There's only one bed.
When father had booked the room, Yona was sure he'd back down and balk at the thought of his only daughter sharing a bed with her older, brick shithouse of a boyfriend. It was the whole reason she'd requested it in the first place - Father is foolish and ignorant, sure, and perhaps a coward, but surely would never dream of allowing his daughter to spend the night, unwed, in someone's arms. Surely, surely, he must have some sort of boundaries. There had to be a line somewhere - and Yona and Hak in a hotel room with only one bed should've been it.
Should've. Yona blinks at the king-sized bed before her with silent fury.
Hak sighs overhead and drops his duffel bag at their feet. "At least there's a couch."
"I can't believe…" There's something caught in her throat, anger twisted up with exasperation and maybe even the slightest hint of something else, decidedly inappropriate, that she refuses to acknowledge. "I thought… this is stupid, right? Like, he can't be this stupid. He knows what happens when you leave couples together alone, doesn't he?"
The resulting laugh from Hak is immediate. "Well. You had a mother, so."
So he should at least know how babies are made, yeah! Yona slaps her hands onto her face and groans, long and exhausted, and then begins pulling at her hair. Is no one really worried that they're going to have sex? Is her father really that stubborn?
Yona huffs and crosses her arms over her chest. Spins and stares at Hak suspiciously. He quite literally towers over her, all lumbering muscle and broad shoulders and sharp jaw. He's even got his eyeliner smeared like a racoon today. Son Hak is delightfully terrifying, in all of the best ways, and has come out in full form today, with his ripped black skinnies and dirty combat boots, arms looking massive, jutting out of his torn muscle tee. He could snap her like a twig, for goodness sake.
Hak stares back at her. Leans back, though, and stands taller, swallowing. "... What."
It's not fair. By all means, they're doing everything right. Wrong. Whatever. They're taking all of the correct steps to set off the alarms. Yona would never be allowed alone in a hotel room with a man otherwise.
"... Nothing," she says finally, and that tight feeling in her throat sinks, heavy and suddenly, into her gut. "Ugh. Nothing. I'm sorry. I only asked for one bed because I thought it would freak my father out. I didn't think he'd actually allow it."
Her paid arm candy shrugs. "I expect as much at this point."
"I'll take the couch," Yona insists. "It's my fault you're caught up in this anyway."
Hak rolls his eyes and pushes past her. "Princesses don't sleep on crummy hotel couches."
This is a five star room. Nothing in this room is crummy, and Hak knows it. He has to. For as stubborn as he is, he has to know that even the thread count of the sheets on their honeymoon-suite bed is obnoxious. Yona glances to the bathroom door helplessly and realizes that the shower has a glass door. And wall. And sure, it's frosted over or whatever, but there's no way either of them will be bathing without putting on a proper show for the other.
And sure, while Yona trusts Hak with her life, and also trusts Hak with her body, apparently, there's still a nervous, jittery part of her that doesn't want to think about him naked in such close proximity to her. It's not that she's worried he'll sneak a peek, or that he'll do something nefarious while she's vulnerable - he's already had plenty of chances to take advantage of her, has had millions of opportunities in their past. Hak isn't attracted to her. It's not Hak she's worried about.
Yona chews her lower lip mindlessly. She wonders how he even fits in showers. The guy's so tall, for goodness sake. Is the showerhead high enough for him to stand under the spray? Does he have to duck under it in order to wash his hair? Does it just sort of rinse his (massive, broad) chest and then his shoulders and back and-
She claps her hands back over her face. Put a pin in that thought, like, forever. Immediately.
"I'm smaller than you anyway," she says, muffled beneath her palms. "Your legs will dangle over the arm of the couch. And you'll get a crick in your neck."
Hak snorts and she can hear him crack his neck, like the brat he is. "Your dad paid for the room. You get the bed."
