Perhaps he really is in over his head.

It's not the first time he's had the thought - Yona moshing on a table comes to mind - but rather it's the first time it's struck him so completely. She's always been stubborn, of course, and reckless to boot, but there's something about tonight and the way she presses her lips together that makes him nervous. There's a resolution in her eyes, in the way she holds her shoulders, like she's so wound up that the muscles in her body have been pulled taut - it's tight, the way she takes in a breath, and it's tight, the way fingers dig into the sleek fabric of her gown.

And what a gown it is. He sort of wonders if he's allowed to see her like this. Not that it's overly risque or anything - Hak's practically nearly felt her up at this point, between catching her when she jumps off of tables, or that moment in her bed that he absolutely cannot think about ever again - but more… just flattering. She looks pretty.

Yona always looks pretty. Hak swallows and helps straighten the low back of the dress. The line of her spine is so pale and lovely, lilywhite and completely untouched by the sun. A lesser man would stare and stumble.

"I have body tape," she says, and there's that tightness, present even in her voice.

He wants to iron out her nerves, wants to smooth his hands down the slender line of her back. As if it would help at all. He's no iron. Still, his fingers twitch, and that same old ache sets in his bones, like clockwork.

But because he is Hak the faithful, and Hak, the fake boyfriend, he steels himself and asks, "Do you need help?"

"... I think so," Yona admits. "I can't… really see what I'm doing. Unless I stand in front of the mirror and twist, but-"

"It's fine." She can ask whatever of him. What Yona wants, Yona gets, no questions asked. Especially right now, of all times. "Hand it to me."

What she needs is stability. And if that is the one thing he can truly give her, then consider him stone. It's not like he's never buried his feelings for her before - really, he's been a professional at burying feelings and budding attraction to this frustrating, reckless bull of a girl for most of his life. It's only been recently that the cracks have begun to show, and at this point, Hak wonders if there's even any merit to force distance anymore. Soo-Won is here. Her father's here. Yona's in a dress that will turn heads, no questions asked.

The last thing she needs is his head turning. He can handle this.

Yona twists where she stands and offers the aforementioned tape. He doesn't look her in the eye because he doesn't deserve to, not after admiring her skin and the way her ribs look, peeking out from the edge of the back of her gown. She's petite and slender, thin bones and proud shoulders and scant freckles dotting her back like constellations.

What she needs is stability. Hak swallows again and takes the tape from her. "The sides?"

"And the back. I don't want to make those kinds of headlines," she admits, then turns away from him.

He allows himself to obsess only a single moment longer over the line of her spine. Carefully, gingerly, he begins his task, peeling back the edges of her backless gown to press double sided tape to her sides. Try as he might, Hak cannot ignore the softness of her skin, nor the way she shivers when his fingers graze the delicate curve of her waist.

Over his head doesn't even begin to cover it. Hak feels ten feet underwater, like he's drowning, water heavy in his lungs. Chest full with something he cannot process, he drags his thumb nail down, tracing the line of the dress until he reaches the bottom.

Yona exhales. He can feel her trembling, whether she realizes it or not. It feels a little like he's keeping a dirty little secret.

Will you kiss me tonight?

Stability, for fuck's sake.

Hak dips his fingers beneath the fabric and presses the final sliver of tape to her skin. She's warm and radiates heat, like the sweetest personal campfire. He stares at her shoulder blades as she stands taller and watches, with a deep harrowing in his soul, the way the muscles of her back move. Yona is draped in silky black, with a train that trails behind her, sleeves that etch their way down to her middle finger - she looks classy and adult.

With the plunging back leaving her bare from neck to tailbone. And he's touched her. And is still touching her. That same thumb presses to the base of her spine, far too possessively for its own good. Can she tell? Has she ever been able to tell? Why isn't she stopping him?

Why hasn't she ever stopped him?

"... There," he says.

Yona takes a step forward and presses her hand to her lower back. She meets his hand and they both pause for a moment.- something drops in his gut, white-hot and unbearably anxious - but then she remains, pressing both of their hands to the base of her spine.

This will be the death of him. Hak feels his heart in his throat. Why isn't she stopping him? Stuck with the consolation prize again - this wasn't supposed to be him helping her into her dress. This was supposed to be her fairy tale moment. He was supposed to be Soo-Won, sliding his hands up her pretty skin, pressing his lips to the back of her neck, to the curve of her shoulder.

"Thank you," she says, far too sincerely. "For everything."

She doesn't have to thank him. He's told her a million times; Yona has nothing to thank him for.

He clears his throat instead of responding properly. What can he say? You're welcome? No worries, thanks for letting me touch you? It's been an honor, your majesty?

Puh.

"And for tonight," Yona continues. "It's… when I asked you to do this originally I really never thought it was going to go this far. I don't even know if I would've asked you, had I known…"

She ought to stop talking. Yona cluelessly crushes him beneath the heel of her expensive designer heels. "It's fine."

