Ethan stayed on the bench longer than he should have. He could hear the soft pping of the ke against the shore, the distant chatter of families, and the faint clink of café dishes from a stand nearby, but none of it reached him. Everything seemed muffled, like the world existed just outside the barrier he had built around himself.

  Mira had stayed beside him, silent but present, her hand occasionally brushing his shoulder as though reminding him she was there without demanding he respond. The warmth of her touch was comforting, but it also reminded him of what he couldn’t have: the freedom of being Eri. Every time he thought about her—about her ears, her tails, the soft way she had pressed into him st night—his chest tightened, and the neckce under his hoodie felt heavier, almost like it was actively holding her back.

  He didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to talk. He didn’t want to pretend that being Ethan was fine because it wasn’t. It had never been fine. And right now, surrounded by the sunlight, strangers, and ughter, he could feel the cracks beginning to form.

  Eri stirred inside him, a warmth brushing the edges of his mind, pressing insistently against his ribs. She didn’t make a sound, didn’t take any action—but she was there, and it was overwhelming. He could feel her shifting, stretching, pulling at the corners of his consciousness, and every time he tried to ignore her, her presence intensified.

  He wanted to reach for the neckce. He wanted to pull it off and feel her whole and alive again. But he couldn’t. Not here. Not with Mom, Yui, Mira, and strangers around. The thought of someone seeing him, seeing her—being caught—made his stomach knot and his palms sweat.

  Mira leaned a little closer. “Ethan…” she said softly. “You’re holding it in too much. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

  “I don’t care,” he muttered, staring at the ke as if its calm waters could swallow him whole. “I just… I can’t let me out here. Not now. Not in front of anyone.”

  Mira bit her lip, unsure what to say. She knew he was struggling, but she didn’t fully understand the depth of it. All she could do was be here, as silently supportive as possible, and hope that it was enough.

  Ethan clenched his fists in his p, the fabric of his hoodie digging into his skin. He felt his heart pounding, a fierce, erratic beat that seemed to echo Eri’s desire to be free. Every small movement of the crowd, every ugh, every shout, every bird’s call made him flinch and tighten further into himself.

  He couldn’t think about anything else except the unbearable weight of being Ethan, while Eri waited, restless and alive, inside him.

  She’s right there, he thought, pressing his forehead against his knees. I can feel her. I can feel me, and I can’t let her move. I can’t. I just can’t.

  The sensation of her presence was intoxicating, almost physical. He could imagine her ears twitching, her silver eyes gleaming, the long, soft tails wrapping around him, the delicate brush of fur against his skin. It was everything he wanted, everything he’d ever dreamed of. And yet, here he was, trapped in his own body, feeling her like a phantom limb he couldn’t touch.

  Mira shifted slightly, sensing his distress. “You’re not alone,” she said softly. “I’m right here. We’ll get through this.”

  Ethan shook his head, though no sound came out. He wasn’t thinking about survival right now. Survival wasn’t the point. The point was the unbearable tension of being trapped between two selves—one screaming to exist, the other forced to stay hidden.

  He imagined removing the neckce. Just for a second. Feeling the change, feeling her, feeling that rush of relief and warmth. Just one second.

  But then he looked around. Mom was walking back toward them with Yui, smiling, oblivious to what he was feeling. People were passing by, ughing, snapping photos, living their normal lives. And in that moment, he realized that even a second of transformation here would shatter everything.

  He felt tears prick at his eyes, threatening to fall. He wiped them quickly, frustrated with himself for feeling this exposed and weak. He wasn’t weak—he was careful. He was disciplined. He was surviving. But the cost of survival was this gnawing emptiness, this constant suppression of something vital.

  The sun moved across the sky, casting shifting shadows over the ke and the paths. Ethan felt like the world was conspiring against him. Every leaf, every ripple of water, every flicker of light reminded him of her—of Eri—and what he was missing.

  Mira, sensing the escating panic, gently touched his arm. “Do you want to walk? Just a little? Away from the crowd?”

  Ethan nodded, grateful for the excuse to move without drawing attention. He stood slowly, the weight of his exhaustion pressing down on him, each step heavy. His hoodie felt tight, suffocating, and he could feel the sweat along his back.

  As they walked along the path closer to the water, Ethan’s mind spun. Every moment brought a new wave of longing, a new pang of frustration. He could feel Eri pressing against his consciousness, stretching, curling, demanding release. The sensation was maddening.

  He imagined her, tails curling, ears twitching, purring softly as she pressed against his chest. He could feel her warmth in his mind, and it made him ache in a way that nothing else ever had.

  “Ethan?” Mira’s voice broke through the haze. “Are you okay?”

  “I… I think so,” he said, though he wasn’t sure if he was lying to her or to himself.

  Every second felt like walking on a knife’s edge. One wrong gnce, one sudden sound, one moment of weakness, and the pull of Eri would overwhelm him.

  And yet, even in this suffocating tension, there was something comforting in knowing that she was there. That she hadn’t left. That the part of him he loved most, that had given him purpose and warmth, was waiting.

  They stopped on a small wooden dock overlooking the ke. Ethan leaned against the railing, staring into the water. The sunlight reflected off the surface in dancing patterns, glittering like silver strands. His mind betrayed him—he could almost see her tails trailing in the water, silver-white and soft, ears twitching at the movement of the waves.

  He gritted his teeth and forced himself to look away. He couldn’t become her here. He had to stay Ethan.

  But it hurt.

  It hurt worse than anything else he had felt in weeks. The ache in his chest wasn’t physical—it was the deep, gnawing emptiness of longing, of wanting something he couldn’t have, of being trapped in the wrong skin in the wrong pce at the wrong time.

  Mira stood silently beside him. She didn’t speak, didn’t try to pry. She just let him breathe, let him exist in his quiet despair.

  Finally, Ethan whispered, more to himself than to anyone else, “I don’t know how I’m going to do this all day.”

  Mira squeezed his shoulder gently. “One step at a time,” she said. “You’ve made it this far. You can make it a little further.”

  He nodded weakly, though he wasn’t convinced. Every movement of the crowd, every step along the wooden pnks, every flicker of light across the water reminded him of her—the fox-girl he couldn’t be—and it made him feel hollow in a way he didn’t think was possible.

  He pressed his hands into his hoodie pockets, fingers brushing the cool surface of the neckce beneath the fabric. He wanted it so badly, wanted to pull it off, wanted to feel her fully. But he couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

  And so he kept walking.

  And so he kept pretending.

  And so Eri waited, coiled within him like a living thing that couldn’t yet escape, her ten tails curling tight, her ears flicking softly, pressing against the edges of his mind, reminding him that the real him, the person he wanted to be, was still there.

  Ethan closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath, and forced himself to continue walking beside Mira, past the ke, past the tourists, past the ughter and the sunlight, all while holding back the girl inside him—the one who wanted to run, to hide, to finally be free.

  He had no choice but to be Ethan.

  And it was killing him.