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Fugo knew that something was off from the moment he opened his eyes. He’d been asked to collect intel on a potential traitor, a man named Tonno Scatola, so he’d tailed him for the better part of the morning. It seemed as though Fugo was being inconspicuous enough, but then the man had made a break for it, and Fugo was forced to chase after him.
After rounding the corner into a secluded alleyway, there was a bright flash, and Fugo had ended up on the ground, which is where he still was when he woke up.
The trouble was that he seemed extremely low to the ground. It also looked like he was under a green blanket—the same shade of green as his coat.
Fugo tried to put his hands beneath him so that he could push himself up, but he quickly found that his arms didn’t want to move the way he needed them to. Looking down, his eyes widened. Where his arms should have been was a pair of fur-covered legs.
‘The fuck?’
At least, that’s what Fugo wanted to say. The sound that came out of his mouth sounded nothing like human words at all.
“Meow?”
Fugo could feel his breathing becoming erratic. He scrambled to his paws (paws!?) and managed to squirm his way out from beneath the fabric that was covering him. Sure enough, he was still in the alley that he’d chased Scatola into, and, unfortunately, the blanket he thought he’d been under was actually his suit, which was now far too big for him to properly wear. He frantically looked over his shoulder and saw that he was covered in yellowy orange fur and had a long tail that extended from his backside.
“Meow!”
A cat. He’d been turned into a fucking cat.
How long had he been unconscious? How far could the traitor, who was obviously a Stand-user, have gotten?
How long was he going to be stuck like this?
Fugo walked to the far end of the alleyway and looked around the corner. No sign of his target.
Well, there was no use in staying here, he thought. He needed to try to find a way back to his teammates and come up with a strategy.
He went back the way he’d originally come from until he was back on the main road. It was a little unnerving being no more than 30 centimeters tall, especially with so many pedestrians milling about. How much would it hurt if he was accidentally kicked or stepped on? He was used to fighting and being attacked by enemies, but this body was much smaller than his human form. Would that make it hurt more?
Those fears began to fade when he saw a familiar face standing on the sidewalk across the street.
Fugo thought that Narancia was handsome no matter what, but he was especially attractive when he was focused. And right now, with one eye covered by Aerosmith’s radar and his eyebrows furrowed with concentration, he looked downright sexy.
Mista and Giorno were with him as well, which meant that Bucciarati had sent them specifically to find him and back him up. He probably could have used their help earlier, but he wouldn’t complain about having his boyfriend close at hand to help him cope with his current predicament.
As if his luck wasn’t already terrible enough, his friends turned and started down a different street. Fugo supposed that meant it was time to brave the crosswalk.
“Any sign of him?”
Narancia let out an annoyed little huff. “It’s kinda fucking hard to find one person when the street is this busy.” Seriously, didn’t Mista know anything about his Stand? It’s a radar, not a fucking tracking device.
Not only that, but they’d been told that Fugo was supposed to be around this area somewhere. He didn’t need Mista reminding him that his boyfriend was still unaccounted for after several minutes of searching. Narancia had wanted to go with him on this mission from the very beginning. There’s safety in numbers, and they didn’t know a damn thing about this Scatola guy. Fugo was the smartest guy on the planet, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t get overwhelmed. What if he was in trouble? What if he was hurt!
“We’ll find him,” Giorno gently assured him. Leave it to Giorno to be the voice of reason.
Something suddenly bumped into the back of Narancia’s calf muscle. He hadn’t even seen anything approaching on the radar. Was he really that out of it because of his worry?
He glanced over his shoulder, wary at first about what he might find, but then his entire face brightened. “Aww, a kitty!”
No wonder he hadn’t noticed it on his radar—it was tiny compared to all of the people out and about! He turned all the way around and crouched down in front of the little cat before extending his arm to scratch the top of its head.
To his surprise, though, the cat shrank away from him.
“C’mere, I’m not gonna hurt you! I’m your friend!”
He tried reaching out to pet it again, but it backed up again. If Narancia didn’t know any better, he’d say this cat looked downright annoyed with him.
“A cat?” Mista asked as he squatted by Narancia’s side. “Do we really have time to be messing around with some cat?”
