Chapter 9 — Love Hurts Because It’s Real
The literature building emptied slowly in the late afternoon, students drifting out in uneven waves, voices echoing down the narrow stairwells. Han Jae-in lingered longer than necessary, pretending to organize his bag, pretending he hadn’t already noticed Min
Chaerin standing just outside the classroom door.
She leaned against the wall with practiced casualness, fingers hooked around the strap of her bag, humming softly to herself. Bright.
Normal. Almost cheerful. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve thought she was just waiting to walk with him like always.
The moment he stepped into the hallway, the noise hit.
‘He came out. He didn’t leave without me. Okay. Okay. We’re okay.’
‘Why does my chest still hurt.’
‘Don’t cry. Smile. If I smile, he stays.’
‘If I hurt enough, he’ll notice. He always notices.’
Jae-in’s shoulders tensed before he could stop himself.
“Hey!” Chaerin said brightly, pushing off the wall. “You took forever. Professor Han just… talks and talks, right?”
Her voice was light, almost teasing. She stepped closer, too close, and looped her arm around his without asking. Warm. Familiar.
Something she’d done a hundred times since childhood.
The thoughts surged.
‘Touch is fine. Touch is normal. Couples touch.’
‘We are a couple.’
‘If he pulls away, it’s because I messed up.’
‘Don’t mess up.’
“Yeah,” Jae-in said after a beat. “Sorry. I was… spacing out.”
She laughed, quick and breathy. “You always do that lately.”
They started down the hall together, their footsteps matching without effort. Around them, other students passed by, glancing only briefly, seeing nothing unusual. A childhood friend clinging to a familiar arm. Comfortable. Safe.
Inside Jae-in’s head, nothing felt safe.
Chaerin’s thoughts didn’t flow like Seo Yuri’s smooth, ordered lines. They came in waves—emotional surges that contradicted each other, folded back on themselves, erased what came before.
‘He’s tired of me.’
‘No, he wouldn’t be walking with me if he was.’
‘Unless he’s being polite.’
‘He’s kind. He’s always kind.’
‘Kind means love.’
‘Love hurts.’
He swallowed.
They reached the building’s front steps, sunlight spilling across the concrete. Chaerin stopped abruptly, tugging his arm so he turned toward her.
“Hey,” she said, tilting her head. “Do you have a minute?”
Her smile didn’t reach her eyes.
‘Say yes.’
‘If he says no, it’s because I’m annoying.’
‘If I’m annoying, I should disappear.’
‘But disappearing would hurt him.’
‘He’d miss me.’
‘Wouldn’t he?’
“Sure,” Jae-in said. He told himself it was the right thing to do. She looked… fragile. She always did, if you stared too long.
They moved to the side of the steps, partially out of the flow of foot traffic. Chaerin let go of his arm but stayed close, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.
For a few seconds, she didn’t speak.
Her thoughts spiraled louder in the silence.
‘Say something.’
‘If I say the wrong thing, he’ll leave.’
‘If I don’t say anything, he’ll leave anyway.’
‘I hate this feeling.’
‘I love this feeling.’
‘This is what love feels like.’
“Did I do something wrong?” she asked suddenly.
The question landed like a dropped plate.
Jae-in blinked. “What? No. Why would you think that?”
She laughed again, too quickly. “I don’t know! I just—” She waved a hand vaguely. “You’ve been kind of… distant.”
‘I pushed too hard.’
‘No, he pulled away first.’
‘If he loved me, he wouldn’t pull away.’
‘He does love me.’
‘So why does it hurt.’
“I’ve just been busy,” Jae-in said carefully. “Classes. Stuff.”
Her gaze dropped to the ground.
‘Busy means other people.’
‘Other people means I’m losing.’
‘If I lose him, I lose everything.’
‘That’s not allowed.’
“Oh,” she murmured. “Right. Of course.”
She hugged herself loosely, shoulders drawing in. The sight tugged at him automatically, the same reflex he’d had since they were kids—comfort her, fix it, make it better.
