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When Mike hears the first meow, he's convinced he's hallucinating. He's got his groceries in one hand and his keys in the other, walking far too fast for someone paying so little attention, but he stops short at the unfamiliar sound.
The whir of passing cars is white noise to him by now, and the hushed chatter of passersby is nothing new, so–
Mike stumbles as someone slams into his back, nearly knocking his groceries to the ground. "Hey!"
The man in question doesn't turn back. "Keep walking, asshole!"
Mike throws him a middle finger, and another meow reminds him why he stopped in the first place. He glances around, but nobody else seems to be paying it any attention.
Down the alley, a cardboard box shudders, and Mike takes a hesitant step towards it.
"Hello?" he calls out, then winces. It's not a person. It can't talk back, dumbass.
Mike sets his groceries down, muttering a quiet plea to the universe that nobody steals them, before crouching down. The box is old, clearly; it has the soggy edges and worn lettering of something that's been sitting in a dingy alleyway for far too long. Something moves around inside, and he steels himself for becoming a scratching post.
In one swift movement, Mike pulls the box open, and what comes tumbling out isn't a feral stray - it's a kitten.
A wet, trembling, scrawny kitten, with damp orange-and-black fur and big, frightened eyes, and Mike reaches a hand out without a second thought. He strokes two fingers over the kitten's back, and it leans into the touch, a tentative purr leaving its throat.
"Hi there," he whispers, his voice far softer than expected. Max would never let him live it down, but she's not here, so he keeps talking. "What are you doing all by yourself? Aren't you too little for that?"
In all honesty, Mike doesn't know shit about the stages of kitten development. He's an English major, not a scientist, but he does know that animals aren't supposed to be left by themselves when they're so tiny. Will's teared up about enough nature documentaries for him to have learned that much, at least.
Will. Will wouldn't hesitate to take the kitten home with them. Will would want it to be safe and warm until they could go to the shelter.
(Truthfully, Mike was going to take it home no matter what, but it's nice to know that Will's on his side. They're better as a team; partners in everything. The reminder still makes his chest go gooey.)
It's decided, and Mike scoops the kitten up with as much gentleness as he can manage, placing it gingerly on top of the bag of groceries.
The walk to their apartment is a short one, thankfully, and it's only a few minutes before he's through their front door. The smell of paint and Will's candles hits him like a wave, and Mike can't help the fond smile that creeps over him. The apartment is small, and the rent is inordinate, but it's theirs.
"Hey!" Will says, lowering the volume on the stereo. He puts his paintbrushes down, moving to greet Mike with a kiss on the cheek – one that Mike doesn't accept, turning his face to get a peck on the lips instead. Will rolls his eyes, but his cheeks pinken, and it warms Mike's heart to know that Will is just as giddy about their relationship as he is.
"How was the shop? Not too bad, hopefully," Will says. He reaches to grab the bag from Mike's arms, only for Mike to pull it away.
Will raises an eyebrow. "Something secret in there?" His voice is light, teasing, but Mike still feels a twinge of guilt.
"No! No, definitely not," he clarifies. "It's just… can you sit down?"
Will's raised eyebrows turn into something more furrowed. "Uh, yeah. Sure." He grabs one of the kitchen chairs, watching as Mike sets the bag down.
Mike takes a deep breath. "Don't be mad at me?"
"Mike, this doesn't make any–"
Meow.
Will blinks. "What?"
The kitten, little traitor that it is, pokes its head out of the bag with another inquisitive mrow? Mike scoops it up, naturally, and puts it on the table. Its little legs shake, but Mike helps keep it steady.
He bites his lip, running over every possible excuse in his head. It looked so sad and lonely, it was cold, I couldn't just leave it there, but one look at Will says he shouldn't bother.
Will's eyes are saucer-wide, staring at the kitten with a sense of childlike wonder that tugs at Mike's heartstrings. "Is that a kitten?" he asks, more breath than voice. "Mike, where did you…?"
"The alley by the bodega," Mike explains, and he can feel rather than see the way Will's expression changes.
