Hak leans in towards Yona's bathroom mirror and inspects the damage, neck crooked, brows furrowed.

He knows he shouldn't think about it, knows he should just hurry up and finish undressing so that he could wash the stain from his skin, but still, the lipstick is evidence that it happened, even if it'd been under less than ideal circumstances. It's weird. Realistically, he should probably be annoyed with her, or perhaps even frustrated that she'd taken her sweet time marking him with her mouth, but — but there's an annoying tug in his chest, and Hak stands there beneath her bright white lights, feeling stupid and clingy and completely out of sorts.

It's like his brain is still buffering. It's been two hours since the ordeal and Hak still can't process it. And the ride home had been weird, and Yona even weirder, and maybe if he stands here long enough the lights will just melt him down to his bones.

He leans back. Takes three deep breaths and reminds himself of who he is and what he's meant to be doing. Yes, that's more like it. Now's not the time to be getting all twisted up over something Yona had surely thought nothing of. He'd known what he was getting himself into when he'd told her yes, he'd play the big scary anyone else for her; getting worked up over it is just out of the question. And it's immature. If this is his grave then he has to sit down and be okay with that, because he's been the one digging it for weeks now.

Still. It's hard to ignore the way her lipstick looks on him. It's not unlike a brand, like she'd decided he was the cattle she owned and wanted everyone to know it, and that alone should piss him off.

It doesn't. It does the opposite. He takes another breath and then forces it back out through his nose. This isn't about him, dammit. This isn't about his feelings, and it's not about his happily ever after. He should know better.

Then the door swings open and Yona's in the bathroom too, spluttering, "Soo-Won's on his way over!"

That's right. He does know better. It's not his place to think she looks cute with raccoon eyes and smudged lipstick. She already has a suitor selected for that.

And he can't even fault her for it. Soo-Won is an excellent choice. Soo-Won is her type.

"You could knock, you know," Hak deadpans.

"I— but— you need to hurry, a-and you're not even—!" She blinks rapidly and looks him over, as if just now realizing he wasn't in the shower yet, and that meant he was shirtless and still wearing her lipstick on his skin.

It's like her brain is buffering. Hak raises a brow at her.

"... You're supposed to be showering?" she squeaks finally, far more feebly than he'd expected. Her eyes linger longer than they need to, and Hak thinks maybe he's gone and gotten himself in trouble now for taking too long in her bathroom.

So he shrugs. If she wishes to reprimand him, he will bow his head like the faithful dog he is.

"You're…! Not even completely naked, a-and I haven't heard the shower yet, Hak!" Yona huffs, seemingly collecting herself, and there's the firecracker he loves so much. She spins on her heels and marches out, the tips of her hair bouncing against her neck, skirt fluttering against her thighs, and he might as well be naked, christ.

Hak frees himself from his ultra skinny jeans and turns the water on. Keeps turning the knob until the temperature is approximately freezing and lets the cold shower do its thing. Bad dog.

.

He showers quickly and drip-dries on Yona's duvet as she rushes around, trying to find a way to present herself as both dangerous and also conventionally desirable.

Maybe a nap would be the best choice of action.

Maybe he'll be able to nap throughout the entire visit and wake up three years later, and Yona will be married to Soo-Won and he'll be playing rugby on weeknights and guitar on weekends, and everything will be the way it should be. Yona will grow her hair back out and Soo-Won will spend meticulous, sentimental nights combing it back, tying her stubborn curls in pink ribbons, and Hak won't be caught in the middle of their romance.

Ugh. His chest feels fuzzy. Like there's tv static stuck in the monitor of his heart, and no matter how he tries to spin the situation, he can't seem to find better reception. It makes sleeping impossible, and if there's one thing he hates, it's being kept from a well-needed nap.

Yona's pacing doesn't help. Hak grunts and throws his arm over his face. "Soo-Won won't care what you wear."

He doesn't need to see her to know she's spun to pout at him. No matter how old she gets, and no matter how she tries to fashion herself, Yona will always be Yona, and he knows her mannerisms like the back of his hand. It would be cute, if he was allowed to think such, but he is not, so Hak keeps his arm over his eyes and tries breathing out while he mentally counts to ten.

In. And then out. Easy. There's still twenty minutes left to nap before all hell breaks loose. That's it.

"... I want him to think I'm pretty," she admits from across the room. Probably her walk-in closet. "But I also don't want my father to think I'm not taking this seriously, because I am, and I don't want all of this work to have been for nothing-"

"What's wrong with what you're wearing now?"

"What if he doesn't like me in black?"

