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Hyme awoke first.
The sunlight filtered softly through the curtains, dancing on San's bare shoulder. The room was warm, quiet, and filled with the scent of sleep and skin and something sweeter—security.
San's arm was still draped around Hyme, his chest rising and falling in slow, deep breaths. His lips were parted slightly, and Hyme could feel the calm thump of his heartbeat against his own cheek.
It should have felt perfect.
But it didn't.
Hyme's ears twitched.
He slowly sat up, careful not to wake San, and looked down at the man who had kissed him so gently last night… who had held him so tightly, like he belonged there.
Why does it scare me that I liked it so much?
He climbed out of bed, clutching the oversized shirt he wore—San's, he realized, which only made his cheeks burn more. He padded softly to the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror.
His reflection stared back: messy silver hair, flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips. His tail lazily flicked behind him.
Was it just comfort? Did I want that because I was scared? Or do I… really feel something?
He splashed cold water on his face.
Downstairs, he heard the kettle whistle. San had woken up.
Hyme took a breath, then walked out slowly. San stood in the kitchen, shirtless, flipping pancakes with one hand and rubbing his eyes with the other. His hair was a mess. He looked like a domestic disaster.
"Morning," San said, voice rough from sleep.
Hyme leaned against the wall, arms crossed. "You're making breakfast?"
"I figured one of us should. I also figured you'd eat all the strawberries if I didn't wake up first."
Hyme smirked faintly, though his expression didn't last long.
"About last night…" he started.
San turned around, plate in hand, setting it on the table. "We don't have to talk about it right now."
"I want to," Hyme said, walking closer. "I'm just… confused."
San nodded slowly. "That's fair."
Hyme looked up at him. "I don't want to be someone who runs away from feelings. But I also don't want to be someone you just… sleep with because you're bored or lonely."
San blinked, then gently took Hyme's hand. "Hyme. You weren't a way to pass time. That wasn't just comfort for me. But I'll wait until you're sure. Okay?"
Hyme's throat tightened. He gave a small nod.
Then, like nothing happened, San ruffled his hair and said, "Now eat these pancakes before I get offended."
As they sat together at the table, Hyme chewed quietly, eyes flicking over to San now and then. The warmth between them hadn't faded—but now, it felt more real. Like the first layer of armor had been removed.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang.
San frowned and went to answer it.
Standing outside was a courier. He handed San a dark red envelope sealed with wax—ornate, royal-looking.
Hyme's ears perked up. His instincts screamed.
San opened it. Inside was a single card:
> "To the hybrid cat prince and his human lapdog. You have one week left to surrender your claim before I take what should have never been yours.
— L."
Hyme's face paled. "Lys…"
San crumpled the card in his hand.
"Let him come," he growled. "I'm not scared of fancy letters."
Hyme stood, eyes sharp.
"Neither am I."