It's been a long time since Hak has seen the nape of Yona's neck.
He tries not to allow himself to stare for too long. It's pretty, in the most tantalizingly vanilla way. The skin is pale there, scarcely seen by the light of day, and the shape thin and delicate, not unlike a swan's. He wonders if her skin is cold, now that her hair only hits just below her ears, and sort of wants to press a few fingers there, just to see if she's begun to pebble with gooseflesh.
It is surely duty, he thinks, that inspires these urges in him. He has a role to play, after all, even if there's no one around to put on an act for. Only Yoon, muttering, mildly scolding Yona as he himself dutifully evens out her haircut.
Yona is still cute with a bob, though. If it can be considered a bob. It's more like a pixie cut than anything else, hair curling around her earlobes, wavy and poofy and irritatingly adorable. More than that, still, there's so much of her neck on display that Hak has a hard time looking anywhere else than the new expanse of skin that's been revealed to him. She's pretty, even with a quarter of the hair she'd had before - she's pretty, even with skinny shoulders and pale skin and the most prominent collarbone he's ever seen.
Hak is so boned.
"You're so impulsive, Yona," Yoon huffs, still trimming away. Her father's surely not paying him enough to be Yona's hairdresser too, Hak thinks. "What were you thinking?"
She is statuesque. Prim and proper. It comes with years of practice, he thinks. She's had more strangers and professionals touch her hair, aim her face a certain way and dote on her than most girls her age, but that's just part of the territory. She is Yona, close friend and known drama queen, but first and foremost, she is Yona the heiress. Yona, who must upkeep appearances, for the sake of her father's business.
Yona, who just chopped off nearly all of her hair in a fit of righteous fury. And he'd stood by and let it happen.
"I never liked my hair very much anyway," Yona says, far too reasonably, for someone of her temperament. She's been oddly serene about the whole thing, and she's been this way since the first snip of her scissors. It's almost like she's shed away a dead layer of skin and emerged clean, rejuvenated.
Determined. Hak scrubs at his face and wonders just what he's gotten himself into here. There is a sense of duty, of course, when it comes to protecting her - one that goes beyond his, erm, feelings for her - but this seems… farther than he'd expected her to go. Yona is stubborn, yes, and an impulsive, but part of him never thought she'd actually go as far as to alter her physical appearance for the sake of her cause.
Shame on him for that. Really. She's a damn Aries.
Yoon shakes his head and continues trimming the back of her hair. "Your father is going to have a fit."
That seems to placate her even more. "Good," she says, smiling dangerously. The calm's begun to crack, and perhaps the adrenaline has begun to fade, because there are bits of the firecracker he knows and loves beginning to peek through the haze.
"I don't understand you."
"If he thinks he can control my life then he has another thing coming," Yona says. "It's my life. And it's my hair. I can dye it blonde, for all I want!"
Hak cannot picture it. He snorts from behind them and flops back down onto her bed, staring at the ceiling. At least this way he can think clearly, without getting lost in daydreams inspired by the pretty length of her neck, the line of her spine. "I don't know if Soo-Won is into blondes."
Yona doesn't even miss a beat. "He doesn't get to decide that for me either!"
Good. Hak smiles, despite himself.
"... But I do still want to impress him," she admits, only half of a moment later. It's almost guilty, the way she says it, and a lot bashful, and - thinking on it only makes his stomach tighten, so Hak presses one of her pillows to his face instead, as she carries on. "Is that bad? I still want Soo-Won to like the way I look, even if it's something I decide for myself."
Yoon answers before Hak has a chance. "That's normal."
"Is it? It kind of feels selfish."
Hak focuses on the sounds of Yoon's scissors, instead of digging too deeply into the morose way Yona sighs.
"Wanting him to be attracted to you is pretty normal," Yoon says, still snipping away. "But it's good that you don't want to compromise what you want to look like. Soo-Won should like you for you."
Thoughtful. And it shouldn't be too hard; Yona is pretty no matter the form, no matter the shape, no matter the length of her hair. Yona could ditch her daily makeup routine and show up at his door in sweats and an oversized shirt, and Hak still knows, instinctually, that he'd still think she was the prettiest girl he'd ever met. And it's sad, in a way, and a lot pathetic, but he chalks it up to the brightness of her eyes, and the general (cute) shape of her nose, and cheeks, and everything.
She's just cute, he thinks with a sigh. Too cute for her own good. She shouldn't worry about whether or not Soo-Won would like her with blonde hair. Hak can't see how anyone wouldn't.
"... Thanks, mom," Yona says, her smile evident in her tone. "You're the best."
Hak slides the pillow down far enough to catch the shift of light, catch the way Yoon moves to swat the side of her arm.
"I don't remember giving birth to you!" he chastises, then sets the scissors down. "There. It's about as good as it's going to get without a professional touch. Do you want me to contact your hairdresser and set up an appointment?"
