When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

(S02) Chapter 20

I made my way through the crowd, slipping past groups of people, my eyes scanning the area.

The bar was on the left, glowing with an amber light, shelves of liquor bottles stacked high. The DJ booth was toward the back, where the music blasted loud enough to feel like a second heartbeat. The seating areas lined the sides, plush velvet booths with low tables where people sat talking—some barely paying attention to their drinks, others completely absorbed in whoever they were with.

It was overwhelming.

I took a step toward the bar, not to order a drink but just to have a place to stand. Before I could even fully settle in, a man appeared beside me.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against the counter. “Haven’t seen you here before.”

I turned to him, taking in his sharp features, the way his button-up shirt was slightly undone at the collar. He looked good, objectively speaking. But I he looks cocky at the same time.

“I don’t come here often,” I replied, keeping my voice polite but distant.

“That makes two of us,” he chuckled, swirling his drink in his hand. “First time?”

I nodded.

“Then let me buy you a drink.”

I shook my head immediately. “I don’t drink.”

His eyebrows rose slightly, but he didn’t push. “Fair enough. Maybe just some company, then?”

Before I could answer, another guy appeared, this one taller, broader, his confidence radiating off him in waves. “Sorry, man,” he said to the first guy. “But I saw her first.”

I blinked. What the hell?

“I—”

“She can choose for herself,” the first guy scoffed.

I rolled my eyes. “I choose neither.”

Both of them blinked at me.

Then, thankfully, they both took a step back.

“Fair enough,” the taller one said, lifting his hands in surrender. “Enjoy your night.”

I nodded, they already turning away before the me.

I sit there, fingers wrapped around my untouched drink, staring at the mess of people swaying under neon lights, moving to the heavy bass that pounds through the club like a second heartbeat.

I should’ve brought Seok Kyung and Ha-Ya.

Coming alone was a mistake.

Dancing alone would be weird.

Drinking isn’t an option.

And standing here doing nothing is even worse.

I exhale, tapping my nails against the glass in frustration. Maybe I should just leave. This was stupid. I don’t belong here, and I certainly don’t need to put myself through this just to prove some ridiculous point to myself.

As I shift in my seat, about to get up, I notice a group of men approaching.

They’re big—muscular, the kind of guys that move through clubs like they own the place. Tattoos snake down their arms, disappearing under the fabric of their shirts. One of them, who looks like the leader, gives me a lazy smirk as he stops beside my table.

“She’s pretty,” he says, loud enough for me to hear.

His friend chuckles, nodding. “I’d bet a hundred on her.”