To Yona's delight, Hak keeps his word.

He shows up at their meeting spot (an old treehouse they'd repurposed when she was twelve and he fifteen) looking terrifying, if she's being honest. He's always been a bit of a bigger guy, what, with his broad shoulders and lumbering height, but in combination with his smudged eyeliner and shredded sleeves and spiked combat boots, well. He's every father's worst dream.

It's perfect. He's perfect. Yona squeals in glee and hops down from her perch on the treehouse's deck without warning.

Hak yelps and lunges to catch her. "Wh- some warning, Jesus," he mutters.

"You look so bad!" He gives her a look, and - "Oh, that's perfect, too!"

"You say the sweetest things sometimes, Princess," he says, for what feels like the millionth time. And yeah. Maybe she deserves the dig. Yona's brain catches up with her mouth and she feels her face go hot. "Thanks."

"I meant bad in a good way!" It's clear her excuse isn't the balm she'd hoped it'd be. Hak looks at her, brow raised, and Yona pats a hand placatingly to his bare shoulder and tries hard not to cop a feel. He might be her fake boyfriend, but this pseudo relationship isn't real, and anything more than what's necessary feels a lot like cheating on Soo-Won, who, for as beautiful as he is, isn't built like a tank. And man, is Hak built like a tank.

"Bad was a compliment." It sure doesn't sound like a question.

"Yes! Not bad as in ugly," Yona says, patting his shoulder again, though she makes a mindful choice to touch parts of him covered by cotton and not warm, taut skin. "Bad as in dangerous. Bad boy material. Those spikes could kill someone."

"... They were thrifted."

Excitement bubbles in her stomach. "You thrift?!"

Hak sets her down and plops his hand on her head. "You are so filthy rich it makes you disconnected from the rest of the world sometimes, I swear."

She thinks that was a dig at her. Yona pouts and pushes his hand away. "Don't touch the hair! And I know thrifting is good. Fast fashion is terrible for the environment, you know. I don't partake in any of that. All of my clothing is purchased with the intention of using it for as long as I can, and I make sure to look into sustainable brands-"

He chuffs and gives her this crooked half-smile, and Yona doesn't know whether he's still making fun of her or not. He doesn't comment on anything that she thought he might, either. Instead, he plops his hand right back on her head and says, "I thought you said I could do anything."

"N-Not when frizz is in the equation, you bully!"

"So I can't romantically run my fingers through your hair?"

Laughable. "You wouldn't want to. Your fingers would get stuck." And hearing romantically come from Hak's mouth is… weird. Unnatural. Yona's not sure she's ever even heard his voice say anything remotely sappy before. Most of what he spouts off is about music or sports - or making fun of her.

It must mean he's getting into character. Good. She can work with this.

"Whatever you say," he says. His hand slips from her hair, but doesn't quite make it back down to touch her. He hovers for a moment over her shoulder, indecisive, it seems, if he's permitted to touch her over the straps of her sundress.

Stupid Hak. Who makes a big deal about wanting to be allowed to touch her hair, only to shrink away from touching her anywhere else? She'd tried to wrestle him before, when they'd been kids, and he'd wrangled her into a headlock and demanded she tap out - and literally moments ago, he'd caught her in his arms after she'd lept from the treehouse. It's not like he's never touched her before. It's not like she hasn't made it clear that she trusts him.

Still. It's sweet, in its own funny way. Stupid Hak.

"Here," she says, taking his hand into hers. It's surprising, how big his hand actually is compared to hers. She feels dwarfed by him, but it's not suffocating, not really - it's safe, in a sort of nostalgic way. Yona can't remember the last time they'd held hands, but it must not've been for a while. Hak's hand feels bigger than she can ever remember it being.

Hak does a weird little fidget. "Ah."

"Couples hold hands," she reasons, cheeks hot, for some reason. They shouldn't be. Yona shakes her head and clears her mind - they're on a mission, after all! All of this has a purpose. "It'll help sell the idea to my father."

He nods, looking somewhere over her shoulder. "So holding your hand is okay, but touching your hair still isn't."

"Holding my hand has always been okay," Yona says, narrowing her eyes.

"Couples hold hands," he quips, far too quickly for her liking. "Got something you want to confess there, Princess?"

Yona swats his chest with her free hand. "Don't call me that!"

"If the shoe fits."

"You could always hold my hand before if you needed to for some reason," she says, through gritted teeth, face still tingling with heat. "But you have permission now to lace our fingers, if you think it'll be more believable now."

