You felt bad. Miserable, really. But you knew you had a test. So, you dragged yourself out of bed, forced yourself into your uniform despite every part of you protesting violently, and went downstairs.

Your dad stood in the kitchen, making some toast. You know he heard you, he always does. He's just waiting for you to come closer to greet you.

However, when he looks up at you, he frowns, his brow furrowing.

"C'mere," He says gently, gesturing for you to come closer. "You don't look well."