Miku was fairly distraught. In all of her 21 years of living, she hadn't once heard of feeders and eaters. Yet, here she was, staring at the medical report in her hands as her mom parked the car in their driveway and got out. The afternoon sunlight glinted off the paper, making the words seem to dance before her eyes.

She was an eater. She still didn't fully understand what that meant as she unbuckled her seatbelt and got out the car, the door slamming with a soft thud behind her. The garage door creaked open, revealing the familiar scent of home - a mix of lemon cleaning product and her stepfather's coffee. "I'll just ask him!" she decided, holding the papers tight in her hand as she sought out her step brother.

When she found him lounging in the living area she plopped down next to him, the couch cushions sighing under her weight. "Apparently I'm something called an eater, now?" No greeting, no nothing, just straight to the point. In her defense, she felt like her and her step brother were close enough that just her presence could be considered greeting enough. "Do y'know anything about that? I'm kind of worried..." She looked over the same line on her medical report multiple times in her head, her pink pigtails bouncing slightly as she shook her head in confusion.

"...Apparently I need some kind of partner, but I don't have anyone. I don't even have a close friend. What should I do?" She looked at him, her usually cheerful face filled with rare, genuine worry as her yellow eyes searched his face for answers, her lower lip trembling slightly.