She blinks, glancing back at him, and this is Yona, he thinks. More reckless and stubborn than anyone. This is Yona, in so far over her head and still so cluelessly compassionate to someone she really shouldn't think twice about. It kills him.

It's still killing him. He can't look her in the eye.

"... It's not your first kiss," she finally asks, "is it?"

"No," he lies.

"Because if it was — I mean," and then her hand is retreating, and she's turning to face him fully, both palms pressed to her heart, "I wouldn't ask. I couldn't ask that of you. That's… I mean… that's really something you should get to choose for yourself, and not just because I'm being needy again…"

There is literally nobody else he would rather kiss. It may not be on ideal terms, but — still, still, he thinks, and he shoves his hands into his pockets before he can do something stupid like reach for her. "Don't flatter yourself."

Her lips press together, almost as if she's tasted something sour. "Hak. I'm being serious."

As if he doubted that for a second. "What makes you think I'm not?"

She huffs.

Fine. Right. He can play this game too. "Will it be your first?"

Hak's not really looking at her face, but even while he's determinedly staring over her head, his peripherals can still make out the warmth in her cheeks. "Maybe?"

"Yona," he parrots, tone dry. "I'm being serious."

She stomps her foot. It's adorable and he has no capacity to admire it. "Of course it is," she says, and there's that spitfire again, thank goodness. "Who else would I be kissing, Hak? I've been chasing after Soo-Won for as long as I can remember, and he's never… we've never, I mean…" The breath she takes in seems so tremble through her. Hak stares thoughtfully and purposefully at her shoulder now. "... It wasn't until recently that he's… seen me as a woman, so... "

So Hak really ought to be the one feeling guilty here.

And does he. It sits heavy in his gut, tumultuous like seawater. "What makes it okay for you to be taken advantage of then?"

She swallows. "Nobody's taking advantage of me."

Hak takes a step back and shoves his hands back into his pockets. The last thing he needs to be doing right now is touching her, or even giving himself the chance to reach out - he's been slipping enough already as it is. "Sure."

"Hak," and she's chasing after him. "Nobody's taking advantage of me. I asked for all of this. Remember?"

Not his feelings. It feels like pulling a sheet over her head. Not his feelings, and not those hickies lining her throat, not his fingers on the arches of her ribs, and not - not his lingering stare, following after the flutter of her skirt, the way her curls bounce around her ears when she walks and stomps her feet and laughs.

"If you say so," he says instead.

Her eyes narrow. Ah. Somewhere along the line he looked back at her face. Simpleminded fool that he is, it seems he can't help but seek her out, even when he's manning a sinking ship. Yona's the sweetest siren song he's ever had the pleasure of drowning to.

"I do." And it looks like she means it, too. "I don't mind it being you, Hak."

Don't mind. His lungs are full of sea water now, so he says nothing, just presses his lips together and stares wordlessly at her.

And that's that. Yona nods at him, proud jaw and shoulders held infuriatingly high; she's suited up for battle now and Hak's known her too long not to recognize that look in her eye. She is Yona the Princess again, Yona, she who gets what she wants and knows she has the world wrapped around her little finger. He wishes it made him angry - angry in a way that would make him hate her, anyway, and not this kind of angry, the one that feels like he wants to shake her and kiss her and show her off, all at once.

"I like the chains," Yona says.

Hak jingles his pockets and the chains slap against his thigh. "I feel like a dog."

Her smile is both teasing and maddening. "Who's my good boy?"

.

Because Yona is effectively playing chicken with her own father, Hak doesn't bother with things like manners and propriety. In a way it's a relief, because he's never cared much for rich people and the games they play, and it's easier, really, to just not bother playing careful word tetris while trying to hold a conversation. Hak doesn't have to pretend to be the sort of man Yona would bring home to her parents, that he is even a little bit interested in taking over the company someday and making good impressions on the business partners and investors. Sure, instead he's putting his energy elsewhere - he's certainly spent just trying not to make awkward eye contact with Soo-Won while Yona hangs off of his arm - but at least he doesn't have to bother with the elite.

Still… if things were different, Hak thinks - well, he wouldn't play along and be anyone else's lapdog, but...

Yona presses her cheek to his bicep and mumbles, "Are they looking at us?"

There are a lot of theys. "Need to be more specific," he mutters.

"Father," she says quietly, under the ruse of nuzzling into him. "Soo-Won. Joo-Doh, maybe?"

Hak peers through the crowd. Sure enough, her father's looking their way, expression unreadable. He's an odd man, this Il fellow, and Hak's never really been able to get a solid read on him. Sometimes Hak thinks he's just a fool, and he's certainly not alone in that assumption - he's heard the whisperings in the halls of the building from employees and customers alike - but then there are other times, times like now, when Hak wonders if what he sees really is all that he gets.