"No, that's not fair-"
"You're a pillow princess and need a comfortable bed to sleep in, otherwise you'll miss out on your beauty sleep." The leap in her chest shocks her, and Yona splutters, because there's no way he's using that term right, and - Yona's dropped her hands from her face before she knows it, and Hak's grinning at her, like the stupid gremlin bully he is. "Oh. So you do know what that is."
"I…!" How he manages to fluster her so easily is beyond her. It's so effortless on his part - Hak walks into her, flops onto the stupid couch they've been fighting over all this time and grins like he owns the place. She could throttle him! "Of course I do! Did you not hear me earlier? I'm mad nobody is worried about us… you know!"
His brows raise, so infuriatingly. Hak lays on his side, long legs crammed up against the arm of the couch, chin propped up on his hand. "Mhmmmm."
Oh, she hates that tone of voice. Yona stomps forward, shower long forgotten, and plants herself right in front of him, hands on her hips. Hak's brows remain raised, but he's got that stupid crooked half-smile on, the one that brings out his dimples, and she wants to shove him back against the sofa and wipe the look right off his face. "And what do you know, huh?"
Hak sighs innocently. Inspects his nails flippantly. "Just that they should be more worried about me than you, I think. One of us is bossy."
"Hey!"
That stupid shit-eating grin. God, what she wouldn't do to see what's hiding under that attitude of his. He makes her want to scream. The guy spends a week avoiding her and ignoring her texts, then shows up right on time and carries her bags and opens doors for her. How he can shift so neatly between the two drives her up a wall. Does he like her or hate her? Is he happy to help, or is Hak hiding behind that maddening mask again, the one only Yoon seems to be able to see through?
Her chest pinches. Her expression must fall, too, because Hak's softens.
"Just take the bed, Yona," he says, and it's a little weird, the way the pinching her chest gets worse, even when he's being nice to her. "If Mundok found out I made you sleep on the couch I'd never hear the end of it."
Her lips purse. "I didn't think you were afraid of him."
"Don't bite the hand that feeds."
And yet he bites hers so often. "I thought I was the boss here?"
He grins again, but it's lost its bite. It's like he's caught between gears, like shifting isn't as effortless as it'd been, only moments before. "You are."
What can she say to that? He admits it so openly, so readily. It does nothing to soothe the ache in her chest, the heavy weight in her gut - guilt, she thinks, it's guilt. Yona swallows thickly and stares back at him and wonders how it would feel if the shoe was on the other foot, if he'd asked her to play pretend. Would she say yes? Would he even ask her?
Would he have to? Ayame is plenty pretty. More shapely, too. Taller. Yona wonders if people would worry if Hak was left alone with Ayame in a hotel room, one with a frosted-glass shower and a mini fridge loaded with wine.
"... I shouldn't be the boss," Yona admits. "Not of you."
"Yona."
He's using her name. She should be happier about it. Instead, Yona still feels… off. Like she's had too many sips of Soo-Won's champagne, like it's a little too difficult for her to make sense of her feelings or where her head's at.
Oh. Right.
"Soo-Won should be arriving in an hour," she says, summoning courage from the very pit of her. Yona takes a deep breath and turns away from Hak, ignoring the look in his eyes. Instead, she marches over to her suitcases and begins unpacking, tucking toiletries under her arm.
This will fix things, Yona thinks, very resolutely. Soo-Won always does; her feelings will sort themselves out, once he smiles at her in that kind way of his, and then father will give in, once he sees how cultured and capable her prince charming is around business partners, and Hak will finally be off his leash. She will be able to let Hak go.
She will let Hak go. She just has to. It's what he deserves. It's not fair of her, to dangle her own happiness so thoughtlessly ahead of his. Yona is not the boss. Hak has never consented to that.
"You can help yourself to room service, if you want," she says, sorting through her makeup bags. "There should be food at the party, but I don't know if there'll be anything you like, so. Um. Help yourself!"
There's a long pause, and then the sound of the couch creaking beneath Hak's weight. He must be sitting properly now, and Yona can picture it so easily in her head - long legs, shoulders resting on his knees as he slouches, peering over at her in that uncanny way of his. No matter where she goes, as long as Hak is around, she can feel his eyes on her, watching, carefully, so carefully.
