Sunlight peeked through the blinds, casting golden lines across the bed.
San woke first.
Or rather—he woke because something soft was brushing against his nose.
Hyme's tail.
It flicked lazily over his cheek like a fuzzy alarm clock.
San blinked. The weight on his chest was familiar by now—Hyme, curled up on top of him, his ears twitching, his breath even and warm. His silver-blonde hair spilled across San's collarbone, and his hand gripped the fabric of San's sleep shirt like it was his anchor.
San sighed.
Not because he was annoyed.
But because waking up like this was getting... dangerous.
Emotionally.
Physically.
Mentally.
He gently ran a hand down Hyme's back, feeling the soft rise and fall of his breath. It was peaceful. Intimate. And alarmingly addictive.
"…You're awake," Hyme murmured without lifting his head.
"You're heavy," San teased.
"You're soft," Hyme replied, nuzzling into San's chest.
San grunted, one arm draped lazily over Hyme's waist. "We should get up."
"No," came the muffled reply. "Let's never get up again."
San chuckled. "You've got a full inbox, a stalker brother, and a fox girl who almost died for us. You don't get to be lazy today."
Hyme sighed dramatically and finally sat up—on San's stomach.
Still straddling him.
Still shirtless.
Still way too comfortable for San's sanity.
"You know," Hyme purred, tilting his head with that half-smirk, half-yawn expression, "you could at least kiss me good morning before kicking me out of bed."
San stared.
A beat passed.
"Okay."
Hyme blinked—then gasped softly as San sat up and captured his lips in a firm, slow kiss. His hand curled around the back of Hyme's neck, drawing him closer. The heat from last night hadn't faded—it just simmered quietly beneath their skin now, growing with every passing second.
When they finally parted, Hyme's ears were twitching, tail flicking wildly behind him.
"Good morning," San whispered against his lips.
"I hate you," Hyme muttered, flustered and breathless.
"No, you don't."
"…Shut up."
But the way he clung to San said otherwise.
They were halfway through breakfast—Hyme munching toast, San reading emails—when a soft ding echoed from Hyme's phone.
His golden eyes scanned the message.
Then his ears flattened.
San looked up. "What is it?"
Hyme turned the phone toward him.
A photo.
Of last night's kiss at the gala.
The caption read: "The Hybrid Prince returns… but who's his human pet?"
San stiffened.
And then—Hyme scrolled down.
Another message.
This one from a blocked number.
> "You always were reckless. I told you before, dear brother. A pet will never be royalty."
San stared at the name.
Lys.
The storm was finally rolling in.
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