When the Clock Strikes|Pi Han Ul x Reader|

(S02) Chapter 45

He led me into the restaurant. It was beautiful. Warm amber lights, live piano in the corner, candles on every table. The kind of place you’d propose in—

Wait.

Nah.

I brushed the thought off.

The hostess greeted us and escorted us to a private balcony table with a view of the city skyline. He pulled out my chair, overly polite, still acting strange.

The waiter arrived, nodding politely. “Sir, would you like the wine bottle now?”

Han Wool’s eyes widened in alarm. “No! I mean—uh, not yet. Just water.”

The waiter blinked. “But you said—”

“I changed my mind! People change, right? Water’s healthy! Yay hydration!”

The waiter left, slightly traumatized.

I tilted my head. “Okay, what was that?”

“Nothing,” he said, aggressively sipping water.

I could feel it. Something was off. But in the most hilariously awkward way.

Then dessert came out early—an elaborate chocolate cake with sparklers on top.

I blinked. “Uhhh… we didn’t order this.”

Han Wool stared at it like it betrayed him. “I said after dinner…”

“What?”

“Nothing! Cake is cake!”

The waiter nervously pushed the cake toward me. There was a small plaque on it… “Will y—”

Han Wool dove across the table with a fork, stabbed the plaque, and said, “Oh no! It cracked! Guess we’ll never know what it said. Tragic.”

I stared. “Are you okay?”

“Totally. Super. Just enjoying... our peaceful... romantic... normal dinner.”

I was this close to demanding answers when the waiter returned with a bottle of wine and a tiny velvet box on the tray.

But before I could say a word—bam!

Fireworks exploded outside the balcony, blindingly bright.

I jumped. “What the—?!”

Han Wool turned pale. “No no no no no—it’s too early! That was supposed to be—ARGH.”

He yanked out his phone and whispered furiously into it, “I said 8:15! Not 7:50! Bro! I don’t pay you for—wait I do pay you! And I’ll not pay you again!”

I blinked.

Then blinked again.

He looked up at me slowly.

“…You know what,” he said, suddenly grinning, “let’s just eat. I’m starving.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Han Wool.”

“Yes, Ye Na?”

“What’s going on?”

He reached for the menu with far too much enthusiasm. “Look at this! They have truffle pasta. You love truffle, right?”

“…I tolerate it.”

“Perfect. Toleration is the foundation of love.”

I stared at him. Deadpan. “You're deflecting.”

“I am deflecting,” he said brightly. “And I’m doing it beautifully.”

I opened my mouth to press again—but he held up a finger. “No more questions. Only pasta.”