Ethan could feel Alex’s eyes on him even after turning away.The nurse had stepped out to grab paperwork, leaving the room quiet again — too quiet — except for the buzzing in Ethan’s skull.

  He pressed a palm over the neckce under his hoodie.Hot.Not physically — emotionally. Like a heartbeat that wasn’t his.

  Don’t think about it.Don’t think about tails.Don’t think about her.

  The door opened softly. The nurse returned with a clipboard.

  “You should rest here a bit longer,” she said kindly.

  Ethan tried to nod — but Alex spoke before he could:

  “He needs more than rest.”

  Ethan’s head snapped up.Alex wasn’t looking at him.He was talking to the nurse, jaw tense, arms crossed in that stubborn hero stance he always got when he was worried.

  The nurse paused. “…Alex?”

  “There’s something going on with him,” Alex said low, serious. “He’s barely functioning. He didn’t notice me talking to him. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days. He almost colpsed in css yesterday too.”

  Ethan’s pulse spiked hard.A sinking stone formed in his stomach.

  “Alex—” he whispered, but his friend kept going.

  “I’m not saying he has to tell me anything,” Alex continued softly, “but someone needs to check he’s okay. Physically or mentally. Whatever it is.”

  The nurse turned to Ethan slowly, professional concern sharpening in her eyes.

  “Ethan…”Soft. Gentle. Too gentle.The way people talk to someone on the edge of something dangerous.“Is that true?”

  Ethan’s throat closed.Words evaporated.

  He hated this.

  Being seen.Being fragile.Being unable to say “Yes, I’m drowning.”

  He forced a thin ugh. “It’s just a rough week. Homework. I’m good.”

  His voice wavered on the st sylble.He heard it.They heard it.

  The nurse didn’t move — but he saw the decision forming in her posture.

  “I think I should call your parents.”

  Lightning bolt.Ethan sat up too fast.

  “No! No, don’t— I’m fine.”Too quick. Too desperate.

  Alex watched him, expression tightening — not angry, but something worse: scared for him.

  “Ethan…” Alex said quietly, “You don’t have to fight everything alone.”

  That sentence hit like someone ripping open his chest.For one heartbeat, he nearly broke.Almost reached across to ask someone — anyone — for help.

  Tell him.TELL him, I’m Eri. I’m exhausted because I’m scared I won’t get to be her again. Because reality hurts more than nightmares ever did.

  He opened his mouth—The neckce burned suddenly warm.A warning — or a pull.

  He clutched it reflexively, eyes squeezing shut.Soft phantom fur flickered at the edges of his vision.

  Not now.Not here.

  “I just need rest,” he whispered.

  It sounded small.A lie with shaking legs.

  The nurse and Alex exchanged a look — the kind adults use when they silently agree someone needs watching.

  She exhaled.“Alright. You’ll stay here the next period. No arguments.”

  Ethan nodded numbly, colpsing back into the cot like gravity suddenly remembered him.

  Alex stepped closer, voice low so only Ethan could hear:

  “I’m not trying to snitch on you. I just— I don’t want something bad to happen to you.”

  Ethan stared at the bnket. “You already did.”

  Silence.

  Then Alex, soft, wounded:

  “…Then tell me how to help so I don’t do it again.”

  He left the room quietly.

  Ethan closed his eyes.Hand clenched around the neckce.

  And somewhere deep in him,under exhaustion and panic and shame,a tail brushed softly against his mind —

  Comfort.Warm.Patient.

  Soon…

  His breath shuddered.

  Soon wasn’t soon enough.