When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

Chapter 44

Han-Wool sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone, completely unbothered.

Meanwhile, Cheonga was turning the whole place upside down.

"Where is my phone?" she muttered, shoving aside a pile of books, checking under the cushions, and even looking under the table.

Han-Wool, still scrolling, barely looked up. "It’s probably in your room."

Cheonga shot him an unimpressed look. "Wow. Thanks. I never thought of checking my room."

He hummed in response, not even pretending to be helpful.

She huffed. "Did you see it anywhere?"

"Nope."

"You sure?"

"Mm."

Cheonga glared at him before storming off to her room. If he wasn’t going to help, she’d find it herself.

She checked everywhere—her desk, under her pillow, even inside her wardrobe. Still nothing.

Which meant there was only one other place it could be.

Han-Wool’s room.

She hesitated for a second before pushing open the door. His room was neat—minimalistic, cold, and somehow too clean, like he barely lived in it.

Except for his desk, which had books and papers stacked neatly.

And a slightly open drawer.

Cheonga pulled it open, scanning for anything that remotely looked like her phone. But instead, something else caught her attention.

A small, slightly worn photograph.

Her breath hitched.

It was old, the edges faded with time.

A little girl smiling, her hair in pigtails, standing next to a little boy with sharp eyes and an unreadable expression.

Something in her stomach twisted.

She knew this picture.

No—she remembered this moment.

This was her.

And the boy…

A familiar feeling tugged at her, something buried deep in her memories. She had been alone back then. Always alone. No one had wanted to play with her, no one had talked to her. Except—

A boy.

A boy who helped her tie her shoelaces when she struggled. A boy who silently handed her a bandaid when she scraped her knee. A boy who never laughed when she cried but just stood there, waiting, until she was done.

She had forgotten his name.

She had forgotten him.

But he had called himself… Six.

Her fingers clenched around the photograph.

And suddenly, she was moving.

She stormed out of the room, picture in hand, straight to the living room where Han-Wool was still sitting, scrolling like he had no cares in the world.

"Han-Wool."

He looked up lazily. "You find your phone?"

Cheonga slammed the picture onto his lap. "How do you have this?"

Han-Wool stared at it for a second. Then, slowly, he picked it up. His expression remained neutral.

"Where did you find it?" he asked, like he didn’t already know.