When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

Chapter 24

The taxi ride was quiet.

Han Ul sat beside me, his head tipped back against the seat, eyes closed. The dim glow of the passing streetlights flickered across his face, highlighting the cut on his lip, the sharp line of his jaw.

He didn't speak. Didn't move.

I didn't either.

The city blurred outside the window, and for the first time since the fight, I had a moment to think. To process.

"Let's team up, Beak Cheonga".

I should've asked what he meant. The words sat heavy in my chest, but I didn't say them.

When the taxi finally slowed, I blinked.

The house in front of me was massive.

Not just big-huge. The kind you see in magazines, sleek and modern, with towering glass windows and an entrance that stretched wide, framed by stone pillars. A low wall surrounded the property, but the gates had already opened, as if expecting us.

For some reason, I hadn't expected this.

I turned to Han Ul, but he had already pushed the door open, stepping out.

His movements were slower than usual, strained, but he didn't complain. He never did.

I followed, stepping onto the driveway. The air was quiet here-too quiet. No signs of life. Just an empty vastness, the kind that made a place feel less like a home and more like something built to impress.

Han Ul walked ahead, his breathing measured.

I hesitated before trailing behind.

Inside, the house was just as grand. White marble floors. High ceilings. Chandeliers that dripped with glass. A vast, open space, yet something about it felt cold.

Like it wasn't really lived in.

Han Ul didn't pause, just made his way through the entrance hall, down a hallway that stretched endlessly. His footsteps were slower now, heavier, like the pain was finally catching up to him.

I sighed. "Where's the living room?"

"Straight ahead," he muttered.

I walked beside him as we stepped into another massive space-a sunken living area with sleek leather sofas, floor-to-ceiling windows, and a fireplace that wasn't lit. The city stretched beyond the glass, lights flickering in the distance.

Han Ul dropped onto the couch without a word, exhaling. His head rested against the back, eyes shutting briefly.

For a second, he looked... tired. Not just physically, but something deeper.

I glanced around. No family photos. No signs that anyone else lived here.

I wasn't sure why that unsettled me.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then-

"First aid?" I asked.

Han Ul exhaled sharply, tilting his head toward a cabinet near the kitchen. I walked over, grabbing the kit before kneeling beside him.

I started with his lip, pressing a cotton swab soaked in antiseptic against the cut. The sharp scent filled the space between us.

He didn't flinch.

His eyes met mine, steady, unreadable.

I looked away first.