In the orchard of Jeju, Eugene and Han circled each other for
weeks, teasing, arguing, hiding more than they said, until one
night, a fall into the grass, a kiss that left no room for
doubt. In the quiet confession they
both been holding back, they had found each other, and in the
hush that followed, the orchard seemed to breeze with them.
The Tangerines hung heavy on their branches.
Days unfolded in the rhythms they didn't rush to change, and
nights that ended closer than they began.
But somewhere beneath the worms, both of them knew this couldn't
last forever. This is beneath the tangerine
trees. Chapter 5.
One Months to Sunrise, the orchard didn't look different.
Same rows, same trees, same cool breath of morning air rolling in
from the sea. But the way they moved in it,
that had changed. It wasn't the kind of shift
anyone would notice at first. Not unless you were watching
closely. Not unless you've been here
before the fall. Before the kiss.
Hun was already in the row Eugene had started, sleeves
rolled neatly, his shoulder shifting was each lift of a
crate. Eugene slowed without meaning
to. You're going to rack your back,
lifting them like that. Hung glanced over his shoulder,
smirk small but certain. Worried about me?
Eugene plucked the tangerine, turning it in his hand before
dropping it into his crate. Worried about having to explain
why you're suddenly useless. They work without hurrying,
Eugene reaching high, Hun crouching low, crates filling
between them. Every so often their hands
brushed when passing fruits across.
Neither pulled away. At the end of the row, they
stopped to swap out full crates for empties.
Footstep crunch on the dirt pass.
Eugene's father appeared at the turn of the row, a cat pulled
low, gloves tucked in his back pocket.
He paused, looking between them. Not long, but long enough.
Getting along better these days. He said it simply, but his eyes
lingered on Eugene's subtraction longer before moving past them
to the next row, boots crunching.
No more words. Eugene reached for another
tangerine, but when he glanced up, Han was watching him.
Han gave the smallest wink. Eugene shook his head, but the
corner of his mouse betrayed him.
The silence between them carried more now, and neither of them
seemed in a hurry to put it down.
They kept moving down the next row, side by side now, their
steps falling into the same rhythm.
The orchard already knew, and maybe so did Eugene's father.
The orchard rested when the rain moved in, just a house that
sounded larger than usual, and the morning that didn't insist
on hurry. Hun rolled his sleeves and began
setting ingredients on the counter in negroes.
Flour, sugar, eggs, butter. Eugene stood in the doorway,
hair still damp from a quick rinse, watching the small,
careful order take shape, measuring grams.
Hun said, not looking up. Eugene stepped closer, the
window fogging slightly with kitchen heat.
The scent arrived before the cool did, sharp sweet citrus
rising through the room, warming the edges of the rain.
Hun worked by feel and fraction, Eugene learned by watching how
the butter disappeared into the flower, how zest lifted the bowl
when it should have made it heavy, how quiet made the
kitchen larger. He asked, not loudly, why Hun
kept doing this. Hunt didn't answer with numbers.
He said, almost in passing, that one day he wanted to open a
dessert shop. Something small may be built
around tangerine. The words were light, but they
stayed, and Eugene found himself picturing it before he could
stop. The air carrying citrus and
sugar. The front window glowing in
light, hung behind the counter, dusted with flour.
It wasn't much, just an image, but it felt like it belonged
somewhere. Hunt didn't save the rest until
the cross went into the tin. The tart took the oven like it
belonged there while it baked. The kitchen held there quite
easily, spoons tapped dry. A cop sat down when the timer
gave it small permission. Han cut a slice before the glaze
could decide to shine or settle. The scent rose, quick and bright
against the rain. You taste first.
Eugene said, voice low enough to blur into the kitchen.
Hum, I'm not throwing up again. Han's shoulder shook once in a
silent laugh. Then he gave a quick overdone,
gagging. Eugene's eyes narrowed, but the
faintest smile pulled through. Footstep crossed the hall.
Eugene's father appeared in the doorway.
Without a word. He picked up the fork, took a
bite, and set it back down. You good?
He said simply. Hans eyes found Eugene's a
small, slow mousing off. See, I'm good.
Eugene's father didn't leave right away.
His eyes moved once between them again, unreadable, before
landing on the window where the rain had begun to thin.
I've got to head out near Sangsan tomorrow, he said after
a moment. If you boys need a ride, I can
drop you guys off early. The words were casual, but they
carried more weight than they needed to.
Then he turned and left, the sound of his boots fading down
the hall. Eugene only smooths the edge of
the plate with one fingertip. Han smile stayed, but his voice
softened. Do you think he knows?
Eugene didn't look up. He knows the orchard.
Outside, the rain softened. Inside, the kitchen kept its
warms a little longer than it needed to.
Next early morning, the world outside was still somewhere
between night and day. Eugene's father was already
behind the wheel, a thermer's balance against his knee.
