When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

(S02) Chapter 44

I smiled, my voice gentle. “Hi, Hanseol. It’s so nice to finally meet you.”

She tilted her head. “You’re pretty.”

I laughed, eyes widening. “Thank you. You’re pretty too.”

Han Wool chuckled beside me. “She doesn’t usually give compliments. You must really be something.”

Hanseol looked between us, then leaned in close to Han Wool’s ear and whispered—loud enough for me to still hear—“Is she your girlfriend?”

Han Wool blinked, taken aback. “How do you even know what that means?”

She rolled her eyes like she was ten years older instead of eleven. “Because you both look at each other like you’re in love.”

He blinked again, completely defeated. “How would you know what love looks like?”

She grinned proudly. “Minhwan told me.”

“Oh no,” he groaned, standing up with her still dangling slightly from his side. “That little traitor.”

“Minhwan said,” she continued in a sing-song voice, “love is when Han Wool oppa looks at Ye Na unnie like she’s the most beautiful person in the world.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed, my cheeks heating up. “Minhwan said that?”

“Yup!” she nodded seriously. “He also said you make oppa begging in bed, which is hard to do.”

“Hey!” Han Wool protested.

Right then, the door creaked open, and speak of the devil—

“Did someone say my name?” Minhwan sauntered out onto the porch with the most dramatic stretch, wearing mismatched socks and holding a banana like it was a phone. “Because I feel like I’m being praised.”

“Snitched, more like,” Han Wool muttered.

Minhwan winked at Hanseol. “She’s my favorite, what can I say?”

Behind him, Harin stepped out slowly, her expression soft, calm—more human than I remembered seeing her.

“Ye Na,” she whispered.

I stepped forward instinctively, and before I could say anything, she was already hugging me.

It wasn’t dramatic, it wasn’t loud. Just a quiet, warm, trembling hug. A kind of forgiveness tucked between two tired souls.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I know,” I murmured, swallowing thickly. “Its okay, i forgave you.”

Then—

“Ha-Ya…”

My voice cracked the moment I said her name.

She was already moving. We reached for each other at the same time, and the second her arms wrapped around me, I broke. The sob that escaped didn’t even feel like mine—it had been buried too long, too deep.

“I thought you were—” I choked.

“You idiot,” she whispered, crying too. “You stupid, beautiful idiot.”

I clung to her. “I missed you so much. I thought I was going to fall apart. I didn’t know what to do—”

“Don’t say that,” she cried, her fingers tangling in my hair like she was scared I’d disappear. “Don’t ever say that. I won’t leave you. Not like that. Never like that.”

Behind us, Seok Kyung sniffled loudly. “Alright, alright, calm down. Everyone’s alive. Let’s not flood Harin’s front yard with emotional girl juice.”

Minhwan leaned casually against the railing. “Do I need to get a mop or tissues?”

“Shut up, Minhwan,” all three of us said in unison.

It made us laugh through the tears, just barely. Ha-Ya pulled back to wipe my cheeks, her hands trembling. “I was so scared, Ye Na. We didn’t know what was going on. They didn’t tell us anything.”

“I know,” I whispered. "I'm sorry".

Seok Kyung stepped closer, tugging both of us into her arms without a word, and we all stood there, wrapped up in the mess of grief, relief, and love.

Han Wool stood a little to the side with Hanseol, watching quietly, his gaze soft. He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t try to insert himself.

He just waited.

And then aunty's voice called out from the front door, warm and familiar, “Come inside, all of you! I didn’t cook for ghosts!”

We all turned toward her, and the spell of our reunion cracked just a little. Ha-Ya sniffled one last time, dragging her sleeve across her face like a kid caught crying. “If she made that seaweed soup again, I swear I’m gonna cry for real.”

Seok Kyung rolled her eyes, tugging Ha-Ya’s arm. “Come on, emotional sponge. Let's eat before she yells again.”

Hanseol grabbed Han Wool’s hand. “Oppa, I want the rice with the red sauce!”

“You mean kimchi stew?” he laughed, leading her in. “Let’s go before Minhwan finishes it all.”

I followed behind them, my fingers brushing against the hem of Han Wool’s shirt, just to feel his presence. Warm. Steady. Real.

Inside the house, the long table was already filled with dishes—banchan lined up in colorful rows, steaming bowls of rice, sizzling japchae, and a huge pot of kimchi jjigae in the center like a crown jewel.

We barely sat when Harin cleared her throat, looking awkward as hell. She turned to Han Wool, fidgeting with her spoon. “I just… I’m sorry, okay? It wasn’t all intentional. I didn’t mean to…”

Han Wool didn’t look at her at first. He kept his eyes on his bowl, then glanced at me.

“If Ye Na forgives you,” he said, calm and cool, “then I can too. But if she doesn’t? Forget about it.”

Everyone blinked. Harin opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, then closed it again.

Minhwan, sitting between Seok Kyung and Ha-Ya like a kid stuck between two nosy aunts, leaned forward. “Bro, what kind of emotional medicine did you take to start talking like a sage? Did Ye Na give you therapy pills?”

Ha-Ya snorted so hard rice flew out of her mouth. “Minhwan!”

Seok Kyung smacked him with her spoon. “Can we not have trauma jokes before we eat?”

“But it's healing energy!” Minhwan defended himself. “Besides, the soup is spicy and I’m vulnerable!”

“You’re always vulnerable,” Harin muttered, finally cracking a tiny smile.

I laughed softly and sat down next to Han Wool, our knees brushing under the table. Everything still ached inside me—but the air around us felt lighter. Like we were finally breathing again.

Hanseol stuffed a lettuce wrap into her mouth and mumbled, “Ye Na unnie is prettier than the last girl Han Wool brought.”

Everyone went quiet.

Han Wool blinked. “What last girl?”

Hanseol tilted her head. “Oh, that was just a dream. Never mind.”

Minhwan cackled. “Even kids are trolling you now.”

And just like that, the room filled with laughter. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t all fixed.

But it was something.

And sometimes, something was everything.