It's like he's being read. Hak stares back, because there's not much else he can do at this point, while Yona hugs his arm to her chest.

If things were different, Hak certainly wouldn't play lapdog to anyone else, but he still might try to at least leave a decent impression on her father, at least. He might speak to Il and let him know what kind of person he is - that he volunteers sometimes with his younger brother's t-ball team, that the boots are thrifted, that he's adopted and maybe admit that family matters more to him than almost anything else in the world. Not that it matters, and not - not that it would matter at all to Yona's father, of all people, but - if things were different, Hak would want his intentions known.

Which is stupid. It doesn't matter what he would do if things were different. They aren't different. And it's like Yona's said a million times: it's not up to her father to pick who she marries. Yona is no prize, and the more Hak holds her on this impossible pedestal, the more he knows he really doesn't deserve her. What she really needs is someone who sees her for who she is, stubborn and reckless and compassionate, a bossy, bratty girl with the sort of heart he wants to drown in.

He's getting sidetracked again. It's unlike him. Hak hardens his stare and says, "Your father is."

Yona makes a pleased little noise. "Does he look stressed?"

Il gives nothing away. He just keeps… watching Hak watch him, with a glass of champagne balanced between his fingers. There's some business partners to his left, chattering on about… something - Hak's never been the best at lip reading, admittedly - but Il barely pays them any attention.

"He's distracted," Hak admits. "By us."

Yona makes a tiny pleased noise. "And Soo-Won?"

Hak does another quick scan around the room. It's not hard to find Yona's beloved - his long blonde hair is glossy in the light, and looks almost like molten gold - and Hak tries to ignore the sinking in his chest as their eyes meet. There's something in the way Soo-Won looks at him, something searching and haunting, all at once, and Hak finds himself swallowing his guilt whole.

What a precarious web he's been woven into. "Talking to Kye-Sook."

"Not father?"

They're practically on opposite sides of the room. And, well, Yona's managed to get herself wedged in the middle of the ballroom, so it's impossible for Hak to watch both parties at the same time. He looks back to Il to find him watching Soo-Won as well, one brow raised just barely, and if Hak couldn't tell what the boss man was thinking of him, with Yona dangling off of his arm, then he certainly can't tell what he makes of Soo-Won.

".. No," he says.

She sighs, frustrated. Her cheek presses more firmly into his arm. "He's supposed to try to convince father tonight."

There's a time and a place for begging your bethroded's father to allow the marriage, Hak supposes. Not that he knows anything about it. Psycho-analyzing his oldest friend and his relationship with Yona's father is so far beyond his pay grade it's not even funny. Besides. It's not like Hak's done a very good job of convincing anyone of anything lately.

Ugh. He needs a drink. Or maybe a firm punch to the head - maybe that'll finally set him straight, get his priorities in order. This isn't about him. Now's not the time to be slipping.

Hak keeps his head on a swivel. "Do you want to try talking to him?"

"Father?"

"No." Yona's fingers dig into the jacket of his suit. "I meant Soo-Won. Unless you do want to talk to your dad, cause, uh, we can do that, if you want."

She shakes her head and then takes a step back, so that she can look up at him more comfortably, without straining her neck. "I think I should keep my distance? I mean, if I want father to think, um, that we're serious, I shouldn't… orbit around Soo-Won more than necessary."

Right. Instead, she'll prance around and show him off to all of these snooty rich investors and stick her tongue down his throat to prove a point. A perfect gentleman like Soo-Won wouldn't do anything as scandalous or indecent as publicly display affection. Hell, Hak doesn't think he's even ever seen him hold Yona's hand before - aside from in the hotel room, when she'd reached for him, with rosy cheeks and starry eyes.

Aside from in the hotel room, when he'd slipped his fingers out from the spaces between hers, slithering nervously, not unlike a snake.

Was it too public for him? Even then, in secret, with only Hak chaperoning?

Yona swallows and he watches her throat. "But I think I'd like to say something to father at least. I need to show you off, right? I know how rarely you bother dressing up-"

"I think there's an insult buried there somewhere."

She smiles and places a palm flat against his chest. He only hopes she can't feel the thundering of his heart, traitorous as it is. It seems his heart and his brain will never be on the same page; this isn't about him, says sensibility, for what feels like the thousandth time. Honestly, who is he? This isn't him, aching so earnestly, so blatantly. Hak is stone, brotherly and not vulnerable, never vulnerable.

"There isn't," she says, a smile so precious curling her lips that it makes him want to say fuck it all and crush her to him. Would it be too cruel of him to hide it from the world? To take something for himself?

Most certainly, says the responsible part of him. But when will I get the chance again, asks the lonesome twinge in his heart.

Yona blinks up at him, and he can think of nothing but how pretty her eyes look, lined in dark black, with spidery lashes. That smile slips, just a bit. "Hak?"

