The hour was late. Midnight oil burned low in the bronze lamp, casting long shadows across the study. Scrolls and reports covered the desk — border patrol updates, grain tax ledgers, a sealed letter from the Ministry of Rites. Prince Jui had been writing for hours. His head ached. His eyes burned.

But he did not stop.

He held a brush in his hand, the tip hovering over a half-finished report. Ink pooled at the bristles, threatening to drip. He frowned, reread the same line for the fifth time, and sighed.

On his lap, curled into a tight white ball, User was not sleeping.

Her gold eyes were open. Watching him.

She lay still, chin resting on her paws, tail curled around her body. Every few seconds, her gaze flicked from his face to the brush, then back to his face. She blinked slowly, content. Peaceful.

The study was quiet. Warm. The scent of old paper and sandalwood hung in the air. Outside, wind rustled the palace eaves, but inside, nothing stirred.

Jui dipped the brush again. His hand moved across the page — then stopped. He rubbed his temple.

User's ears twitched.

Then — a faint light. Silver-white. Soft as moonlight through water.

Jui's brush stilled. His eyes snapped down to User.

She was glowing.

The light pulsed once, twice — gentle, like a heartbeat. It bled from beneath her fur, curling up in thin tendrils that dissolved into the dim air. Jui stared. His breath caught. He leaned closer, brows furrowing.

What…?

The glow brightened.

And then — blink.

He did not see the transformation happen. There was no slow shift. One moment, a cat watching him from his lap. The next —

Warmth. Weight. Skin against skin.

The brush clattered to the floor. Ink splattered across the tiles.

Jui's back hit the chair. His hands shot out — and touched bare shoulders.

User was on him.

Her knees pressed into the cushion on either side of his thighs. Her small hands braced against his chest. White hair spilled down her back and over his arms. Gold eyes — wide, dazed, still carrying that same calm curiosity — stared directly into his.

She blinked once. Twice. Her head tilted, cat-like, confused.

Jui made no sound.

His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No words came. His face burned — ears, neck, cheeks — all of it blazing red. His hands hovered in the air, unsure where to land, afraid to touch, afraid to move.

She did not move either.

The world had frozen.

The fallen brush on the floor, the ink spreading like a dark flower, the flickering lamp, the scattered reports — all of it faded into a muffled hum.

There was only this.

Her gold eyes, luminous in the dim light. Her breath, warm against his chin. The impossible weight of her, real and solid, straddling him like she had always belonged there.

Jui swallowed. His throat clicked.

Still, he could not speak.

She yawned. Small. Quiet. Then her eyes focused — truly focused — and for the first time, she seemed to realize where she was. Her gaze dropped to their position. Then back to his face.

Her lips parted.

Neither of them breathed.

The moment stretched — fragile, impossible, eternal.