Yona touches her cheek. Hak sits up enough to watch her do it. She observes her reflection for a long, dwindling moment, before her hand moves to scrunch her hair, cup it in her hand, really consider her predicament. It's not quite long enough to be a bob, and though not choppy as it'd been when she'd hacked at it, it's certainly not a pretty cut. Gone is her long mane of curls, and instead, she's left with a tousled, messy pixie cut, bright red locks curling around the shell of her ear.
It's cute. It's very cute. And very, very different than anything he's ever seen her sport.
"... No," she says, finally. "I think this is good. This is what I wanted. Thank you, Yoon."
"You're lucky I'm multitalented," he says, but still ruffles her hair in a way that's undeniably fond.
Yona smiles, then presses her hands over her ears. "I don't know what I would do without you cleaning up my messes."
"You'd be hopeless! The both of you would be," Yoon says, turning, then, to deliver judgement upon Hak, now. From where he's draped on the bed, Hak raises a brow, as Yoon thunders on, hands on his slim hips. "I don't know what you were thinking, Thunder Beast! Letting her chop off all of her hair like that - you know she's impulsive, and it's dangerous, to cut so close to the neck like that blindly! Especially in the back!"
Ah. It's his turn for mother's wrath. Hak cracks his neck and then bows his head dutifully. "This humble babysitter let his eyes wander for a moment. I beg for forgiveness."
"Babysitter?!" Yona snaps.
Yoon flicks his nose. "Don't antagonize her."
It is his god given right as a human being - and her fake boyfriend - to antagonize her. It is literally written in his contract.
"I just expect better from you. You usually have her best interests at heart," Yoon says, far too knowingly, and Hak decides to ignore the look he gives him in favor of watching Yona go pink with frustration. "You're usually her impulse control. I trust you to be her impulse control."
"Instructions unclear."
Yoon flicks him again. "At least tell me you were the one who cut the back."
And touch her hair so carelessly? No sir. That is treason of the highest order. A crime against the crown. These hands are not worthy of such blessings. "She's bullheaded," Hak says instead. "I didn't dare get in the way of her horns."
It's not a lie. It's just not the answer Yoon wants, and not the answer Yona wants, either, judging by the way she pivots in her chair to sit on her knees, plant her hands on the back and try to reach over and grab him. Hak dodges her kitten claws easily and pushes her away (gently) with a single palm to her face.
Yoon shakes his head and collects his tools. "You two are exhausting."
"Sorry mother."
"I didn't give birth to you, either!"
.
A messy haircut is not enough of a makeover though. For Yona, every day is do or die, and if she's going to commit to an act, it's clear she's going to go all out.
Which is how Hak finds himself at their local thrift store, chaperoning his newly minted fake girlfriend as she sorts through racks of oversized, recycled band tees. He's sure she hasn't even heard of most of them, but still takes into great consideration the design and fit of each. At this rate, they will be in this store until closing, and they'll be lucky to come out of it with one outfit, max.
Hak wishes Yoon had tagged along. At least to streamline the occasion, if for nothing else. He's also sure Yoon would know more about fit and style, which are two areas Hak has zero expertise in.
"Do you think I could wear this like a dress?" she asks, spinning to face him. She's got some old Nirvana shirt held up to herself, and by the look of it, it's far closer to his size than hers. "I could get a pair of tights and rip them, and maybe some... boots…?"
He must not be giving her the validation she craves. Hak blinks. "... Isn't that a men's shirt?"
"Fashion isn't gendered, you big dweeb!" she huffs, then shoves the shirt back onto the rack. "Honestly, Hak, you're no help at all."
He is here to hold things and watch her swipe her daddy's credit card, not to provide fashion advice. Somehow he doubts she'd like anything he'd pick out for her anyway - even if she's trying to look the part, their tastes are still distinctively different. And it would feel weird, he thinks, to pick out clothes for her to wear. Weird, because he knows he'd gravitate towards things he'd want to see her in.
Like his clothes. Because he is a pervert, apparently.
"I don't know anything about fashion," he admits dryly.
Yona gives him a very obvious once over. "I know."
Ouch? "Ouch."
"But you have a theme," she says, pointing her finger at his chest, then his ripped jeans. "An aesthetic! I need to get on that level if I'm going to be convincing anyone that I'm a cherry bomb now."
Hak can't hide his cackle. "Is that what you are?"
"Hair." She points to her own head instead. "Hello."
Fair enough. Knowing better than to argue with royalty herself, Hak shifts his weight and throws her pile of clothes onto his other arm in order to fish his phone out of his butt pocket. She watches with a quirked eyebrow, still holding onto that Nirvana shirt, as Hak slides his finger and unlocks his phone.
"Who're you calling?" Yona scoots closer and peeks over his elbow.