Soo-Won would like her in anything, because he is a sensible human being, and Yona looks good in everything. But especially black. Especially short black pleated skirts and smudged black eyeliner.

"Don't worry about it."

"I have to!" She slams her closet doors shut and whines. "I can't just, like, turn it off, you know! Some of us can't just sleep our problems away, you butt-"

Hak sits and stares at her. With all the rushing around she's done, her hair's gone the full frizz, fluffy around her ears and standing on end. And despite the tone of her voice, there's a hardness there in her eyes, a boiling steel that's begun to take shape, and Hak doesn't know what to do with that. He'd seen it once before, when she'd marched into her room and chopped her hair off in a fit of righteous fury, but it feels… different now.

He really doesn't know what to do with it. Instead, he scrubs at his face and tries not to think about anything. "You look fine."

She bites her lip. "Do you think so?"

His opinion holds no weight, but. "Black suits you. He has eyes. Relax."

Something rises in her eyes, not unlike the sun, but it refuses to set, and instead Yona stands there hugging a dress to her chest and stares back at him, face pink.

Maybe that sun did set and he'd just blinked and missed it. Hak continues to not think about anything and drops his hand to his side and stares right back at her. This pretty little princess has always been excellent at fishing for compliments - not that she'd ever needed to, of course - but just this once, Hak feels lenient. Just this once, he will allow her to pluck whatever courage she needs from him. If it will help weld that steel in her eyes, will help her craft her weapon, he will be her right hand man.

Or maybe he's just tired of playing charades with her. Maybe the reception in his heart is permanently busted. Fuck it. It's too hard to tell anymore. This hole he's dug himself into has no way out.

Her phone chirps to life before Yona has a chance to respond. It gives her an out and she takes it, practically ripping her phone out of her pocket as if it'd burned her. For all he knows, it had. For a minute there, he was pretty sure she was dead set on staring him down until he'd cracked beneath her pressure and spilled his beans. It takes a special kind of concentration to do that. Especially from Yona.

Hak cracks his neck and sighs. The text's probably from Soo-Won anyway. Looks like his shift is over.

"... Oh."

"Oh?"

"Oh," Yona says, visibly wilting. "Oh. He's…. oh."

That tv static in his chest goes wild. Hak struggles with the antenna and clenches his fingers around the fabric of Yona's duvet. "What."

When Yona looks back to him, her steel's gone liquid, and that sun has sunk to beneath the horizon. Night seems to have fallen again, and Yona does the meekest shrug as she slips her phone back into her pocket. "Something came up. He wants to reschedule for next week."

"Just now?"

She nods, a tiny, jerking motion. "He sends his apologies."

Buh. A lot of good that does. Thoughts and wishes don't seem to sate Yona's rapidly falling expression; try as she might, the little heiress has always worn her heart on her sleeve, and though she thinks she might be slick, it's a little too easy to read her moods. For Hak, at least, Yona is an open book - but especially when it comes to Soo-Won. Especially when it comes to her blatant, harrowing attraction to Soo-Won.

It's not hard to tell she's disappointed. He wonders if she's even trying to pretend like she isn't disappointed. She doesn't wipe her eyes, but she does blink rapidly, and even if tear stained cheeks are pretty punk, that doesn't make it any easier for him to watch.

He is beyond boned. This is next level punishment.

He tries to leave it alone. Tries to ignore it and carry on with his nap - because not all is lost, rest can still be had - but it's impossible. Hak can't stop himself from sneaking glances at her as she turns to hang her dress back up in her closet, and, "Have you tried?" slips out before he can stop himself.

"What?"

There's no going back now, Hak tells himself. He's already in far too deep to call it quits. Besides. Considering what's already conspired today, what else could possibly hurt him? The knife's already lodged in his chest. What's a little more twisting? The damage has already been done. At this point, Hak is just biding his time until the blade's removed and he actually does bleed out on her white marble floor.

"Have you tried? Sleeping your problems away, I mean."

"... I?"

"You make fun of me for it and you've never even tried it," Hak scoffs, falling too easily into this role that he's been granted. If he's going to be properly knighted, he thinks, as Yona's boyfriend, even only in name, he might as well do his damn job.

She looks at him from over her shoulder. Blinks. Smudges that messy eyeliner all over her under eye.

"C'mon," he sighs, collapsing backwards onto her bed once more. Hak closes his eyes and tries to pretend like his mind's eye doesn't produce images of her even when he's purposely not looking. "Nap time."

"Hak," Yona says, but he can hear footsteps.

"We're trending. Celebrate a victory. Sleep."

