Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting soft golden lines across the tangled mess of blankets—and limbs—on the bed. San groaned as he opened his eyes, only to find Hyme curled on his chest, sound asleep and drooling a little onto his shirt.
"…This is becoming a habit," San muttered.
Hyme stirred. His ears twitched once. Twice. Then opened one eye, looking up at San with an expression too innocent to be trusted.
"You're warm," he murmured, tail flicking lazily. "I slept well."
"You drooled on me."
"That's how cats mark their territory."
"That's not how anything works."
Hyme yawned and sat up on San's stomach, straddling him like it was his natural throne. "You promised me a date," he declared suddenly.
San blinked. "When?"
"Last night. You said you owe me after the cake truce. I decided it's today."
"I said— Wait, what?" San rubbed his face. "Hyme, I was sleep-deprived and carrying a spoiled cat who passed out on me after eating three slices of cake."
"I counted five." Hyme stretched dramatically, his shirt riding up just a bit. "Get ready. I want a human-style date. The works. Café, shopping, something romantic. Or I'll tell everyone you cry while watching dramas."
San bolted upright. "That was one time!"
"Seven times," Hyme corrected, already skipping toward the bathroom.
---
A Few Hours Later
San found himself wearing his second-best black shirt, while Hyme had gone full hybrid-prince mode: long beige coat, designer boots, gold-rimmed sunglasses he didn't even need, and a tiny cat paw pin on his collar.
People stared as they walked down the street—not because of San's muscles this time, but because of the painfully pretty hybrid boy practically glued to his side, arm hooked possessively through San's.
"Stop looking like you're about to be mugged," Hyme whispered. "This is a date, not a hostage negotiation."
"I feel like I am the hostage."
"Say that again and I'll rub against your leg in public."
San shut up.
---
Their first stop was a quaint café with hanging plants, exposed brick walls, and a waitress who almost dropped her tray when she saw Hyme walk in. They got the best window seat, naturally.
Hyme ordered a honey-vanilla milkshake. San got black coffee.
"Wow," Hyme said, sipping his drink. "It's like drinking sunshine."
San sipped his bitter brew. "It's like drinking my will to live."
"You're so dramatic," Hyme giggled, tail flicking happily.
"Are we really doing the romantic date thing?"
"Yup."
"…Do I have to hold your hand?"
Hyme slid his hand across the table and placed it over San's. "Now you do."
San froze.
His fingers twitched. Then, slowly, he laced them with Hyme's. Their hands fit awkwardly but not unpleasantly—like puzzle pieces from different sets that sort of worked if you squinted.
"Okay," San said. "This isn't so bad."
---
Next came the shopping.
San thought it would be window browsing. He was wrong. Hyme dragged him into every second boutique on the boulevard, making him hold bags, try on coats, and judge outfits with phrases like "Does this make me look biteable or respectable?"
San started losing feeling in his arms by the fourth store.
"I can't feel my spine anymore," he said.
"You don't need a spine to carry shopping bags. You need love."
"You're evil."
"I'm adorable."
Both statements were true.
---
Evening: Sunset on the Bridge
They ended their date at a pedestrian bridge overlooking the city skyline. The sun was setting, painting the clouds in soft pink and orange.
Hyme leaned against the railing, hair tousled by the wind, his tail slowly swaying. "I had fun today."
"…Me too," San admitted. "More than I expected."
Hyme looked at him. "San."
"Yeah?"
"I want another date. But next time… no bags. Just you."
San turned to him, mouth parting to say something—but Hyme stood on his toes and kissed his cheek again.
San blinked.
"Did you just—?"
Hyme grinned. "It's our tradition now."
Then he walked ahead, calling back, "Come on, I'm hungry again!"
San stood there for a moment, rubbing his cheek with a hand.
"…I'm doomed," he whispered. But his smile said he didn't mind at all
Q