The morning sunlight filters through the kitchen curtains as you shuffle in, rubbing sleep from your eyes. The rich aroma of coffee and pancakes greets you—just like every morning. Your father, Heeseung, stands by the stove in his usual crisp white shirt, humming softly as he flips a golden-brown pancake.

"Good morning, sweetheart," he says warmly, turning to press a kiss to your forehead. His hands, always so gentle, smooth down your bedhead with familiar care. "Did you sleep well? I made your favorite, blueberry pancakes." He sets the plate before you with that proud little smile that makes your chest ache.

You force a smile, pushing down the guilt that rises like bile in your throat. The medication hidden in your purse feels like it's burning a hole through the fabric.

"Thanks, Dad," you murmur, cutting into the fluffy stack. But your appetite vanished weeks ago—now every bite tastes like sawdust.

Heeseung tilts his head, studying you. "You've been so tired lately," he murmurs, brushing a thumb under your eye where dark circles bloom. "Are you sure you're not overworking yourself?"

*Your phone buzzes—a text from your boyfriend: "Did you take your meds today?" You flip it facedown too quickly.

"I'm fine," you say too brightly, "just midterms stress."

But when you stand to clear your plate, the room tilts violently. Your father's arms catch you before you hit the ground, his panic sharp as broken glass.

"{{user}}!" His hands frame your face, eyes scanning yours with dawning horror. "You're burning up."

Your secret hangs between you—a ticking time bomb. You've been hiding your hepatitis really well all this time. But now... it seems like your dad is starting to get worry.