The smell of dinner reached the living room long before anyone called for it.

  Something warm and savory simmered in the kitchen — garlic, broth, maybe chicken — the kind of smell that wrapped around the house and settled into the walls. It should have been comforting.

  Instead, it made Eri’s stomach twist.

  Food meant the table.The table meant sitting.Sitting meant being seen.

  Her ears flicked anxiously as she shifted on the couch, ten tails pooled around her like a bnket she couldn’t decide whether to hide under or cling to. The new sweater she wore was soft and warm, but she kept tugging at the sleeves anyway.

  “Dinner!” Mom called from the kitchen.

  Right on cue, Yui came thundering down the hallway, nearly skidding around the corner. “FINALLY!”

  “You said that twenty minutes ago,” Mira said, following behind her at a much calmer pace.

  “I was starving twenty minutes ago too!”

  Eri stood slowly.

  Her tails slid off the couch and fanned behind her, brushing the cushions and floor. She paused automatically, gathering them carefully — she’d learned quickly that walking without thinking meant stepping on herself, and stepping on herself hurt.

  Even after days of practice, the simple act of standing still in the open house felt different from curling safely in a room.

  She padded toward the dining room.

  The table was already set. Five ptes, one on the counter for when dad gets home. Four cups. Everything exactly like it had always been.

  Her pce was there too.

  The normalcy of it made her hesitate at the doorway.

  Mom noticed but didn’t say anything, only setting down the serving bowl and giving Eri a small, patient smile.

  Yui slid into her chair instantly. “Eri sits next to me.”

  “You don’t own the seat,” Mira said, pulling out the opposite chair.

  “But she likes sitting next to me.”

  Eri blinked. “…I do?”

  “Yes,” Yui said confidently.

  Mira snorted quietly and nudged the chair beside Yui out with her foot. “Sit before she cims your oxygen too.”

  Eri carefully lowered herself into the chair. The process took a moment — tails guided around the legs, two tucked beside her hip, others curling behind and beneath the chair so they wouldn’t get caught.

  Yui watched with intense focus. “You’re faster than yesterday.”

  “…Practice,” Eri muttered.

  Mom served dinner, steam rising into the warm air. For a few minutes the only sounds were utensils and quiet breathing.

  Eri managed a few bites before she noticed Mom watching her — not intensely, not worryingly, but thoughtfully.

  That made her nervous.

  Mom set her cup down.

  “I spoke with the school today.”

  Everything in Eri stopped.

  Her ears went upright. Her tails stilled completely.

  Across the table, Mira’s posture shifted — attentive but silent.

  Eri’s fingers tightened around her spoon. “…About me?”

  “Yes,” Mom said gently. “About tomorrow.”

  The word nded heavy in her chest.

  “What… did they say?” Eri asked carefully.

  Mom folded her hands on the table, choosing her words slowly. “They’re prepared for you to come back.”

  Eri’s throat tightened. “Prepared how?”

  “They’ve been told you have a medical condition affecting sensory tolerance and comfort. Nothing else.” Mom held her gaze reassuringly. “No one knows anything beyond that.”

  Eri exhaled shakily.

  “They’ll allow you to leave css early if the halls get crowded,” Mom continued. “You’ll have permanent access to the counselor’s office whenever you need quiet.”

  Yui perked up. “So she gets a hiding room?”

  “Support space,” Mom corrected.

  “Same thing.”

  Eri tried to focus but her heart had started beating harder.

  “You won’t change in locker rooms,” Mom added. “Gym has a separate pn.”

  That helped.

  A little.

  “…People will still see me,” Eri whispered.

  “Yes,” Mom said softly.

  Her ears slowly lowered.

  “They’ll stare,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  Her hands tightened in her p.

  “They’ll talk.”

  Mom didn’t deny it. “Some will.”

  The honesty hurt more than reassurance would have.

  Eri looked down at her pte. The food blurred slightly.

  “I don’t think I can do it,” she admitted quietly.

  Silence filled the table.

  Then Mira spoke — not interrupting, just steady. “You don’t have to handle the whole day at once.”

  Eri looked at her.

  “You go for one css,” Mira said. “If it’s too much, you leave. That’s it. You don’t prove anything by suffering through it.”

  “I’m in different csses than you,” Eri murmured. “You can’t—”

  “I know,” Mira said gently. “I won’t hover. But you can text me. Anytime. I’ll come if you need.”

  That mattered more than proximity.

  Yui nodded seriously. “And if anyone’s mean I can bite them.”

  Mom gave her a look. “You absolutely cannot bite anyone.”

  “…What if they deserve it?”

  “No biting.”

  Eri let out a small, shaky ugh despite herself.

  Mom leaned forward slightly. “You are allowed to be nervous. Tomorrow will be hard. But staying away forever would be harder.”

  Eri stared at the table.

  Her tails slowly curled closer to her chair.

  “…I don’t want to go back to pretending,” she whispered. “But I don’t want everyone looking either.”

  “You won’t be pretending,” Mom said. “You’ll just be… living around other people again.”

  The distinction sat quietly in her chest.

  Living.

  Not hiding.

  Her ears twitched.

  “…What if I panic?”

  “You leave,” Mom answered immediately. “No asking permission.”

  “And if you call,” Mira added, “I answer.”

  Yui raised her cup dramatically. “Emergency fox hotline.”

  Mira sighed. “Please never say that in public.”

  Eri covered her face, ughing softly into her hands.

  The tension in her chest didn’t vanish — but it loosened enough for her to breathe.

  Tomorrow still felt huge.

  Still terrifying.

  But not suffocating.

  She lowered her hands slowly, looking at her family — at Mom’s steady calm, Mira’s quiet certainty, Yui’s unfiltered loyalty.

  “…Okay,” she said softly.

  Three heads lifted.

  “I’ll try,” Eri finished.

  Mom smiled — not relieved exactly, but proud.

  “That’s all tomorrow needs,” she said.

  Yui clinked her cup against Eri’s gently. “First day back.”

  Mira nudged Eri’s foot under the table once — grounding, familiar.

  Eri took another bite of dinner.

  Her stomach still fluttered with nerves.

  But now…

  Tomorrow felt survivable.