Before he could stop himself, he stepped closer. “Chaerin, it’s really not—”
She broke.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just a sudden, sharp inhale that turned into a choked sound as her eyes filled, lashes clumping together.
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, tears spilling over anyway. “I don’t know why I’m like this. I know I’m being stupid. I just—”
Her thoughts detonated.
‘Don’t leave.’
‘Please don’t leave.’
‘If I cry enough, he’ll stay.’
‘If I cry too much, he’ll hate me.’
‘I hate myself.’
‘I love him.’
People were starting to glance their way.
Jae-in’s chest tightened. He reached out, almost without thinking, and pulled her into a hug.
Her body went rigid for half a second.
Then she melted into him.
Her arms wrapped around his waist, grip tightening as if she might fall otherwise. Her face pressed into his shoulder, warm breath soaking through the fabric.
The thoughts softened instantly.
‘He’s holding me.’
‘I knew it.’
‘He wouldn’t do this if he didn’t care.’
‘I’m safe.’
‘I’m loved.’
‘I can breathe.’
“It’s okay,” Jae-in murmured, staring over her shoulder at nothing. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Her fingers dug into his back.
‘Say it again.’
‘Say you won’t leave.’
‘Say it hurts too.’
‘If it hurts, it’s real.’
He held her longer than necessary. Long enough that people stopped looking. Long enough that the moment solidified into something she could keep.
When she finally pulled back, she wiped her eyes quickly, laughing weakly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make a scene.”
“It’s fine,” he said. “Really.”
She smiled at him, small and grateful and unbearably earnest.
‘He’s so kind.’
‘How did I get so lucky.’
‘I have to hold on tighter.’
They walked together again, closer than before. Chaerin leaned into his side, her head brushing his shoulder with every step.
He didn’t pull away.
He told himself it was because she needed him.
***
That night, the messages started around 9:13 p.m.
Jae-in sat on the edge of his bed, laptop open but forgotten, phone face-up beside him. The screen lit up.
[Chaerin: Did you eat?]
He stared at it for a moment, then typed back.
[Jae-in: Yeah. You?]
Three dots appeared immediately.
[Chaerin: I wasn’t really hungry]
A pause.
[Chaerin: But that’s okay!]
Another pause.
[Chaerin: I was just thinking about today]
His stomach tightened.
‘Say something nice.’
‘If he doesn’t respond fast, he’s drifting.’
‘Drifting means disappearing.’
‘Disappearing hurts.’
[Jae-in: Me too. Are you feeling better?]
Several seconds passed. Long enough that he started to wonder if she’d gone offline.
Then:
[Chaerin: Yeah 🙂]
The smiley face felt forced even through text.
[Chaerin: I’m really lucky, you know]
[Chaerin: Some people don’t have anyone who listens to them]
The noise bled through the screen as if distance didn’t matter.
‘I’d be empty without him.’
‘That’s normal.’
‘Isn’t it?’
Jae-in hesitated, fingers hovering.
[Jae-in: You’re not alone]
The reply came instantly.
[Chaerin: I know]
Another pause.
[Chaerin: If you ever got tired of me]
His breath caught.
[Chaerin: I don’t think I could handle that]
The room felt smaller.
‘Don’t push too far.’
‘Push just enough.’
‘If he worries, he’ll come.’
‘He always comes.’
Jae-in typed, deleted, typed again.
[Jae-in: Don’t say things like that]
The dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
[Chaerin: Sorry]
[Chaerin: I didn’t mean it like that]
[Chaerin: I just mean you matter to me]
Another message followed almost immediately.
[Chaerin: A lot]
He leaned back against the wall, phone heavy in his hand.
“Chaerin,” he murmured aloud, though she couldn’t hear it.
He didn’t know what the right response was anymore. Every reassurance fed something. Every distance hurt something.
He chose the middle, like he always did.
