Chapter 6 — The Café That Belongs to Everyone - I can hear the thoughts of the Yandere Girls who Love me

Atria Café sat on the corner between the literature building and the tram stop, all glass frontage and warm light, the kind of place that pretended to be neutral ground. The tables were small, close enough that conversations bled into one another without permission. Plants hung from the ceiling. The smell of roasted beans clung to everything, even your clothes, like a memory you hadn’t agreed to keep.

Han Jae-in had come here dozens of times before. Alone. With Park Minjun once or twice. Occasionally to read, more often to pretend he was doing something productive while watching other people live.

Today, it felt like walking into a trap that smiled at him.

Seo Yuri was already there.

She sat at a two-person table near the window, posture straight, coat folded neatly beside her, notebook open. She noticed him instantly, of course. Her eyes lifted with that practiced warmth that made people trust her before realizing they were already leaning in.

“Jae-in,” she said, voice gentle. “Over here.”

He hesitated for half a second too long.

Her thoughts brushed him before he even moved.

‘Good. On time. He looks tired. I should order first so he doesn’t have to think.’

The noise wasn’t loud. It never was with Yuri. It was smooth, organized, sliding into place like drawers closing properly.

That was what unsettled him most. No panic. No spikes. Just calm intent.

He sat across from her.

“Sorry,” he said automatically, even though he wasn’t late.

She smiled. “You’re not.”

Her hand lifted, signaling the barista. “Two coffees, please. The usual for him.”

Jae-in opened his mouth, then closed it again.

‘He didn’t object. That’s good. Consistency reduces friction.’

He told himself it was nothing. She knew his order because they’d studied together twice. That was normal. Responsible. Efficient.

He wrapped his fingers around the strap of his bag, grounding himself.

The chair scraped against the floor behind him.

“Wow. What a coincidence.”

Min Chaerin dropped into the empty seat beside him without waiting for an invitation, her bag thumping against his leg, her shoulder pressing into his arm like it belonged there.

“Chaerin,” he said, startled. “I thought you had—”

“Cancelled,” she chirped. “I was soooo stressed, and then I thought, ‘Hey, Jae-in might be here,’ and look! Fate.”

Her smile was wide, bright, a little too tight.

The thoughts hit him like a wave breaking all at once.

‘He’s here. Of course he is. He always is. This is good. This is normal. Why is she here. It’s fine. Don’t think about it. Smile. If I smile, it stays real.’

He inhaled too fast and tasted coffee that hadn’t arrived yet.

Yuri’s eyes flicked to Chaerin for a fraction of a second, then back to him.

‘Unexpected variable. Adjust seating dynamics. Maintain politeness.’

“Min Chaerin,” Yuri said smoothly. “I didn’t know you were joining us.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Chaerin said, already leaning closer to Jae-in. “I just happened to be here. Right, Jae-in?”

Her fingers brushed his sleeve, light, casual. Anchoring.

‘See? He’s not moving away. That means yes. That always means yes.’

Jae-in nodded because his brain was busy trying to sort out the noise.

“I—I was just studying,” he said. “With Yuri.”

“That’s okay,” Chaerin said. “I can study too. Together.”

‘Together together. Like always. Like before. Like it’s supposed to be.’

The barista arrived with the coffees, placing one in front of Yuri, then one in front of Jae-in.

“Thanks,” Yuri said.

Chaerin frowned at the cup.

“Oh,” she said lightly. “You didn’t get me one?”

Yuri didn’t look at her.

‘If I acknowledge, it becomes an obligation.’

Chaerin laughed, a short, brittle sound. “It’s fine! I’ll get my own.”

She stood, brushing past Jae-in so close her hair caught on his shoulder.

‘Don’t leave. Don’t let her sit where I sit. I’ll be back. I’m coming back.’

Jae-in watched her go, feeling the echo of her thoughts linger like static.

When she was out of earshot, Yuri spoke again.

“You don’t have to feel pressured,” she said quietly. “If you wanted this to just be us.”

His stomach twisted.

‘Offer escape. Frame it as concern.’

“I don’t mind,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “It’s fine.”

Her thoughts tightened, just a little.

‘Noted. He avoids conflict even when uncomfortable. Plan accordingly.’

From the corner of the café, someone shifted.

Jae-in hadn’t noticed her at first. He almost never did, not until it was too late.

Kuroe Hana sat alone at a table near the wall, hood down, hands wrapped around a cup she hadn’t touched. Her gaze wasn’t fixed on him, exactly. It never was. It hovered in his direction, unfocused enough to be deniable.

The moment he became aware of her, the thoughts arrived.

‘Line of sight established. Distance acceptable. Two potential threats. One controlled. One unstable.’

He stiffened.

Hana didn’t move.

She didn’t need to.

Chaerin returned with a drink balanced precariously in one hand, sliding back into her seat, reclaiming space. Her knee bumped his under the table.

“See?” she said brightly. “Perfect.”