Yona does not turn around. Heart heavy in her chest, she stands, holding her gown up. "You might have to be on dress duty tonight, sorry. I had it hemmed, but there's still kind of a train on this."
"Whatever."
"Or, I mean, you can step on it if you want. That would probably make a scene."
Hak yawns. "Do you like the dress?"
It's black, but sleek. Yona hangs it in the closet and then steps back to admire it. Long sleeved and classy, but with just enough edge to it to make it dangerous; she traces the low back with her manicured nail and allows a slight smile. "... Yeah, I guess. I haven't really worn one like this before, though, so I'm kind of nervous it won't look very good."
A pause hangs between them. Yona expects a smart comment, something to rile her up. If it were months ago, he wouldn't have even hesitated to tease her. Hell, if it was weeks ago, he would've fired away, launched right into some mischievous tirade about how she didn't have the figure to pull off such an adult gown, how it would only work because she didn't need to wear a bra either - and he'd be right about that, but she would still get upset at the principle of it all - but he doesn't.
He doesn't. Yona fully expects and braces for it and he doesn't.
Shoulders bunching, she peeks back at him. His expression is pulled into a straight line, eyes the very same dark blue they've always been, but - but there's something illegible there, like she's caught up in his riptide.
"... I won't step on it then," he says.
No taunts. Yona almost wishes he would. Wants, maybe inappropriately, for him to play their game. Just minutes ago he had been. Wouldn't it be easier if they stepped back into their own shoes, just for now?
Yona forces her bravado. "I can replace it! Or father can, anyway, and it would really make him mad, I think, if you ruined it. So you totally can step on it."
She itches idly at her neck, and Hak watches, of course - when doesn't he watch her? - and she wonders if the concealer she'd smeared over her hickies has held up well. It's stupid to feel so weird over covering the brands he'd given her. They didn't even bother her father anyway, and if Soo-Won saw them…
… Well. Yona drops her gaze and stares at the floor instead, feeling more than a little gutted. What would Soo-Won say if he saw them?
That pinching in her chest twists like a knife. Yona grabs her toiletries and then rushes for the bathroom door instead of dwelling on it. "Dibs on the shower!"
.
She spends forty-five minutes in the shower. Most of it is spent simply standing beneath the spray of the showerhead and staring aimlessly into the rain, absolutely not thinking about how Hak will be standing right where she is after, equally as naked. She shaves meticulously, and uses her body scrub and shower jelly and special hair mask, all in preparation for tonight and, most importantly, Soo-Won. The nervous tick in her chest never really goes away, no matter how hot she cranks up the temperature, and the final ice-cold rinse of her hair doesn't manage to chase away the tension, either.
Then Yona spends at least fifteen minutes standing naked in the bathroom, staring at the fogged-up mirror in listless dread. The frosted-glass of the wall only blurs the details of her body, not the general shape, but knows, without even looking, that Hak's watchful eyes have drifted away from her.
There's not much to look at, objectively. She is thin, with hips that jut so slightly, and breasts that certainly are nothing to write home about. The most striking thing about her is the color of her hair, bright like fire, but as it hangs heavy and damp around her, it lacks the certain stubborn fluff she is so known for. It's humbling, certainly, to stare at her reflection, chopped hair and freckled cheeks and small stature.
She steps into a lacy pair of panties and then ties the silk robe around her. Wipes the condensation from the mirror and squints at the details of her reflection.
"How is it?" Hak calls.
Yona digs into her makeup bag and begins patting toner onto her face. "The water pressure is so good. Sorry. I'll be out in a second! I just need to get this done while my pores are still open."
"It's fine." There's a pause, and the silent hangs heavy between them. Yona moves on to moisturizer. "... Are you decent."
She blinks at her reflection. Well. The towel is pooled at her feet, and she's still a little cold from the shower, and the silk robe isn't very thick, but… "More or less?"
