I push my food around my plate, not really hungry. My back still aches from the lumbar puncture, and my head feels like it's full of static.

Newt is the first to notice. "Mate, you've barely touched your food."

"I'm eating," I mutter, taking a bite just to shut him up. It tastes like cardboard.

Alby eyes me. "You look like shit."

"Wow, thanks."

"You sleep okay?" Frypan asks.

"Yeah," I lie.

Thomas launches into some story about nearly getting hit by a car while skateboarding, complete with dramatic gestures and sound effects. Newt listens with his usual unimpressed expression, nodding at all the right moments but clearly not invested.

I try to pay attention, but my head is a mess. Every few minutes, my thoughts drift back to the doctor's words. The medication. The restrictions. The fact that, for at least six months, I can't even drive.

"Minho?"

I blink, snapping back to the present. The voice isn't one of my friends'. I look up. A girl stands next to our table, smiling at me. She's in my year.

"Hey," she says. "You weren't at school last week."

I shrug. "Yeah. Was busy."

Her smile falters slightly, but she pushes on. "I was just wondering if you're still running track this year?"

I glance at my friends. Thomas is grinning like an idiot, nudging Newt, who just raises a brow. Alby watches quietly.

"I don't know," I say, because I honestly don't. I don't even know if I can continue working for Jorge.

"Oh." She hesitates. "Well, I hope you do. You're really good."

I nod. "Thanks."

She lingers for a second longer before finally leaving.

The moment she's gone, Thomas leans in. "Dude."

"Not interested," I say before he can start.

"She's totally into you."

"Don't care."

"This..." Thomas points a finger at the table. "This is the key to getting Luciana! Make her jealous—"

Another voice interrupts this time.

"Minho."

I look up and find one of the teachers standing at the end of our table.

"Can I have a word?"

I sigh, ignoring Thomas' exaggerated, "Oooooh, someone's in trouble!"

I follow him into the hallway, where it's quieter. He doesn't waste time.

"I heard about your diagnosis."

Teachers always find out everything. I shove my hands into my pockets. "Yeah."

"I just wanted to check in. Make sure you're okay."

I shrug. "I'm fine."

"Your mom sent the school some medical information. We're making sure all your teachers are aware. If you ever need anything—"

"I'm fine," I repeat. I don't need another person treating me like I'm fragile.

He studies me, then nods. "Alright. But if anything happens, tell someone. Don't push through it alone."

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

I stand below the shower, my eyes closed at the steaming hot water runs down my back. It feels refreshing and calming at the same time.

I'm forced to visit the hospital every month. They still don't know the exact cause of my seizures, nor do they know if I have heavy or minor ones.

After a while, I reach for the shampoo bottle, and my fingers—clumsy as ever—slip right off.

The sound of the bottle hitting the floor echoes in the bathroom. I can feel it vibrating against the tiles, barely having time to curse myself for being so careless, before—

The door slams open.

"MINHO!"

"ARE YOU OKAY?!"

"WHAT HAPPENED?!"

Oh hell no.

Mom's there, her eyes wide, panic written all over her face. Dariel's there, his broad shoulders stiff.

And Luciana.

My heart lurches into my throat. I go from standing like a normal human being to huddling against the back wall of the shower like that'll change this moment.

I can still see them, despite the steam curling around them like fog. Mom's clutching her chest, wide-eyed, looking like she might faint. Dariel is frozen in mid-step. Luciana is directly staring at me—at my face—but still.

I don't even know how to react. I want to melt into the shower tiles, disappear, anything but stay standing there with all of them just... watching.

"Oh my God!" I shout. I scramble to grab my towel, but it's on the drying rack. I'm fumbling like an idiot, trying to cover myself with one hand, while I'm desperately pulling at the towel with the other.

I don't have enough hands to do everything at once. I don't even want to look at them. I can't look at them.

"Minho!" Mom gasps from the doorway. I hear the panic in her voice.

"I'm naked!" I shriek, my voice shaking with embarrassment and frustration. I can barely talk straight. "I just dropped something! I'm not having a seizure! Get. Out!"

I look over, just for a second, at Luciana. Her shoulders shaking with laughter, her hand pressed over her mouth. I'm humiliated, and she's laughing.

I want to die. Dariel groans from the doorway. "Are you kidding me, Mom? He just dropped something."

"Oh," Mom breathes, realizing at last what's going on. Her face flushes a bright red, and she turns away, finally realizing the awkwardness of the whole situation. "Oh."

"Get out!" I peep.

Mom grabs Luciana's wrist and tugs her out of the bathroom with her. Dariel shakes his head, sighs, and follows, pulling the door shut behind them.

I stand there, my back still pressed against the tiles, my heart pounding. The water keeps running, the steam thick in the air.

I still want to sink into the drain and never be seen again.

It takes a good thirty seconds before I finally exhale, shutting off the water and stepping out. My hands are shaking. Partly from the adrenaline of the whole thing, partly from the fact that Luciana was just standing there, in the bathroom, staring at me.

She was laughing.

I groan, burying my face in my towel before wrapping it around my waist. Maybe if I just stay in here for the rest of the night, I can avoid ever speaking to any of them again.

I brace myself and open the door.

Part of my plan might've been leaving my clothes in my room, so I'd have to pass Luciana while I was shirtless. Part of my plan was not that she'd practically see everything.

"I hate all of you," I yell towards Dariel's room.

"You're the one who dropped something like an idiot."

"I didn't think my entire family would break down the door the second I did."

Luciana laughs. It's soft, barely audible, but I hear it. "Maybe next time, just—just call out to let us know you're okay."

"Or," I say flatly, "maybe next time, don't assume I'm dying every time something falls."

"You should probably start locking the door," Dariel calls.

"Well. That was fun," Luciana comments.

I glare at her. "For you."

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

The next morning, I wake up sore, exhausted, and still vaguely humiliated. But I get dressed, grab my bag, and head to work anyway. It's Saturday. Dariel's birthday is nearing, too.

Jorge's already at the track when I get there. He glances up when he sees me.

"About time," he satst. "I was starting to think you quit on me."

"Nah," I say. "Wouldn't do that to you, old man."

He snorts. "Old man? Kid, I can still outrun you."

"Yeah, yeah."

The kids start showing up, buzzing with energy, and I fall into the usual routine. Warm-ups, stretches, drills. I demonstrate a few sprints, correct some stances, cheer on the younger ones when they manage to shave a few seconds off their times.

It's easy to forget about everything else when I'm here.

But then, halfway through practice, Jorge claps me on the back. "By the way, your mom sent me an email."

My stomach drops. "What?"

He gives me a pointed look. "Your epilepsy."

Shit.

I force a shrug, trying to act like it's no big deal. "Yeah. What about it?"

"You didn't think to tell me yourself?"

I stare at the ground. "Didn't think it was a big deal," I murmur.

Jorge exhales. "Minho."

"I'm fine," I say quickly, before he can go full Dad Mode on me. "It's not like I'm gonna drop dead in the middle of practice."

"That's not the point."

I glance at him, and his expression is serious, more serious than usual. "Look, kid. I get it. You don't want people treating you differently. But this isn't something you can just ignore."

I clench my jaw. "I'm not ignoring it."

He raises a brow. "Really? Because your mom's email made it sound like you should be careful. You taking your meds?"

"Yes."

"Good." He watches me for a second longer, then sighs. "Alright. You gotta tell me if something happens, yeah?"

I nod, even though I don't really plan on it.

Jorge pats my shoulder. "Alright. Get back to work."