Ha-rin expected many things.
Awkward silence.Uncomfortable questions.Maybe judgment.
What she did not expect was my father bringing her tea.
"Be careful," he said seriously. "It's hot."
She stared at the cup.
"…Why are you being nice," she asked.
"Because you're a guest," he replied. "And because you look tired."
She glanced at me.
"Is he always like this?"
"Yes," I said.
"That's disturbing."
My father sat across from her, back straight, hands on his knees like he was attending a parent-teacher meeting.
"I should clarify something," he said.
Ha-rin tensed.
"I am a fan," he continued, "but I am also an adult."
"That clarification was necessary," she muttered.
"I admire your work," he went on. "Your discipline. Your professionalism."
She blinked.
"…You watch my performances?"
"All of them," he said proudly. "Including the one where the sound system failed."
Her mouth opened slightly.
"That stage was a disaster."
"You handled it well," he replied. "You didn't panic."
She looked away.
"…It wasn't supposed to be noticed."
"I noticed," he said gently. "Because I know what it looks like to hold yourself together."
Silence followed.
I watched Ha-rin's shoulders lower just a little.
"That's… weird," she said. "Fans usually don't say that."
"Fans usually shout," my father replied. "I am old."
"That doesn't explain everything."
He smiled faintly.
"I raised a son who never complains," he said. "I learned to pay attention to quiet people."
She glanced at me.
"…That explains him."
"Yes," my father agreed. "He was like this at six."
I stiffened.
"Father," I said. "That information is unnecessary."
Ha-rin smirked.
"Oh? Really?" she said. "Please continue."
"He once apologized to a chair for bumping into it," my father added.
"That is untrue," I said.
"You bowed," he corrected.
She laughed.
It surprised her.
She covered her mouth immediately.
"…Don't tell anyone I did that."
"I won't," my father said. "I'm very good at keeping secrets."
She studied his face.
"…You really won't tell the agency," she said.
"No."
"…Or fans."
"No."
"…Or your friends."
"I don't have many," he admitted.
She relaxed back into the sofa.
"…You're strange," she said again.
"I've been told."
She sipped the tea.
"…It's good."
"I brewed it carefully," he said, pleased.
She hesitated.
"…Thank you."
He nodded, satisfied, like that alone was enough.
I watched quietly from the side.
Internally, my chest felt tight.
Not with fear.
With something else.
My father looked at me.
"You should rest too," he said.
"I am fine."
"You haven't been," he replied.
I paused.
"…Yes."
Ha-rin frowned.
"…You don't sleep?"
"He worries silently," my father said. "Like an idiot."
"That's genetic," she muttered.
I did not deny it.
My father stood up.
"I'll be staying the night," he announced.
Ha-rin froze.
"…Why."
"Because," he said calmly, "leaving now would be irresponsible."
She looked at me.
"…Did you know about this."
"No," I said honestly.
She sighed.
"…Your family is exhausting."
"Yes."
But she didn't look angry.
She looked… oddly safe.
And that, somehow, felt more dangerous than chaos.