I’d always loved performing. Ever since I first placed my fingers on the smooth cool keys of my grandfather’s banged up old piano, I knew.

This was me.

Music was me.

As long as I had could play whatever I wanted, I’d be happy. I’ve been playing since before I can remember. I’d always just had this urge to just put my fingers on the keys, and let the music wash everything away. Let the notes paint perfection in a practically imperfect world.

Let everything bow to the splendour of it.

It was only until recently that I’d been able to play in front of a crowd informally. Even in front of a crowd like this, I gave it my all. The dark musty room was filled with factory workers and the odd office worker or two. All of them were throwing their weeks wages down their throats in the form of amber liquid.

It’s hard not to get frustrated at having to endure the drunken catcalls from men old enough to be my father, but as long as I’m here playing my songs I couldn’t care less. Tonight is, after all, the last night I’d be doing this for a long while. It’s funny, when people hear the words “child prodigy” they don’t picture a slight girl about to enter her twenties, playing alternative piano covers in front of a crowd of forty year old drunks.

This is the best I’m able to do at the moment. I’m happy with just this, at least. Knowing myself I could definitely sell out a opera hall better than anyone else in the city. Why am I not in front of a crowd of piano aficionados, you ask?

Well, that is due to a promise I made to my brother. Until I graduate from university this is all I’m able to do, and since the new semester is starting next week, this is my last performance till the next break. He wants me to focus on actually passing music school and getting my degree, before I try and find work.

What he doesn’t know is that I’d already been contacted by the Central City orchestra, and once I graduate I’ll have a high paying job with them, so long as I do well in my practical interview. Although I was excited when they called me, lately I’ve been thinking of going the alternative path.

It’s this thought alone that makes me able to ignore the commotion going on at the bar. I try to block out the shouts of “Brendon!” and “I’m going to kick your ass” and the most annoying “Brother, I am here to take you home.” From what I’m able to pick up, someone is about to get beat up. I scowl, annoyed at them for ruining my performance. If it were up to me I’d just continue playing regardless of the commotion, but as suspected my brother takes a peek from backstage. After surveying the scene he motions for me to pack up. I let my fingers find the last notes as my eyes plead with him to let me play for longer.

His expression remains impassive as he crosses his arms and waits for me to pack up my keyboard. I go backstage, and without a word he takes the keyboard and stand from me. I know better than to try and plead with him to let me finish my set. He always does this, as soon as things even hint at going south, he makes us leave. Usually I’d be more understanding but not tonight.

Tonight was supposed to be mine.

“Cassidy made lasagne with extra cheese. Just how you like it.” Jin says, as he puts my stuff in the boot. I don’t respond as I open the passenger side door and climb into the car.

Jin gets in next to me and starts the engine. He pauses, looking across at me. I avoid his gaze staring straight out of the window. Even though there is nothing much to see besides the usual drunken fights, I fix my attention on the window.

“You don’t have to be like this, Seo-yun. You know I couldn’t have let you stay there. You don’t know how out of hand things could have gotten.” Jin says, guiding the car to the highway and heading in the direction of our flat. He looks over at me quickly, his brow scrunching at the anger that must be stamped across my face.

“You didn’t know either,” I scowl, “Not every argument in a bar becomes an all out brawl.”

Jin sighs, not answering. The rest of the drive home is completely silent and even though the awkward silence grates at my nerves, I keep my silence.

Let him feel guilty for not understanding.

I’m too tired to argue further.