Chapter 7 — The Apartment Line
Han Jae-in had always thought of his apartment as a holding space. Not a home—just a container where his body went when classes ended. A neutral square of air and concrete where nothing was expected of him.
That illusion lasted exactly as long as it took Min Chaerin to kick off her shoes at the door.
“Wow, it’s still the same,” she said, stepping inside like she’d lived there once and simply forgot. “You didn’t even move the desk.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She never did, not really. Her voice filled the room easily, bright and casual, as if this visit had been scheduled months ago instead of happening because she’d followed him halfway home while talking about chargers.
Jae-in stood near the door, backpack still slung over one shoulder, watching her drift toward the window. The late afternoon light slanted across the floor, catching dust motes and the faint clutter of books stacked beside the bed. It was small. Too small for company. Too small for—
'He let me in. He didn’t stop me. That means it’s okay. It’s always been okay.'
The thought slid into him the moment the door closed.
He stiffened.
The noise wasn’t loud—not like before, not like the frantic spirals she usually carried around him. This one was warm, settled, almost domestic. That made it worse.
“I just need a charger,” Chaerin said, already rummaging through the edge of his desk. “Mine died, and Professor Kim will kill me if I don’t email him tonight.”
She laughed lightly, as if the idea of academic death was charming. Jae-in watched her fingers brush past his notebooks, his pens, the corner of a photograph he hadn’t realized was visible.
“You could’ve just texted,” he said. “I could’ve brought one.”
Chaerin glanced back at him, eyes wide and soft. “But then I wouldn’t get to see your place.”
Her smile lingered a beat too long.
'He’s nervous. That’s cute. That means it matters. If it didn’t matter, he wouldn’t feel anything.'
Jae-in swallowed. “It’s nothing special.”
“That’s okay,” she said easily. “Ours doesn’t have to be special.”
The word slipped out without hesitation.
Ours.
He felt it like a hand closing gently around his wrist.
She found the charger quickly—he wasn’t sure how, considering he hadn’t told her where it was—and plugged her phone in near the bed. Then, without asking, she sat down on the mattress, bouncing slightly as if testing its softness.
The bed dipped.
The apartment shifted.
'This feels right. I always knew it would feel right.'
Jae-in set his bag down slowly. “You can… sit on the chair.”
Chaerin tilted her head. “Why?”
No accusation. Just confusion. As if the concept itself didn’t compute.
“There’s space,” she added, patting the bed beside her. “You look tired.”
'He’s tired because he works too hard. If he rests, he’ll feel better. If he feels better, he’ll stay.'
The logic looped softly, self-reinforcing.
Jae-in rubbed his temple. “Chaerin.”
She looked up at him again, expression open and trusting.
Waiting.
He didn’t finish the sentence.
Saying her name was easier than saying no.
He moved to the chair instead, sitting carefully, back straight, hands folded in his lap like he was visiting an office instead of his own room.
Chaerin didn’t seem to notice the rejection. Or maybe she did, and it simply didn’t register as one.
She lay back on the bed, arms spread, staring at the ceiling.
“You know,” she said, “I used to imagine this a lot.”
He froze. “Imagine what.”
“Just… this.” She gestured vaguely. “Being here. After class. Complaining about stuff. You pretending not to listen.”
She smiled to herself.
'We’re catching up. We’re resuming. Nothing was lost. Nothing ever ended.'
Jae-in felt a slow, creeping pressure behind his eyes. “Chaerin. We didn’t—”
She rolled onto her side, propping her head on her hand. “You’re overthinking again.”
The words were gentle. Familiar. The same ones she’d used since they were kids.
'If he overthinks, he hurts. If I simplify things, he’ll be happier. I’m helping.'
His phone buzzed on the desk.
The sound cut through the room like a blade.
Chaerin flinched—not outwardly, just a subtle tightening of her shoulders. Her eyes flicked to the desk.
Jae-in glanced at the screen.
[Yuri: Did you eat?]
The noise hit him immediately.
Not Chaerin’s—hers spiked, sharp and sudden—
'Who is that. Why now. Why here. Don’t leave. Don’t answer. If he answers, something changes.'
—but Yuri’s presence wasn’t physical. It was distant, filtered, like sound through a wall.
'He forgets to eat when he’s distracted. I should remind him. He needs structure.'
Jae-in’s chest tightened.
He hadn’t told Yuri where he was.
“I should—” He stopped himself. Corrected. “I’ll answer later.”
Chaerin’s breath eased.
'Good. He chose this moment. He chose me.'
She sat up again, swinging her legs off the bed. Her knee brushed his as she leaned forward to grab her phone.
The contact was light. Incidental.
It felt anything but.
Jae-in stood abruptly. “You should head back soon.”
