(*Author's Note: I thought that this was the perfect depiction of Hwayoung's father. If you have any questions about this picture, let me know! I would love to answer your questions about this fic. Happy Reading! ^^v)

"Hwayoung, reconsider your decision, please," Sungjong pleaded as he trailed after me. He grasped my arm and spun me around, softening his expression when we met eyes. "Your father really wants you to return home."

I swung my arm in a wide arc, breaking his grip, and shot him a fiery glare. "What makes you think that I care one bit about what my father wants?"

"Hwayoung, you were always his favorite--"

I let out a bark of mock laughter. "Oh, really? Since when?"

"Since forever! Don't turn away because he's only going to persist until you return home!"

I exhaled sharply, suppressing the urge to scream in my step-brother's face. "Sungjong, what is 'home' to you? Is 'home' where your very own father ignores you for seven years because of a woman he chose to marry a month after divorcing your mother? Is 'home' where your step-mother tramples on your every opportunity to speak to anyone in the 'home'? Is 'home' a place where you resent returning to every single day? I don't think that's a 'home,' Sungjong. That's a HOUSE to me. My FATHER'S house."

I my heel and descended down the steps that led to the third floor of the Humanities building. The pattering of Sungjong's feet continued to follow me to the second and first floor. Panting, he murmured, "I agree that... that home isn't exactly a HOME. But... he's your father, Hwayoung. He's the reason why... you're living today."

I whirled around and jabbed Sungjong hard in the chest, at which he doubled over in pain. "STAY AWAY, Sungjong, before I get more pissed off. I don't plan on returning home, no matter what you say or how you say it."

With that, I stomped out the main door and made my way to rehearsal.

~:~:~:~:~

"You know, you should really consider returning home," chirped Dahee's voice. I sighed as I switched my phone from my left ear to the right.

"Seo Dahee, we've been over this. I don't want to return home. Who knows what will happen when I do? My father will probably treat me like again. Plus, I seriously doubt that he wants me home." I paused as I thought back to what Sungjong said about my father sending men to "watch over" me. Why would he even do that? It's not like him to care.

"Eonni, maybe your dad is too afraid to speak to you himself. Maybe he doesn't want to be rejected by you."

"Yah, imma. He isn't my 'dad,' he's my 'father.' There's a difference."

"Eonni."

"What, Dahee?"

"Just give him a chance. You haven't seen him for three years. Perhaps he has taken that time to think about his wrongdoings."

"Oh, please. This is my father we're talking about. He doesn't know what he did wrong. He will never know. And how do I know that? He neglected me for seven years. Shouldn't he have apologized for that already?"

Dahee heaved a sigh. "What is the real reason you don't want to return home?"

"What do you mean?"

"It sounds like you're making up all of these excuses to get out of going home."

"Seo Dahee. I'm not making any excuses. My father is a prick, okay? Let's leave it at that. Wait, why am I even talking to you about this? You would definitely push me to return home. I need a different opinion on this. Someone who thinks on the same wavelength as me."

Dahee's light laughter tickled my eardrum. "You're so funny, Eonni. Maybe you should speak to Sungyeol-oppa about this. He always gives good advice."

I pressed my lips into a tight, thin line. "No."

"He's worried sick about you... After we ran away from those fangirls, he was pacing all over the place, mumbling like a crazy person."

I rolled my eyes. As if I would speak to him about this situation. He would probably tell me to return home, too. "That traitor. He wouldn't dare speak to me, now that I know he's been lying to me all these years."

I flopped onto my bed, cradling my phone carefully between my shoulder and ear, and massaged my right arm. I was late to practice this afternoon, resulting in 30 push-ups (ten per minute late) and an extra-angry Director. I refused to speak to Sungyeol the entire rehearsal, infuriating the Director even more to the point where he cut our kissing scene and introduced a brand new dance number in lieu of it. Not only did our Director scold me and Sungyeol for our lack of chemistry, but the cast had to memorize a whole new dance number.

And the dry show was in five days. Like, .

To say the least, Sungyeol and I were not very popular this afternoon. Some of the cast even wondered how we obtained the leading roles in the musical when we clearly weren't compatible to begin with. Not only was I spammed with complaints about my inabilities, but Sungyeol was also receiving some nasty comments about his thin physique and lisp.

And, to say the least, we took separate ways home for the first time in three years.

All this was a little hard to absorb. Thus, the phone call with Dahee.

"It wouldn't hurt to call him, at least."

"You have no idea, do you? Sungyeol-oppa and I are childhood friends. He is the only boy I would willingly call, 'Oppa.' Therefore, he was the only one I could trust when I left my father's house. Yet, he knew about the men following me. He KNEW, Dahee."

