about it. "I guess we broke the curse. Or… spell…"

Ilya whines. "We should have fucked before we talked."

Shane laughs, sounding a little hysteric which is fair since he just turned back into a human and then got magically transported across the continent. "What if you spend the rest of the month here? With me?"

Ilya blinks at him. "What?"

"Come to Ottawa. Before you go back to Russia." Shane says it, eyes dead serious.

Ilya jokes it away, "You just want me to fuck you."

"Well, yeah." Shane admits easily. "But I also want to make you coffee and I can maybe even build you a cat tree."

Ilya laughs harder than he should and Shane smiles back at him brilliantly.

They watch each other over the video call and Ilya can recognize those eyes from the last few days even though they're so different now.

"Okay."

Shane lights up. "Really?"

Ilya nods. "Now take off your clothes." He gets up and moves to the bedroom.

Shane's laughing as he strips off his shirt.

I'll take care of you, Ilya thinks to himself as he remembers finding that tiny kitten on his doorstep.

I'm safe.

I promise.

THE END

𑄝੭

.
.
.
BONUS

Svetlana's rubbing at her temples, "What the fuck do you mean, the kitten was Jane?"

Ilya can't resist fucking with her about this. "It's a very long story."

"And why am I driving you to the airport so you can go to fucking Ottawa?"

Ilya gives in. "Did I tell you I got Shane Hollander's number?"

Svetlana shoots him an insane look. "Sorry, is that your answer to why you're going to Ottawa? What, you're gonna go fuck Shane Hollander?"

Ilya raises an eyebrow at her.

She nearly crashes the car. "You have to say so many more words right fucking now, Iluyshka."

Instead, Ilya hits call and Shane answers the phone.

"Hey… um, it's nice to meet you, Svetlana."

If looks could kill, Ilya would be eviscerated. "You would do this to me while I'm driving? I'm pulling over. Fuck you. Fucking hell." She switches to English. "Hi, sorry if this is rude, but why the fuck did Ilya just call you?"

Shane gets angry. "Ilya, what the fuck. I thought you said you were going to tell her."

Ilya smirks at him. "I told her the kitten was Jane."

"Jesus Christ," Shane mumbles.

Svetlana's found a lot to park in and looks between Ilya and the video call. "Hold on. Jane. Shane?"

Shane laughs nervously. "Um, yeah."

Svetlana feels the urge to throw something. "Four fucking years, Ilyusha. You've been lying to me about THIS for four years?!"

"What was I going to say! It's his fucking secret too, Sveta!"

"What the fuck does the kitten is Jane mean? What does the cat have to do with Shane Hollander?"

Ilya gestures at the video call. "Okay, so I called Shane because I know it is impossible to believe so I need you to just watch the fact that he knows the answers, okay?"

Shane sees where Ilya is going with this and turns bright red. "This was not part of the plan."

Ilya rolls his eyes. "Okay, so how would you convince someone to believe this?"

Shane doesn't have a response for that.

Ilya turns back to Svetlana. "The night with the cat, with Nushki. You remember, yes?"

Svetlana eyes the camera suspiciously, remembering their conversation about Shane. "Yes."

Ilya nods. "So Shane was there. He was the cat."

Shane is practically a tomato.

Svetlana wheezes out a laugh. "What the fuck are you saying? That's crazy."

But she looks at Shane and realizes neither of them are joking.

Ilya watches her. "Ask him anything about that night. So you know I didn't prepare questions or something."

Svetlana tries to think of the most insane thing she can ask so they can hurry up and move past whatever insanity this is. "What was I wearing?"

Shane drops his head in his hands. "Fuck."

Ilya laughs. "You don't remember?"

Shane sighs and says, "Raiders shirt and, um…"

Ilya's smile is evil. "Say it, Nushki."

Svetlana's eyes shift to Ilya as he calls Shane by the cat's name.

Shane lets out a breath. "Just underwear and the Raiders shirt."

Svetlana looks at Ilya. "Why would you tell him that?"

"I didn't," Ilya says carefully. "He was there."

Svetlana shakes her head. "That's insane."

"Ask him something else," Ilya insists.

Svetlana watches Ilya's eyes as she asks, "What were we watching?"

That's what Shane was expecting so he has an easier time answering. "You were watching my first game after the Olympics and speaking Russian, but I could only understand my name and it was terrifying."

"And then?" Ilya asks innocently.

Shane glares at him. "And then she forced you to admit you think I'm pretty and asked you to give me her number."

Svetlana narrows her eyes. "I don't think I said pretty."

Shane groans. "You said gorgeous."

Svetlana shakes her head. "Ilya could've told you all of this."

Shane describes more, hoping it will help. "I could not figure out what you two were to each other. You were so platonic, but obviously had just had sex. And then you, like, wrestled, and then he put his head in your lap. You're both so comfortable with each other. Ilya trusts you. I'd never seen him like that before."

Svetlana's jaw slowly drops. "Holy shit, you were there. You were a cat."

Shane sighs. "We don't really understand how it happened either, so don't ask."

Svetlana slaps her hand over her mouth. "Ilya joked that you didn't like women."

Shane's eyes fall closed. "Oh, so you're both obnoxious."

Svetlana and Ilya crack up laughing.

Shane frowns at them. "Okay, let's have a more normal conversation next time. I'm hanging up now." He ends the call while they're both still laughing at him.

Svetlana looks at Ilya. "Holy shit."

"I know."

"You're fucking Shane Hollander."

Ilya shrugs, "You've been in bed with him."

Svetlana squeals. "That's insane. Did you know?"

Ilya shakes his head. "Not that night. I figured it out the next morning."

Svetlana starts driving again, shaking her head. "So… you really are on your way to Ottawa to fuck Shane Hollander?"

"Mmm," Ilya confirms. "Hopefully multiple times, every day, for the next three weeks."

Svetlana looks at him knowingly. "Don't act like it's just sex. I heard the way he called you Ilya. And you've been texting Jane for four years."

Ilya nods. "It's not just sex."

Svetlana's smile is simultaneously mischievous and proud. "I'm happy for you, Ilyushka."

Then her brows furrow. "I'm upset there's no cat though. I'm getting a cat. Give back all the stuff I got."

Ilya gasps at her, "You used my card."

"You'll give it to me."

"Yes, fine. You can have it."

"You think my cat will turn into a hot girl?"

"You will have to kiss it to find out."

"Did you–"

"No."

"How did you get him to turn back?"

"We talked."

"Two men talking about their feelings is much more powerful than true love's kiss."

"Exactly."

"Wait, how did he talk as a cat?"

Ilya tells her the whole story while they sit in Boston traffic.