When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

Chapter 37

The house was silent except for the sound of their breathing. The dim glow of the entryway light flickered, casting long shadows as Han-Wool stepped inside, his arms firm beneath her legs as he carried her effortlessly on his back. 

Beak Cheonga’s cheek rested against his shoulder, her fingers gripping around his neck. Tears still clung to her lashes, drying in uneven streaks down her face, but she didn’t say anything. 

Didn’t fight. 

Didn’t resist. 

She had no strength left for that. 

Han-Wool didn’t speak either. 

He simply walked through the hallway with quiet, steady steps—like he had done this a thousand times before. His hands gripped behind her knees, strong, warm, grounding. 

When they reached the living room, he moved effortlessly, shifting her weight and—before she could react—he let her slide off his back, placing her down on the edge of the table. 

Cheonga gasped slightly as the cold surface pressed against her thighs. Her white skirt fanned around her, and before she could even think of moving, Han-Wool stepped forward—closer, closer—until there was no space left between them. 

His arms raised on either side of her, hands pressing flat against the table, locking her in. 

Trapping her. 

Her breath hitched. 

His gaze was unreadable, but his presence was overwhelming, the heat of his body too close, too much. 

"Are you going to cry forever?" His voice was quiet, steady. 

Cheonga swallowed, lowering her head. She didn’t have an answer. 

She felt hollow. She felt too full. 

Everything was too much and yet not enough at the same time. 

Her lips trembled. "...I don’t know how to stop." 

Han-Wool exhaled softly through his nose. His fingers flexed against the table, his shoulders tensing slightly as he studied her. 

Then, just as slowly, he leaned in. 

Not touching. 

Not speaking. 

Just close enough that she could feel the warmth of his breath against her lips. 

His presence surrounded her, wrapping around her like an invisible force, and she swore her heart could burst. 

"Then don’t stop." 

She blinked up at him, dazed. 

He wasn’t mocking her. He wasn’t demanding her to be stronger. 

He was just—there. 

Letting her break. Letting her break the shackles of her emotions that had bottled up.

Something in her chest twisted painfully. 

Her fingers lifted without thinking, brushing against his shirt, barely gripping at the fabric. 

"...I thought you were dead." Her voice was small, fragile. "I thought I killed you." 

Han-Wool’s jaw clenched. His gaze flickered—just for a second—but he didn’t move away. 

"I wasn’t dead," he said, his voice lower now. "I woke up in a place I didn’t recognize. My father had taken me." 

She inhaled sharply, eyes wide.