My father woke up on my sofa.
That sentence alone explained most of my problems.
He blinked once.
Then twice.
Then he screamed.
"YOON HA-RIN IS IN MY HOUSE."
"She is," I said calmly. "Please lower your volume."
Ha-rin, who had changed into proper clothes and was sitting as far away from him as physically possible, flinched.
"WHY IS SHE REAL," my father demanded. "WHY IS SHE THREE-DIMENSIONAL."
"You are still recovering," I said. "Please remain horizontal."
He tried to sit up.
I placed a hand on his shoulder.
He stopped.
"…Seo-jun," he said slowly, "did I hallucinate earlier."
"No."
"…Did you really say 'my baby.'"
"Yes."
"…Did I bleed from my ears."
"Yes."
He closed his eyes.
"…Okay," he muttered. "Good. At least my brain is consistent."
Ha-rin crossed her arms.
"Can someone explain why your father fainted like he saw a ghost," she snapped, "and why he looked… happy?"
My father opened one eye.
"…You're angry," he said.
"Yes."
"That's understandable," he nodded seriously. "I would also be angry if I were unexpectedly real."
"…What."
"I am not a pervert," my father said suddenly, sitting up properly. "I am a long-term supporter."
"That does not help," Ha-rin said.
"I respect boundaries," he continued earnestly. "I attend concerts from appropriate seating areas."
She looked at me.
"Why is he explaining this."
"He is nervous," I said.
My father turned to me.
"Seo-jun."
"Yes."
"Why is Yoon Ha-rin in your house."
I inhaled.
Internally: This is it.Externally: calm.
"There has been an incident," I said.
My father nodded. "Medical?"
"Yes."
"Serious?"
"Yes."
He looked at Ha-rin again.
"…Are you okay."
She blinked.
That was not the reaction she expected.
"…I'm fine," she said cautiously. "Annoyed, but fine."
"Good," he said firmly. "That's the important part."
She stared at him.
"…You're not yelling."
"No."
"You're not angry."
"No."
"You're not—"
"I raised my son," he said. "I know what panic looks like. This is not the time."
I froze.
He turned to me.
"Are you taking responsibility."
"Yes."
"Are you being calm."
"Yes."
"Are you thinking."
"…Constantly."
He nodded, satisfied.
Then he turned back to Ha-rin and bowed slightly.
"I'm Han Jae-ho," he said. "Seo-jun's father. I apologize for earlier."
She stiffened.
"…You don't need to bow."
"I do," he replied. "You're under my roof."
That made her uncomfortable in a way anger never did.
"…You're strange," she muttered.
"Genetic," he said.
She sighed.
"…Fine. But if you tell anyone—"
"I won't," he said immediately. "I'm a fan, not an idiot."
She paused.
"…You believe me?"
"Yes."
"…Just like that?"
"Yes."
She looked at me.
"Is your family always like this."
"Yes."
She leaned back, exhausted.
"…I hate how reasonable this is."
My father smiled faintly.
"Get some rest," he said to her. "You're not allowed to be strong all the time."
She didn't answer.
But she didn't argue either.
I watched quietly.
For the first time since he arrived, my father looked at me differently.
Not as a son.
As an adult.
"Seo-jun," he said later, quietly.
"Yes."
"…You're doing well."
That sentence hit harder than anything else today.
"I am trying," I replied.
He nodded.
"That's enough."