Chapter Text
The book looked innocuous enough lying on his desk. “Nine Miserable Lives”, its cover read above a drawing of a small cat curled up tightly in a ball. Martin had no idea whose book it was, or why it was on his desk of all places, but the cover and title intrigued him. What could a book like that possibly be about? It didn’t have a summary at the back, or a dust jacket for it to be printed there. It seemed to have a golden nameplate of some sort stamped onto its inner cover, but the stamp had a stain across it, so only one corner of its border was actually visible, and no words that might’ve been there could be seen.
Martin decided to flip through it, have just a quick peek to see what the book was even about. It looked to be a nonfiction about the hardships of being a cat. How likely outdoor cats are to be hit by a car, how many kittens are abandoned, left to the elements to fend for themselves, Martin was just reading a section about feral cats, something about their natural predators, when he heard a door slam loudly from somewhere upstairs.
He jumped and slammed the book shut, listening carefully before realizing the sound probably came from outside the archives. He breathed a sigh of relief before he began to wonder when he’d started reading laid down with his chest to the floor, and why it felt so wrong to try standing up again. He reached up to the desk to help himself up, but he found that he could barely reach it with his was that a paw?
Sure enough, his hands and feet had turned into small, fuzzy cat paws, his body seemed to have changed shape and size and he was now covered in a layer of orange and white fur. Oh god, what happened to him?
He was a cat. An actual cat.
Martin had never been a cat person. Cats were too fussy, very particular yet very vague with what they wanted, and they were not all that friendly. God, why couldn’t he have turned into a dog instead? Dogs were nice!
He curled up and started to mewl miserably. He was the biggest idiot in the archive. Who reads a random book on their desk when they literally work at the Magnus Institute, home of spookiness, known for their collecting of cursed books! He should’ve known better. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? How was he supposed to live his life? Would he be a cat forever?
The door to document storage opened suddenly. Tim and Sasha had already gone home for the day, so there’s only one person it could’ve been. Of all the people in the world to see Martin in this state, of course it would have to be Jon. As if this experience couldn’t get any worse.
Martin scampered under his desk and stayed as quiet as he could. He couldn’t let Jon find him, lord knows he’d kick him out to the street, or give him a lecture about how unprofessional it is to turn into a cat at work.
“Hello?” Jon called out, seeming to notice the noise. Martin cursed himself.
He grumbled something about wild animals and Martin saw his shoes and trousers appear in the window of light the desk made. He cowered back. Martin saw Jon duck his head down, and the man’s eyes widened.
“Oh! Hello down there.”
Martin blinked. He sounded… soft, and vaguely surprised. That was probably the kindest tone Jon had ever directed to him. Did he not realize?
“Are you lost?” He reached his hands out and Martin pushed himself further into the corner. Jon pulled back and sat on the floor. He held a single hand directly in front of him. “Shh, sh, it’s ok. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Martin’s concerns hadn’t vanished, but he stepped cautiously towards him. Jon’s face was really quite something in that moment. His eyebrows had softened and his eyes were dark and wide, his mouth ever so slightly parted so Martin could see his teeth. His lips didn’t look soft but Martin considered for a brief moment what texture they would be if he touched them.
He quickly forced his attention back to the hand. He approached it slowly and sniffed at it, noting that it smelled slightly like sanitizer. The hand then moved, and suddenly he was being pet gently along his back.
“I’m not going to hurt you, see?” Jon smiled ever so slightly. “There’s a good cat.”
Shit.
Martin’s eyes drooped and he felt himself start to purr. He’d never been called good- he’s lived very sparsely complimented in general. That word, in Jon’s voice, directed at him, seemed to do something funny to his brain. The bastard’s smile grew and he put some more pressure into his pets, which was just heavenly.
Then he reached around to Martin’s belly, picked him up and put him in his lap. One hand cupped Martin’s face and the other began delivering those wonderful scratches again.