His laugh lifts some of the tension in her chest. It cracks, then flutters through her blood like butterflies, and her skin must be pink from the shower, because her freckles are smudged beneath the heat of her cheeks. "That's the least convincing answer I've ever heard."
"I'm not naked," she insists, then sucks in a breath, hoping to stabilize herself. This is stupid. It's Hak, for goodness sake. Wasn't she supposed to be feeling bad about using him unintentionally? The jitters are the weirdest way for her guilt to manifest.
So she decides she will force the normalcy. All of this is her fault, of course, and so it is her duty to fix it. Yona turns and cracks the door open. Steam leaks through the opening, and then Hak's there on the other side of it, peeking in.
And she's not naked, so she doesn't shy away from his gaze. Yona rinses her hands again and continues massaging the serum into her skin. "I can do my makeup out in the bedroom mirror in a sec. I think I can even hang the extra bed sheets over the wall, too, that way I don't accidentally see anything."
He makes a funny face. Like he's tasted something sour or something. Yona doesn't spend long enough considering it because she is trying to make things normal again. "You don't have to do that."
"I want to respect your privacy," she says, as if it's obvious. It is. Shouldn't it be?
"That's not…" His lips press together, then he exhales through his nose. "... Okay."
"What?"
Hak shakes his head and then steps back from the door. She can still see the shadow of him though, and he folds his arms as he leans back against the wall. If she were better at this normal thing, she might make fun of him for looking like the poster child of moody YA novel love interest. But she's not, apparently, so she doesn't, and instead just sort of… stares at him longer than she probably should, admiring the view.
"Nothing," he says. "Never mind. If it makes you feel better then do whatever you want."
She presses her lips together.
They're chapped. Yona moves robotically back to the bathroom counter, uncaps her lip balm and applies it liberally. After all, who knows what she'll be doing tonight - if all goes well, Soo-Won will be putting a ring on her finger and maybe even kissing her. And if she's going to be kissing someone tonight, then by god, her lips are going to be moisturized and petal-soft.
Not someone. Soo-Won. If she's kissing Soo-Won, then everything has to be perfect.
That dread tugs in her chest, and Yona feels like there's cement in her veins now, weighing her down to the very spot she stands. Or perhaps she'll spend the rest of the night right here, in a silk robe in a hotel bathroom, as Hak stares at her through a frosted-glass door.
"Sorry," she sputters, and wills her blood to clear. Yona grabs her makeup bag and slips through the crack of the door. "Here. Your turn."
The weight of his stare is so heavy with suspicion. She hates it. It makes her feel like she has something to hide. She shouldn't have anything to hide, not at this point. She doesn't.
She doesn't.
.
It's been two months and six days since she's last seen Soo-Won.
Not that she's counting or anything. Yona is not pathetic, nor is she the same girl she'd been at fourteen, crossing off the days on her calendar, helplessly awaiting his next visit. It's just that her phone keeps track of these things, and whenever she scrolls back through their old text messages at night like a bedtime fairy tale she's just reminded of things like dates, okay. If she were keeping track she'd have it down to the hour, maybe even the exact minute, as embarrassing as it seems.
She wants to see him. Yona stares at her reflection and thinks about how badly she wants to see her fiance. There's an ache in her, an emptiness left behind by his absence. Time gets easier as it goes, and it's been some time since she's last seen him, so - so that has to be why there's a nervous flutter in her chest, the longer the clock ticks on. The ache doesn't hurt the way it used to and that's fine. It means she's growing up, means she's less clingy than she'd been as a child. It's fine.
Besides. Nervousness is nothing new, not when it comes to her and Soo-Won. The first time she held his hand, she'd had to psych herself up for days. When he'd first kissed her forehead, Yona nearly exploded into a flurry of butterflies. This is what love does.
They call it being lovesick for a reason. Her stomach wants to fall out of her butt because she's lovesick, and she misses him, and that is that. Time makes the heart grow fonder, and time heals all wounds, and…?