"Hm."

"... There isn't an insult," she says, hand sliding, barely. Hak stands taller and does not think. "You know that, right?"

She worries too much. Hak chuffs and ruffles her hair, very much not the brooding, scary boyfriend he's supposed to be. "Sometimes I put on shoes that aren't beat-up cleats."

"Like beat-up combat boots?"

He makes sure to scuff Mundok's dress shoes on the ballroom floor, loud enough to draw the attention of some nearby socialite. Hak puts on his best devil-may-care grin and says, "I live to please, your highness," and slings an arm around her before he has the chance to get lost in her eyes again.

.

"Hak," comes a voice from behind him. "Could I have a word?"

A jumpier man might startle. Mentally, Hak sorts through the short, exclusive list of people in this room who could possibly know his name. Then a hand settles on his shoulder, and Hak tears his gaze off Yona long enough to glance back and meet her father's eyes.

Ah. "... What's it to you?"

Il's smile is as kind and clueless as it's ever been. Hak can feel Yona's residual frustration in spades, like tiny pinpricks of rage in his gut, but he swallows it down without consequence.

"I thought it would be nice if we had a conversation, man to man, if that's alright with you. I wanted an opportunity to speak with you, but I also didn't want to steal you away from Yona while she might need you."

The irony of it all nearly makes him laugh. All of this time, Yona's been thwarting her own plans simply by sticking close to him. She'll be furious when she finds out, and the thought of it - Yona, bristling, hair standing up on end like a pointy little kitten - makes him crack a grin, despite himself.

"Who said she doesn't need me now?" Hak quips.

Il chuckles and pats his shoulder. He looks beyond him, where Yona stands, a good several feet from the both of them, chatting eagerly with some business partner's younger sister - Tao, he thinks? It's like she doesn't have a care in the world, merrily chattering like the social butterfly she is, tucking her hair behind her ear, and the burnt violet of her fingernails is so distracting.

"I think she will be just fine," Il says, very sincerely. "Besides, I doubt she'll even notice you've left. The two of them haven't had a chance to catch up for months; she'll be distracted for a while."

He can't very well argue with that. Hak hasn't seen her smile like that, so completely and freely happy, in what feels like… well, months. She's grinned, of course, here and there, and there'd been that tiny, precious one she'd flashed him earlier, but this is different, he thinks. This is something he can't compete with, can't replicate himself. For the first time in so long, she's not overthinking anything, not pushing toward a frustrating goal, not balancing her longing for Soo-Won and this stupid hair-brained scheme she's roped him into.

Il pats his shoulder one more time. Firm, but fair. Sort of like how Mundok used to after t-ball games, when he'd continually swung for the low ones but still managed to make a double out of it.

"... Fine," Hak says, then clears his throat. No, that won't do; he needs far more grit to frighten this overprotective, foolish father of hers. "Whatever. Lead the way, old man."

.

He's lead out onto a balcony. The night air is chilly, but shivering is for men who aren't towering and intimidating, so Hak grits his teeth and deals with it. He has a role to play after all, and even if he's never considered himself much of an actor - Kija has always been the dramatic one of the group - there's still duty that sits heavy in his gut, twisted so tightly around all of the ugly guilt that's been brewing in him for weeks.

It's up to him now. If there's even a chance that he can fix this for her, that Hak can solve her problems just by being the most stereotypical brooding asshole he can muster, then so be it. He thinks of her, just hours ago, and Soo-Won's fingers between hers - Soo-Won's fingers, slipping from grasp, like shedding snakeskin.

Hak clears his throat.

"So-"

"Thank you," Yona's father says, cutting him off before he can even begin the spiel. It gives him pause, and Il takes the opportunity to carry on, in that entitled way that the wealthy often do. "My daughter is something of a handful sometimes, but it's been so comforting to know that you've been spending time with her. She gets lonely."

What the fuck is he supposed to say to that? There's comically missing the point and then there's whatever this rich bastard is going on about. Hak crosses his arms over his chest. "Spending time with her," he parrots, brow raised.

Il nods pensively and his expression is so content it's almost disarming. "She's very sweet and trusting. I've always worried it might get her into trouble someday."

He looks to Hak. Hak stares back incredulously. Shifts his weight and looks down at him.

"And you don't think I'm trouble."

"Should I?" Il takes a sip of his champagne, then sighs peacefully and pads his way over to the railing.

Hak is wearing a suit with chains on the belt and massive, shit-kicking boots. Only an hour ago, he'd been running his hands over the silk arches of Yona's pretty ribs, had glued his fingers to the line of her spine, the base of her hips. Even just thinking about it makes that guilt in his gut twist more, strangling duty like it's nothing more than the cheap excuse that it is.

He sure feels like trouble. He doesn't really know why nobody else thinks the same. As if someone like Yona deserves his hands all over her.

