The room didn’t feel like a battlefield anymore.

  It felt like something fragile that had survived a storm.

  Eri sat curled on the bed, tails draped loosely around her now instead of pulled tight in panic. The tension hadn’t vanished completely—her ears still flicked at every sound, and her shoulders were still drawn in—but the sharp, suffocating terror from before had softened into something quieter. Something tired.

  Mom remained seated at the edge of the bed, close enough that Eri could feel the warmth of her presence without feeling crowded. Mira leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely, watching the two of them with an expression that hovered somewhere between relief and awe.

  For a long moment, no one spoke.

  The silence wasn’t heavy this time. It was careful. Respectful.

  Mom was the first to move. Slowly, deliberately, she shifted her hand closer along the bedspread—not touching Eri, just letting it rest near one of the tails. She gnced up, silently asking.

  Eri noticed. Her tail tips twitched, instinct screaming at her to pull back.

  But she didn’t.

  Instead, she nodded.

  Mom’s fingers brushed the fur—light, hesitant, as if she were afraid it might vanish if she pressed too hard. The texture surprised her. Softer than she expected. Warm. Alive.

  “Oh,” Mom murmured, something like wonder breaking through her voice.

  Eri let out a small, shaky breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. One tail shifted on its own, curling gently around Mom’s wrist—not gripping, not trapping. Just… there.

  Mom froze.

  Then she ughed softly. A broken, watery sound, but real.

  “I guess I’ve been invited,” she said.

  Mira smiled from the doorway. “That’s a big deal, you know.”

  Eri’s ears flicked, embarrassed. “S-sorry. They do that.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Mom said immediately. “You don’t have to apologize for existing.”

  That sentence nded deep.

  Eri’s eyes stung again. Her tails loosened further, spreading slightly across the bed, no longer a shield—just part of her. She shifted closer without fully realizing she was doing it, leaning into the space beside her mom.

  Mom noticed.

  She adjusted instinctively, slipping an arm around Eri’s shoulders. Not tight. Not possessive. Just present.

  Eri stiffened for half a second—then melted.

  The warmth of it, the familiarity of her mom’s scent, the gentle weight of an arm that had always been there for her as Ethan—it all clicked together in a way that made her chest ache. She leaned in fully, forehead brushing against her mom’s shoulder, tails rustling softly as they settled around both of them.

  A faint, involuntary purr slipped out of her.

  She froze.

  Mom felt it.

  Felt the subtle vibration through her arm, through her chest.

  Instead of pulling away, she smiled.

  “Well,” she said softly, voice thick with emotion, “that’s… new.”

  Eri hid her face, mortified. “I— I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay,” Mom said gently, rubbing slow, careful circles into her back. “I think it’s sweet.”

  Mira pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room, sitting down on the other side of the bed. She reached out without hesitation and brushed two fingers along one of Eri’s ears.

  Eri made a small sound before she could stop herself—something soft and startled. Her ears flicked, then rexed under the touch.

  “There it is,” Mira said with a quiet ugh. “That reaction never gets old.”

  Eri groaned weakly. “Mira…”

  “What?” Mira teased gently. “You’re adorable. I’ve known this.”

  Mom gnced at Mira, curious. “You’ve… touched her ears before?”

  “Yeah,” Mira said simply. “She likes it. Helps calm her down.”

  Eri’s cheeks burned. Her tails flicked in mild protest, but she didn’t pull away.

  Mom’s expression softened even more. “You’ve been carrying this alone,” she said quietly. “Both of you.”

  Mira shrugged, but her eyes were warm. “That’s what sisters are for.”

  The word sisters made Eri’s breath catch—not painfully this time, but tenderly. She shifted again, this time letting one tail brush against Mira’s leg. Mira accepted it without comment, resting her hand on the fur like it belonged there.

  They sat like that for a while.

  No yelling. No questions. No pressure to expin everything all at once.

  Just warmth.

  Just closeness.

  Eventually, Mom spoke again, quieter. “We’ll take things slow. With Yui. With school. With… everything.”

  Eri nodded against her shoulder. “I don’t need everything fixed,” she said softly. “I just… didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

  Mom hugged her a little tighter. “You aren’t. Not ever again.”

  Mira smiled at that, reaching over to gently stroke one of Eri’s tails. “And for the record,” she added, “you’re still the same person. Just… fluffier.”

  Eri huffed a weak ugh, a sound halfway between amusement and a purr.

  “Hey,” Mira continued, more serious now. “You don’t have to decide who you are ever again you can just be whoever you want to be from now on.”

  Eri lifted her head slightly, ears tilting forward. “I don't even have a choice anyways… I can't be Ethan anymore.” Eri replied with a smile.

  Mom didn’t flinch.

  Eri let herself rex fully. Her tails spread out comfortably, overpping, brushing against both her mom and Mira. Her ears rested naturally, no longer pinned back in fear.

  She felt… held.

  Not just physically.

  But emotionally.

  For once, the world wasn’t demanding she choose immediately. Wasn’t forcing her back into a shape that hurt. Wasn’t threatening to rip the truth out of her.

  It was just her.

  And the people who loved her.