𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦 ʸᵒᵒⁿ ᵈᵒⁿᵍʲᵘ

xx. Routine Interruptions.

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𝗞𝗡𝗢𝗖𝗞𝗢𝗨𝗧 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗦
Confessions In The Field.
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It's a little past noon, and the summer heat wraps itself around Seoul like a velvet rope—too warm to be comfortable, too soft to resist. The sky above the city is a watercolor of washed-out blue and haze, the sunlight casting honey-gold slants through the leafy canopy shading the café's small patio.

Ji Hana sits with her arms folded, sunglasses perched atop her head like a crown she forgot to wear. A sweating glass of iced latte rests untouched in front of her, the condensation trailing slow rivulets down the sides, gathering in a puddle she doesn't wipe away.

Across from her, Jonghyeon finishes the last bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully. His sleeves are rolled up just past his forearms, and his tie hangs loosely around his neck. He doesn't speak for a while—not because he doesn't have something to say, but because he's learned that Ji Hana only lets people in when silence stretches long enough to make her restless.

"You seem tired," he finally says, voice quiet but firm.

Ji Hana exhales, slow and measured, as if her lungs have been aching to release more than just air. "I am," she says, almost admitting something else. "Tired of a lot of things."

"Such as?"

"Pretending like I don't notice the way Dongju looks at her," she mutters, eyes tracking the cracks in the patio floor. "Like he's trying to solve her, not love her. Like she's a code he wants to break before he even realizes she's already cracked him wide open."

Jonghyeon stays quiet.

Ji Hana finally lifts her gaze. "It's stupid, right? Getting jealous over someone who probably doesn't even think about me anymore."

"Minji?"

She nods slowly. "She's... kind. Naive, but kind. She doesn't even know I've been competing with her in my head for months now."

There's a weight to her words—a kind of soft defeat laced with bitterness, like she's tired of running a race no one else was aware of.

Jonghyeon leans forward, arms crossed on the table, brows furrowed. "You want me to lie to you?"

"No," Ji Hana says. "Tell me the brutal truth. I can handle it."

A beat of silence.

Then Jonghyeon speaks, low and unwavering. "You're sick in the head."

Ji Hana stiffens.

"You're not in love with Dongju," he continues. "You're in love with the idea that he might still be in love with you. But he's not. And he hasn't been for a long time."

She opens her mouth to argue, but he cuts her off gently.

"You're angry at Minji for something she hasn't done. She's innocent, Hana. She doesn't play games, doesn't manipulate people with smiles and silence. She just exists. And somehow, her existing is enough to make you spiral."

Her throat feels dry. She presses her tongue to the roof of her mouth, holding back the urge to cry.

"You think you're losing," Jonghyeon says, softer now. "But there's no war. There never was. Let her go. Let him go."

Ji Hana leans back in her chair, blinking hard at the pale afternoon sky.

The cicadas buzz in the distance like an old song she once loved but can't hum anymore. The clatter of silverware and the hiss of passing cars feel too loud all of a sudden. She wants to scream or laugh or flip the table or do anything but feel this hollow inside her chest.