Isn't it obvious? Hak's stranded at sea without a paddle. "Backup."
.
Not for the first time, Hak is reminded of what a godsend Ayame really is.
The door jingles as she pushes her way through, scanning over the tops of clothing racks until she spots him. There's an obvious moment when she realizes who he's here with - because he's not as subtle as he thinks he is, apparently - and then she gives him this knowing smile that makes his stomach drop.
It's not even an unkind smile. It's just that Hak doesn't like to be read like a damn book, and this - being caught shopping for clothes that are certainly more his taste than Yona's - must read differently than he'd intended it to. Or maybe Ayame just knows how to read between his lines. He supposes confiding in her that he had feelings for someone once has finally come back to bite him in the ass.
"Oh," Yona says, blinking. "Is that her? She's pretty…"
Hak hums nonchalantly and tries to play it cool as Ayame makes her way over to them. "She knows more about fashion than I do. I thought you might want another girl to shop with."
Yona looks to him. "... You were kind of looking at me like a dead fish for a while."
"I don't know what that means, Princess."
"Princess," Ayame says, glancing between them.
"Oh! Please, not you too," Yona says, nudging Hak out of the way, and he falls back into a conveniently placed seat without any resistance on his part. "I'm Yona," she says, offering a hand out to Ayame.
It seems the rest of the pieces fall into place for Ayame. She looks at him and only smiles wider. "Oh! Yona, of course," she says, then takes Yona's hand in hers and shakes. "I'm Ayame. Hak's told me so much about you!"
Kill him now. Maybe he could off himself with one of the hangers. "Hey."
"Only good things," Ayame promises, then turns and takes the pile of clothes from his hands. "Here, let me see. I'm sure we can make something happen with these, too, but-"
"There's a whole rack of shoes we haven't gone through yet!" Yona says, far too brightly.
"Do they have jewelry too?" Ayame places a hand on Yona's shoulder and begins ushering her towards the fitting rooms. There's a moment while sitting there watching them that Hak fears she'll say too much, that she'll spill his beans for him, but then she smiles so genuinely at Yona that he can't bring himself to regret calling her in. "I was thinking maybe a plaid skirt, too?"
It's fine. It's probably fine. Ayame means no harm. At worse, she'll say something about how fond he is of Yona, which isn't a lie - and it's not the whole truth either, but if she can leave it that, it will still be fine. Probably.
Hak rubs his eyes, slides back in the chair and begins playing solitaire on his phone instead of worrying about it. Whatever happens happens. This whole scheme is a terrible idea anyway, and even if it gives him situational heckling rights over his favorite redhead, Hak still knows it ultimately comes at a price. And if that price is the time limit, or Yona's disgust, should she discover his true feelings underneath his thin veneer of brotherly guard doghood, whatever - it's out of his hands now.
Besides. Things should be fine, as long as he keeps his feelings out of it. And if there's one thing Hak excels at, it's keeping his feelings out of things. Detachment is practically his middle name.
… Practically.
.
He doesn't know how long they're gone for. Hak knows better than to time Yona during her shopping excursions - beauty isn't born overnight, allegedly, even if he really thinks she'd be just as lovely in a potato sack as she is in high-end blouses and designer jeans.
But it's probably best if he's not left to dither with his thoughts.
As if on cue, Ayame taps him on the shoulder. "You're being summoned, Hak."
Ah, well. Boyfriend duties call. It's better than sitting and stewing on how cute his fake girlfriend is, after all, and how he's dug himself into a hole he's not sure he'll ever be able to pull himself out of. Hak decides to put his regularly scheduled self-loathing on hold and cracks his neck before he stands up. "Finally find something to appease little miss thing?"
"She's not that bad," Ayame tuts, swatting his bicep lightly. "Come on. She's in the fitting rooms now trying things on. I think you'll like this one."
"Doesn't matter what I think," Hak says automatically.
"I know," she says, leading him towards the back of the store and far away from where he'd been sitting before. "But I still want to see your reaction. You know, I always kind of thought you'd have a type-"
"That's your own mistake."
"-But she's nice, Hak." Ayame continues, ignoring him. "A little sheltered, sure, but she's sweet. I like her. A lot of us were kind of expecting you'd bring home a riot girl or something, but she's like… well mannered."
He doesn't know whether he should laugh it off or take offense. Presently, it sort of feels like something's begun purring in his chest, deeply pleased, in a way he hadn't been expecting. It's not real, he reminds himself, not for the first time - what he's doing is pulling the sheet over his friends and family's eyes, not bringing her home to mom and dad, and Hak is so boned when all of this is over.
Still. It's not like he'd ever needed Ayame's approval. Though it is nice, in a weird sort of way. "So she's been on her best behavior, then," Hak says, taking it in stride.
"She's nice," Ayame says, insistently. "Just kind of clueless."
