The final bell rang like a release valve.

  Eri didn’t wait for the halls to empty while mom and Mira already went for the car so they could leave as fast as possible — she had already been by the door of the office for minutes already, hands moving quietly, methodically, before the principle even told her to be safe getting home. The moment all sound left through the building, she slipped out the office.

  The hallway was empty.

  She exhaled.

  Her ears drooped slightly as tension drained from her shoulders, but she didn’t rex fully. She knew better now. In less than half a minute she would be outside — there was a chance a people — and with them, eyes.

  So she walked quickly.

  Not running.

  Just fast enough.

  Just incase there was.

  Her tails swayed behind her in a tight bundle rather than their usual wide fan, held close so they wouldn’t brush the lockers. Even so, the soft whisper of fur followed her down the hall — a sound she’d become painfully aware of all day.

  She turned the corner toward the exit.

  So close.

  Her ears flicked back instinctively and she pushed the door open.

  The door clicked shut.

  Eri quickened her pace towards the car where she could see mom and Mira already there.

  “…I did it,” she murmured.

  Mira looked up out the car window, having clearly been waiting the entire time. She didn’t speak immediately — just studied Eri the way she had since all of this began, quietly checking she was still holding together.

  “Rough?” Mira asked gently.

  Eri let out a breath that trembled halfway into a ugh. “They stared. A lot. All day. Well I guess I can't bme them, I'd do the same”

  “Expected.”

  “One kid walked into a door while looking at me.”

  Mira snorted softly despite herself. “Okay, that one’s kind of funny.”

  Eri’s ears twitched — not quite amusement, but close. “I feel bad.”

  “You shouldn’t.”

  She slid into the seat beside Mira, her tails pooling around the legs of both seats without thinking. The quiet of the car felt unreal after hours of constant awareness. Her muscles ached from holding herself still.

  Mom sitting in the front seat looked back.

  “All ready?” she asked softly.

  Eri nodded. “I think so.”

  Mom smiled with unmistakable relief. “I’m proud of you.”

  Those words hit harder than the stares ever had.

  Eri looked down quickly, ears warming. “…Can we go home?”

  “Yes.”

  The drive back was peaceful in a way the morning hadn’t been.

  Eri sat in the seat, forehead lightly resting against the window. Sunlight flickered across her face as trees passed, and for the first time since dawn her tails weren’t tight with nerves — they y draped across the seat, occasionally shifting when the car turned.

  Mira sat beside her, shoulder barely touching hers. Not crowding. Just present.

  No one forced conversation.

  The quiet wasn’t heavy — it was safe.

  By the time they pulled into the driveway, Eri’s body felt like it had finally remembered how to breathe.

  She was out of the car the moment it stopped.

  Inside the house the familiar scent wrapped around her instantly — home detergent, soft furniture, the faint lingering sweetness from breakfast. Her ears lifted slightly on instinct.

  No watching.

  No whispering.

  No pretending not to notice her tails.

  Just home.

  She didn’t even realize how tightly wound she’d been until her knees nearly buckled in the entryway.

  Mom noticed immediately.

  “…Hey,” she said gently.

  Eri looked at her, and the composure she’d held all day slipped a little around the edges. Not crying — just fragile.

  Mom walked to the couch and sat down, patting her p.

  “Come here.”

  Eri froze.

  Her ears flicked.

  “…I’m not five,” she mumbled weakly.

  “No,” Mom agreed softly. “You’re exhausted.”

  There was no teasing in her voice. No pressure.

  Just warmth.

  Eri hesitated only a second longer before slowly walking over. Her tails trailed behind her across the carpet, dragging slightly with fatigue. Carefully, almost shyly, she climbed onto the couch and settled sideways onto her mom’s p — then shifted until she faced her, knees tucked against the cushions.

  Her tails immediately curled around both of them like instinctive gravity.

  Mom’s hand rose gently to her head.

  The first stroke across her ears made Eri’s breath hitch.

  The second made her shoulders drop.

  By the third, her eyes had closed.

  “…Long day?” Mom murmured.

  Eri nodded against her shoulder. “Too many people.”

  Mom’s fingers moved slowly through her hair, careful around the base of her ears. “Anyone unkind?”

  “…No,” Eri admitted. “Just… curious.”

  “That can still be tiring.”

  A quiet hum escaped Eri before she could stop it, barely audible. Her tails shifted closer around her mom’s waist, soft fur rising and falling with each slow breath.

  “I kept thinking everyone could hear my heartbeat,” she whispered. “Every hallway felt loud even when it wasn’t.”

  Mom rested her cheek lightly against the top of Eri’s head. “You were very brave today.”

  “I didn’t feel brave.”

  “You went anyway.”

  Eri pressed her face into her shoulder slightly. “I left early every css.”

  “That was the pn.”

  “I counted steps to avoid people.”

  Mom smiled faintly. “Also the pn.”

  Her hand drifted down, brushing along the base of one tail. Eri immediately melted further, tension unraveling from her back.

  “They’re hard to control when I’m nervous,” Eri admitted softly. “They kept reacting before I could.”

  “That’s okay.”

  “I thought about running home at lunch.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  Eri shook her head slightly. “Mira was waiting.”

  Mom gnced up at Mira, who pretended not to be watching from the doorway. She gave a tiny shrug.

  Eri’s ears flicked forward as her mom scratched lightly behind one.

  A quiet purr slipped out.

  She froze — then hid her face.

  Mom only continued gently, as if it were the most natural sound in the world.

  “You don’t have to hold everything in here,” she said softly.

  Eri rexed completely then, weight resting fully against her. Her tails wrapped around her mom’s waist and draped across the couch like a bnket.

  “…Home is quiet,” she murmured.

  “Yes.”

  “I like quiet.”

  Mom kissed the top of her head lightly. “Then rest.”

  Eri didn’t answer.

  Her breathing had already slowed, ears rexed sideways under her mother’s hand, the st of the school day finally draining out of her.