When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

(S02) Chapter 20

I blink. "Excuse me?"

“Oh, we’re just having a little fun, sweetheart.” The tattooed guy grins, leaning a little closer. “We like to bet on things. Like… who can get a girl’s number first. Who she’ll dance with. You know, fun things.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “And you thought I’d be okay with that?”

“You should be flattered.”

I scoff. “Right. Because being treated like an object is every girl’s dream.”

The guy’s grin falters, but he quickly masks it with a chuckle. “Relax, we’re just messing around.”

“Well, I’m not.” I push my chair back and stand up, meeting his gaze dead-on. “If you want to bet on something, find someone else.”

Then, without another glance, I walk away.

What a shithead.

The air outside is cold, a stark contrast to the stifling heat inside the club. I walk toward the back alley, needing a moment away from the suffocating atmosphere. The music is still loud, the bass vibrating through the walls, but out here, it’s dark and quiet.

I sit down on the steps, wrapping my arms around myself.

Maybe I should come another time with someone.

This isn’t a place for people like me.

There are too many wandering hands, too many people looking for something. What if I wasn’t careful? What if someone tried to take me somewhere?

I pull out my phone, scrolling aimlessly through notifications before my thumb hesitates over the search bar.

I type in his name before I can stop myself.

Han Wool.

His profile picture pops up—him sitting on a motorcycle, holding a helmet in one hand, his lips curled into a light smile.

I stare at it longer than I should, admiring the way his hair falls over his forehead, the way his arms flex slightly even in a still image.

I shouldn’t be doing this.

I should delete his name from my mind, stop chasing after something that isn’t mine anymore.

I sigh, about to exit out when—

A voice cuts through the air.

“Is that me you’re looking at?”

My breath catches.

I jerk my head up, my heart lurching against my ribs.

Han Wool stands a few feet away, leaning casually against the wall opposite me, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. His expression is unreadable, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

I quickly lock my phone and shove it into my lap. “What are you doing here?”

He tilts his head slightly. “I should be asking you that.”

I exhale, looking away. “I wanted to clear my mind.”

He hums, the sound low and thoughtful. “What’s bothering you?”

I hesitate before shaking my head. “Something you wouldn’t understand.”

He doesn’t press, just nods as if accepting my answer. Silence stretches between us before he shifts slightly and asks, “What about your date?”

I blink.

Oh. That.

A sudden thought flashes through my mind—a reckless, stupid thought that I don’t bother filtering.