She makes a face in the mirror. Purses her lips. She just… misses him. Yona had felt the same way right before he canceled on dinner. To spend so much energy justifying her feelings to herself is weird. And unnecessary. She's never questioned her feelings for Soo-Won before. It's always just been a given, an innate understanding in her gut; Soo-Won made her blush and spoke kindly to her, and so he became prince charming, now and forever, the kind of guy worth fighting for.
And how she's fought. Even now, she's fighting, painting her face, lining her eyes with sleek black, darkening her lashes with mascara - it's for him. All of this is for his sake, and that's never been a question in her head, should never be. Of course she'd turn her life upside down for him. Of course she'd move mountains, if it meant getting to be his wife, white picket fence and all.
It steels her, in the way thinking of Soo-Won always has. It's not desperate to want something in her life to make sense. If he's that thing that makes sense, then he's her person, and that's a pill she's already swallowed long ago. If twelve year old Yona can understand that, why can't seventeen-going-on-eighteen?
It's twenty more minutes before he finally knocks on the hotel room door. When it happens, and he calls, "knock knock!" like the sweetest birdsong, Yona gasps and immediately drops her eyeshadow brush, fumbling like a fool. Here she's been, chewing on useless anxieties, listlessly gussying up instead of dressing, and now he's here and she's still sitting by the bedroom mirror in a silk robe and fluffy slippers, and-!
"Hello?"
"Hi!" Her voice sounds so brittle. Yona shakes her head and scrunches her drying hair one last time. "One second! I'm coming!"
It all feels real again. The nerves give way to something more exciting, and her blood races, for a fleeting, white-hot moment. It's almost like being fourteen again, like she's just confessed to him and her heart can't stop thundering in her chest, and it's right to feel this way, it's right. Maybe all she'd needed was to hear his voice, and not through a speaker, at that.
The heat swells in her face. Yona even smiles, as she skids around the corner and stumbles over her feet, excited to see him.
He looks so handsome in his suit. Not that he's not always handsome - Soo-Won is a vision always, lashes long and so light, eyes the clearest blue, with his kind smile in place and perfect teeth. It is the balm she'd needed, and that ache in her chest, the one that didn't quite hurt anymore but still existed like a void, clouds over with his stereotypical warmth.
And it's good. It's good to be loved by him. Yona feels at home in the feeling, something so safe and comfortable, and she basks in it, smiling up at him.
"Hi," she says, suddenly feeling shy.
Soo-Won is polite as always and does not gawk at her, even though she's technically barely dressed and not wearing a bra. "Long time no see," he says, then holds up a tiny bag. "I brought you a treat? A peace offering, if you will."
So thoughtful! That comfortable warmth is like a fireplace, warming her from her toes to her ears, and Yona steps aside and nudges into the room with her chin. "Come in?"
"Of course. Oh. It's so nice in here," he says, kindly, so kindly, and Yona nudges the door shut behind him.
Her heart feels like it's sparkling. If Hak were here, he'd laugh at her, call her stupid or something for practically melting over something as simple as a gift and smile. Just to bask in this normalcy, she leans back against the door, pressing her shoulders to the painted wood, watching the way his shoulders move, just barely noticeable, beneath the fabric of his suit jacket.
"I like your haircut," Soo-Won says, turning back to look at her.
Oh. "I thought I sent you a picture of it," she says, voice high. Hadn't she?
"Hm," he says, then looks over. Then something changes in his expression, and he flushes, quickly saying, "Oh, of course! You did. Silly me."
Something tiny pinches in her chest. Yona ignores it. "It's longer now than it was when I first cut it, and it's - well, it was impulsive, but I think Yoon did a pretty good job fixing it up for me and making sure everything was even, and-"
His smile is so disarming. "It's lovely. You look lovely."
She looks lovely. Compliments flow so easily from him. Yona allows it to loosen that sudden tightness in her chest, however small, and lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding.
Then he holds the bag back out to her. It's very small, but red, with ribbons for handles and glittering tissue paper. A peace offering, he'd called it - the laugh bubbles out of her before she can help it, flustered and giddy all at once. As if he needs to offer peace, as if he's done anything wrong at all. If only he knew how the guilt has been twisted up inside of her for days.
