The house had settled into that quiet, in–between hour where afternoon hadn’t fully become evening yet.

  Sunlight filtered in softer now, stretched long and golden across the living room floor. The air felt warm, still.

  Eri sat curled on one end of the couch, pretending to scroll through her phone.

  Pretending.

  She hadn’t read a single word in the past five minutes.

  Alex was beside her—close but not touching—leaning back with one arm draped over the backrest. He looked rexed on the outside.

  He was not rexed.

  Mira’s TV was still pying loudly down the hallway, a very obvious wall of “privacy.”

  Eri’s ears twitched faintly.

  “You didn’t have to come over,” she said softly.

  “I know.”

  “Then why did you?”

  He didn’t answer immediately.

  She risked gncing at him.

  He was staring at the opposite wall, thinking.

  “…Because it felt weird not seeing you,” he said finally.

  Her heart did that stupid flutter again.

  “You saw me this morning.”

  “That doesn’t count.”

  “Why not?”

  He exhaled through his nose, almost amused at himself.

  “Because at school it’s loud. And rushed. And everyone’s watching everything.”

  Her tails shifted slowly behind her.

  “And here?” she asked quietly.

  He looked at her then.

  “Here it’s just you.”

  Her ears softened.

  That did things.

  Dangerous things.

  She turned her phone off and set it on the coffee table.

  “Do you ever think about how weird this is?” she asked after a moment.

  “How weird what is?”

  “All of it.”

  She gestured vaguely—at herself, at the room, at the air between them.

  He followed the motion, understanding more than she expected.

  “…Yeah,” he admitted.

  “And?”

  “And I don’t really care.”

  She blinked.

  “You don’t?”

  He shook his head once.

  “It’s still you.”

  Her breath caught.

  Her fingers tightened slightly in the fabric of the couch cushion.

  “That’s not a small thing,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “And you’re just… fine with it?”

  He hesitated, then smiled faintly.

  “Fine isn’t the word.”

  She tilted her head.

  “What’s the word?”

  He held her gaze longer this time.

  “Lucky.”

  Her ears flushed warm.

  Her tails puffed subtly before she could stop them.

  “You’re not allowed to say things like that so casually,” she muttered.

  “Why not?”

  “Because I—” She stopped herself.

  He leaned forward slightly.

  “You what?”

  She looked away quickly.

  “Nothing.”

  He didn’t push.

  But he didn’t lean back either.

  The space between them shrank by inches.

  From down the hallway, Mira’s ughter echoed from whatever show she was watching.

  Eri swallowed.

  “…Do you remember the first day?” she asked suddenly.

  “First day of what?”

  “Of this.”

  He considered.

  “The gardens?”

  She nodded.

  “Yeah.”

  He smiled softly at the memory.

  “You wouldn’t look at me.”

  “I was overwhelmed!”

  “You climbed a tree to avoid talking.”

  “I panicked.”

  He ughed quietly.

  “And now?”

  She met his eyes again.

  “I don’t want to avoid you.”

  The honesty hung there.

  Heavy.

  Delicate.

  He shifted just slightly closer.

  Their knees brushed this time.

  Neither pulled away.

  “That’s good,” he said quietly.

  Her tails slowly curled toward him of their own accord, brushing lightly against his ankle before retreating as if embarrassed.

  He looked down at them.

  Then back at her.

  “…They’re doing that thing,” he murmured.

  She groaned softly.

  “I don’t control it all the time.”

  “I know.”

  There was no teasing in his voice.

  Just quiet acceptance.

  He reached out, slow enough that she could pull away if she wanted to.

  She didn’t.

  His fingers brushed gently against one of her tails.

  Barely.

  Like he was testing if it was okay.

  Her breath caught sharply.

  It wasn’t painful.

  It wasn’t uncomfortable.

  It was just—

  comfortable.

  Her ears tilted back slightly, not in fear—but in trust.

  “…Is that okay?” he asked quietly.

  She nodded once.

  “Yeah.”

  His fingers traced lightly along the soft fur, cautious.

  Her entire nervous system felt like it had lit up.

  She didn’t realize she’d leaned closer until her shoulder was pressed fully against his.

  He noticed.

  But he didn’t comment.

  Instead, he let his hand rest there, warm and steady.

  “Does it feel weird?” she asked softly.

  He shook his head.

  “No.”

  “Different?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How?”

  He thought for a second.

  “Like you’re real.”

  She frowned slightly.

  “I was always real.”

  “I know,” he said gently. “I just mean… this makes it less abstract.”

  She understood what he meant.

  Less confusion.

  Less memory of who she used to be.

  More present.

  Her hand drifted without thinking.

  It nded lightly on his sleeve.

  She froze once she realized.

  He looked down at it.

  Then back up at her.

  He didn’t move away.

  “You’re doing that thing again,” he said quietly.

  “My ears?”

  “Yeah.”

  She huffed.

  “You’re the worst.”

  “Probably.”

  But his voice was soft.

  The sun dipped lower, bathing the room in deeper gold.

  Time felt slower here.

  Less urgent.

  From the kitchen, her mom called out, “Dinner in 30!”

  “Okay!” Eri responded automatically.

  Then she realized how close they were sitting.

  How her hand was still resting lightly on his arm.

  How his hand still rested near her tail.

  Her blush deepened again.

  He noticed.

  “I don’t mind,” he said gently.

  “Mind what?”

  “You being close.”

  Her stomach flipped.

  “I didn’t ask if you minded.”

  “I know.”

  She swallowed.

  Her fingers curled slightly in his sleeve.

  “…Do you?”

  “Do I what?”

  “Mind?”

  He shook his head once.

  “No.”

  The air between them shifted.

  Not rushed.

  Not overwhelming.

  Just… warmer.

  She leaned her head slightly—just enough that it brushed against his shoulder.

  A small movement.

  Almost nothing.

  But everything.

  He stiffened for half a second.

  Then rexed.

  His shoulder adjusted subtly to support her.

  Her ears drooped in contentment.

  Her tails curled loosely around both of them now.

  Not trapping.

  Just touching.

  Minutes passed like that.

  No grand decrations.

  No sudden confessions.

  Just warmth.

  Just proximity.

  Eventually, she spoke again—voice quieter now.

  “I’m gd you came.”

  “Me too.”

  She tilted her face slightly toward him.

  “Even if Mira's going to make this unbearable ter.”

  He smiled faintly.

  “She already has.”

  She ughed softly against his shoulder.

  And in the quiet golden light of a slow Monday afternoon—

  They stayed like that.

  Not because they had to.

  Not because they didn’t know what else to do.

  But because neither of them wanted to move.