She blinked. “What?”
“It’s getting late,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the window, where the sky had barely begun to dim. “And you said you had emails.”
Chaerin followed his gaze, then laughed. “It’s not even dark yet.”
She looked back at him, eyes searching his face.
'Why is he pushing. Did I do something wrong. No. He’s just scared. If I stay calm, he’ll calm down.'
“I can just send it from here,” she continued, already tapping at her phone. “It’s faster.”
She paused mid-typing, brow furrowing slightly. “Do you mind if I… change?”
The question landed heavily.
Jae-in stared at her. “Change?”
“Yeah,” she said, glancing down at her shirt. “I spilled coffee earlier. It’s kind of gross.”
She smiled apologetically, as if embarrassed.
'I don’t want him to see me messy. I want him to see me comfortable. Like this is normal.'
His throat felt dry. “There’s—there’s no reason to—”
“I brought something,” she added quickly. “Just a T-shirt. I won’t take long.”
She stood before he could respond, moving toward the bathroom.
Jae-in’s hand shot out reflexively, catching her wrist.
The contact was electric.
Chaerin froze, eyes widening slightly as she looked down at his hand, then up at his face.
For a split second, her thoughts shattered into sharp, overlapping fragments—
'He touched me. He doesn’t want me to go. Or he does. Which is it. Say something. Don’t scare him. Don’t let go.'
“I—” Jae-in released her immediately, as if burned. “Just—don’t. Okay?”
The words were weak. Vague. Not a boundary so much as a plea.
Chaerin studied him for a long moment.
Then she smiled.
“Okay.”
She didn’t move toward the bathroom.
Instead, she turned and sat back down on the bed, curling her legs beneath her. “I won’t change.”
'If he’s scared, I’ll stay exactly where he can see me.'
The pressure in Jae-in’s chest didn’t ease.
They sat like that for a while—him on the chair, her on the bed—talking about nothing. Classes. Assignments. A stupid comment Park Minjun had made earlier that day.
Jae-in laughed when he was supposed to. Nodded when it made sense.
All the while, her thoughts hummed softly, wrapping around him.
'This is peaceful. I like this. I could fall asleep like this. I wonder if he’d mind.'
The idea didn’t feel hypothetical.
The light outside dimmed further. Streetlights flickered on.
Jae-in checked the time. “Chaerin. It’s really getting late.”
She glanced at the clock and made a small sound. “Oh.”
For a moment, he thought she might actually get up.
Instead, she yawned.
The sound was exaggerated, theatrical. She stretched, arms lifting, shirt riding up just enough to reveal a strip of skin before settling again.
Jae-in looked away immediately.
'He noticed. It’s okay. I want him to notice. Not like that. Or maybe like that. I don’t care as long as he looks.'
“I think I’ll just rest for a bit,” she said, already lying back down. “My head hurts.”
He stared at her. “You should go home.”
She turned her head toward him, cheek pressed into the pillow. “Can I just… stay for a little?”
The question was quiet. Almost reasonable.
'If I leave now, something might break. If I stay, it’ll be okay. He won’t say no. He never does.'
Jae-in opened his mouth.
No came to mind.
So did the image of her thoughts spiraling if he said it. The panic. The despair. The implications she’d never state outright but always hovered around.
He closed his mouth again.
“…Just for a bit,” he said finally.
The relief in her thoughts was immediate and overwhelming.
'Thank you thank you thank you I knew it I knew he wouldn’t send me away.'
She rolled onto her side, facing the wall. Within minutes, her breathing slowed, evening out.
She slept like she belonged there.
Jae-in sat rigidly in the chair, afraid to move. Afraid that any motion might wake her, might restart the conversation he didn’t know how to finish.
His phone buzzed again.
[Yuri: It’s late. Are you home?]
He stared at the message.
'He should be home by now. If he’s not, something is interfering. I should account for that.'
Jae-in didn’t reply.
Across the street, unseen, a figure stood near a lamppost.
Kuroe Hana watched the apartment window without blinking.
She noted the light. The timing. The silhouette moving inside.
'Occupied. Not alone. Assess.'
Her presence didn’t announce itself with sound.
But Jae-in felt something crawl up his spine anyway.
Minutes passed. Then an hour.
Chaerin shifted in her sleep, murmuring something unintelligible. Her hand brushed the edge of the bed, fingers curling slightly, as if reaching for something.
For him.
'Don’t leave. Stay. Morning will come and it’ll still be like this.'
Jae-in stared at the wall, listening to her breathing, to the distant hum of the city, to the absence of silence.
His apartment no longer felt like a holding space.
It felt claimed.
And somewhere in the quiet, he realized the line had already been crossed.
He just hadn’t been the one to step over it.
