---
"I'm begging you," Hyme whined, clutching San's arm like his life depended on it. "Just pretend to be my boyfriend for one night. One night!"
San stared at the document on the table that had the words Noble Hybrids Annual Gala embossed in ridiculous golden cursive. "This sounds like a trap."
"It's not a trap! It's a lavish event with overpriced drinks and people pretending they're not in debt."
"Sounds like hell in silk," San muttered, trying to wiggle his arm free.
Hyme clung tighter. "San, if I show up without a date, my father's going to marry me off to the next eligible hybrid with decent fur genes. Last year he tried to pair me with a tiger who growled when I coughed."
"…Was he rich?"
"Of course."
San looked mildly intrigued. "And you dumped him because…?"
"He told me cats should walk three steps behind their mates like some old folklore trash. I almost scratched his eyes out."
"Sounds like you're single because you deserve to be."
Hyme pouted, his cat ears drooping. "Mean."
San sighed and turned to the other disaster in the room—Uncle Lester, who was quietly sipping from a cup of tea as though this weren't a full-blown royal comedy show.
"Do I get extra pay for this?" San asked.
"You'll be compensated appropriately."
"How appropriately?"
Lester pulled out a checkbook.
San blinked. "Oh."
"I'll do it," he said immediately, shocking even himself.
Hyme sparkled like a sunrise. "Really?! You're the best! My savior! My angel! My buff, beautiful boyfriend!"
"Don't call me that in public."
"Oh, but we have to convince everyone! There has to be chemistry—intense, passionate chemistry!"
San groaned. "Can I fake a coma instead?"
But it was too late. Hyme was already dragging him to the massive walk-in closet that San still hadn't explored. It looked less like a closet and more like a boutique with its own staff of magical floating hangers and AI-assisted mirrors.
"I'll pick out your suit!" Hyme declared. "You need to look dazzling. Dangerously handsome. Like someone who could throw a duke off a balcony and not wrinkle your collar."
"I'm not throwing anyone."
Hyme handed him a black velvet tux with a silver-trimmed collar and a deep crimson rose pin. "Wear this. It says I own stocks and your heart."
San sighed, taking the suit.
Then Hyme turned around and pulled out his own outfit—a shimmering, asymmetrical piece with glittering jewels sewn into the fabric, black silk gloves, and… a tail ribbon?
"…Do I have to match you?" San asked hesitantly.
"Of course! We're a couple! People need to see it!"
"And if they ask how we met?"
Hyme beamed. "Easy. You were a lonely bar worker with a tragic past, and I, the beautiful, misunderstood hybrid prince, saw through your sadness and gave your life meaning."
"…You mean you paid me to be your servant."
Hyme ignored him. "And then we fell in love."
"I hate this already."
"You love it," Hyme said, already planning their entrance with terrifying enthusiasm. "We'll arrive late, fashionably so. You'll pretend you can't keep your eyes off me. I'll laugh softly at your compliments. Then, when the music slows down, we'll dance—"
"I can't dance."
Hyme blinked. "You can't?"
"Nope."
Hyme's expression darkened like a storm cloud.
"Then we're spending the next three days training. You will dance. You will look hot. And you will pretend to adore me."
San grunted, heading toward the bedroom. "If I break my ankle, I'm suing."
Hyme chirped after him. "Don't worry! I have healing potions and three backup dates in case you run!"
San stopped cold. "What."
"Nothing~"
---
Hyme's expression froze. Slowly, horrifically, his ears stood bolt upright like alarm antennas.
"You can't… dance?" he repeated, voice quivering like someone had just told him the moon exploded.
"I mean, I can step on your toes rhythmically," San offered flatly.
"Unacceptable." Hyme stormed into the center of the room, grabbed a sleek remote from the velvet drawer, and pressed a button.
Suddenly, soft instrumental music filled the room as the floor beneath them shimmered with magical light. The closet was transforming—no, becoming a dance floor.
"What the hell is this—"
"Emergency dance training mode," Hyme said solemnly, dragging San forward. "You're going to learn, and we're going to win the 'Most Enviable Couple' title if it kills me."
"You're willing to die for a fake title?"
"I'm a hybrid cat," Hyme said proudly. "We're known for our vanity and ability to land on our feet. Now shut up and place your hand here."
He took San's much larger hand and placed it gently on his waist. San stiffened instantly.
"This is uncomfortable."
"You're doing great," Hyme lied with a glittery smile. "Now take my other hand. Don't grip it like you're trying to arm wrestle me."
"I thought you liked strong men," San muttered.
"Not when they crush my bones. Now, follow my lead. One-two-three, one-two—ow, my toe!"
"I warned you."
Hyme gave him a look that would curdle milk. "You did that on purpose."
"I wish I was that coordinated."
After fifteen minutes of chaos, mild threats, and two very unfortunate dips that turned into mini wrestling matches, San finally managed to move without stomping something.
"Okay," Hyme said, breathing heavily. "You're a work-in-progress. Like a wild beast being trained for court."
"You're so kind."
"But…you're not hopeless."
San blinked. "Was that a compliment?"
"Don't get used to it." Hyme's cheeks were slightly flushed, his tail flicking gently. "Now go get dressed. We're going to that gala, and we're going to be the most talked-about couple in the entire ballroom."
"And if I mess up?"
"Smile like you mean it. Or kiss me to distract them."
"Don't tempt me," San muttered, grabbing the suit and heading for the bathroom.
Hyme watched him go, his ears twitching, heart thumping faster than he wanted to admit.
One night, huh?
He bit his lip.
Why did he suddenly want more than that