Yona accepts the gift without continuing that thought. "Thank you," she says, and her voice almost sounds like her own. There's still a fluttering lilt to it, almost like she's trying to sing a song she doesn't know the words to, but still she powers on, because she is not fourteen and a simple, giggling school girl with a crush anymore.
They're engaged. Or they will be engaged after tonight, hopefully. If there was any justice in this world they'd be engaged, and he would kiss her upon greeting, tipping her face up to his with those pretty, slender fingers.
The shower shuts off before she has the chance to unwrap Soo-Won's offering. They both blink at each other, as if the sudden change in ambiance has momentarily broken the spell he cast so effortlessly on her.
Soo-Won tilts his head. "Who?"
What does he mean who? Who else could it be? "I… um? It's-"
And then Hak is standing there behind them, dressed, at least, in his suit pants but still completely bare from the waist up. There's a towel rolled up around his neck, and his hair drip-dries onto it as he just… stands there, staring at the two of them with the most unreadable expression she's ever seen on him.
"... Hak," she finishes. "It's Hak. Didn't I tell you he was coming with me?"
It's weird, to have the both of them staring at her, with equally as confusing expressions. Hak's lips press together as he the steam from the bathroom floods out, misty like smoke, curling around him. Meanwhile, Soo-Won looks at her as though he's swallowed a whole lemon or something and can't decide how he feels about the flavor.
She told him, didn't she? Even if he doesn't reply, Yona still makes it a habit to text him nightly and fill him in on the events of the day. Besides, even if she hadn't thought to remind him that Hak would be tagging along, she sort of thinks it's a given, all things considered. Soo-Won knows what she's been up to with their childhood friend. He knows the situation. As if she'd fake date someone who wasn't her to-be husband and not tell him about him!
Hak scratches his neck. Rubs his chest. Yona looks past her fiance to instead watch it happen, brows raised.
Soo-Won exhales. Then he turns, the corners of his mouth curling, and his back is suddenly much less dreamy than it'd been only minutes before. "Oh. Of course. Hello, Hak."
Hak reaches behind himself to rub at the base of his neck instead. His arms are as impressive and muscular as always, and Yona only feels a little guilty for staring at him - only a little, because even from behind, she can see how Soo-Won's jaw moves too, and knows he's gawking at the shape of the guy too. And that's fair. Hak sort of demands that sort of attention these days.
That's the point. That's the whole point, why he's here in the first place.
"Think you could rip the sleeves off of your jacket?"
Her fake boyfriend laughs and shakes his head. "Mundok would have my head. Not everyone's made of money, Yona."
Soo-Won sucks in a breath, but Yona marches to his side and slips her hand in his, stubbornly, before he has a chance to make this weird staredown they're having more awkward than it already is. She can't tell who feels most like the intruder here - Hak, for walking in on two to-be wedded lovers, blushing over gifts and new haircuts and hello, how are you. Or Soo-Won, who literally was standing in the middle of a conversation, physically blocking Yona from gawking too thoroughly at Hak's chiseled abs - or maybe even herself, she thinks, feeling that pinching guilt in her chest pull tighter. Is she intruding on something?
She shouldn't be. None of them are intruding. Everyone here should know what's going on.
"I thought I texted you," Yona says gently. "I'm sorry. I must've forgotten to tell you that Hak was coming along with me. I thought it was the perfect opportunity to make Father realize he's wrong."
His fingers feel sort of weird between hers. Like she's gripping his hand but he's hanging limply in hers.
"Of course," Soo-Won says, for what must be the third time in the span of ten minutes. "Of course. I suppose I didn't realize... !" He stands there and stares at Hak for another second, and the pause feels lengthy - too lengthy, she thinks, and looks between them brows furrowed. Neither gives anything away, but Yona feels a little like there's an entire conversation that happens between the two of them, even though nobody even says anything.