"An alley?"
"A cardboard box, specifically."
Will is up and moving before Mike can get another word out. He grabs a stack of towels from the closet, placing them down on the floor and forming a little nest. "Okay, put him here. Do we know any vets? We'll need a vet. Shit, they're probably closed. Okay, we can just go tomorrow morning." He looks up at Mike, who still hasn't moved. "C'mon. Set him down."
Mike does as he's told, putting the kitten in the middle of the towel pile. Will takes a dry washcloth and runs it over the kitten, drying his fur off in gentle strokes. The kitten's purring intensifies, rubbing into Will's hands.
"He doesn't look that young, thankfully," Will explains. "If he was a newborn, that'd be dangerous. His eyes are open, so that's a good sign."
"How do you know so much about cats?"
"I feel like it's not that out there. I just know they can't have milk. Not the milk we drink, at least."
"Well then what the hell are we supposed to feed him?"
"I don't know!" Will says. "We should probably not feed him for now, and just take him to the vet in the morning, okay?"
It makes sense, but the idea of leaving the kitten hungry makes his heart hurt. Mike puts his hands up. "Okay. Okay," he agrees. "Yeah, we can do that."
Will scratches under the kitten's chin. "He's really cute. Do we think someone's missing him?"
Mike shakes his head. "Doubt it. He looks like he's been alone a while, and he's not that old. It's not like he could've run away. I don't think he belongs to anyone."
As if agreeing with them, the kitten lets out another mewl. It makes Will smile, and Mike feels every bit of hesitancy melting off of him, because anything that makes Will light up like that is something he wants to keep around.
"He could belong to us, though," Mike offers.
Will's head snaps up, and they lock eyes. "You're not a pet person," Will says. He's still running a hand absent-mindedly down the kitten's back, and the kitten purrs like a motor. "You don't like hair, or dirt, or things that come with animals, so why–"
Mike shrugs. "I never said that. I don't like Dustin and Jane's hamster palace, because it smells like shit and wood shavings. I don't mind dogs and cats. Besides, this feels a bit like destiny, doesn't it?"
The kitten voices his agreement once again, cutting through the tension and dissolving it. Mike laughs, and Will follows shortly after, their cheeks red and aching from smiling. It's a fit of giggles that reminds Mike of when they were kids, back when they were whispering secrets on the playground and not paying bills, but the nostalgia doesn't hurt. They've faced a lot and lost a lot since then, but they've grown, and they've grown together.
"If we're keeping him, he needs a name," Will says. "Something fun. Something us."
"What about something artsy? Like Van Gogh or Monet."
Will looks at him, amused. "You want to name a kitten Van Gogh?"
"Fine!" Mike says. "Fine. What about music? Prince, Freddie, Bowie–"
"Bronski," Will adds, barely concealing his laughter.
"Bronski?"
At the name, the kitten lights up, squirming in Will's grip. Will's chest shakes with mirth, gesturing down at the cat. "Mike, I think he likes that one."
Mike huffs. "We're not naming him Bronski."
The kitten meows again.
"Too late," Will says. "It's been decided. Do you like that, Bronski?"
And, really, it's an ugly name. Mike knows that. It sounds like honk, but when Will looks at him in that warm, open way, Mike knows he's lost before he's even started to argue back.
The kitten blinks his own wide eyes, a look that isn't quite as effective as Will's, but comes in close second.
"Fine," Mike says. "You're very opinionated, Bronski, but fine."
Will beams at him, and his whole face glows with it. He scratches Bronski's chin again, rattling on about getting cat toys and going to the vet and all the other things that come with new pet parenting, and all Mike can do is stare. Will is beautiful all the time, but when he's excited, he's radiant.
"I love you," Mike says, interrupting one of Will's rants about brands of cat food.
Will pauses, and his face gets that dopey look that it always does when Mike says those words to him. "I love you too."
There's a whole lot they have to do, and it's a truckload of responsibilities Mike wasn't anticipating, but right now, it feels a lot like the next step in their life together, and that's worth any amount of inconvenience.