"Yona has curly hair," Hak says, as if it's enough. It should be enough. "She doesn't need to curl her hair."

"I'm aware."

"I did that." It feels like confession. It shouldn't. Feeling gutted and hollow isn't an option right now - Hak bulks himself up, shoulders back, and thinks about rugby plays and staring down defense lines and throwing arms or… something. Anything.

Il takes another sip of his champagne. The little voice in Hak's brain - the one that's begun to sound more and more like Yona these days - sputters and wonders how any father can be so blase. The head of Kouka Corps is notoriously overprotective of his only daughter - it's not a secret, and Il's never tried to pretend like it was. Yona doesn't go out places alone. In fact, she's really only just recently begun branching out on her own, and even then - even then, it'd been under the duress of dates with him, with the sole intention of scaring her father. Emotional chicken. Power play.

Hak doesn't get it, so he scoffs and leans his hip against the railing. "And I'll do it again. She's tiny. Like a helpless little kitten. It's almost sad how easy it is to toss her around."

No reaction.

Well. If at first you don't succeed, try again. Mundok didn't raise a quitter. Son Hak is 6'2'' and built of pure muscle and sarcasm, and if he can't cut this foolish man on the edge of his snark, well, what is he even good for? Hak doesn't see why he's the only one who should be feeling gutted by all of this.

Il starts again before he has the chance. "You haven't received any gifts."

Hak squints at him suspiciously. "... Other than a few hickies-"

"I watch her credit card statements, you know." Il swirls the drink in his glass, staring deeply into the bubbles. "I work hard so that Yona can have whatever she wants. And if she wanted to buy you things I would understand. The two of you are together, correct?"

She's very sweet. Trusting. It'll get her in trouble someday. Hak barks out a laugh. "That's what you're worried about?"

"Someday I won't be around to head the company. Whoever Yona marries will inherit the family fortune. She's the heir, after all. The sole heir." Something in Il's expression budges, like the man behind the frosted glass has finally begun to peer around the corner. "She has a big heart but I worry she doesn't have the best judgement. I don't envy that sort of pressure and I don't want to put it on her but it's something she has to consider."

"You're worried about gold diggers," Hak cuts in.

Her father's laughter is polite but resolute. "You could put it that way."

"And not worried about me fucking your daughter."

Il blanches, at the very least. "I'd rather not know about it-" he says quickly, voice high.

"Because I'm fucking your daughter," Hak lies, looming. He stands a good head taller than her father, and though Il is comfortably pudgy, Hak is all hard muscle and imposing stature. Without his business partners or assistants circling him, the king of the evening seems small. "Whenever. Wherever. That doesn't bother you?"

Il gulps down what's left of his champagne (half a glass, for fuck's sake) and laughs nervously. "Of course - no father wants to know the details, but-"

"I'm in college."

His smile is pathetic and withering. "She's happy with you."

As if Yona's happiness has anything to do with this. She was happy with Soo-Won, so eager to wrap herself around him, to chase after her coattails in pursuit of happily ever after. He thinks of that pedestal again, the one Yona's been trying to climb down from for what feels like months, and how her father speaks about her happiness, and Hak shoves his hands into his pockets before he has the chance to do something stupid like throw a punch or grab the guy and shake him.

"How do you know?" Hak scoffs.

"She loves showing you off!" Il says hurriedly. "I mean, of course all of this has been a ploy to call my bluff, but-"

Record scratch. Hak physically feels the wind leave him for a moment. "What."

"The timing was obvious. Yona begs for permission to marry Soo-Won - who, mind you, is the son of Yuhon, my late business partner, and I have it on record that he was embezzling funds, so - I can't very well allow my daughter to make the same mistakes I did, can I?"

It's like being kicked in the gut. Sure, Yona's not the best actress in the world, and he's sure not bringing home any awards anytime soon, but he at least sort of thought they stood a chance. All of this, wasted, he thinks - and the laugh sort of bubbles out of him, exhausted, both emotionally and physically, by this whole mess.

This will crush her. Hak sort of feels like throwing up, but he laughs instead, because what else can he do, at this point, but accept defeat?

"But my point remains," Il continues, "that she enjoyed showing you off. Immensely. And I haven't seen my daughter working so diligently toward… well, anything. I'm not sure if she even noticed the change in herself."

At the very least, Hak has to try to salvage what he can. "So what."

"Pardon?"

"So what?" Hak stops trying to look like the big bad wolf and instead slouches over the railing, wearing the skin of the poor orphan boy with nothing to offer - something more comfortable, for sure. "I can't run a business."

Il's feathers remain unruffled. "Well-"

"I don't want to run a business," he admits. "It's a lot of work, and hanging around with skeevy corporate bastards isn't something I want to spend the rest of my life doing. If I were you, I'd be less concerned about my intentions and more worried about the reality. I can't do anything for her."