[Jae-in: You matter to me too]
On the other side of the city, Chaerin stared at her screen, chest tight, tears drying on her cheeks.
Her thoughts hummed with warmth and ache.
‘He said it.’
‘That’s enough.’
‘For now.’
‘If it starts to fade, I can remind him.’
‘Pain reminds people.’
***
The knock on her door came just after midnight.
Chaerin hadn’t planned it exactly. Not consciously. She’d just let the thoughts spiral long enough that the ache became unbearable.
‘He’s sleeping.’
‘If he’s sleeping, he doesn’t need me.’
‘If he doesn’t need me, I’m nothing.’
‘Unless I make him need me.’
She’d sent one last message.
[Chaerin: I’m sorry to bother you]
[Chaerin: I just don’t feel so good]
[Chaerin: It’s probably nothing]
Then she’d turned off her phone.
The silence that followed was exquisite and terrifying.
When the knock finally came, sharp and urgent, her heart leapt painfully.
She opened the door to find Jae-in standing there, hair mussed, jacket thrown on hastily over his clothes, eyes wide with worry.
“Chaerin,” he said. “Why didn’t you answer?”
She blinked at him, then smiled.
“Oh,” she said lightly. “Did you come all this way?”
Relief crashed through her thoughts like a wave.
‘He came.’
‘I knew he would.’
‘I always know.’
“You said you didn’t feel good,” he said, stepping inside. “Your phone—”
“Ah,” she said, scratching her cheek. “I must’ve missed it.”
She closed the door behind him, the click loud in the quiet apartment.
He looked around. Nothing was out of place. No obvious signs of distress. Just her, standing there, barefoot, oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder.
‘He’s confused.’
‘That’s okay.’
‘Confusion means attention.’
“Are you… okay?” he asked slowly.
She nodded. “I am now.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Jae-in exhaled, tension draining from his shoulders in a rush that left him dizzy. “Chaerin. You scared me.”
Her smile softened.
‘I scared him.’
‘That means I matter.’
“I’m sorry,” she said again, stepping closer. “I didn’t mean to.”
She reached out, fingers brushing his sleeve.
The contact sent a gentle spike through her thoughts—warmth, relief, devotion tangled with something darker.
‘If I disappeared, he’d feel this forever.’
‘That would be love too.’
He caught her wrist, not roughly, just enough to stop her.
“Please,” he said quietly. “Don’t do that.”
Her thoughts wavered.
‘Don’t do what?’
‘Don’t need you?’
‘That’s impossible.’
She looked up at him, eyes wide and shining. “Do what?”
Make me worry. Make me run. Make me choose you over everything else.
He didn’t say any of it.
“Nothing,” he said instead. “Just… tell me if you’re not okay.”
Her wrist slipped from his grasp as she nodded earnestly.
“I will,” she said.
Her thoughts whispered something else entirely.
‘I did.’
‘You came.’
She led him to the couch, sitting close, knees touching. She talked about nothing—classes, a show she’d been watching, a memory from when they were kids. Jae-in listened, exhausted, the adrenaline slowly fading.
As the minutes passed, her head tilted, coming to rest against his shoulder.
“You can stay a bit, right?” she asked softly.
‘If he leaves now, it means I pushed too far.’
‘If he stays, it’s because he wants to.’
“Yeah,” he said. “For a bit.”
She smiled, eyes closing.
Her breathing evened out faster than it should have.
Jae-in stared ahead, heart heavy, the weight of her presence both comforting and suffocating.
He stayed until she fell asleep properly, her grip on his sleeve loosening just enough that he could carefully extricate himself.
As he stood to leave, her thoughts brushed against him one last time, warm and certain.
‘He’ll come back.’
‘He always does.’
Outside, the night air felt colder than it should have.
Jae-in walked home with his hands in his pockets, head down, replaying everything over and over.
He told himself he’d done the right thing.
He told himself that love hurt sometimes.
And somewhere, deep down, a part of him hated how good it felt to be needed that badly.