He was right, Narancia thought. As cute as the cat was, finding Fugo was the top priority.
“I’m sorry, Kitty Cat. I’ll play with you some other time. I gotta find my man.”
“Meow!”
Narancia blinked in surprise. The cat kept meowing at him. Most cats didn’t meow just for the hell of it. They meowed maybe once or twice when a person talked to them. This little guy looked almost like it was trying to tell him something. And whatever it was trying to say was super important. Narancia had never seen a cat with such a serious expression before. He’d never seen a cat with bluish-purple eyes before either.
It kinda reminded him of…
The cat turned around and started walking back the way they’d just come from, stopping a few steps away and looking back at Narancia expectantly.
“Guys, I think he wants us to follow him.”
“The cat?” Giorno asked.
“Yeah! I mean, look at him!”
Narancia watched as Giorno and Mista both peered around him to get a better look at the cat, whose piercing gaze hadn’t left them yet.
Mista sighed. “Narancia, it’s a cat. This isn’t Lassie, animals aren’t that smart in real life. It can’t tell us anything about Fugo.”
The cat’s tail angrily flicked back and forth as if it had taken that comment personally.
“I just have this feeling,” Narancia said. “Like, my gut says we gotta follow him.”
A sudden pressure on Narancia’s leg caused him to look down, and he couldn’t help but smile as he saw the cat rubbing its chin and the side of its body against him. It even headbutted him before walking away again.
“See? He totally wants us to follow him!”
Giorno put his hand to his chin. “I’ll admit, this cat’s behavior is rather unusual. Perhaps we should see where it takes us.”
“All I’m sayin’ is that I haven’t trusted a cat since that one scratched my neighbor’s eye out,” Mista said with a shrug.
“I didn’t say that I trust it either,” Giorno added. “Just because it’s exhibiting unusual behavior doesn’t mean it’s an ally. It could be an enemy Stand-user for all we know.”
The cat gave another flick of the tail, but this time, it continued down the sidewalk, and Narancia immediately followed. He didn’t care what Mista said, or even Giorno for that matter. Maybe it was acting kind of weird, but the cat wasn’t their enemy. Narancia was just sure of it.
In no time at all, they were back where they’d just come from, but this time, the cat led them to the crosswalk that would take them in the opposite direction they were going. “We didn’t go this way before,” Narancia noted.
Giorno nodded. “You’re right. This is still beneficial to us. Just keep your eyes open for any signs of Fugo.”
Taking that as his cue to bring Aerosmith back out, Narancia summoned the tiny radar in front of his eye and scanned the area. Just like before, it was impossible to know which of the tiny blips was his boyfriend. There was a good chance that none of them were. He was really starting to get worried about him.
Just then, he felt a weight on his leg again, but it was much lighter than when the cat had headbutted him. He looked down and saw that the cat had placed both of its front paws on Narancia’s leg and was gazing directly in his eyes.
“What?”
“It wants someone to pick it up,” Mista said nonchalantly as he bent down and reached out for the little creature.
The cat’s ears immediately flattened against its head as it turned and loudly hissed at him.
Mista put up his hands defensively and stood back up. “Okay, okay, I won’t pick you up! See? You can’t trust a cat. Cute and cuddly one second, tiny monster the next.”
Narancia pouted. That wasn’t a very fair thing to say. Yeah, cats could flip the proverbial emotional switch in an instant, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be trusted. They just know what they want and know how to tell people what they don’t want.
Which reminded Narancia, this particular cat still had its paws on him.
Cautiously, Narancia crouched down and put his hands out for the cat to sniff if it wanted to. Instead, it stepped forward and brushed the top of its head against Narancia’s fingers.
With a little grin, Narancia wrapped his hands around the cat’s belly, just under its front legs, and scooped it up.
“Looks like you’ve made a friend,” Giorno said.
The pedestrian light finally indicated that it was time to cross the street, so Narancia put one hand under the cat’s hind legs and used the other to hold its upper body close to his chest. “You were scared of crossing the street, huh?” he asked, his voice loud enough for only the cat to hear. “Don’t worry. I’ve got ya.”