"You know that Oppa doesn't have ill feelings towards you... He must have done that to keep you safe."

"I won't deny that..." I mumbled, finally agreeing with the silly girl on the opposite end of the line. I yawned involuntarily. "Anyway, I need some sleep. So, uh... It was nice talking to you."

Dahee giggled in such "Dahee" fashion, I couldn't resist the small smile tugging on my lips. "Eonni, you are horrible with goodbyes, aren't you?"

"Never mind, just go sleep, Seo Dahee," I growled, jabbing the "End Call" button. Why do I keep revealing parts of myself to this girl? Damn it, this is so annoying.

Just as I rose up from bed to wash up, two sharp knocks called for my attention at the front door. Three more knocks. There was something solid and metallic about the sound, as if a baseball bat or a glass bottle was being used to knock on the door. My heart lurched in fear at the thought of my father's men at the door. A shiver ran down my spine as I imagined my body mangled in some random alleyway, simply because I had answered the door. My father was capable of that much, I was sure.

"Hwayoung, it's me," a familiar voice slurred a few minutes later. There was a small thump, followed by shuddering sobs, then two more knocks. "Please let me in to explain myself, Hwayoung-ah... I don't want us to have a misunderstanding..."

Sungyeol was never the drinking type, but when he did, it was usually because he just broke up with a girl, or he got a low grade on his monthly evaluation, or some other emotionally draining situation. Then again, he would usually drag me along so that I could keep him safe. Or rather, I would usually insist on going with him to keep him out of trouble. Alcohol did strange things to Sungyeol and not in the usual ways that alcohol affected people.

Whenever he drank, he had this noticeable cycle of Exhiliration, Depression, then Affection. First, he would stumble around the place as the life of the party, speaking to people and dancing around like a fool. I liked this stage the best because although he would appear insane, he still had his dignity intact. He was still the Sungyeol that everyone loved. After two or three hours (the time frame varied depending on what and how much he drank), his smile would drop and he would cry until he had no more tears. And by crying, it would either be wailing or weeping. Sobbing usually occurred after this. And finally, after he was done crying, he would turn into a Skinship Monster: caressing, hugging, kissing, basically everything from first to second base. He never made out with anyone, thank goodness. That would be a nightmare for me to clean up.

I sighed as I recalled what had happened today. I couldn't believe that he would be so upset as to go drinking, especially without me. And judging my his soft sobs behind the door and slurred utterances, he was about to hit the Affection stage.

Just my luck.

I swung my legs out of bed and made my way to the front door. As I approached it, he muttered, "My pretty Hwayoung-ah... Open the door, please..."

I felt my cheeks flush in embarrassment. What in the world is this boy muttering about? Doesn't he know that the neighbors will hear him?

I unclasped the chain lock, unlocked the knob, and jerked the door open. Sungyeol plopped onto the floor, right at my feet. He had a bottle of soju in his right hand and his wallet in the other. I wondered how he even got to my door in that state. Someone was bound to have noticed his inebriated state long enough to mug him of his wallet.

"Lee Sungyeol, why are you here at this time of night? Do you know what time it is?" I spat, trying to keep my voice from traveling more than two feet. From the floor, he looked up at me with the saddest puppy eyes he could muster. Under a different circumstance, I would have forgiven him instantly for looking so pitiful. However, he was disturbing my evening and I hated disturbed evenings.  

I dragged his lanky body in, shut the door, and propped him up on my sofa. I let out a huff of exasperation.  I was surprised that, for a thin person, he was heavy. Although I carried him home before, it was when he was a lot shorter and a lot thinner. He pouted at me as I took off his shoes, wrestled the soju bottle out of his grip, placed his wallet on the coffee table behind me, then laid him down gently to wrap a blanket snugly around him.

"Hwayoung-ah..." He whispered, tears pooling in his eyes.

"Just go to sleep, Sungyeol-oppa. We can talk in the morning."

He reached out to grab my wrist, then tugged me forward until I was eye-to-eye with him. I wrinkled my nose as the stench of beer and soju wafted out of his mouth and into my nostrils. "Just listen to me--"

"No offense, Oppa, but you smell like . I said that we can talk in the morning." I tried to get up, but he yanked me back down again.

"Why can't you listen to your Oppa? I'm two years older than you, damn it! Show some respect!" He bellowed, filling my living room with his anger. I leaned back in fear. This was the first time he yelled at me, REALLY yelled at me. And he gripped my wrist so hard, I thought that it was going to break.

"O-Oppa..."

Sungyeol's expression softened a bit when I winced in pain. He released me, then ran a hand through his hair. "Put your pride on the side for once and listen. Please."

"O-Okay, Oppa."

"I didn't mean to keep that information from you."

