The knocking had become relentless, echoing down the hallway and rattling the quiet of the house like a storm on a fragile roof.

  “Ethan! Open the door!” their mother’s voice cracked, threaded with both worry and frustration. “We’re not leaving until we know you’re okay!”

  “Seriously, you’re scaring us!” Mira shouted, smming her fist against the door once. Yui, younger but just as anxious, pounded softly at the bottom, her small hands trembling. “Ethan, please! Say something!”

  Inside, Eri’s chest tightened until it felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her ten long, fluffy tails fred outward, then curled tightly around her like a living barrier, enveloping her in soft silver-white warmth. Her fox ears fttened, twitching constantly at every sound — every knock, every word — while her golden eyes squeezed shut in panic.

  The sudden, chaotic noise had already made her yelp once — a high-pitched, feminine sound, light and frantic. Now the pounding increased, and her body trembled under the weight of it. She pressed herself against the floor, curling deeper into her tails, burying her face in the soft fur until her nose brushed against the tips. Each tail wrapped over her shoulders, around her arms, across her legs, creating a cocoon that was almost too tight to breathe, but it was the only comfort she had.

  “I… I can’t… they can’t see me… not like this…” she whispered to herself, her voice muffled against the thick fur. Panic cwed at her chest, and she felt her paws dig into the floor instinctively, cws raking lightly at the wood. The sensation should have been arming, but all she felt was fear — fear of being discovered, of being forced back into the body she hated.

  From outside, the doorknob rattled violently under her mother’s grip.“Ethan! Stop hiding! Please, open this door!”

  Eri’s ears fttened further, almost pinned completely to her head. Her tails coiled tighter around her, her body trembling, yet her mind spun frantically. She wanted to scream, to run, to bolt, to somehow vanish entirely — but the lock held firm. She couldn’t escape, couldn’t speak, couldn’t risk revealing herself.

  Yui whimpered, her voice small and fragile. “Mom… he hasn’t moved at all. Maybe he’s sick?”

  “No!” Mira snapped, but her own voice shook slightly. “We have to get in. He’s never done this before. Something’s wrong. Something seriously wrong!”

  The knocks grew harder, more insistent, each one vibrating through the door and sending a jolt of panic through Eri’s body. Her tails twitched, shifting involuntarily, brushing against the floor and each other. The slight movement made her feel exposed, like some invisible line of vulnerability stretched between her and the world outside.

  She buried her face further into her tails, wishing she could disappear entirely into their warmth. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, loud enough that she thought her family must hear it, and her breathing grew rapid, shallow, uneven.

  “Please… don’t… find me…” she whispered, voice trembling. Her paws gripped the floor, cws catching slightly on the wood. Every muscle in her body was coiled like a spring, ready to bolt, but locked in pce.

  Outside, her mother’s panic escated. “Mira! We need to get in! He’s not responding!”

  “I’m trying!” Mira shouted back, but her own fear was clear. “We can’t just leave him in there!”

  Yui began to cry quietly, small hiccups breaking through her panic. “Mom… he’s all alone…”

  Eri flinched at the sound, pressing herself even deeper into her tails, ears fttened, tails tightening further. Her body trembled violently, yet she remained motionless. She could feel every beat of her heart echoing in her chest, every small shift of her tails pressing against her skin. The cocoon of fur — her shield — felt both comforting and suffocating, the only boundary between her and discovery.

  The hallway seemed impossibly close, unbearably loud, and her family’s worry pressed against her like a tangible weight. She could feel the urgency seeping through the door, feel the tension vibrating against her skin, and all she could do was remain curled into herself, silent, praying the world would not force its way through her fragile barrier.

  She whispered again, barely audible:“…just a little longer… just a little longer…”

  The knocking continued, relentless. Voices outside were rising, frustration and panic intermingling. But Eri stayed pressed into her tails, frozen, clinging desperately to the only safe space she had left — ten soft, silvery-white tails that cocooned her like a living fortress against the storm beyond the door.

  The pounding didn’t stop.

  It came in waves now — Mira’s shoulder hitting the door, her mother rattling the knob again and again, Yui’s soft crying threading through it all like a fragile ache. The hallway felt loud even from inside the room, every sound bleeding through the wood and straight into Eri’s chest.

  She shook violently beneath her tails. The cocoon that had once felt warm and safe now trembled with her, every silver-white strand responding to her fear. Her ears were pinned ft, aching, every shout and knock feeling too sharp, too close.

  “Ethan! Please!” her mom cried. “Just talk to me! Anything!”

  Eri squeezed her eyes shut.She couldn’t.

  Her voice wasn’t Ethan’s right now. She knew that with painful certainty. If she spoke, if she made another sound everything would shatter. Questions. Panic. Fear. She wasn’t ready for any of it.

  Her breathing came fast and uneven. She pressed a paw over her mouth, hands trembling, trying to keep even a whimper from escaping. Her tails tightened reflexively, wrapping around her shoulders and legs, fur brushing her cheeks, her neck, her arms — grounding her just enough to think.

  I have to make them stop.

  Slowly, shakily, she uncurled just enough to move. One tail loosened, then another, the cocoon reluctantly opening as she crawled toward her desk. Her legs felt weak, unsteady, like she might colpse at any moment.

  Her hands shook as she grabbed a sheet of loose paper and a pen. For a second she just stared at the bnk page, tears blurring her vision.

  What could she possibly write?

  Not I’m okay.That would be a lie.

  Not I’m Ethan.Because right now, she wasn’t.

  Her grip tightened. She swallowed hard, then forced the pen down onto the paper. The words came out uneven, slightly crooked, but clear enough. Simple. Honest.

  go awayplease leave me alone

  She stared at it for a long moment, her chest aching. It felt cruel. It felt wrong. But it was the only thing she could do without breaking apart.

  The knocking outside surged again.“Ethan, we’re coming in!” Mira shouted.“Please, honey!” her mom begged. “I’m scared!”

  Eri flinched.Then, gathering what little courage she had left, she crawled to the door.

  Her paws slid the paper forward, inch by inch, until it slipped under the crack at the bottom. The motion felt enormous, terrifying — like she had just screamed without making a sound.

  She scrambled back immediately, retreating into her tails as they closed around her again, wrapping her tight, hiding her face, her ears, her trembling body.

  Outside, everything stopped.

  The knocking ceased.The voices fell silent.

  A beat passed.Then another.

  “…Mom?” Yui’s small voice whispered.

  Her mother’s breath hitched. “There’s… there’s a note.”

  Mira crouched down, picking it up. Eri could imagine her sister’s face tightening as she read it.

  “…‘Go away. Please leave me alone,’” Mira said quietly.

  The words hung heavy in the air.

  “Oh god,” her mom whispered, voice breaking. “He’s not okay… he’s really not okay.”

  Eri curled tighter, heart pounding, ears ringing. She felt awful. She felt selfish. But the pounding had stopped — at least for now — and that was all she could cling to.

  Outside, footsteps retreated slowly. Whispered voices followed — worried, uncertain, frightened — but they were moving away from the door.

  Inside, Eri stayed still.Silent.Wrapped in ten trembling tails.

  She pressed her face into the fur and whispered, barely breathing the words:

  “I’m sorry… I just can’t be him right now.”

  And for the first time since the knocking began, the room was quiet again.