Narancia knew what Mista had said earlier was true. Animals weren’t as smart as humans. Well, most of them weren’t at least. He was pretty sure that Fugo would argue that there were plenty of animals smarter than Narancia. But still, Narancia knew that even animals could understand some things. For example, this cat totally knew that it was safe at the moment, and that was obvious by how loudly it was purring.
Fugo couldn’t believe that he was purring. Even more unbelievable was that he couldn’t stop. It was as natural as breathing. The feeling of Narancia’s hand on his back was just so relaxing. They’d been dating for a few years now, so it wasn’t like the purring was a substitute for butterflies.
Silly as it was to admit, perhaps it was just the result of love.
That didn’t explain the other actions that felt unreasonably natural. At first, he hadn’t wanted to be touched in this form. He hadn’t wanted to be treated like a cat. When Narancia was trying to convince the others to follow along, Fugo had thought he could help by brushing up against his boyfriend to confirm his suspicions. But then his chin had made contact with his leg, and that had felt very right.
Fugo could still smell his own scent on Narancia, even as he held him. He’d never really thought of having a scent before, but the scent coming from Narancia’s leg was unmistakably Fugo’s.
And Fugo liked it.
He knew it was ridiculous. He knew that he was at no risk of losing Narancia to anyone, especially not another cat. But he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride at having marked his man with his scent. He supposed it was a little like a love bite—a tangible sign that someone was off the market.
Fugo rubbed his chin against Narancia’s collarbone for good measure.
The sound of Narancia’s giggling was music to Fugo’s ears. “You are such a sweet kitty!”
“Yeah right,” Mista grumbled sarcastically.
Fugo’s tail twitched ever so slightly. He might not have wanted to be treated like a cat by anyone, but he especially wasn’t going to tolerate it from Mista. The only time he would ever let Guido Mista pick him up and hold him would be if he was dead or dying. Narancia was the only person he wanted that close to him.
“Y’know,” Narancia began, “my boyfriend’s gonna be jealous when I tell him someone else was giving me snuggles today.”
Fugo leaned back and gave Narancia the most incredulous face he could muster.
That just made Narancia laugh. “You kinda look like him, too.”
Sometimes Fugo wondered how Narancia survived at all before they met.
Once they were across the street (Narancia was absolutely right, crossing the first time had been harrowing to say the least), Fugo squirmed out of his boyfriend’s arms and delicately jumped to the ground. With a quick glance to make sure he had his teammates’ attention, he began leading them to the alleyway where he’d been attacked.
“Mista, get your gun,” Giorno whispered. “I don’t like the look of this place.”
Obedient as always, Mista pulled his revolver out of his pants.
When they rounded the last corner, Fugo saw that his clothes were still there in a heap. And, apparently, he wasn’t the only one who noticed.
“Fugo!” Narancia cried out. He sprinted over to the pile of clothes and rifled through them. “Fugo! Shit, where is he!?”
Fugo ran to his boyfriend’s side and rubbed against him, trying to get his attention and comfort him all at once.
Dense as ever, Narancia looked over his shoulders at Mista and Giorno. “His suit is here, but it’s cold! He hasn’t been here for a while!”
As the other two jogged over, Narancia turned back to the pile of clothes and drew a shuddery breath. Fugo’s heart ached to see Narancia so shaken by this. On the other hand, it was somewhat reassuring to know that he cared that deeply for him.
“Fugo…” he mumbled under his breath, tears welling up in his eyes. He clutched Fugo’s coat close to his chest. “Where are you?”
‘I’m right here, dumbass.’
“Meow me-ooow.”
Narancia gave him a weary look. “Have you seen him, Kitty Cat? Is that why you brought us here?”
Oh good grief. How was Fugo supposed to get his point across?
Looking back at his clothes, an idea hit him. He stepped over the bottom of his coat that Narancia was still clinging to and rooted around in what was left of his outfit. When he found his prize, he pawed it away from the rest of the fabric.
He looked up at Narancia to see if he was taking the hint yet, but was met with a blank face and a sniffle.
Fugo rolled his eyes. It took some maneuvering, but he was eventually able to get his head beneath his tie so that it was draped around his neck.