“You look like a British shorthair… Male, I’m guessing by those jowls…” Jon mumbled and pressed a finger to Martin’s cheek, “...though it could just be chub. You’re a big boy. I’ll have to check the internet. You look like a housecat too…”
Jon rambling and petting him and generally being incredibly sweet was apparently the stress relief he’d been needing for years, he started to space out and only came back to himself when Jon started shifting around.
“-what’re you doing on the floor?” Jon had a book in his hand. The book, that Martin had closed and immediately forgot about in the panic of his transformation. Martin started hissing at it in warning. He moved to pounce and grab it, but Jon had already flipped the cover open and his eyes were wide.
“Oh- oh good lord.” He shut the book quickly and tossed it away, and they both watched it skid across the floor. Jon clutched Martin close, a look of horror on his face. Jon stayed like that for a couple seconds, frozen and breathing heavily, before he furrowed his brow, set Martin down and marched over to collect it again. He covered his hand with his sleeve before quickly grabbing it up and dropping it onto Martin’s desk like it was burning hot. He then pulled out his phone and pressed the screen a couple times before lifting it to his ear.
“Hello Elias.”
A pause as Martin’s breath caught.
“No.” Then, “Do you know why there is an unmarked Leitner in the archives?”
Jon started to pace. “Yes, yes, I understand by their nature Leitners are marked, but this one has a massive stain across the nameplate, no words are visible. I count myself lucky that I could recognize it from the border alone. That’s not the point. Can someone from artifact storage come to collect it, or will I have to burn it myself?”
Another pause, Jon’s expression softened a bit. “Thank you, good day.”
He put the phone down, collapsed into Martin’s chair with a sigh and sat there for a moment, arms hanging loosely by his sides, before his attention turned to Martin again.
“Will you come up?” He patted his thigh. Martin stepped over and hopped up onto Jon’s lap. He was sure if cats could blush he’d be bright red. Regardless of his plight, Jon leaned into him and started to pet him again, even giving him a scratch behind the ears. Magical.
Jon got up again when the people from artifact storage arrived, and he put Martin down under the desk. Clearly getting the message to hide, Martin stayed down there until they left again with the book.
“Come on out mister, the others are gone. It’s just me again.” Jon beckoned Martin out again, and this time he didn’t hesitate to run up to Jon and accept his pets. Jon sat on the floor again and let Martin crawl into his lap on his own. He cupped Martin’s face again and gently squeezed his cheeks. Martin would’ve found it humiliating if he had enough soul left in his body to care. Right now though, he was being squished pleasantly by Jon, who was being very kind and giving him lots of attention, so negative emotions in general were mostly out of the question.
Martin realized he’d closed his eyes and opened them again to see Jon frowning at him.
“You can’t stay here, mister. Animals aren’t allowed in the archive, and I need to get you back to your owner.”
His owner? Oh fuck. It somehow struck Martin for the first time that Jon genuinely thought he was a cat. A housecat, he’d said. Which means that if Jon mistook him for someone’s beloved missing pet, he’d hand him over, and Martin might be spending the rest of his life like this without a chance to find a cure.
He meowed and whined at Jon, pawing at his face, but Jon just sighed. “We can’t play here, I’m sorry. How about you come home with me? I can get you something to eat, maybe find something to play with, and we can get you out of the archives. How does that sound, mister?”
Martin quieted. He didn’t like the idea of Jon looking for his “owner”, but if he got to spend some more time with Jon watching over him and giving him attention, well. He wasn’t one to complain.
For the first time since Martin had met him, Jon had decided to go home early. He somehow managed to sneak a very sizable cat out of the archives without being spotted, and people didn’t ask questions on the street, or on the tube. The perks of living in the city.
On the way back to Jon’s flat, Martin started to break out of his “affection high” so to speak, and he began to feel a little indignant. Is this really what he needed to do to make Jon like him? He just had to get turned into a cat, and cutting remarks would give way to the kindness he needed, softness he craved.
No, he would not expect kindness from Jon. It was a miracle he was given any at all. He didn’t need affection, especially from him. He was still upset though. Jon liked him more as a docile animal than as a person, and it stung.