‘Perfect. Don’t think about how close he is. Don’t think about how she’s looking at us.’

Yuri opened her notebook, pen poised.

“We should focus,” she said. “The midterm essay outline—”

“Later,” Chaerin said immediately. “We can talk first.”

‘Talk to me. Look at me. Don’t let her have all of you.’

Jae-in’s head throbbed.

Three streams now. No, four, counting his own.

Yuri’s thoughts flowed in clean lines, like bullet points:

‘Control tempo. Keep voice calm. Avoid direct confrontation. Secure time.’

Chaerin’s were loops, tightening and loosening around the same points:

‘He’s laughing. That’s good. Is he laughing at her? No. With me. It has to be with me.’

Hana’s were sparse, heavy, like weights dropped into water:

‘Exit blocked. Barista neutral. Male student at counter: non-threat.’

He stared down at his coffee, watching the surface ripple as his hand shook.

“So,” Chaerin said, sipping her drink. “What were you talking about before I got here?”

“Symbolism,” Yuri replied without missing a beat.

“Oh,” Chaerin said. “You’re so good at that, Jae-in.”

Her hand slid onto his forearm, fingers warm.

‘He likes being told he’s good. He needs to hear it.’

Yuri’s pen paused.

‘Physical contact established. Reassess.’

From across the room, Hana shifted her weight.

‘Marking behavior detected.’

Jae-in laughed weakly.

“I’m not that good,” he said.

‘He’s modest. That’s fine. That’s fixable,’ Yuri thought.

‘He’s lying. He’s amazing. Why doesn’t he see it?’ Chaerin thought.

‘He undervalues himself. Increases vulnerability,’ Hana thought.

The absurdity of it almost made him dizzy. Three completely different interpretations of the same sentence, all landing on him like hands pulling in different directions.

A couple at the next table laughed loudly. Someone dropped a spoon. The café hummed with ordinary life.

To everyone else, this was nothing.

To him, it was chaos in polite packaging.

“Do you want to try a bite?” Chaerin asked suddenly, holding up a fork with a piece of cake she must have ordered without him noticing. “It’s really good.”

She leaned in before he could answer.

‘Share food. That’s intimate. That means something.’

He hesitated, aware of Yuri watching, of Hana watching even when she pretended not to.

“It’s okay,” he said. “You can have it.”

Chaerin’s smile wavered.

‘Rejected? No. He’s just being polite. That’s all.’

Yuri exhaled, barely audible.

‘Avoid escalation. Redirect.’

“You look tired,” Yuri said to him. “Have you been sleeping?”

“Yes,” he lied.

‘No,’ Yuri corrected internally. ‘He hasn’t. I’ll adjust his schedule.’

Hana’s thoughts sharpened.

‘Fatigue increases risk. Monitor.’

Chaerin frowned.

“You didn’t sleep?” she asked, concern flooding her voice. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

‘If he doesn’t tell me things, it means I’m failing.’

“It’s not a big deal,” he said quickly.

He smiled because smiling was easier than explaining.

The noise swelled, overlapping until individual words blurred into intent, into pressure.

Yuri stood.

“I’m going to get some water,” she said calmly. “Jae-in, do you want—”

“I’m fine,” he said again.

She nodded, accepting it outwardly.

‘He declined. Note pattern.’

As she walked away, Chaerin shifted closer, practically pressing against him.

“You know,” she said softly, “you don’t have to be so polite all the time.”

Her voice dropped, just for him.

‘You can lean on me. You should lean on me.’

From the corner, Hana’s thoughts went very still.

‘Proximity too close. Reevaluate.’

Jae-in leaned back a fraction, creating space.

Chaerin noticed immediately.

Her thoughts spiked.

‘What did I do wrong. Fix it. Fix it.’

He took a sip of his coffee, burned his tongue, welcomed the pain because it was simple.

Yuri returned, setting the glass down with measured care.

“All right,” she said. “Shall we actually study?”

“Yes,” Jae-in said too fast.

Chaerin pouted, then nodded.

‘If we study, it’s still time together. That counts.’

Hana didn’t move. Didn’t leave.

‘Café marked as unsafe but acceptable under observation.’

Minutes passed. Pages turned. Pens scratched. Words were spoken about themes and motifs and authors who were all long dead and blissfully unaware of the mess they’d inspired.

Jae-in answered questions, offered comments, laughed at the right moments.

Inside, he catalogued everything.

How Yuri’s thoughts tightened every time Chaerin touched him.

How Chaerin’s spirals calmed whenever he smiled at her.

How Hana’s silence pressed in, heavy and watchful, whenever voices rose.

At some point, he realized something that should have been obvious.

Each of them thought this place belonged to them.

Yuri saw it as an extension of her careful planning.

‘Public space. Controlled variables. Suitable for scheduled interaction.’

Chaerin saw it as a shared memory already written.

‘We come here together. We always have. We always will.’

Hana saw it as territory to be secured.