She sighs. Sniffles, and probably wipes her eyes dry, now that he's not watching her. He tries to keep his expression neutral and keep the corners of his mouth from curling and smiling. She is not cute, he thinks, very intently - and he knows he's lying to himself, but even then, he shouldn't be smiling at a time like this - but then the mattress dips, just barely, beneath her kitten weight, and then Yona's laying beside him.

Hak allows his eyes to open, just a crack. Yona lays facing him, hair messy, bangs falling over her eyes.

"This won't work," she says. "I'm too stressed to sleep."

Well, he can't have that, can he? What sort of wannabe boyfriend would he be, if he let his princess go on without some well-needed moody nappage?

"Drama queen," he says without any bite. Brushes her hair from her eyes and tries not to think about how her eyelashes tickle as she blinks against the side of his palm. There's something sappy in this, in grazing her cheek with the gentlest of touches, but it's something Hak does not allow himself to savor. He is playing a part. He is filling a role that has never been truly his.

Yona sighs. Bites her lip and gradually her eyes shut, and there's so much eyeliner smudged on her face at this point it sort of... blurs her features. It makes her look a little dead, and though Hak thinks that's hot in its own way, it's not Yona.

So he swipes his thumb over her eyelid. His skin comes back stained dark and damp, and Yona's eyes blink open, surprised.

He is playing a part. She isn't his. They're trending on Twitter for fuck's sake because Yona had sucked on his neck for the sake of marrying Soo-Won. He is playing a part.

"Don't want to stain your pillowcases," he says, finally. "Yoon's got enough work to do."

She puffs. Squirms next to him, knee bumping his, and Hak does not think about it, not even a little bit. "Yoon is not my maid."

"Fine. Your maids have enough work to do."

Yona makes a little whining sound. Hak is still not thinking, so he definitely doesn't find it adorable in the slightest. "I'm supposed to look punk rock," she says, and then her eyes are sliding shut again, even though there's still a furrow to her brow. "I have a baby face. I need as much makeup as I can get to try to make it work."

"Even punks sleep sometimes."

"I thought you were goth?"

Smartass. He loves her.

.

Hak wakes to Yona curled up beneath his chin, not unlike a cat. Her hands are curled up into tiny fists, clenched up against his chest, cheek squished against his shoulder, nose poking his collarbone.

It's not how he'd fallen asleep. Hak had been meticulous in keeping distance between them, and while he's still in that cotton-mouthed post-nap haze, he sort of… squints out her window, considering if this is a dream or not. Because this is how a lot of his dreams go, and try as he might, the door to his heart can only stay locked so long as he is awake. Subconscious Hak is another man, a weaker man, and so nap-drunk Hak slips, just for a moment, and gives in to temptation, wrapping his arms around her.

She's warm. And tiny. Yona is five foot nothing and thin - he can feel her shoulder blades through the fabric of her torn t-shirt. If he really focuses on it, he's pretty sure he can feel the strap of her bra, pinned beneath the meat of his palm.

He does not think about it. Or maybe he does, and it jolts him awake, like ice water injected straight to his veins.

Fuck. He's not dreaming. Yona's a sleep cuddler. It's both endearing and terrifying, because who knows how long she's been snuggled up to him mindlessly, and who knows what would've happened, had Hak rolled over. He is twice her size and certainly heavy enough to crush her in his sleep.

"Hhhh," Yona huffs, still pressed to his chest. "Five more minutes…"

She has to know this isn't a dream either. Hak begins the task of peeling his little heiress off of him without completely disturbing her rest - because really, he's happy this whole little scheme worked, beyond his own selfish desire to hold her in his arms. A good nap can solve most problems and it can distract and momentarily put the ones it can't solve on hold. Unpacking Yona's feelings for Soo-Won and her disappointment is intimidating and messy, to say the least - but sleeping off the immediate hangover has always been Hak's catch-all cure.

"Comfy…." she whines, squirming.

It's like dealing with a toddler. Hak sits up and plops her down onto her pillows unceremoniously.

"-! Hey," she says, yelping a little, eyes wide open, and - oh. Her face is still stained with mascara tears.

It cracks him open a bit. That door to his heart trembles beneath the weight of his yearning, but Hak holds steadfast and true and knocks the handle clear off with a mental sledgehammer.

"... Arm was asleep," he lies.

"Bleh." Yona scrubs the sleep from her eyes and squirms, precious and adorable and god dammit, she's so cute, what is he supposed to do? He wants to protect her from her own feelings. He wants to protect her from his. "How long… what time…"

"Well," Hak says, "it's dark now, so."

Yona blinks blearily at her ceiling. "I think… I'm late for dinner."