Hak's brows furrow too. "Paid muscle."
"Yes," Soo-Won says, all sugar. "Very well. I'll leave the two of you to it then. I still have advisors I'd like to say hello to, so-"
"You're not staying?"
Both men stop and look at her. Oh, god. Of all times for her voice to crack - and here she was, thinking that she was finally settling back into herself and starting to sound her age again. All of sudden she feels stupid and small, pleading, like she's still tugging on his sleeve, desperate for his attention, even now.
She shouldn't. Yona's promised herself to him. He'd given her a hairpin to cement his word. It sits on a pedestal on her vanity, like it's holy.
Hak's eyes burn her to her bones. She can feel them on her, as she always seems to be able to, these days, even when she's not watching him, too. Yona doesn't need to confirm it and so she doesn't - and there are more pressing matters, like the way Soo-Won's stare has become murky, cloudy with something she can't begin to understand.
Then he smiles, kind as always, but that ache in her chest feels empty again, like the rug has been gently tugged out from beneath her. "I have execs to impress," he says, patting her on her head. "I'll see you at the party, I promise."
But. "But," and her voice sounds so brittle. Yona's eyes sting as she blinks - not now, she's wearing far too much eyeliner to ruin this, god - and she squeezes his hand in hers, stubbornly, so stubbornly. Yona is not the same child chasing after his coattails, and the weight of Hak's sits in her gut, heavy and grounding. It feels like courage, so she says, "... I was hoping you'd help me get dressed."
He has to read it for what it is. It's more intimate than she's ever dared be with him, and more forward, too.
Soo-Won laughs a little, though politely. "I thought we agreed that I wouldn't be your mother anymore?"
Her brows crinkle. "No, that's not what I meant. My dress is-"
"Yona," he says, ruffling her hair. "I'll trust Hak with you."
That ache feels gaping now. And suffocating. And suddenly that tremendous courage feels like lead, terribly damning, and she physically jerks, unable to keep herself from recoiling from the sweet edge of his blade. Gutted, that's the feeling - Yona feels gutted, and Soo-Won's working on uncoiling her fingers from the spaces between his as she mourns the fatal wound he's just given her.
"I promise I'll see you tonight," he says again.
Promise. She's so tired of promises. Yona has been living for tomorrow for so long now, has lived in happily ever after and maybe someday, in wistful sighs and chasing after Soo-Won's elusive, elegant shadow.
She swallows. If this is her normal, then maybe she hates normal after all. Such a bitter taste, for the sweetest man she's ever known.
"... Okay," Yona says finally.
"You'll look beautiful." She wishes he'd stop. It only makes her feel worse. "Even if you come out looking like Morticia Addams, I'm sure you will still be the belle of the ball."
The kindness is suffocating now. More than anything, she wants to shake him, wants to press him back against the wall behind him and kiss him for once, actually touch him and be touched, and wants the gaping wound he'd left in her confidence to scar over already. He lifts the hand he'd just weaseled his way out of and kisses her fingers gingerly, but his eyes look over her somehow, like he's looking beyond her, in that way he always has.
She will not pout. Yona is nearly a woman now, and ought to act like it. She cannot throw a tantrum over this. She won't.
Instead, she clenches the gift to her chest and takes a step back, nodding, just barely. "Thank you."
He ruffles her hair just once more before nodding at her resolutely. She thinks he's probably trying to say something more to her, something only with his eyes, but Yona's so tired of promises and waiting that she doesn't bother trying to decipher the meaning. Once upon a time he'd seen her, even if it had only been for that brief, terrifying moment she'd initially confessed to him. Once upon a time, Yona thought that would last, that he would always see her, would always look at her and not at what lay ahead.
Can't he see her? She's hard to miss, especially now. Yona looks like the classiest racoon she's ever seen, in dark eyeliner and vampy lipstick.