He resolved to be upset. He let himself be upset. He was allowed to be angry at Jon for not liking him. He could probably make Jon dislike him again so it’d even this out. That shouldn’t be hard, Martin was easy to dislike, especially if he started taking up space and expressing his unhappiness. Martin knew exactly what people disliked him for, and was expert at making those parts of him as small as possible. He could make them big again, and he would be safe.
Safe from Jon, who would hate him even more if he knew the truth. Safe from his many, many tangled feelings about this situation, both content and discontent.
Jon’s flat, when they got there, was really not much. The term “male living space” came to mind, though it did lack a TV to complete the look. There were some sparse photos on the wall, some packed bookshelves, a tiny dining table covered enough papers that it was obvious he never ate there, and a desk, also covered in paper, with a chair that seemed to match the table. There were no other couches or chairs to be seen. Martin knew Jon had a sense of style, it was obvious by the way he dressed, but he didn’t seem to care at all about his home’s appearance.
Probably because he’s never really in, Martin realized. He doesn’t live here, this isn’t a home at all.
“We’re home,” Jon said, putting Martin and his bag down before shaking out his arms, “I’m surprised I managed to carry you the whole way.”
Martin had to consciously prevent himself from snuggling up to Jon’s leg. He paced away and purposely turned his head from Jon. He heard a sigh from behind him and heard Jon mumble under his breath before walking over to the nearby kitchenette. Fine. Good. The less attention he was paying to Martin the better.
Martin stayed turned away from Jon, he sat up on the desk chair and took up as much space as he could. He was doing so well at being upset. Excellent job Martin. That was, of course, until he smelled it.
Something good was cooking. He fought his instinct to turn around as long as he could, but it was too much. He leapt off the couch and scampered to the kitchenette. Jon was cooking. He was cooking and softly singing something and he swayed around to the tune of his own voice. Of course Jon had a beautiful voice, why wouldn’t he? Martin immediately forgot his mission to remain upset.
The song started to pick up, just as Jon appeared to gain confidence. He swung his spatula around a little as he whisked around whatever was in the sizzling pan on the stove. Seeming to notice Martin, he leaned down and sang at him softly.
“It looks so clean but I can see the crawling crawling creatures, suspended in solution, no, no there’s no solution.”
He gave Martin a thorough head scratch before his singing started to pick up again. Which- yeah. It was all Martin could do not to start racing around the room. The idea of Jon serenading him had entered his mind and would not leave it.
He poured out some of the pan onto a plate and brought it down to Martin’s level. It looked like scrambled eggs, lacking some of the spiced scent of Martin’s own recipe, but he supposed that wouldn’t be safe for a cat. Jon started to add spices to the pan of eggs after Martin’s food was plated, so he figured he was probably right. The eggs tasted great regardless, better actually, mostly because Jon had made them.
Wasn’t I supposed to be angry at him?
Shut up. He doesn’t hate me right now. I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.
Martin finished his plate and literally licked it clean. He was a cat, he was allowed to do that.
“Well I’m glad you liked it so much,” Jon was vaguely-smiling at him again, “I don’t usually cook for myself. Too much work for too little reward. I’ve forgotten how much I enjoy it. Thank you for that, mister. Maybe I should be getting a cat again.”
Jon had filled his own plate and was sitting at his desk, laptop out, and he seemed to be looking at news outlets and pulling up social media groups. He was looking for missing cat reports. Martin watched him search for a while before he tiptoed over and gently nuzzled Jon’s leg, thanking him for the food the only way he could. Jon took a moment to look down at him before picking him up and placing him onto his lap.
Martin chuckled internally, thinking he would’ve never guessed Jon was so soft for cats, before all words immediately left his brain as Jon petted him once more. He was absolutely melting. Jon’s fingers as they stroked his fur were magical, they were like warm little sunbeams. They were like real human touch. Apparently, the magic they had was putting Martin to sleep. He realized that he was quickly drifting off, but had been melted too much into a pile of goo to care.
Martin had a single conscious thought before he fell into gentle sleep. What I would do to be here forever.