"Thought that was canceled."

She seems mostly at peace with her thwarted feelings now. Yona continues looking to her ceiling, blinking slowly, breathing calmly. It's so different from the version of her she's been the past couple of days - Yona has been so gungho to make her point that he's hardly seen her sit in one place for more than a few minutes at a time. It's always been something with her, be it planning outings or acting out in front of her father. And even then, he thinks, watching her stretch, squeaking as her bones shift and click into place - even then, when she'd been Yona, spoiled, perfect princess, she'd still been a busy body. He didn't think she knew how to slow down.

It's nice seeing her like this. Hak sort of wonders last time she slept soundly was. It's not like he can make out any natural darkness under her eyes beneath all of the artificial stuff.

"... Still… have dinner with my father," she says, then cracks her neck. Rubs her face. Yawns again.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Huh?"

"You being late for dinner, I mean," he says, scrubbing at the back of his neck. "Especially if it's because you were locked up in here with me. And. I mean. Your makeup's a mess."

She peeks at him through the cracks of her fingers. There's a single moment more of her sleepy eyes before his words sink in and that's it, the fire lights up in her again.

Even behind her hands, Hak can still make out her grin.

"Why, Son Hak," she says, and then she's sitting up and beaming, poking him right in the shoulder. "Are you suggesting I pretend you ravaged me?"

Ravaged her. Jesus. "It's not a lot to ravage," he says, trying to be blasé. "Not like it would take very long."

"Hey!"

"But if the shoe fits," he says, poking her back, right on her forehead. He towers over her so easily, and it would be simple, he thinks, to tug her back into the warmth of her bed and sleep a little longer.

It's not that he has stage fright. Hak will play any role she wants him to, will wear the mask of any man she sees most useful, and will do so with only a minor amount of complaining - he's not afraid of this masquerade. Hak isn't afraid of anything, not really, it's just…

Things had been… nice, laying here with her. Quiet and simple, and that yearning whimpers from behind the door he's mentally demolished. It's selfish of him to want to remain behind the curtain for a few moments longer, existing with her without pretense, allowing himself to be so close to her without the need for bravado.

But that's not what he's here for, is it? To think otherwise would be foolish, and the evidence of such is still stained with mascara on her face. He is here to play the part of the big bad, the dangerous alternative to Soo-Won's perfect light. It's what Yona's asked of him. It's what Yona wants from him, and he'd already decided to be her right-hand man long ago. To ask for anything else would be cruel. Yona doesn't owe him anything - Yona's feelings are her own, and to feel frustrated or hurt by them would be his own fault. It's not like he didn't know what he was getting himself into.

Yona's pouting is adorable. She rubs her forehead and then stares up at him, and to be needed by her, in any capacity, is still his greatest pleasure in life. Fuck it.

"You really want to make this convincing?"

She nods. Her curls bob around her ears, chopping and adorable. Her neck glows, pale and delicate, beneath her string lights.

HIs voice is not his own. Hak leans toward her and cups her jaw in his hand, and Yona doesn't flinch. She watches him with those big, bright eyes of hers, and morning has surely come, but Hak's not finished dreaming yet. "... Do you trust me?"

"Hak," Yona says, brows furrowed. "Of course."

It's for her. It's for her. "Let me…" He clears his throat. It's for her. "... You can say no."

"I don't know what I'm saying no to?"

Anything, he thinks. Everything. Me. "... I just thought some physical evidence would freak the old man out."

She must sense him staring at her neck. He hasn't been looking her in the eye for most of this conversation, be it because of his cowardice or terrible, overwhelming obsession with her skin. Realization surely sets in, and he feels her jaw tighten, just barely, beneath his palm.

He is a dutiful guard dog. Hak retreats immediately. "Sorry."

"No," Yona says, gripping his wrist, tugging him back, ensnaring him further. "No, don't apologize. That's a great idea. Maybe he's not reacting because he just thinks I'm doing things to you. If he thinks I'm being taken advantage of…"

She is being taken advantage of. He feels dirty and grimy, for keeping this terrible secret within him. None of this is an act for him. She has to know, doesn't she? Hak's poker face may be second to none but this is different. She's magnetic and he can't seem to stop orbiting her, and- and it feels deceitful, to ask for such a thing, while she's still so clueless.

It will go nowhere. He will mark her in the most clinical sense. His lips press together, tongue heavy and useless.

"... Besides," she says, smiling distantly, but there's a look in her eye he can't quite read. "I already took advantage of you, right? So many times."

"Yona," he says, finally. "You can say no."

"I won't. I'm not a coward. And this is a good idea."

