When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

Chapter 31

The weight of the conversation lingered between us, but it wasn’t suffocating. It was there, like the last trace of a storm, but the skies were clearing. 

Han-Wool stretched, his arms raising above his head before he lazily dropped them back down. “Damn. That was deep,” he muttered. “I need a drink.” 

I blinked. “A drink?” 

He got up, strolling toward the cabinets with a certain ease, like he owned the place. His hands skimmed over a few bottles before he grabbed one and turned back to me, holding it up with a smirk. 

"Wine?" 

I frowned. "You drink?" 

"Only on special occasions," he said, tilting the bottle back and forth. "And I think this counts, don’t you?" 

I eyed the dark liquid suspiciously. "I’ve never had wine before." 

Han-Wool's brows shot up. "Never?" 

I shook my head. "Not even a sip." 

He let out a low chuckle, walking back to the table. "What kind of life have you been living?" 

I huffed. "A responsible one." 

"Sounds boring." 

I rolled my eyes as he poured some into two glasses, pushing one toward me. 

I hesitated. "I don’t know…" 

Han-Wool raised his own glass, swirling the wine inside. "You scared?" 

I narrowed my eyes. "No." 

"I can see that in you" he said, almost giving me a light laugh. 

I grabbed the glass. "You’re annoying." 

"Again, so I've been told," he said, smirking before taking a sip. 

I exhaled sharply. Fine. Whatever. It was just wine. 

I lifted the glass to my lips and took a sip— 

And immediately winced. 

Han-Wool laughed. "Yeah, it’s bitter at first." 

I coughed, shaking my head. "It tastes like regret." 

He grinned. "Keep drinking. It gets better." 

I gave him a skeptical look but took another sip. 

He was right. The bitterness faded, replaced by something warm, rich, and smooth. I leaned back slightly, feeling my body relax. 

"This is… not bad," I admitted. 

Han-Wool smirked. "See? Told you." 

We continued drinking, the atmosphere shifting into something looser, softer. The earlier tension had melted into a quiet warmth. 

I found myself watching him more. The way his fingers tapped against his glass, the way his lips curled slightly when he was amused. The way his gaze lingered a second longer than necessary. 

I was warm. From the wine or from him—I wasn’t sure. 

"You’re staring," he said, voice lower now. 

I swallowed. "I am not." 

"You are." 

He leaned forward slightly, his arms resting on the table. His presence felt closer, heavier. 

I sucked in a breath, looking away. "You’re imagining things." 

Han-Wool hummed, taking another sip. "Maybe."