Title: Must Love Pets

Status: Ongoing

Author: riddledidiocy

Summary: Life is never always easy. Sometimes that guy you despise would always get the spotlight. Sometimes you would find yourself sealed within the body of a cat.

Rating: T

Genre: Romance/Fantasy AU

Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia and its characters belong to Himaruya Hidekaz. This fan work is purely for fangirling purposes.

A/N: Hello there! This is my first time having an account here, therefore, this would be the first fan fiction I've ever posted here. This is not the first time I've written fan fiction however. Although I still need to improve. A LOT. If you should know, this plotline (with the same title too) was formed more than a year ago and was originally for another fandom. But I have completely abandoned it. Now I'm trying to revive it through Hetalia. I've been too engrossed with Hetalia, that my original OTP is now currently competing with USUK/UKUS for my heart.

Enough of my idiotic choo-choos.

Prologue

The modeling business has always demanded (because the word required wound sound a wee bit lacking) their models to be in perfectly good shape. Such a task would need models to scrutinize their reflections in front of the mirror for several hours to the point that physical contours were memorized, among other things, which was why Alfred F. Jones—the rookie supermodel of the fashion industry—found it extremely odd to find that he was not looking at a twenty-one-year-old man's face crowned with wheat-colored hair (and a short cowlick that always stubbornly stood up) and bright blue irises behind thin-wired eyeglasses. Instead, he was looking straight at a fuzzy white feline and around its neck was puffy black fur (which strangely reminded him of his favorite bomber jacket). Alfred moved his head in all sorts of directions and was astonished at the way the cat followed all of his movements, as revealed by the glass window. He raised a hand only to jump instantly when he saw a paw in its place.

"What the—" Alfred wanted to say, but apparently, his mouth and voice had other plans and decided to produce a mewling sound.

It was undeniable. By some unknown, logic-defying twist of events, Alfred F. Jones, rookie supermodel, was now a cat.

Arthur Kirkland had a headache when his thoughts betrayed him and secretly drifted off to the recent events: He was more than happy to have a slot for the upcoming fashion show called "Pierre's Flight". However, he received a notice saying that another model was chosen to fill his slot. The notice was sent by the organizer-slash-designer himself, Francis Bonnefoy, who also made it a point to lace it with unwanted sexual perversion. Truth be told, he had known the designer since their nursery days, and consequently, had known that he did not want to be part of what he deemed as Mr. Bonnefoy's little fiasco-in-the-making (he was willing to bet that "Pierre's Flight" would be about Francis's pet bird) or basically anything related to the Frenchman, but he was increasingly losing his spots for other events to some American novice.

It's Alfred F. Jones, people would say, and Arthur would just grind his teeth and force out a smile. Arthur had seen the boy a lot and assumed that he acted like the embodiment of what most prejudiced people dubbed as the typical Yank. The hamburger-chewing, loud and obnoxious Yank. He was quite dashing and well-built for his age, Arthur would agree, but it would also mean that he was an adversary. Arthur's considerably short time in New York had been full of the constant presence of frustration and he could only come to a conclusion that it was the bastard's fault. He wondered if he should put his skills in the dark arts to good use. People around him would scoff at his "hallucinations" of magic, mint-colored bunnies, and unicorns. Maybe they would eat their own words once they witness sheer brilliance.

But before he could dive further into the subject within his mind, the telephone rang. He slapped a hand to his face. 'What the bleeding hell is it now?' he thought bitterly (coated with his thick British accent).

He picked up the receiver lazily, hoping that the one on the other line would leisurely put the phone down and let him mope. He felt that strange feeling creeping down to every last bone of his body that life was going to once again slap him hard in the face. He undoubtedly did not want any more bad news. He was about to growl at whoever was calling (manners, be damned, because he did not feel the need to be civilized at the moment) when he heard the familiar feminine voice of—

"…Arthur… It's me."

Arthur's eyes widened and his heart thumped wildly. A grin stretched across his face. His grip on the phone tightened. His ecstasy upon hearing the owner's voice temporarily crushed his recent antagonism.

"Yeah, yeah. Emma… it's quite pleasant to receive a ring from you," Arthur mentioned with a tone that expressed his utter jubilance.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that." Emma apologized. A weak chortle followed afterwards.

"Quite fine."

"Uhm… S-So yeah, I'm coming there. To New York, I mean." Emma was nervous, Arthur could tell. This resulted to an obscured anxiety that was brewing within the British man.

"Lovely! Where would you want us to meet—" he began to mumble but was cut by Emma's determined voice.

"Look. Urgh. I'm just going to say it straight away. Arthur…" There was a high amount of tension created by the pause. Arthur wondered if Emma was feeling it as well.

"…Let's break up."

Bollocks.

Random Talk: So yes, that's it. My incredibly short prologue. *dies of nervousness* If you're wondering (which I really doubt you are, but I will go on) which fandom this story was originally for, then I won't reveal it. Unless you already know (which I also really doubt). Nyahaha. In my original plotline, they were not models, and instead of turning a character into dog, I tweaked it into a cat. Damn you, Nekotalia.

I don't claim to have read a lot of Hetalia fanfictions, therefore I do not really know if anyone has story like mine. I'm not plagiarizing. Don't fork me~! orz