Yeah, that's Yona. Spoiled sweet. "Bossy, too," he says, grinning crookedly.
She eyes him suspiciously. Presses her lips together in what appears to be an amused smirk and says, "Well, I guess she doesn't subvert all of my expectations after all."
A lesser man might react to such blatant teasing. Hak glues his mouth shut and stares back at her instead, silently daring his expression to give anything else away. There are things to be said, surely, about his preferences, and what it is about Yona that draws him to her like a moth to a flame - and he likes to think he does a bang-up job of not letting the whole world know he's positively whipped.
"Um," Yona says, from behind the curtain, like the damn angel in disguise she is, and the moment is broken. "I think I might need a belt for this, Ayame, I don't know…"
The rungs of the curtain shriek as she pulls them aside, and Hak hopes to god his expression remains professionally neutral.
He's not sure he's ever seen the heiress in quite so much black in his life. Yona, though not afraid of it, tends to favor a wider spectrum of colors. She looks lovely in shades of white and pink, in blues and purples, in pastels and jewel tones alike, with that long hair of hers tied back in several kinds of bows and ribbons. For as long as he can remember, she'd been safely pretty, definitely cute, in knee-length skirts and smart, dry-cleaned sweaters, in pearls and neutral-toned eyeshadow, and Hak had always chalked her beauty up to a matter of opposites attracting.
But she's decked out in black now, hair chopped below her ears, and she's not even wearing pants, for fuck's sake. Yona tugs on the hem of that oversized band tee and scoots further out of the dressing room to get a better look at herself in the floor-length mirror.
"Oh," she says, shifting her weight, "nevermind, maybe it's not so bad-"
Hak tries very hard not to gawk at her thighs. Has he ever seen her thighs before? They'd never gone swimming before. He'd always just sort of thought her legs were twiggy and carried the rest of her like duty and left it at that, but - but they're long, and weirdly mesmerizing, even hugged in black thigh-high socks. They're especially distracting while they're being supported by chunky heeled combat boots.
He swallows. Tries very hard from keeping his mouth hanging open. "Your father would have a fit," he tries, but his voice sounds tight and not at all like himself.
Ayame shoots him a smile and claps her hands together. "I could get you a belt if you want! It'd give you more of a waistline, but I think the baggy look sort of works for you. It's very Ariana."
Yona tugs on the hem of the shirt one more time and then raises her hands to mess up her hair instead. "Do I look like a mosh?"
If she raises her arms just an inch more, Hak is sure he'd be privy to a panty shot, and feels sort of faint for even getting a little bit excited about it. To save face, he jabs his hands into his pocket and says nothing at all.
"Yes?" Yona asks, looking over her shoulder at him. With her hair this short, he can see her mother's earrings more clearly than ever, dusting over the slender rise of her shoulders. "No?"
Big brother. Fake boyfriend. Guard dog. Hak grapples with the trainwreck that is his attraction to her and hopes that one of his titles will stick and remind him of who he is. "... We'd have to get you some bike shorts."
"Why let my father sleep easy at night?"
It isn't her father who'll be up late thinking about it. Hak squirms and slouches harder. Perhaps the princess is too comfortable around him after all. "It's not him I'm worried about."
She presses her lips together. "If anyone tries something you'll be there to beat them up anyway," Yona says, like the infuriating, trusting darling that she is. "Besides. I don't have the sex appeal anyway, remember?"
Harsh. Making him eat his words. "Some people are into manic pixie dream girls."
Ayame swats at him. "You look perfect, Yona. I like it. You should make Hak lend you his black nail polish and it'll be a whole look. And one of his denim jackets, too. With the patches."
The purring in his chest threatens to overtake him completely. His heart just might stop. God, who is he, getting this excited in a damn thrift store? So much for detachment being his middle name. It's Yona he's ogling - untouchable, out of his league Yona - and his self-loathing returns for its second wind.
Whatever, he tells himself. Whatever. If she thinks it'll piss her father off, so be it. It's not like he can't resist her charm - he's been doing it for longer than he cares to remember, really, and it's not like he's an animal or something. Even if she's the hottest girl in the world (which, uh, she is, apparently) it doesn't mean he won't be able to keep his feelings out of it. And it doesn't mean he won't be able to keep his hands off of her, either.
She's just hot, okay. And he's not disgusting.
She's just… hot.
Hak sort of feels like a dog on a summer day. Really, he kind of wants to stick his head out of a window and pant or something.
"Oh! Boyfriend's jacket!" Yona says, far too brightly, and claps her hands together, too. "Pleaaase, Hak? For me?"
How in the world is he supposed to say no to that?
"Fine," he says, ears burning, unable to come up with a sassy retort under such dire conditions. He tries not to think about the way Ayame's smiling at him now but fails and fears his neck is pink now, too.