And to prove her point, she laces them. His hand feels even warmer in hers now, somehow, and she's relieved to find his hands aren't clammy or sweaty or… anything uncomfortable like that. He has callouses on his fingers, from trying to teach himself guitar, presumably, or maybe lacrosse, but - but that doesn't matter, really. What does is that his hands are comfortable enough to hold. It shuts him up for a minute.

But it doesn't take him long to find his voice. "What else are you cool with?"

Hm. "I said you could do anything."

Hak snorts. "Yeah. I don't believe that for a second."

"I don't… think I want you to kiss me," she says, after sitting and thinking on it. Not if she hasn't even kissed Soo-Won yet. There are some things that are sacred, she thinks, and kissing is one of those things that she wants to share with her happily ever after.

Hak nods. "Yeah, well. I figured that one."

"You can put an arm around me, if you want."

"Don't think that one's going to work unless we're sitting down, but noted."

He does have more than a foot's worth of height on her. In her defense, she's never had to sit and think about the logistics of pda with Hak before - and even if she had, she doubts she ever would've. Logistics are boring, and there's romance in spontaneity and making it work.

"... You can kiss my forehead," Yona says, perhaps too bravely. "And my cheek. And my hand."

Something unreadable passes over his expression. Yona doesn't have the time to really think on it; he blinks twice and it's gone, buried down in the murky, mysterious depths of his feelings, and she second guesses herself, briefly, before that crooked smile is back and he squeezes her hand. "If you're sure."

"And if you're sure," she finds herself squeaking. "This isn't just about what I'm comfortable with. You must have things you're not okay with too, right?"

"Stop jumping off of things and expecting me to catch you."

"Be serious!"

The look he gives her is deafening. "I am serious."

"Hak."

Even the way he rolls his eyes is exhausting. Yona props a hand on her hips and pouts, because he's such a brat sometimes, and it's not cute at all. She wishes he'd give her a straight answer for once instead of dodging the question. It's infuriating, the way he offers her a taste of what she wants and then holds the rest overhead, playing keepaway. He's stubborn like that, she thinks, and it's always made her a little crazy. Just once, she wishes he'd be upfront with his feelings.

Yona narrows her eyes at him. Hak stares back at her blankly.

"... Whatever's fine with me," he says finally, expression unreadably static. "Don't worry about it. Whatever you're okay with will be fine."

God, she could throttle him. Typical Hak; such a needless martyr. Not for the first time, Yona wishes he'd just tell her what he wanted for once, instead of effectively becoming her (begrudging) yes man. It's not that she doesn't appreciate the concern for her happiness, because she does, of course she does, but there are times — times like this — that she finds herself worrying if his needs are being met, too.

It's kind of ironic. He's already doing a favor for her and getting relatively nothing in return. Who is she, to worry about his feelings?

Yona shakes her head. "That's not an answer, you know."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Stupid Hak. "You're not being cute at all, you know."

"I'm sorry," he says, leaning in, grinning like a demon. "I don't think I was hired to be cute, your highness. It was my understanding that you wanted your father to be scared of me, not think I'm cute."

"Hak!"

"Maybe we should look into revising our contract," he says, then raises a hand to flick the center of her forehead. "I can wash the eyeliner off."

"Don't you dare."

"I could put on some nicer shoes," he continues, still grinning, still leaning down far enough stand eye-level with her. "Maybe slick back my hair."

She can't imagine Hak in a world like that. It doesn't fit. He's Hak, in skinny jeans and sports jerseys and combat boots, so full of confusing contradictions and infuriating crooked grins, and the thought of him being anything but that feels sacrilegious. He's Hak, and he fits together with her, even if it doesn't make a lot of sense most of the time. But who else would ever agree to fake date her? Yona can't think of another person she'd rather ask.

Even if he's an absolute brat sometimes. Yona flicks his forehead right back. "I need those dirty thrifted boots or else I'm walking."

.

It's a little weird, she admits, leading Hak through the halls of her home like this. Which is stupid; Yona's held his hand plenty of times before, in much less theatrical settings. He's lead her through crowds, with his hand laced tight around her wrist, and she's tugged him over to roller coasters and carousels alike. Realistically, it should be second nature to her by now, a comfortable, casual tether between them.

But it's weird, dragging him to her father's office. Weird because she doesn't think she's ever actually invited him over to her home before, and certainly never for a mission like this, which feels… well, maybe not quite weird, but definitely like an out of body experience.

It doesn't matter either way. She has a mission to accomplish, and if all goes well, she's sure Soo-Won would be okay with inviting Hak to the wedding, and sending him home with several nice bottles of wine. Or whiskey. Or… whatever it is he prefers to spend the night broodily sipping on. It's for a good cause, she tells herself, and Hak wouldn't have agreed to helping her out if he thought it would inconvenience him. If one thing's for sure, Hak isn't the kind of person to busy himself with bothersome things. In fact, it's far more likely to find him napping somewhere while avoiding his chores or homework.