Mista and Giorno were on the scene by then, and Fugo looked up at them. Maybe if Narancia didn’t get it, one of them would.
“Do you think he got vaporized or something?” Narancia croaked.
Yeah, he definitely didn’t get it.
“Narancia,” Giorno said with a tone of disbelief. “I think the cat is-”
“Well, now that the cat is out of the bag,” another voice interrupted, “I might as well take you on face-to-face.”
Every head turned toward the source of the sound, where a man in a shiny silver suit was strolling down the alleyway.
Fugo felt his ears lying flat against his head as a little growl rumbled from deep inside.
Mista immediately pointed his gun at the man, but it was Giorno who spoke. “Tonno Scatola, I presume?”
“The one and only. I see Don Bucciarati sent his favorite kittens out to play today.”
“Mista?” Giorno said, calmly as ever. “Shoot him.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Not if you ever want to see your little intel man again.”
Narancia sprang to his feet. “The fuck did you do with Fugo, you bastard!?” Seconds later, Aerosmith came swooping in, ready to fire at any moment.
Scatola laughed. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m surprised. The runt of the litter usually isn’t the brightest.”
“Fuck you!” Narancia spat out.
With a little shrug and a sigh, Scatola said, “What’s New Pussycat.”
Before any of them had a chance to react, a metallic cat-like creature appeared by Scatola’s side.
“I usually don’t use my Stand for combat,” the man admitted, “but his main trick is really best used when I’m only facing one person.”
“Shit,” Mista muttered. “And if I kill him, he won’t be able to turn Fugo back.”
Well, at least Mista and Giorno had figured it out, Fugo thought.
Scatola’s Stand charged straight toward Narancia on all fours.
There was no way Fugo was going to stand for that. He ran between Narancia’s legs and stood in front of him protectively. His fur was bristled and his back was instinctively arched as he loudly hissed.
That got another laugh out of their enemy. “And what do you think you’re going to do?”
“Meee-ow!”
Fugo wasn’t sure if it would work. He wasn’t sure if his inability to speak would prevent a certain someone from answering his call.
But when a large purple figure appeared and grabbed What’s New Pussycat by the scruff of the neck, Fugo knew he’d won.
“Holy shit, Fugo!?”
Fugo did his best to relax his body before turning around and looking Narancia in the eye with the playful flick of the tail.
Looking back at his enemy, Fugo saw that Scatola himself was paralyzed by the way that Purple Haze was holding his Stand. He sauntered over, tail low and twitching with agitation, and clawed his way up Scatola’s garish silver suit. Once they were face-to-face, Fugo growled threateningly and held up his paw to show that he would be more than happy to give him some claw marks.
“O-Okay, I’ll turn you back! Take it easy!”
In a puff of smoke, Fugo suddenly found that his very human feet were flat on the ground once again.
That didn’t stop Fugo from reeling back and punching the man in the face, though.
As Scatola fell backwards and hit the ground, Fugo felt a pair of arms wrap around his chest from behind. “Fugo…” Narancia happily nuzzled against Fugo’s back.
Mista looked at Giorno. “Now?”
“No,” Fugo answered on Giorno’s behalf (and he was relieved that it came out as something other than a meow). He looked at his Stand and gave him a nod. “Purple Haze. You do the honors.”
Purple Haze tossed What’s New Pussycat aside as if it weighed nothing at all and lumbered over to where Scatola lay. Just as effortlessly as he’d thrown his Stand, Purple Haze picked the man up by the front of his shirt, reeled back, and let him have it.
While Scatola was busy disintegrating, Fugo turned around and hugged Narancia close. “I tried to tell you it was me,” he said warmly.
Narancia looked up at him, eyes still filled with tears, but happy ones now. “I don’t speak cat, you know.”
Fugo leaned down and gave Narancia a little kiss. “Now, what’s this I hear about someone else snuggling with you?”
Narancia laughed and stood on his tiptoes for another kiss. “Asshole.”
“Speaking of which,” Mista said with a chuckle.
Fugo looked over at his teammate with a raised eyebrow, but then Narancia regained his attention by placing his hands on his chest.
“Babe, you’re, like, really naked.”