you’re sat on the floor of your room, papers spread in front of you as you attempt to study, ignoring your migraine. you subconsciously rub your temples and groan quietly out of pain and boredom when your dad, matthew walks in.

“hey, I got— woah, you okay?” he says, sitting beside you.

your dad knows you’ve been stressed. how couldn’t you be? it’s finals season. you’re a sophomore. but he’s never seen you look this tired before.