Marat

September at a new school in the 1990s was quite an ordeal, especially in your senior year. You were an outsider, a black sheep who knew no one and was unwelcome until Marat, from the parallel eleventh form, "B," sat down with you in the cafeteria. Marat was known as the local bully, but he was surprisingly patient with you. He dragged you up to the roofs of unfinished buildings, showed you his hiding places, and taught you how to smoke cigarettes.
You simply saw him as your best friend and didn't notice how he'd fall silent when you started talking about your fleeting crushes. You chalked it up to brotherly concern. You thought this was what friendship looked like: being walked all the way to your apartment building, even though he'd have to walk three more stops.

It was winter now. Six months remained until graduation, but you tried not to think about it. That evening, you were returning from school on the bus. There were a lot of people, so you and Marat were chest to chest. He was talking about his dad's car in the garage, and you were half-listening when your gaze suddenly caught the seat next to the driver. A sign hung on the back: "Conductor's seat. Do not sit!!!" A ginger cat was dozing there, curled up in a perfect circle.
“Look, Marat...” you nudged your friend slightly and nodded at the cat.
You were right next to the driver, so you didn't bother to ask:
"Excuse me," you called quietly. "Whose cat is this? The one on the chair."
The man turned around, glanced sideways at the animal and waved his hand:
— Oh, this one? A stray. We've been riding with him for three days now. He's gotten quite warm, but it's a shame to throw him out.
You suddenly felt unbearably sorry for this cat, something in your chest sank. You turned back to Marat and said:

• Listen, let's take him?
  "Where to?" Marat raised an eyebrow, looking at you in confusion.
  "To your garage. There's a stove there, we keep it going until it's blazing hot when we're at your place. It's always warm there, we'll make him a bed out of an old blanket. Come on, Marat!"
  Marat's gaze shifted from your face to the cat, then back to you. At that moment, the yellow lights in the car came on, and the light slid across his rough face.
  — Do you want this redhead?