Hun slid into the backseat. With a quiet morning, Eugene
took the passenger side. Eugene's father glanced once in
the mirror, then back to the road.
By the time they reached the eastern side of the island, the
air had changed. They stepped out into the cold,
their breasts moving ahead of them.
Tourists came for the sunrise. Fishermen came to read the
weather from its shadow. This morning, it was just
stairs. I'll be back in two hours,
Eugene's father said, and drove off without waiting for an
answer. They stood for a moment,
watching the tail lights fade into the curve of the road.
Then Han tilted his head toward the rise.
Well. He said, voice low and amused.
You want it or date? Eugene didn't answer, but the
corner of his mouse gave him away.
The climb began slow, the sea falling in and out of view
between the railings. Every turn brought a wider reach
of horizon. Han moved easily, stopping only
when Eugene slowed, nearly saying hurry but somehow setting
a pace that kept them together. By the time they reached the
top, the light had found them warm against chilled skin.
Hun stood a little head, his hair lifting in the wind, the
early sun pulling gold out of his profile.
Eugene watched him longer than the view.
I only have less than a month now.
Hunt didn't turn, but his shoulder shifted, the kind of
movement that wasn't from the wind.
I know, he said quietly, then, after a beat that might have
been a held breath. 23 days. The number set between them like
something placed carefully on the rail.
Not heavy enough to break it, not light enough to ignore.
Eugene let out a short, dry breath that wasn't quite a
laugh. You count it.
Hun finally looked over. I steady in the light.
I started counting the day you got the ladder.
Neither of them moved to close the space, but the air between
did something different now. Tighter, warmer, the kind that
made leaving harder to imagine. They stayed there until the sun
climbed higher, until the boats below had turned from
silhouettes to collar, until the quiet felt like it had said what
it needed to. On the way down, they passed a
small group just starting their climb, Bright jackets, cameras
ready, the kind of early ambition tourist wore.
Hun nodded to them, then glanced at Eugene.
Funny thing, he said, some people come here just once, like
it's a box to check. And you?
Eugene asked. I think you come here when you
wanted to remember something. Eugene looked ahead at the
trail, the sunlight pulling gold out of the wet railings. 23 days
is a lot of time, Hun said. We could make a lot of memories.
Eugene smiles, curved. Then we better start that night.
The house had the kind of silence that remembers the day
but doesn't repeat it. Eugene sat at the desk, chair
angled half toward the bed. A book rested face down across
his thigh, spine tilted like it might slip if he forgot about
it. A tangerine set near his elbow,
skin dull now but still holding something off the morning swarms
on the floor. Bed, Hun lay crosswise, head
toward the foot, quilt twisted under his shoulder, one knee
bent, his heel hooked lightly over the mattress.
His hand reached for the night stand drawer, sliding it open
with the careful sound of not waking anyone from it.
He pulled a folded scrap of paper and a pencil.
Then he started writing One word.
A pause. We should make a list, Hun said.
For all the things we can do before you go.
The pencil kept moving, small block letters filling uneven
lines. Jog every morning.
Kiss before sleep, bake once more before the season ends.
See the lonely rock. Learn to make each other's
favorite. Drink one day without our
phones. Get lost on purpose.
Eat something neither of us can pronounce.
Eugene leaned an arm on the desk.
Maybe check out nearby dessert shops, You could study them.
Hun looked up, a quiet thank you in his eyes, but shook his head.
That's for mindless. This.
He tapped. The paper is for yours.
The next lines curved toward mischief showered together.
Sleep in until noon at least once.
Make a tart at midnight and eat the whole thing.
Dance in the kitchen with no music.
Swap shirts for a day. By the time Hunt set the pencil
down, the list has shifted from tidy columns to little cluster
of thoughts. He printed one last line in a
thicker strokes. Make Love too firm on the lines,
then in small letters just below.
Tonight. He glanced out from the page,
the pencil still resting between his fingers, his gaze at
Eugene's holding just a moment longer than necessary, the kind
of look that carried its own there.
A faint tilt of his head. And Han said Every day.
Eugene's hand moved without thinking, flicking the nearest
pillar across the short distance.
It lended against Han's shoulder with a soft thought.
Han's screen widened. The pencil moved again, adding
three quick words under the last line.
Much as we can. Eugene shook his head, but the
small crease at the corner of his mouse gave him away.
Neither of them reached for the paper again.
The list stayed where it was, unshifted first pushing himself
upright, the quilt folding in soft ways behind him.
He didn't rush, just crossed the short space until Eugene had no
reason to stay seated. When Eugene stood, the chair
turned a fraction more toward the desk, as if covering for
them. The list lost its place on the
bed, slipping down to the floor. The words weeded there, folded
in the night you've been listening to Beneath the
Tangerine Trees. Chapter 5.
One Month to Sunrise. If you've been following Eugene
and Hunt's story, be sure to subscribe so you don't miss the
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little citrus on their day. Thanks for listening.
Not a province, not a plan.