"Nice place," Hak says, as she leads him down a hall lined with framed portraits of her. "Terrible feng shui though. This room has bad energy."

"Can it! A hallway isn't even a room anyway."

"It literally is."

"No, it's- a room has furniture! And purpose!"

Hak's legs become massive, muscular anchors, and he stares very pointedly at one of her baby pictures. "Princess. We're inside."

"Rooms don't have to be inside!"

He looks to her, instead, with eyes like a dead fish.

"A patio isn't inside. And neither is a greenhouse." This whole conversation is so off topic, but he has such a charming way of getting under her skin and making her want to throttle him sometimes.

(And by charming, she means he's a smartass and ought to have his mouth washed out with soap).

"... A greenhouse… is inside…" Hak lets go of her hand only to place his hands on her cheeks and says, very slowly, "It has walls."

"No! It's outside! It has plants!"

His stare makes her want to punch him, right in the lip ring. "... Houses… have plants too, Princess."

"It has a glass roof!"

"Most places of business do," Hak says, far too quickly.

And yeah, okay. She can't really argue with that one. But still! "There's nothing wrong with my father framing pictures of me. I'm his daughter. His only daughter!"

That shit-eating grin is back. "Bad energy."

"I'll show you bad energy, you little-!"

Yona gets as far as reaching up to grab his shoulders and get one foot on his leg before the door shuts behind her. The darn thing resonates like a gunshot down the hall, and she nearly jumps a mile, jolting like a cat caught on the counter, and Hak only narrowly catches her before she can tumble backwards.

She has about half of a second to assess the situation. Her father, kind, clueless eyes and all, stares blankly at the spectacle before him. Hak's grip seems to unconsciously loosen around her waist. Yona realizes that her dearest, darling boytoy is cracking under the pressure, and she can't have that, can she?

Well, she did want to be an actress when she was like seven. Time to put that childhood dream to the test.

"Oh!" Yona gasps, squirming in Hak's arms. He stiffens for a moment, confused, presumably, as she slings an arm around his neck and nestles herself closer. "Sorry! I guess we got a little carried away.""

Her father's expression doesn't budge. "... Yona?"

"I didn't mean for the two of you to meet this way," she says, then, patting Hak's shoulder. "Sweetie, could you let me down?"

The corner of Hak's mouth twitch. "Sweetie," he mutters to her, amused.

They can iron out the kinks in the plan later. Discuss pet names and which ones won't make him crack like the child he is, apparently. He obeys, though, in typical Hak fashion; raises a brow at her but still bows to her will, allowing her to slip back to her feet safely, one hand still resting gingerly on her hip. She knows it's for her safety, and not at all an intentional addition to their ruse, but still, Yona thinks it really sells the story. What must be Hak's big brother instincts translate pretty cleanly into protective boyfriend, and for all her father knows, that's exactly what he is.

"Sweetie," Yona repeats, all sugar, no spice. "This is my father. And father, this is Hak."

Her dad blinks once, twice. Nods slowly.

"... My boyfriend," Yona says, with a flourish. Soak it in, she thinks, almost vindictively. She hopes he takes it all in, Hak's piercings and smudged eyeliner and studded combat boots - Hak's massive, beefy arms, and the dark wash of his hair over his eyes - all of it.

Father looks at her, then. An entire conversation is exchanged between them, wordlessly. You said I could have anyone else. Hak is the definition of anyone else. Yona couldn't find someone less like clean-cut, sweet-eyed Soo-Won if she tried.

Anyone else.

"... It's very nice to meet you," her father says finally, bowing his head politely. He even goes as far to offer a hand to Hak to shake.

Hak shakes with the hand not still glued to her hip. The way he holds her is almost possessive, in a way, and Yona finds herself leaning into his chest, one palm laid flat on his pec. She tries to play it off like this is commonplace between them, and not at all like this is the most intimate she's ever been with a man period, but heat rushes to her face anyway. And, well, that's probably fine, too, as long as Hak doesn't catch her blushing like a schoolgirl.

"Likewise."

Classic Hak. Mincing his words, especially when it comes to his elders. It's perfect.

"I trust you have Yona's best interest at heart," her father says, then, looking to her, smiling serenely. Something drums in her chest, anxious and uncertain. "I really hate to run, but-"

"Wait!" Yona squeaks.