Because she can see him. It's like she can never stop seeing him. Everytime she closes her eyes at night, all tucked into bed, she still sees him, with his gentle hand in hers and the slightest of smiles on his face. It's okay to be shy, she thinks - Yona understands shy, understands being tongue-tied and anxious - but this doesn't feel like shyness anymore. And shouldn't they be too old for that now?
She feels too old for it. Yona feels too old for all of it. Especially this mess she's gotten herself into.
Soo-Won sees himself out. The door shuts behind him with a quiet click, and it's still louder than the sound of her breath. It's funny - when Yona was younger, she always thought rejection would be louder, would feel louder. It's quiet. It's almost hauntingly quiet, like she can hear every cautious footstep Hak takes toward her like they're booming thunder, explosive in how they crack this eerie calm.
And she sighs. Curls in on herself a little more and forces breath. In and out.
"... Yona."
She exhales again. Presses her lips so tightly together they kind of hurt, but. "... Mmm?"
"He's busy," Hak says, and it's meant to be comforting, she knows it is. But all of it stings too much, and Yona crushes the pretty little gift bag in her hands - it really was a peace offering after all. "He's probably going to talk to your father tonight."
"... Yes."
He doesn't say anything after that, not immediately. Hak doesn't pat her head in the way Soo-Won had. He doesn't touch her at all, really, just looks at her, and so much for his support lending her courage. She's never felt smaller.
"Sorry," he says finally. "I shouldn't of… I thought he knew. Sorry."
"He does know," Yona insists, voice cracking. "I could've sworn I told him. I wouldn't do anything without letting him know first. It's cheating otherwise, isn't it?"
Hak sighs too. "Soo-Won is forgetful."
But he shouldn't be. Not about the important things. Not about her. Yona tries sucking in a breath but it stutters in her chest, like a skipping record, and she immediately pinches her eyes shut, afraid to cry.
Yona. I'll trust Hak with you. He says it so easily. Isn't he even a little bit jealous? She'd - it took a lot of guts, to offer herself up on a silver platter like that, especially considering how little physical affection they've shared. Sometimes they hold hands. Mostly they text back and forth and promise each other forever and babies ever after and marriage, please, marriage. Joint union.
"... Am I overreacting?" she squeaks out.
Hak makes such a noncommittal sound. She would shove him for it, maybe, if he wasn't still shirtless and damp from his shower. Stupid. He should put a shirt on already.
Then he touches her, finally, with his knuckles knocking her forehead gently, so gently. "Didn't you say love makes you do crazy things? It's fine. Throw a fit. I'll help you into your dress."
He shouldn't have to. It's not like the realization hasn't hit before - she's been guilty this whole time over it, how she's roped Hak into a headache he surely doesn't deserve - but it's never felt quite as clear as it does now, as she stands before him trying not to cry like a stupid baby. Hak shouldn't have to play pretend with her. He's not getting compensated for his help, not really. Being allowed to tease her is something he's always had rights to, even if she complains and pouts and rolls her eyes - it's who they are. Hak is getting literally nothing but stress out of this.
Hak is getting nothing out of this. And it doesn't feel like she is either. He shouldn't have to help her into her dress, not if even Soo-Won doesn't care about it. Isn't anyone worried they might be having sex in here?
Through her lashes, she can see him smiling at her. It's such a sad smile, slight and restrained, and that makes her feel worse, too. Yoon was right. Yoon's always right.
Those guilty jitters are back. She wants to crush them in her hands and rip her heart out of her chest like the grenade it is. Wants to blow Soo-Won up and piece Hak's stupid mischevious grin back together and have things make sense for once. Is that too much to ask for? Is she being selfish again?
Tonight is the last night. If she can't make someone care tonight, then there's no point in dragging this on. This is her mess and nobody else's. Yona will just have to grow up and set Hak free.
For real this time. She means it. No more messing around, no more pulling punches. The whole damn ballroom will be uncomfortable. Soo-Won will be jealous. Father will be beside himself with fear.
She will make somebody care. Even if that somebody is herself.
Yona swallows her heart and tucks it inside of herself. She pulls the pin and asks, "Will you kiss me tonight?"