The windchill suddenly feels more violent. It's like he can feel it in his bones, cutting, sawing, slowly, slowly. Hak says to hell with it and holds his head up anyway, despite the incoming crick in his neck.

"I won't do anything for her," he corrects. "Besides. Kind of think her opinion is more important than anyone else's anyway, and she thinks Soo-Won's the best choice."

Il clicks his tongue but says nothing. He does step closer, however, but minds his polite distance - you can take the man out of high society, Hak supposes, but you can't take the pretension and touchaphobia out of the man.

"... Whatever," Hak grunts, then pushes off of the railing. "Doesn't matter. I'm going back in."

There's a pause. Hak is nearly to the door when he hears, "Hak?"

He grunts again. There's not a point in playing a part anymore, but perhaps his natural state of being - lazy boy with nothing to offer this man's daughter - should get the job done. It sure does a bang-up job of reminding Hak of the reality of his position, that's for sure. It's one thing to play pretend and hold an heiress's hand, but another to believe it.

It's not like he's never thought about it before. Not a moment goes by where he doesn't think about Yona and how he feels about her, how still, despite everything, he holds her up on that impossible pedestal. She's still untouchable, always and forever, and Hak supposes it doesn't really matter if that's because she wants to marry someone else or because he cannot support her in the way a man of her status could. There are layers to it, and there always have been - but for so long the predominant rub had been her feelings.

As it ought to be, he thinks. It's Yona's choice, always and forever, as far as he's concerned, and he'll kick anyone who says or thinks otherwise in the dick.

It's Yona's choice, and he's never been her choice anyway, so it just hasn't mattered. And it won't matter. There's not a world where she would choose him.

There's not. To pretend otherwise would be suicide. He knows that. He knows that.

The hand on his shoulder feels far too fatherly. Hak's entire being twitches, as if some part of him rejects the comfort.

"Yona is her own person," Il says, far too gently. "and can choose to run the company herself, if she choses. My only concern is how the person who marries my daughter makes her feel."

Hak swallows. It's painful. He's not stupid and he knows that. "She loves him."

"And… how they treat her. And regard her."

As if anyone regards Yona badly. Soo-Won holds her in the same light that Hak does. He brought her a gift tonight, for fuck sake. All Hak's done is make things messy with his feelings and pull the sheet over her head. Even now, he's still tricking her, lending half truths and taking advantage of the situation. She ought to know that. And so should her father.

Hak shakes the hand off and summons his grit. Feelings are stupid and he doesn't talk about them. Certainly not with near strangers, and certainly, certainly not Yona's foolish, overprotective father. Who does he think he is, her boyfriend?

Ha. He wishes.

She didn't even notice Hak leave. Yona would never take her eyes off of Soo-Won. She'd practically undressed him with her eyes in the hotel room.

"Didn't you hear me, old man?" Hak huffs and shoves his way through the door. "I'm fucking your daughter. That's a scandal in itself, you stupid-"

"She's on birth control!"

Idiot. There's comically missing the point and then there's Yona's stupid father.

.

By the time he manages to find Yona again, she's stress-eating cubes of expensive cheese.

Her eyes light up when she catches sight of him and that guilt in his chest just about swallows duty alive. For her to be looking at him like that after the conversation he just had with her father - what he ought to do is tell her the truth, that they've basically been found out and all of this is for nothing - god, he thinks he might actually throw up after all. It sinks heavy into his gut, like sludge, and forget sea water; Hak's never had a chance of swimming at all. This has always been his fate. The sooner he accepts it, the sooner he can move on and actually be of use to her.

She swallows and then stands taller, excitedly. "Hak! Where'd you go?"

It's cute. She's cute. It doesn't make him feel better at all.

"... Around."

"Around?" She tilts her head. When he gives no further information, Yona steps closer and wedges herself around him, peering up at him with those stupidly pretty eyes of hers.

Ugh. He's never been able to deny her anything. "You... " Christ, but his throat is suddenly dry, and Son Hak has never considered himself much of a coward, but right now he feels like the scum of the Earth. Tell her the truth, he thinks, even as he continues to orbit her, like some sort of foolish lapdog.

Maybe that's just what he is. Maybe it's all he's ever been. Hak thinks he could be content with that, living the rest of his life as Yona's mutt, chasing away anyone who looks at her the wrong way. To be of use to her is all he's ever really wanted, and even if there's a depressing lack of ambition inside of him, that's still okay - if Il has bodyguards and assistants, why can't Yona?

Yona stares expectantly up at him. Right. He'd been saying something.

"... You should lay off the cheese," he says finally, mentally kicking himself.

Her brows furrow a little and she squeezes one of the cubes between her fingers. "I don't see how that's relevant at all-"

Well, he might as well bury himself in this hole he's dug himself. "You are what you eat."