It's not about being a coward. It's about personal space and protecting her heart. It's about savoring these things, about saving them for the man she loves, the man she deserves. Suggesting it had been a moment of weakness, and Hak knows it, but… is drastic measures won't put an end to this, what will? How long will they be stuck playing this game? How long will he have to carry this guilt with him?

"... Tilt your head," Hak mutters, unable to help himself. "Need your neck."

"Fair's fair," she hums, and she leans her cheek into the palm of his hand, lashes brushing his thumb.

Desperate measures have to solve this. They just have to. For Yona's sake. He is doing this for her, he reminds himself, and this discipline will ground him, will keep her safe. It's not that he's afraid of taking things too far or of hurting her - he would never, her word is absolute, Hak would take no pleasure out of forcing her into anything - but more-so he's afraid of trudging too deeply into unmarked territory.

He is doing this for her. It's noble. It's just.

… He's going to leave a fucking hickey on her throat. There's nothing noble about it. It's different, to allow her to mark his neck with lipstick and claw his heart out of his chest with her bare hands, to be manhandled and tugged along in her schemes - throwing his own hand in the fire is another thing altogether. Yona is not someone to be touched lightly. She's different. The two of them - they're not the same. This should be something holy.

Yona sighs and closes her eyes. Hak moves mechanically, crooking his neck, and she exhales the moment his lips touch her skin. Do not enjoy this, he thinks, stubbornly. He is not allowed to enjoy this.

It's weird from this angle. He's so much taller than she is, and though Yona is short, all of the height she does have is in her legs - he feels like a weeping willow, the way he's hunched over her. The alternative is… decidedly not an option though, and so Hak does not push her down and straddle her, and instead sacrifices his neck in favor of not pinning the pretty little heiress to her mattress.

He takes a moment to center himself. Chews on her neck for a little, just to get a feel for his surroundings, very clinically, of course. Yona makes a little huff of a sigh and all of the blood in his body rushes south.

Right. He doesn't have very long.

It has to look good. Hak takes that sledgehammer from before to his heart instead and sucks hard, right at the crook of her neck, and the smell of her perfume is pretty and floral and isn't nearly enough to distract him from the sound of her gasp. Her fingers find purchase on him, and she sort of trembles beneath him before digging her hands into the fabric of his shirt, holding him by the shoulders as he marks her.

"... Another," she says, voice rough. "Hak."

The pieces of his heart drop into his stomach and Hak leaves at least three more, a clear trail from clavicle to the lobe of her ear. Make it good. Make it good.

Her fingers twist up in the fabric of his shirt. If only he wasn't wearing it; he'd give anything to feel the dig of her nails, dragging down his shoulders, over the plains of his chest. To be marked by her, too, in a more permanent sense - to leave physical scars on him, ones visible to the naked eye, not like the ones she's inflicted on his heart. Or... the ones he's inflicted on his own heart, really.

It's not like he has a heart left. Not like he's ever really had one to begin with.

"Hak," Yona sighs again.

His blood is positively on fire. The breath he exhales is tremendously difficult and also far too close to her neck. She's the only thing he can smell - her perfume, the light, pretty scent of her shampoo, the faintest hint of the sweat he'd tasted on her skin.

Her hands are so tight around his shoulders now. "... Good? Does it… look…"

The next breath is somehow worse. Hak shuts his eyes and forces himself to center once more. Hell, he's not allowed to enjoy this. He thinks he needs another cold shower.

"... Yeah," he says, and feels more than a little gutted as he leans back to observe his work. Four dark bruises along her swan's neck. Clear evidence. It's unquestionably more damning than the lipstick stain on the collar of his shirt. That bottom bruise borders right on her breast bone, between the purposeful tears of her band tee.

Dazed, Hak leans back to sit on his knees, hands dropped to his sides. He's pinned there beneath the heat of Yona's stare.

"Good," she says, looking about as ravaged as he feels. "Thank you."

He hardly thinks he should be thanked for such a thing. These skinny jeans hurt. "Yona."

It makes her blush, just a little. Hak catches his folly and can't correct himself quick enough; Yona's lips quirk into a smile and then she's beaming at him, wide and far too thrilled, he thinks, for someone who's just been marked by the beast.

But no matter. There are more pressing matters at hand; for Yona, this hasn't been the devastating blip in judgement that it has for him. For Yona, there is still an endgame in sight, and dinner with her father is right around the corner. Or, um. Maybe down a few flights of stairs. She hops off of her bed and then turns to grab his arm and yank him to his feet, too.

Hak trips over his own leash on the way out the door.