He smiles apologetically. Stubbornly. "I have meetings I still need to attend to. I'm sorry, but my schedule is really full today-"

This can't be happening. She just paraded a bonafide goth in front of him! Yona draped herself all over him, right before his eyes! She'd never even gone as far as to hold Soo-Won's hand in his presence, and she can't understand why her father won't even bat an eye at her blatant display of teenage rebellion. Does she have to shove her tongue down Hak's throat to get a reaction out of him or something?!

Hak dutifully tucks his hands back into his pockets.

"Your schedule is too full for me?" she finds herself accusing. "Your schedule is too busy for your only daughter?!"

"Yona-"

"No, it's fine!" Yona grabs her fake date's arm and hugs it to her chest. Nuzzles up to him like she's a cat and he's her owner or something. "I'll just spend my time cozying up with Hak instead, since your time is too precious for your own flesh and blood-"

"Yona."

Her blood's running too hot for her to remember to feel guilty. For as long as she can actively, currently remember, her father's been ridiculously overprotective. She hadn't been allowed to even walk to the park by herself until she was thirteen, and even then, she still needs supervision, most of the time, if she wants to even go to the mall. Hell, her father's so anal about who he leaves his daughter alone with, he won't even let her marry the textbook definition of the perfect man - well, he was anal about it until about two minutes ago, when he walked in on Yona trying to climb a boy decked out in all black like a damn tree.

It doesn't make any sense. He's just being stubborn now! He can't really be okay with this, right? She'd thought he would've cracked by now. Really, she thought he would've cracked the moment Hak rested his hand on her waist.

A man has never touched her like that before. And certainly not in front of her CEO father.

"I'll really do it," she threatens. "I'll marry this one."

Hak shuffles beside her. Her father still doesn't budge. Stares at her, eyes just as gravely stern as they'd been when she'd begged and plead with him to allow her to marry Soo-Won.

"Once you're of age," her father starts, and Yona's blood absolutely blazes in her veins. It's like a fire has been lit within her, and it threatens to burn through her fingers, sizzling through her curls, crackling embers in her gut. "We can talk about where you would like to go with this, but for now-"

"Forget it!" she snaps, and then she's turning, suddenly, and Hak's wrist is in her hand. Her feet can't move fast enough, and the framed photos blur around her as she storms out, red and deep wood and the pale blue of the walls, nothing more than streaks color fading behind her.

.

Forget it.

He'll see how serious she can be. And it'll serve him right, too, for acting like her feelings are nothing more than a fleeting flight of fancy. Her feelings are her own, and that alone should warrant importance to him, of all people. The only family he has left, for goodness sake! How could he deny his own daughter her desires?

"Princess," Hak mutters, stumbling behind her. He drags his feet, and she hopes his old combat boots streak on the glossy hardwood floor. Hopes he leaves his mark everywhere he does, so that no matter where her father goes, he knows the hole he's dug himself into. "Hey, Princess."

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. No matter the age - seventeen, twenty-one, thirty, eighty.

"Princess, where are we going?"

"My room," Yona snaps, taking a sharp right, beelining down an adjacent hallway.

Hak sputters behind her. "Princess, I don't think-"

Like a woman possessed, Yona all but kicks her door in. Stuffed animals line her shelves. Pretty, adorned chests of jewelry sit comfortably atop her vanity. Bottles and potions of beauty, concealer and mascara alike, go clattering to the floor as she shoves her way past her pink chair and leaves Hak in her wake.

Her reflection is almost crazed.

If this is a battle of wills, Yona refuses to back down. Her father should know that by now. When it comes to something she's serious about, there's not a force in the world that could stop her, and this - telling her she could have anyone she wanted except for Soo-Won - was a challenge, whether he knew it or not. She can't afford to back down down, to bow to his will. If she does, what will that make her? A pretty little chess piece? The type of girl to allow someone else to decide her future for her?

Not on his life. Her resolution sets in her features, and her gaze hardens, staring deeply into the mirror before her.

Hak blurs in the background, a smudge of black, bleary among the pastels surrounding him.

Yona yanks her vanity drawer open and snatches the pair of scissors left there. Glances back to her reflection and decides she never really liked her hair anyway. She hadn't been the one to braid it meticulously, cooing over the unique shade. She hadn't been the one to tie ribbons in her hair and fluff the mass of curls, as if ceremoniously setting a crown atop her head.

No, that'd always been her father.

The scissors gleam in the light. Fuck it.


i didn't point it out in some of my other fics because i thought it was obvious but i'm doing a back and forth pov thing with this one. so one chapter is hak's pov, the next is yona's, and then back to hak's. thanks for reading!