“What… do you mean?” I whisper.
He leans in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “Don’t you want practice?”
My mind short-circuits.
I must be dreaming.
I must have lost my mind entirely, because there’s no way Han Wool—Han Wool—is standing here, asking me this.
But I don’t wake up.
Because this is real.
And he’s still here.
Still waiting.
Still watching me.
“What do you say?” His voice is smooth, almost teasing, but there’s something else beneath it—something quieter.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
I don’t know what I’m thinking.
But I do know this—
I don’t want him to walk away.
Not yet.
My eyes fall to his lips.
And I nod.
Han Wool exhales softly, his expression shifting—like he was waiting for that answer.
His hand lifts, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his fingertips barely grazing my skin. I shiver at the contact.
Then, with painstaking slowness, he tilts his head, his lips hovering just above mine.
I close my eyes, my breath catching in my throat.
And then—
The first touch.
Soft.
Tentative.
Like he’s testing the waters.
My hands clench into fists at my sides, unsure of where to place them, what to do. But he’s patient, taking his time, his lips barely moving against mine—just a whisper of a kiss.
I inhale sharply, my knees nearly buckling, and Han Wool must sense it because his hand moves to the small of my back, steadying me.
His lips press a little firmer against mine.
And just like that, I melt.
The world around me ceases to exist—no club, no loud music, no people—just this. Just him. Just us.
A warmth spreads through my chest, an aching familiarity taking root as my body moves on its own. Before I even realize it, my fingers lift, gripping onto his shirt collar, pulling him closer, needing more.
Han Wool stiffens slightly at first, but then—
He gives in.
His hands slide down my waist, gripping me just enough to make my stomach flip. His lips, once slow and testing, become more sure, more demanding. I can feel his warmth seeping into me, the faintest scent of his cologne—woody, clean, intoxicating—clouding my senses.
It’s the same.
God, it’s the same.
Seven years, and nothing has changed.
Not the way he kisses me, not the way his lips mold perfectly against mine, not the way his presence alone makes me feel like I’m on fire.
The same feelings.
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|
FanficBeak Cheonga never expected much from life. Not love, not warmth-just survival. Adopted into a wealthy family that never truly wanted her, she learned how to exist in the empty spaces between their affection. Transferring from Daehwa High to Yusung...
(S02) Chapter 20
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