When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

(S02) Chapter 8

The morning sneaks in through the curtains.

Soft. Gentle.

I don’t want to wake up.

I don’t want to exist in this moment because if I do, I’ll have to remember.
I’ll have to remember last night.
I’ll have to remember him.

Han Wool.

Han Wool with his easy smiles and his effortless charm. Han Wool who looked at me like I was a stranger. Han Wool who let my name slip from his lips like it meant nothing.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

It was supposed to be him.
He was supposed to be mine.
But she took him.

I roll over, pressing my face into the pillow.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

I can’t let this crush me.

Not again.

A vibration shakes the mattress. I blink at my phone, my eyes unfocused as I reach for it. A message.

Seok Kyung: Everything is sorted out. You can come by tomorrow. We’ll tell you everything when you arrive.

I stare at the words. They don’t make sense. My brain is too slow, too fogged up with the weight of last night.

Sorted out?

Did they really sort out things in the hospital?

I exhale. I don’t have the energy to care right now. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.

Right now, I need coffee.

No one's awake.

The halls are empty, echoing with the quiet sound of my footsteps as I walk toward the kitchen.

I step into the kitchen, my fingers already reaching for the cabinet.

Coffee. I need coffee.

My hands search blindly, fingers skimming against empty shelves. My eyebrows pull together as I stand on my toes, stretching.

There.

It’s on the top shelf. Of course, it is.

I reach.
I stretch.
I almost have it.
But I don’t.

I huff out a breath, cursing whoever decided to put it up there.

And then—

A hand.

A hand that is not mine.

Reaching past me. Grabbing the jar. Holding it like it’s nothing.

I already know.

I don’t have to turn around.

I already know who it is.

“Han Wool,” I whisper.

I blink at his hand, my brain refusing to process the situation.

What the hell is he doing here?

I turn around slowly, carefully, like if I move too fast, I’ll wake up from this strange, absurd nightmare.

And there he is.

Standing too close. Looking too calm. Wearing that stupid smirk.

“You need a little more height,” he says, like he’s pointing out the weather.

I narrow my eyes. “Excuse me?”

He leans back against the counter, completely unfazed. “I mean, you were struggling pretty hard.”