Dinner ended the way the day had gone—quiet, careful, threaded with something fragile but real.

  Eri helped clear the table even though no one asked her to. It felt important to do something normal with her hands, to prove to herself that the world hadn’t tilted so far it couldn’t be walked on anymore. Ptes clinked. Silverware stacked. Dad thanked her, voice still a little unsure but sincere.

  “Go get cleaned up,” Mom said gently once the kitchen was mostly settled. “You’ve had a long day.”

  Eri nodded.

  She didn’t think about it until she was halfway up the stairs.

  The bathroom door closed behind her with a soft click, and the quiet hit all at once.

  No voices. No TV. No Yui humming to herself.

  Just the hum of the light and the faint rush of water in the pipes.

  Eri stared at her reflection.

  She still wasn’t used to seeing herself.

  The ears perched atop her head twitched, reacting to the sudden silence, angling forward like they were listening for danger that wasn’t there. Her silver eyes looked too bright under the bathroom light, pupils wider than they should’ve been. Her tails shifted behind her, restless, brushing the door, the sink, each other.

  “…Okay,” she murmured to herself. “Just a shower.”

  She turned on the water.

  The pipes groaned, then the shower roared to life, steam already beginning to fog the mirror. The sound was louder in the small space, sharper, more aggressive than she remembered.

  Her ears fttened instantly.

  “Ow—” she hissed, cpping her hands over them on instinct.

  The noise wasn’t painful exactly, but it was too much, vibrating through her skull in a way it never had before. She stood there for a second, breathing through it, then reached out and adjusted the temperature, turning it down slightly.

  Still loud.

  Still awful.

  She sighed, shoulders slumping. “Of course,” she muttered.

  Eri undressed slowly, folding her clothes with more care than necessary, like neatness might give her some control back. Her tails made it awkward—they kept brushing against her legs, knocking into the hamper, swishing in irritation every time she bumped them.

  By the time she stepped into the shower, she was already tense.

  The first spray hit her shoulders.

  She gasped.

  It wasn’t hot. It wasn’t cold.

  It was just—everywhere.

  The water pounded against her back, ran down her arms, soaked her hair—

  —and then it hit her ears.

  Eri yelped, stumbling forward as her hands flew up again. The sensation was wrong, painfully intense, like someone had shoved her head underwater without warning. Her ears fttened hard against her skull, muscles spasming as water soaked the fur and ran straight into pces that felt far too sensitive to exist.

  “Nope—nope, nope—”

  She scrambled back, nearly slipping, heart hammering as she fumbled with the curtain. Water sprayed everywhere, bouncing off the tile, the noise echoing even louder now.

  Her tails reacted instantly.

  They shed.

  One smacked against the side of the tub with a loud thud. Another knocked over a shampoo bottle. A third slipped directly into the stream of water and—

  Eri cried out, biting back a much louder sound as the cold shock ran straight up her spine. The tail jerked violently, yanking free, knocking into her knee in the process.

  She curled in on herself, crouching awkwardly in the tub as water continued to rain down, unwanted and overwhelming.

  “This was a bad idea,” she whispered shakily. “This was a really bad idea.”

  She forced herself to breathe.

  In through her nose.

  Out through her mouth.

  The water kept pounding, but she reached out carefully this time and turned the pressure down. The roar softened to something closer to a steady patter.

  Better.

  Not good.

  But better.

  Eri stayed crouched for a long moment, letting the water run over her back while keeping her head angled away, ears tightly folded and protected by her hands. Steam filled the space, making it hard to think.

  Her tails twitched behind her, clearly unhappy, curling and uncurling like they couldn’t decide whether to flee or fight.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured to them, ridiculous as it felt. “I didn’t think about it.”

  Slowly—very slowly—she stood up again.

  She tried to adjust, turning sideways so the water didn’t hit her ears directly. That helped a little, but then it streamed down her hair and dripped anyway, sending tiny, awful sensations through the sensitive fur.

  Washing her hair was worse.

  The moment she lifted her arms, her ears flicked up reflexively, catching stray drops. She winced, eyes watering, and rushed through it as fast as she could, fingers clumsy and shaking.

  Her tails were no better.

  They tangled.

  They got in the way.

  She tried lifting them one at a time to rinse them properly, but the water pressure felt wrong there too—too heavy, too direct. One tail flicked sharply and smacked into the wall again, making her flinch.

  “Sorry—sorry,” she whispered, breath hitching.

  By the time she turned the water off, she was exhausted.

  Not physically.

  Emotionally.

  She stepped out of the shower dripping and shivering, wrapping herself in a towel that immediately became inadequate. Her tails soaked it through in seconds, heavy with water and fur clinging uncomfortably.

  She stood there, ears drooping, tails sagging, staring at the fogged mirror like it had personally betrayed her.

  “…I hate this,” she said quietly.

  The words surprised her.

  She didn’t hate being this way.

  She hated feeling unprepared. Hated that simple things now came with rules she hadn’t learned yet. Hated that her body reacted faster than her thoughts, that it punished her for forgetting what she was now.

  Her throat tightened.

  She dried off as best she could, giving up on the towel and grabbing a second one for her tails. Even then, they took forever, fur thick and stubborn, water dripping onto the floor no matter how careful she was.

  By the time she cracked the door open, Mira was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall like she’d been there for a while.

  “You okay?” Mira asked softly, eyes immediately scanning her.

  Eri hesitated.

  Then shook her head.

  “…Shower was a mistake.”

  Mira snorted quietly, then caught herself and softened. “Yeah. I kinda figured.”

  She stepped forward and took one of the towels without asking, starting to help dry Eri’s tails with practiced gentleness. “Ears?”

  “Water’s evil,” Eri muttered, ears flicking despite themselves.

  Mira smiled a little. “We’ll figure it out. Baths. Lower pressure. Ear covers. Something.”

  Eri sagged slightly at that—at the we.

  Downstairs, the house hummed with familiar sounds. Dishes. A TV murmuring. Dad’s voice, quieter now, steadier.

  Eri let herself stand there, damp and tired and a little overwhelmed, while Mira helped.

  The day hadn’t been perfect.

  Neither was her body.

  But she wasn’t alone in either.

  Announcementas an apology for te chapters the st 2 days here is an earlier one