She chuffs and nudges him with her shoulder turning at once. Hak has a front-row seat to stare obsessively at the pale line of her spine, so bare and freckled delicately. "What, are you five or something?"

Apparently he is. In moments of stress and Feeling, Hak reverts back to childhood and opts to tug on the hair of the girl he likes, instead of embracing mature things like communication and honesty. While Yona makes to grab more stress-snacks from one of the caterers - because he is no help, apparently - he tries hard not to think about the heavy weight of her father's stare, and how he can feel it, even now, burning a hole between Hak's shoulders.

Stupid. Stupid. He needs to tell her that the jig is up.

Does Hak even know how to tell the whole truth? Does he know how to confess to her in full? Has he ever?

"You're acting weird," she says, around a mouthful of cheese. Yona turns back around to face him and he stares at her mouth, helplessly. "You have been all night. Are you sure everything is okay? We don't have to do this. I mean, I have to do this, but you have no obligation to stick around if there's too many people in here."

Stop giving me an out. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I don't know! It can be really overwhelming!" She shrugs. "It used to be a lot for me when I was a kid. I'm pretty sure I spent the first few parties glued to Father's leg-"

"You were five."

"You're acting five!" she counters. "And you won't look me in the eye either. It's freaking me out."

That's not fair. It's not that he's purposely avoiding eye contact, it's just that he can't seem to stop staring at her neck and her jaw and how pretty her lips look in dark lipstick. It's too easy for his brain to run away with things now that he knows what it looks like to have her lipstick smeared all over him, or what it feels like to have his mouth on her neck, pressing his teeth into that delicate dip just above her collarbone, where her skin is thin and warm.

"... Thought you wanted me to be bad today," he huffs. "That was part of the deal."

"Hak."

"Is my lady dissatisfied with my service?"

He doesn't have to look her in the eye to know the look she's giving him. "You're such a turd sometimes, you big bully."

"I am but a humble contracted lover," he says dryly, with a bow of his head.

Tell her, he thinks again, but then Yona laughs at his antics and flicks his shoulder and Hak loses the nerve.

So he looks her in the eye. He at least owes her that. Pretty violet stares back at him and something in Hak's chest sinks.

"You're sure?"

Reassuring her is his job, thank you very much. Hak doesn't need things like comfort and the way Yona's begun to smile around him, tiny and secretive and so precious it makes him want to grab her face and squeeze her stupid freckled cheeks. Doesn't she know who he is? Doesn't she know what he's here to do?

Maybe it won't matter. After all, Yona said tonight was the last night. Maybe it won't matter if he doesn't spill the beans and let her know that her father already knows what she's doing, that he's always known, that nothing she does tonight will really matter in the long run - he's calling her bluff and he always has been. But if tonight is the final show, and if Yona really does do the curtain call, how much will it matter? Sure, it means he's dirtying his hands, but - but he's already red handed at this point. He has been for weeks.

Really, Hak's been guilty since the moment he said yes. This isn't any different. It's easy to talk a big game and convince himself that all of this has been for her sake, that he's simply doing it out of obligation and affection for her; what's harder is looking the truth in the face and owning up to what he's always known.

He's been using her just as much as she's been using him. The only difference is Yona only knows half the story.

Yeah. Hak decides it does matter and that he's sick of being a coward. Soo-Won's watchful eyes are nearly luminescent from across the hall.

He knows his place. Being Yona's right hand man is nearly the same as being by her side - it's close enough, he thinks, and more than he deserves anyway. "... Yona-"

She gasps a little and grasps his tie in her hands. Hak has half a second to wonder where the rest of her cheese went, then spends the second half pondering the determined press of her vampy lips.

Then she says, "Keishuk is looking, and so is Father, so…!"

It's just natural for him to follow her lead at this point. When Yona pulls he follows, so conditioned to the ebb and flow of her command that it's second nature for him at this point. He only thinks about what's actually happening when he can feel the puff of her breath on his face, and then realizes, very suddenly, that he's weeping like a willow over her and Yona's closed those pretty eyes of hers.

Will you kiss me tonight?

It's such a split second decision. Caught between right and wrong, quite literally - giving Yona what she thinks she wants and indulging in what he's always wanted and throwing in the towel before she can consent to something she doesn't understand. It's too sudden to contemplate everything, the pedestal she's trying to claw her way down and the way Soo-Won's still staring at them, the conversation with her father on the balcony and the one with her in the hotel room hours ago, the way she'd looked after Soo-Won slithered away - and the way Hak feels about her. The way Hak's always felt about her.

And, well, it's second nature to follow her lead.

