When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

(S02) Chapter 36

I let him kiss me again. Slower this time. Like he was trying to memorize the shape of my smile.

Eventually, we peeled ourselves from the warmth of the bed—reluctantly. He insisted on brushing my hair away from my face while I yawned and stretched, which earned him a sleepy smack on the shoulder. We laughed quietly, trying not to wake up Minhwan.

The hallway smelled like coffee and faintly burnt toast.

Han Wool stretched beside me, still half asleep as I opened the door. My hand was warm in his, and the soft creak of the hinges gave us away.

From the kitchen, a voice called out, casual and amused.

“Oh, look who finally emerged from the honeymoon suite.”

I stepped out first. Han Wool followed behind, running a hand through his messy hair like he hadn’t just snuck into my bed in the middle of the night.

Minhwan was sitting on the counter, one leg swinging lazily as he sipped from a chipped mug. He wore someone else's oversized hoodie and a smug, unbothered expression that made me want to roll my eyes and smile at the same time.

“Bro, you cheated me,” he said, pointing the mug at Han Wool. “Woke up in the middle of the night and tiptoed straight into your girlfriend’s room. No goodbye, no cuddle, no nothing. I thought we had something.”

Han Wool groaned. “Minh—”

“Don’t,” Minhwan said with mock betrayal, placing a hand over his chest. “I waited 7 years to see you again, and you ditch me after five hours? Rude.”

“You were snoring,” Han Wool mumbled.

“Lies. I was meditating.”

I snorted as I walked past him toward the kitchen. “Is that what we call that guttural noise now?”

Minhwan grinned at me. “You’ve gotten sassier. I like it. Prison did nothing for my intimidation levels, apparently.”

Han Wool leaned against the doorway, watching us with that soft gaze of his. The one he always had when he saw something he wanted to remember forever.

I poured myself a cup of coffee, while Minhwan eyed me curiously.

“You okay?” he asked, not joking now. Just that quiet concern tucked behind his casual tone.

I nodded. “Still a little tired.”

“You always looked tired, even back then,” he said, hopping off the counter. “But now it’s more... soul-tired.”

I looked down at my cup. He wasn’t wrong.

“Anyway,” he said, switching back to his usual tone. “I made toast. It’s a little charred, but so is my trauma, so it works.”

Han Wool chuckled as he joined me at the table. “You really haven’t changed.”

Minhwan winked. “Thank God for that.”

He slid a plate toward us with a flourish. “Breakfast of survivors. Toast. Questionable eggs. And stolen coffee. Bon appétit.”

“Where’d you steal the coffee?” I asked.

He grinned. “Han Wool’s friend had a stash. I liberated it.”

“Revolutionary,” Han Wool said, deadpan.

Minhwan gave a mock bow. “I try.”

There was silence for a moment as the three of us sat at the table, each holding a piece of a broken history, stitching it slowly back together with toast and sarcasm.