"I know."

"I didn't want you to get hurt."

"I know."

"Your father even... spoke to me about you."

I paused for a moment, contemplating what he said. Why would my father do such a thing? I knew that he was fond of Sungyeol and never of me. Whenever Sungyeol came over, my father would fawn over him like a school girl in love. Then again, Sungyeol had that charm wherever he went.

"What did he say?"

"He said that... Well, he couldn't understand why you ran away. He didn't feel as though he mistreated you at all. He told me to convince you to return home."

"And... what did you say to that?"

"I told him, 'With all due respect, sir, but I think that your daughter would refuse even if I tried. She isn't exactly the willing type. Plus, if I tried, she would exile me out of her life and you would be back at square one.'"

I chuckled a little. "Yeah, that's something that you would say. And I would definitely do that."

"Hwayoung-ah... I will always be on your side, okay? Don't be mad at me for something so small."

"Oppa..." I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. Sungyeol reached out to hug me and we stayed there for a bit, warm in each other's embrace.

It was nice to know that someone had my back.

~:~:~:~:~

The next morning, while Sungyeol was still snoring on the sofa, I snuck out of my apartment to get some haejangguk (*hangover soup) at the nearest restaurant, a couple of blocks away from my building. It was Sungyeol's grandmother's restaurant, who long since passed on it to her daughter (Sungyeol's mother) after her admission into a senior home a few years ago. Halmeoni's recipe was the best and, of course, Sungyeol loved anything and everything cooked by his mother and grandmother. They were both fond of me enough to consider me a daughter and granddaughter.

With a tinkle of the entrance bell, I stepped into the restaurant and was met with a familiar scent. If someone were to take an objective look at me, he or she would not believe that the scents of beef broth, steaming vegetables, and ox blood enticed me just as much as the average drunk. I did not drink, nor did I ever plan to, but haejangguk was a dish I was utterly addicted to. It was a secret that I had kept from my parents and Sungyeol ever since first tasting it at age ten, a secret that Halmeoni and Eomeoni kept for me, even to this day.

A girl of around eighteen, perhaps Eomeoni's newest part-timer, stood behind the front desk. I gave her a quick scrutinizing gaze. Raven waist-length hair, deep brown almond-shaped eyes, full strawberry lips, and a dainty hourglass figure. Oh, Eomeoni, you never fail to amuse me.

I suppressed the urge to chuckle. Eomeoni always chose the prettiest girls, often in hopes of fixing Sungyeol up with them. I had rejected marrying him when I was thirteen, disappointing Eomeoni greatly. She continued to badger me with the same question years later, but she was met with the same rejection at every request. I found her persistence quite endearing and I was touched that she viewed me as her daughter-in-law to begin with. However, Sungyeol and I always had other plans; marriage was never in them.

No one could blame Eomeoni. She had no desire to gain a higher social status or reputation; her husband was already rich enough. Therefore, she didn't mind if her future daughter-in-law was poor and living on the streets. She just wanted pretty grandchildren. Perhaps that made her resolve a little silly and perhaps she went a little overboard to procure a female old enough and pretty enough to be with her son, but she was sincere, nonetheless. Thus, the restaurant was now filled with gorgeous women from the age range of 18-23, regardless of skill or personality.

Placing her hands neatly at her abdomen, the girl bowed down low and rose up with a radiant smile. I smirked, for above all else, Eomeoni loved a woman with manners. I returned her bow and asked to see Eomeoni. The girl cheerfully obliged and gestured that I take a seat to wait for her. Within a few minutes, Eomeoni came out from the back, drying her hands on the ends of her work apron. When she lifted her eyes to look at me, it didn't take her very long to scurry around the front desk and crush me with a hug. I forgot to mention that she loved hugs and skinship, a trait that her son inherited from her.

"My dear Hwayoung! How have you been?" She cried, making no effort to hide her joy.

"I've been great, Eomeoni."

She swatted my shoulder, earning a soft groan from me. "Aigoo, you know that I want to hear more than that. Have you seen my son recently?"

"Yes, Eomeoni. He's doing fine--"

She gave my cheek a hearty pinch before I could finish my sentence. "You silly girl! I want to know if you and my son got any further in your relationship."

I sighed. "Eomeoni, we've been through this before. He and I are not looking to get married. We both have college to worry about and he has a bunch of girls following him every day. Your handsome son has his hands full with popularity."

"And I bet you do, too." She winked, prompting me to roll my eyes in embarrassment. "Hwayoung, why can't you just be my daughter-in-law? I want grandchildren who look like you and my son!"

"Eomeoni..."

"Arasseo, arasseo. Neoneun jeonhyeo jaemi-eobtda (*You're no fun at all). I guess that's what college does to you. My son has been acting the exact same way."