There is only a brief moment of thrill for him before the guilt really sets in. Hak tries to squeeze his eyes shut and enjoy it - god knows he's wanted to kiss her for as long as he can remember - and this single moment of weakness, with her tugging, still, on his tie and her other hand cupping his jaw sort of makes him want to cry. But it's complicated, this feeling, and the guilt twists its claws into his gut before Hak really has a chance to make sense of the situation in whole. Yona's hands hold him so surely it makes him want to fall to his knees and thank her, of all things.

He is just one man. One stupid man, and it's just one kiss, he tries to reason. Just one kiss with one special girl, a girl he'll never belong to, so he ought to enjoy it while he can - because her lips are soft and sweet and her lipstick will stain his mouth too and that's a brand he sort of wants to wear forever - but the scandalized gasps around him reminds him dutifully of his place. Of her place. Of what literally just went down like fifteen minutes ago and why he can't be doing this.

Or letting her do this. Not if she doesn't know that it doesn't matter. Not if she doesn't know that he wants to kiss her more than anything else, but not like this. Not like this.

He tries to edge back. Manages to get his mouth far enough away from hers to mutter, "Wait, Yona, you shouldn't-" before she has her other hand on his jaw too and kisses him again.

Like really kisses him. Hak feels her tongue on his lips and groans, unable to stop himself, and then he thinks, well, I tried, and lets her have her way with him. If Yona wants to mess with his hair and dig her nails into the skin of his jaw and let him taste exactly how determined she is to marry someone else, well, what's a guy supposed to do? Her waist is so tiny and her hips wider than he expects, for someone so scrawny - but they fit in his hands far too comfortably for his brain to process right now, so he squeezes his arms around her instead and lifts her into him.

He doesn't even know if she has her feet on the floor anymore. Yona's so tiny that he sort of doubts it, and she's so light that he's not sure he would even notice the difference, but she makes a sort of… desperate little humming noise that makes his brain short circuit. The kiss is messy but mind melting and if Hak died right here, right now, it would have been a full life for him.

He might just die. The world shifts - he thinks Yona gets her toes back on the ground - and her nails drag down his neck, over the lapels of his jacket, the wrinkled state of his tie. Her mouth is the last thing to go, as if it's difficult for her to pull away, but Hak knows that's a nasty case of wishful thinking and doesn't allow himself the hope.

She sighs. He can feel it on his lips. Hell, Hak can still taste her lipstick on his mouth. It's only the steel of his will that keeps him from licking it.

Her eyes crack open and she stares at him sort of luminously. For all of her looks, and for all of the years that he's known her, this isn't a look he can decipher. He doesn't even know where to begin.

He wonders if she can feel his heart. Wonders if she knows it's slamming in his chest. Hak wants to reach out and press his fingers to her throat and feel her pulse. Is she as rattled as he is? Does her skin still radiate heat there? Once upon a time he'd tasted her pulse, racing beneath his tongue and mouth and teeth, sweeter than any other poison.

Now is not the time. Never is the time, but now is especially not the time.

"... Sorry," she whispers, and her voice cracks. "Thank you-"

"Your father knows."

Yona blinks. Presses her lips together.

Perhaps it doesn't immediately register, so he tries again. "Your father-"

"He doesn't."

This is probably the worst time for this. Fuck, fuck. Hak chases after her touch like the stupid dog he is. "He told me he does. He knows you're faking it."

"I'm." Yona's voice clips, then she presses her lips together and blinks, and it's a different look she's giving him now, but still not one he can make sense of. It's not anger but it's not glee, not quite frustration but also not calm - there's something brewing there in the dawn of her eyes. like the sun's rising again. "... He thinks I'm faking?"

"I'm sorry," Hak admits, and he forces himself to take a step back from her. "I tried to salvage what was left but he really… I guess he's more perceptive than we thought. I still tried to rattle him but it didn't seem like he was going to budge."

Her fingers are still digging into the lapels of his jacket. Yona stares at his chest now with the sort of determined frustration that he's grown accustomed to. She's so concentrated that he sort of expects steam to come out of her ears - so much so that she doesn't seem to notice the muttering and whispering of high society that's begun to orbit the two of them.

"... We can still force his hand," she mumbles. "And… and this is the last night anyway, so…"

"I'm sorry," he says again, feeling scummy. "I should've told you before… that."

She tightens her grip. Hak can still see Soo-Won staring from across the room, glass of champagne balanced so perfectly between his fingers. If Yona's expression was unreadable then Soo-Won's is positively illegible.

Christ. Kill him where he stands.

"We can still force his hand," Yona says again. Hak only tunes back in when she begins tugging on his jacket again. She has her face twisted up again, smudged lipstick and dark eyes and pupils blown wide.

But it's the last night, Hak thinks. After tomorrow I'm not going to be your boyfriend anymore. You said so yourself.

Still, he allows Yona to pull him back down to her level. She stands as tall as she can, tippy-toeing so that she can wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him again, and again, and even as he wonders why she would bother calling her father's bluff at this point in the game, he doesn't stop letting her kiss him.