Chapter 17 — If You Don’t Choose, I Will
The message arrived at 7:43 p.m., right as Han Jae-in was rereading the same paragraph for the fourth time without absorbing a single word.
His phone vibrated once on the desk. He ignored it.
It vibrated again.
He sighed, closed the book, and glanced down.
[Chaerin: sorry im being weird again]
The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
[Chaerin: i think im just tired haha]
Another pause.
[Chaerin: you dont have to come if youre busy]
Jae-in stared at the screen. His chest felt tight in a way he had learned to recognize over the past few weeks—not panic exactly, but anticipation laced with dread. The kind that came when the noise was about to start.
It hadn’t yet.
That was the problem.
He waited. Three seconds. Five.
Nothing.
No overlapping emotional static. No contradictory warmth and despair bleeding into his skull. No intrusive certainty that didn’t belong to him.
Silence.
Jae-in swallowed.
He typed back slowly.
[Jae-in: Are you okay?]
The response came instantly.
[Chaerin: yeah of course]
Another beat.
[Chaerin: just thinking a lot]
Silence still.
Jae-in stood up from his chair, suddenly restless. His apartment felt too quiet, too orderly—still half-reorganized from Seo Yuri’s “helpful” cleaning session earlier in the week. He paced once, then twice, phone in hand.
This was how it always started.
Not with screaming thoughts or dramatic declarations, but with absence. With just enough ambiguity to let his imagination fill in the gaps.
His phone buzzed again.
[Chaerin: do you remember when we were kids and i locked myself in the bathroom because i thought everyone hated me]
His fingers tightened around the phone.
He remembered. Of course he did. He remembered standing outside the door for an hour, talking through the wood because he didn’t know what else to do.
The noise slammed into him then, sudden and overwhelming, as if it had been waiting just out of range.
‘He’s thinking about it. He remembers. That means it mattered. It still matters. Why does it hurt again? Don’t cry. If you cry he’ll feel bad. If he feels bad he’ll stay. If he stays everything is okay. If he doesn’t—’
Jae-in squeezed his eyes shut.
There it was. The familiar chaotic loop—relief tangled with fear, affection fused to self-blame so tightly they were indistinguishable.
He typed.
[Jae-in: I remember. That was a long time ago.]
The reply took longer this time.
[Chaerin: i almost did something stupid back then]
His stomach dropped.
‘Say it properly. Don’t scare him. But maybe scare him a little. Just enough. He has to know how bad it gets. He has to know he’s important. If he knows, he won’t leave. He won’t. He can’t.’
Jae-in was already grabbing his jacket.
[Jae-in: Where are you?]
Three dots appeared immediately.
[Chaerin: home]
‘He’s coming. I knew it. I shouldn’t be happy about this. I am happy. That’s disgusting. Why am I like this. It’s okay. He’ll fix it. He always does.’
Jae-in didn’t bother replying. He shoved his phone into his pocket and left the apartment, locking the door behind him with more force than necessary.
The night streets around campus were busy enough to feel normal—students laughing, the distant hum of traffic, neon signs flickering to life—but everything felt slightly off, as if he were moving through a version of the city that existed a half-second out of sync with reality.
He walked fast.
Too fast.
He told himself it was just concern. That any decent person would check on a friend after messages like that.
He didn’t tell himself the other truth—that part of him had already learned this pattern, had already begun responding automatically to the pull of being needed.
The noise stayed with him the entire walk, Chaerin’s thoughts fluttering and colliding like trapped birds.
‘What if he’s annoyed. No, he wouldn’t come if he was annoyed. Unless he felt obligated. Obligation is still staying. Staying is staying. I can work with that. Don’t mess this up. Don’t cry too much. Cry a little. Crying is okay.’
When he reached her building, the hallway light was out, as usual. He climbed the stairs two at a time, heart pounding harder with each step.
Her door was unlocked.
He hesitated for half a second, then knocked anyway.
“Chaerin?” he called.
“Come in,” she said, voice light. Too light.
He opened the door.
She was sitting on the floor of the living room, back against the couch, knees pulled to her chest. The lights were on. The room was clean. There were no obvious signs of distress—no broken objects, no pills, no blood.
She looked up at him and smiled.
“Hey.”
The noise surged.
‘He came. He actually came. I shouldn’t smile. Smile anyway. Don’t look too broken. If I look too broken he’ll feel trapped. If I look fine he might leave. Balance it. Balance it.’
Jae-in let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “You scared me,” he said, more bluntly than he intended.
Chaerin tilted her head, expression apologetic. “I said you didn’t have to come.”
“You implied you weren’t okay.”
She shrugged, hugging her knees tighter. “I’m not not okay.”
‘If I say I’m okay he’ll leave. If I say I’m not he’ll worry. Worry is good. Worry means he cares.’
Jae-in rubbed his temples. “Chaerin…”
He trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence without stepping on a landmine.
She patted the floor beside her. “Sit?”
Against his better judgment, he did.
