When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

(S02) Chapter 23

But there was no sharpness in his eyes. No playfulness, no teasing.

Just warmth. Just him.

He moved so slowly, so carefully, as if afraid I’d run. As if I were something fragile, something breakable.

And maybe I was.

His hand twitched at his side, like he wanted to reach for me, but didn’t dare.

Instead, his voice dropped, soft as a whisper.

"I'm sorry, Ye Na."

I sucked in a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, his voice cracking ever so slightly.

And it hurt.

Because I had never heard Han Wool sound like that before.

Never heard him sound like he was aching.

Like he was breaking just as much as I was.

I shook my head, stepping back, my chest too tight to breathe.

But Han Wool followed, just one step, his eyes never leaving mine.

“I never wanted to hurt you.” His voice was barely above a whisper now, like he was confessing something sacred. “Not even for a second.”

I swallowed hard. “Then why?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, his frustration directed at himself.

“Because I was scared.”

My breath hitched.

Han Wool had never been scared of anything.

“I couldn’t tell you,” he said, so softly it made my chest ache. “I wanted to. So many times. But if they found out—”

He cut himself off, looking away.

“Ye Na.”

His gaze met mine again, and for the first time, it felt like he was pleading.

“I didn’t forget.” His voice was steady now, but his hands were trembling.

“I could never forget you.”

Tears burned behind my eyes.

"Then why did you let me think you did?" My voice cracked, and I hated it. Hated how vulnerable I sounded.

But Han Wool just exhaled, and this time, he did reach for me.

So gently, so carefully, he tucked a damp strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

"I thought I was protecting you," he whispered.

My throat tightened.

"But I was wrong."

He swallowed hard, guilt swimming in his eyes.

"I hurt you instead."

I pressed my lips together, staring at him, at the way he looked at me like I was something precious.

Something he had been aching to hold, but couldn’t.

The weight of his words settled over me, and for the first time in so long, I didn’t feel lost.

I didn’t feel like I was drowning.

Because Han Wool—my Han Wool—was standing in front of me, telling me what I had been desperate to hear for years.