When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

Chapter 46

Cheonga’s POV

There is something about today. 

Something in the air, something in the sky. Something in the way the world is spinning, something in the way the breeze tangles itself in my hair, running fingers through the strands, whispering secrets I don’t understand. 

I don’t walk. 

I dance. 

I bounce on the balls of my feet, every step a rhythm, every movement light, as if gravity has loosened its grip on me today, as if it knows it doesn’t need to hold me down. 

My bag swings against my hip, my breath spills out in small bursts of laughter. I am happy. So happy. So much so that I could reach out and touch the sky, pull it down and wear it like a blanket. 

The world hums with me. 

The leaves rustle their approval, the pavement welcomes my feet, and the wind tugs at my sleeves as if asking—where are you going in such a hurry? 

To him. 

I know where I’m going, I know what I’m running toward, and for once—for once—there is no hesitation in my heart, no question mark at the end of my excitement. 

Han Wool. 

I turn the last corner, and there he is. 

Standing outside his house. 

Waiting. 

A navy-blue hoodie draped over his shoulders, hands buried in his pockets, the deep color making his skin glow, his dark hair falling just slightly into his eyes. 

And then— 

And then. 

He smiles. 

Not the small, half-hidden one. Not the amused smirk, not the unreadable curve of his lips. 

This—this is something else. 

This is his whole heart stretched across his face. This is his walls shattered, his soul speaking in the language of light, his body exhaling a happiness so real, so raw, I feel it in my bones. 

I have never seen him like this. 

I have never seen him so openly happy. So undeniably happy. 

As if this—this—is what happiness has always meant to him. 

I don’t think. I don’t need to. 

My bag drops to the ground with a quiet thud. 

And then I run. 

I run with everything I have, with everything I am, my breath catching, my heart pounding, my feet barely touching the ground as I close the distance between us. 

He’s already opening his arms, already waiting— 

I throw myself into him. 

My arms wrap around his neck, my legs around his waist, and he catches me, holds me, steadies me like he’s done this a thousand times before. 

His arms lock around my back, his hands pressing into my spine, fingers curling into the fabric of my sweater as if he needs to hold on, needs to feel that I am here, that I am real. 

I am laughing. 

I am alive. 

“I missed you,” I breathe against his ear.