Morning arrived quietly, the way it sometimes did when the house itself seemed to be holding its breath.

  Light crept through the edges of Eri’s curtains in thin, golden lines, catching on the soft rise and fall of her tails as she slept curled on her side. They were spread around her like a living bnket—ten of them, yered and overpping, instinctively arranged for warmth and comfort. One tail twitched as a bird chirped outside. Another followed, then two more, a slow chain reaction as awareness drifted back into her body.

  Eri stirred.

  Her ears were the first thing to wake fully. They flicked, rotated, tuned. The house hummed with familiar sounds: the distant clink of a mug in the kitchen, the low murmur of Dad’s voice, the soft padding of footsteps that could only belong to Yui. No arms yet. No rush. Just morning.

  She opened her eyes and immediately closed them again.

  Not because she was tired—though she was—but because something inside her chest felt… off. Not wrong. Not bad. Just needy in a way she didn’t quite have words for yet.

  Her tails tightened around her instinctively, pulling closer, fluff pressing against her back and legs. It helped a little. Not enough.

  Eri frowned faintly into her pillow.

  There was a low, restless static under her skin, like the echo of a dream she couldn’t remember. Her ears fttened, then lifted again. She shifted, trying to shake it off, but the feeling persisted—an ache that wasn’t pain, a want that wasn’t hunger.

  “…petting,” she whispered, the word slipping out before she could stop it.

  Her face warmed immediately.

  She rolled onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, mortified with herself. “That’s— that’s not— I mean—”

  Her ears flicked sharply, as if scolding her.

  But the feeling didn’t go away. If anything, it grew stronger, a gentle but insistent pull. Her tails swayed restlessly, tips curling and uncurling, brushing against each other in a way that only made her more aware of how sensitive they still were after yesterday’s shower.

  Eri groaned quietly and buried her face in her pillow.

  “I am not a cat,” she muttered.

  Her body, unfortunately, disagreed.

  There was a soft knock at her door.

  “Eri?” Mira’s voice, low and careful. “You awake?”

  Eri froze.

  Her ears shot upright. Her tails stilled mid-swish.

  “…yes,” she answered after a beat, voice a little too quick.

  The door opened just enough for Mira to peek in. She was already dressed, hair still slightly messy, holding her phone in one hand. Her expression softened immediately when she saw Eri tangled in her bnkets, ears visible, tails everywhere.

  “Morning,” Mira said gently.

  Eri swallowed. “…morning.”

  Mira leaned against the doorframe, studying her for a moment in that way she had—quiet, observant, never pushing. Then her gaze flicked to Eri’s restless tails.

  “…You okay?” she asked.

  Eri hesitated.

  This was the part she still wasn’t used to. Saying things out loud. Admitting needs that Ethan had never been allowed to have.

  Her ears tilted sideways, a clear tell. “I just… feel weird,” she said finally. “Like… static. I don’t know.” She shifted again, clearly uncomfortable. “Everything’s too loud. And my tails won’t stop moving and—”

  She trailed off, cheeks heating.

  Mira’s expression softened even more. She stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind her.

  “That sounds like sensory overload,” Mira said calmly. “Or… maybe you just woke up extra sensitive.”

  Eri nodded miserably. “I think so.”

  There was a pause.

  Then Mira asked, very gently, “Do you want… help with that?”

  Eri’s ears flicked toward her instantly.

  “…help how?” she asked, even though some part of her already knew.

  Mira raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth tugging upward. “You tell me.”

  Eri stared at her.

  Her throat felt tight. Her tails swayed again, betraying her. One curled slightly toward Mira without her meaning it to.

  “…I think,” Eri said slowly, carefully, “I want to be… petted.”

  Silence.

  Then Mira smiled—not teasing, not surprised. Just warm.

  “Okay,” she said simply. “Come here.”

  The relief that washed through Eri was immediate and intense enough that it almost made her dizzy.

  She didn’t argue. She didn’t overthink it. She shifted upright, tangled briefly in her own tails, then scooted toward the edge of the bed. Mira sat down beside her, moving slowly, deliberately, giving Eri time to pull back if she wanted to.

  She didn’t.

  Eri leaned in, tentatively at first, then more fully, her shoulder brushing Mira’s arm. Her ears fttened slightly in anticipation, heart thudding.

  Mira lifted her hand and paused. “Okay if I touch your ears?”

  “Yes,” Eri breathed. “Please.”

  Mira’s fingers were warm.

  She started slowly, brushing the back of her fingers along the base of Eri’s ear, careful and light. Eri inhaled sharply—and then melted.

  A soft sound slipped out of her chest before she could stop it. Not quite a purr. Almost.

  Her ears twitched under Mira’s touch, angling instinctively into the contact. Her shoulders rexed. The static in her chest softened, faded, repced by something warm and grounding.

  Mira smiled to herself and continued, gentle strokes along the edge of Eri’s ear, then up to the top, scratching lightly in small circles.

  Eri let out a shaky breath.

  “Oh,” she murmured. “That’s— yeah. That’s it.”

  Her tails responded immediately, fanning out, then curling inward again, several of them draping over Mira’s legs without hesitation. Mira didn’t move them away. She adjusted instead, settling more comfortably as Eri leaned fully against her.

  “You’re safe,” Mira said quietly. “You’re okay.”

  Eri nodded, eyes half-lidded.

  The world narrowed to sensation: Mira’s hand in her hair and ears, the gentle weight of her tails, the steady rhythm of breathing. The noise in her head dimmed until it was just… quiet.

  After a minute, Mira’s hand drifted lower, brushing along the base of one tail. She hesitated again, checking in silently.

  Eri’s response was immediate—her tail flicked, then leaned into the touch.

  Mira chuckled softly. “Guess that’s a yes.”

  She stroked along the length of the tail, slow and even. Eri shuddered, then ughed weakly.

  “That— that tickles,” she said, even as she pressed closer.

  “You can tell me to stop anytime,” Mira reminded her.

  “I won’t,” Eri said, very seriously.

  Mira ughed under her breath and kept petting, alternating between ears and tails, careful not to overwhelm her. The effect was almost instant. Eri’s breathing slowed. Her muscles loosened. The st of the static drained away.

  A purr finally escaped her—soft, rumbling, unmistakable.

  Eri froze.

  “…oh no,” she whispered.

  Mira froze too—then broke into a grin. “That’s good, your enjoying this.”

  “I didn’t— I don’t—” Eri covered her face with both hands, mortified. “I’m sorry.”

  Mira gently pulled her hands away. “Hey. Don’t apologize. That’s just your body responding. It’s okay.”

  Eri peeked at her through her fingers. “…really?”

  “Really.”

  Eri let her hands drop. Her ears were warm. Her tails swayed zily now, content.

  “…I think,” she admitted quietly, “I might need this sometimes.”

  Mira nodded. “That makes sense. We’ll figure it out.”

  Another knock sounded at the door.

  “Breakfast!” Mom called. “And Eri—no rush, okay?”

  Mira gnced toward the door, then back at Eri. “You want a few more minutes?”

  Eri hesitated, then nodded. “…please.”

  Mira smiled and resumed petting her ears.

  And for a little while longer, the morning stayed soft.