The moment he was close, her thoughts spiked with warmth so intense it made his chest ache.
‘He’s warm. He always was. This is how it’s supposed to be. Us like this. It feels right. Why doesn’t it feel right all the time? Because something’s wrong with me. It’s okay. He can handle it.’
She leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. Her hair tickled his neck.
Jae-in stiffened, then forced himself to relax.
This was normal, he told himself. She’d always been physically affectionate. There was nothing inherently wrong with this.
The noise disagreed, buzzing with possessive satisfaction.
‘See? He didn’t pull away. He never pulls away when it matters.’
“Do you want to talk about what’s been bothering you?” he asked carefully.
She nodded, but didn’t move.
“I just…” She hesitated. “Sometimes I feel like I’m about to be left behind. Like everyone’s moving forward and I’m stuck. And then I think maybe that’s fine, because as long as I’m stuck with you—”
She laughed softly, as if it were a joke.
‘Say it like a joke. Jokes are safe. Jokes can hide real things.’
Jae-in’s jaw tightened. “Chaerin, that’s not healthy.”
The words were out before he could stop them.
Her thoughts shattered for a split second—sharp panic, sudden self-loathing.
‘He knows. He knows I’m broken. I knew it. I always ruin it.’
Her body tensed. She pulled away just enough to look at him, eyes glossy but not crying.
“I know,” she said quickly. “I know. I’m not saying it’s good. I’m just saying it’s how I feel.”
‘If I admit it’s bad, he won’t blame me. He won’t leave because I’m honest.’
Jae-in exhaled slowly. “You can’t put that kind of pressure on me.”
The room felt smaller.
Her thoughts looped faster, spiraling.
‘Pressure. I’m pressure. I knew it. I’m too much. I’m always too much. I should apologize. Apologize a lot. If I apologize enough maybe he’ll stay.’
“I’m sorry,” she said immediately. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to trap you or anything. I just—”
She laughed again, brittle. “I’m bad at being alone.”
Jae-in closed his eyes.
He could hear it all—the unspoken conclusion forming in her mind, the way her fear sharpened into resolve when faced with rejection.
‘If I don’t hold on, I’ll disappear. If he won’t choose me on his own, I’ll make it impossible for him not to.’
He opened his eyes.
“Chaerin,” he said softly. “I care about you. But this—this back and forth, this scaring me into coming over—it’s not okay.”
The words landed like a dropped plate.
Her thoughts went eerily quiet for half a second.
Then they reassembled.
Not softer.
Focused.
‘So I did scare him. Good. That means it worked. He wouldn’t say this if it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t be here if he didn’t care. I just have to be more careful next time. More subtle.’
She looked down, twisting her fingers together. “I didn’t do it on purpose,” she said. “I swear.”
‘Not entirely a lie. I didn’t plan every part. I just let it happen.’
Jae-in stood up abruptly, needing distance. “I think I should go.”
Her head snapped up.
“What?”
“I just—” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t think staying here tonight is a good idea.”
The noise exploded.
‘He’s leaving. He’s actually leaving. No no no no no. I pushed too hard. Fix it. Fix it now.’
Her breath hitched. “Did I do something wrong?”
The question was so small, so loaded, it made his chest ache.
“Yes,” he thought.
“No,” he said.
Both answers were true.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said carefully. “But this situation isn’t healthy for either of us.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
‘Cry now. Cry properly. Don’t fake it. This part is real. Let him see it. If he sees it he’ll feel bad. Feeling bad means staying.’
“I’m trying,” she whispered. “I really am. It’s just… when you’re not around, everything feels louder. And when you come, it quiets down. I don’t know how to explain it without sounding crazy.”
The irony almost made him laugh.
He didn’t.
He stepped closer again, despite himself, and placed a hand awkwardly on her shoulder.
“I’m not leaving forever,” he said. “I just think we both need space tonight.”
Her thoughts surged with relief and disappointment in equal measure.
‘Not forever. That’s good. Space is scary but not as scary as forever. I can work with space.’
She nodded, wiping her eyes. “Okay.”
The word was obedient. Too obedient.
Jae-in grabbed his jacket. “Text me if you need anything.”
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted them.
Her thoughts lit up.
‘He told me to text him. That means it’s okay. That means I can. I should be careful. But not too careful.’
“I will,” she said softly.
He hesitated at the door, then left.
The hallway felt colder than before.
As he walked back toward campus, the noise followed him for a few minutes, gradually fading as distance grew.
Just before it disappeared completely, one last thought brushed against his mind—warm, satisfied, terrifying in its calm.
‘He came when I needed him. Next time, I won’t need to try so hard.’
The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful.
It was expectant.
Jae-in slowed his steps, hands clenched in his pockets.
He hated that part of him that felt relief knowing she was safe.
He hated more the part that recognized the pattern now—escalation, rescue, intimacy, reset.
And worst of all, he hated the quiet realization settling into his chest:
If he didn’t choose soon, she would.
And she was already learning how.