"Anyway, Eomeoni. I have a friend who drank last night--"

"Was it my Sungyeollie?" Eomeoni asked softly. I paused for a moment, long enough for her to put two and two together. "Hwayoung, you promised me that you would take care of him. Why is he drinking, now?"

I bowed my head in shame as yesterday's events rushed to mind. "It's... partly my fault, Eomeoni. I accused him of something and he was sulking the entire day. Please forgive me. That is why I came here, to take care of him."

Eomeoni was silent for a while, staring at me long and hard, just to get a glimpse of falsehood or malign intentions. After a few minutes, she blinked and muttered, "Arasseo. I'll prepare two haejangguks, one for you and one for him. Make sure that he eats it. If he doesn't, you're allowed to smack him for me, okay?"

I gave Eomeoni the biggest and brightest smile I could muster.

~:~:~:~:~

Sungyeol flashed his eyes at me. "You what? You went to Mom's restaurant?"

I leaned back and crossed my arms firmly across my chest. I had already finished my haejangguk. "Yeah, why?"

"You little--! You are lucky that I have a hangover today, Hwayoung. I told you to stay away from there."

"Oppa, I'm very capable of taking care of myself."

"My Mom will stop at nothing to make you my bride and... Didn't we discuss this before?"

"Yes, we have," I said, fidgeting with the loose strands at the bottom of my jean shorts. "Look, I know that you resent your Mom for doing that, but I find it kind of cute."

Sungyeol's jaw dropped. "You're delusional."

I propped my chin onto the heels of my hands and gave him a fluttering gaze. "Why, Oppa, don't you want me for a wife?"

Sungyeol blinked several times before bursting out in laughter. I frowned at his insensitive response. "Oppa!"

"I'm sorry, Hwayoung, but your expression--" He gasped while clutching at his abdomen. "It was-- It was so-- BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!"

"Well, at least you're back to normal," I murmured before slinging my backpack around my shoulders. "Lock the door on your way out, Oppa. I'm off to school. I'll see you at rehearsal tonight."

I could still hear his laughter even when I reached the end of the hallway.

~:~:~:~:~

It was a Thursday, which meant that I was alone for the day. No Dahee to badger me about speaking to Sungyeol. No friends of Dahee to whisper about me everywhere they followed me to. No Sungyeol to worry (in general) about. No fangirls of Sungyeol to glare at me as if I was venomous snake. It was also the day of the least amount of classes, just the one in the morning and I was home free until rehearsal at 5:00 in the afternoon. Little did I know, this freedom was about to be stolen from me.

Once I had endured yet another of Dr. Snooze's (as I would like to call him) lectures, I exited the classroom and stretched my arms high above my head. So, this is what it feels like to finally have time for myself...

As I half-skipped, half-ran down the Stairway from Hell, millions of thoughts rushed through my mind. What should I do now? Should I go to the movies? Amusement park? An arcade? Or maybe I should go to a PC-bang and try out that new game. Oh, what about noraebang? I haven't been to one in years! What about Myungdong? This is the perfect weather to go--

My thoughts were interrupted abruptly when I bumped into two sturdy men dressed in black at the bottom of Stairway from Hell. I crumpled to the floor with a grunt, then sprung up to give them a piece of my mind, but paused when I saw who stood behind them. "Stood" was probably not the right verb. It was more like "sat in the back seat of a newly waxed Mercedes as if he owned the world." Immediately, my stomach clenched in anger and I had to fight back the urge to scream and run away.

Thick, wired-framed glasses clung to the tip of his nose as he gazed at the newspaper he clutched within two relaxed fists. His lips were set in a thin line, a permanent frown that I despised with my entire being for ten years. That shaggy hair cut, that 5:00 shave, those worry wrinkles on his forehead, those stubby fingers, those unfeeling eyes, were all present, here, in front of me.
I could not believe my eyes.

Here was a man whom I had sworn to forget, a man that I risked my life running away from in anger at his indifference. He didn't belong here, not on this campus, not at this time, and definitely not at the foot of the stairway that I had hated in place of him.  

Without looking at me, my father's lips parted as he said, "Kang Hwayoung, get in the car."

*****Hey, all! Yes, I am back after a three-month and a half hiatus... I know that it was a bit unexpected because I promised to update frequently, but this past semester was so mentally, emotionally, and physically draining that I couldn't update any of my stories at all. Please understand that I can't guarantee frequent updates, but I will do my best. :) Anyway, thank you for sticking this long with the fic, despite lack of consideration of you all. Please comment and subscribe! I also welcome constructive criticism because all writers need improvement. Thank you for your continual support! :)*****