---
San had barely set down his duffel when Hyme started giving instructions.
"Put your things in the second guest room on the third floor. The one with the dumbbells by the window," Hyme said, sipping his glittery paw-cup like royalty. "You'll be staying there."
San raised a brow. "You gave me the gym room?"
Hyme flicked his tail lazily. "I thought you'd like it. It smells like sweat and broken dreams."
San resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
The mansion was massive—so clean and quiet it made San feel like his boots were committing crimes just by walking. Every hallway was lined with art that probably cost more than his life insurance. Staff members nodded politely as he passed, but there was something wary in their eyes.
Poor guy, San thought grimly. They've been kitten-handled too.
By the time he reached his new room, he was both impressed and slightly concerned. There was a full weight rack, a private bathroom, a fluffy king-sized bed, and even a mini fridge stocked with protein drinks and tuna snacks.
He narrowed his eyes at the tuna.
"...Cute."
---
His first official day as Hyme's "nanny" began at 7 a.m. when a maid knocked on his door.
"Young Master Hyme requests your presence in the breakfast room," she said politely. "He refuses to eat unless you personally butter his toast."
San stared. "...Seriously?"
"He's already flipped the table once."
So this was his life now.
---
The breakfast room was like something out of a royal drama. High ceilings, massive windows, golden chandeliers—except instead of a king at the table, there was Hyme, draped dramatically across his chair in silky pajamas and glaring at his toast like it had personally insulted him.
"You're late," he said without looking up.
San strode over, picked up the butter knife, and calmly buttered both slices.
Hyme stared.
"You actually did it."
"You're paying me to, aren't you?" San muttered.
Hyme's ears perked up, mildly pleased. "Good dog."
San froze. "Say that again and I'm charging you quadruple."
"Triple it is," Hyme chirped, smug.
---
By noon, San had endured a wardrobe fitting ("Why do I need a uniform for staying home?!"), a thirty-minute hair brushing session ("Your hands are warm, you should do this every day"), and a suspicious attempt from Hyme to make him wear cat ears for 'aesthetic balance.'
That last one got a firm no.
Still, Hyme was surprisingly... clingy. Not in a dramatic, spoiled way (though he was that too), but in the way of someone used to being alone. He hovered around San constantly, always talking, tail swaying behind him, occasionally brushing against San's arm like a real cat testing boundaries.
San tried to ignore it.
Tried to ignore the warm way Hyme looked at him when he thought San wasn't paying attention.
Tried to ignore how soft that tail actually was when it flicked against his hand.
---
That night, San was brushing his teeth when a knock came on his door.
He opened it. Hyme stood there, still in pajamas, holding a pillow.
"I'm scared of thunder," Hyme said with a very obvious fake innocence.
San glanced out the window. "There's not a cloud in the sky."
Hyme pouted. "Then I'm scared of ghosts. Or loneliness. Or... something."
San crossed his arms. "You're not sleeping in my bed."
Hyme leaned dramatically against the doorframe. "You'd let me freeze in the hallway? How cruel. And I thought you were kind."
San shut the door slowly.
And then opened it again five seconds later when he heard Hyme start fake sneezing.
"...Fine. You get one night."
---
Ten minutes later, Hyme was curled under San's blanket, tail happily swaying as he hugged a body pillow shaped like a cartoon dog.
San stared at the ceiling, stiff as a board.
"You're going to ruin my life," he muttered.
Hyme yawned beside him. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
---