Beneath the tendrin trees Chapter 1 mid November on Jeju Island hovered in a gorgeous in between, autumn's warms hadn't quite faded. Winter's chill hadn't quite arrived. The mornings lingered with golden light and a tender hush. There sat an orchard of tangled tendrin trees, branches heavy with ripe fruit. Sunlight filtered through leaves, turning everything in touch slightly magical, like a fond memory come to life. The only sounds were bird songs. Under the trees, two boys stood,
breathing in unison. Their eyes were closed, 4 heads almost touching. The world seemed to lean closer with them. Without a warning, they kissed. Slow, soft, trembling, like a sunrise breaking through memory. Eugene didn't move. He knew this moment held more than nostalgia. It was alive with possibility. Then Han pressed forward just enough, lips barely brushing. In the blink of an eyelid, it vanished. Eugene opened his eye to not Han, but a tangerine smushed
gently against his lips. Eugene lay on the wooden floor, wrapped in a blanket. Hun stepped inside, crate in hand, towel folded over his arm. His eyes met Eugene's, still holding the tangerine. A moment of perfect stillness passed before Hans said nothing and just waited. Eugene. Eugene jolted awake, instinctively yanking the blanket up his shoulders. The tangerine dragged clumsily across his cheek before dropping with a quiet thought. A few more rolled away under
foot, disturbed by the motion. Somewhere beside him, the crate hit the floor with a soft clatter. Hun stood in the doorway, arms at his sides, watching. His expression remained unreadable, neither amused nor alarmed, just quietly observing, as if trying to decide whether to say something or simply leave Eugene to his citrus induced shame. Eugene blinked rapidly, struggling to Orient himself, and then muttered under his breath. I was dreaming.
The silence hung, made heavier by his own awareness. It didn't help that Hunt hadn't looked away once. Eugene could fill every second pass. Hunt didn't laugh, he didn't tease. He just stood there. Eugene sank a little lower into the blanket. He felt ridiculous, embarrassed, and very much awake now. Hans's lips finally curved just slightly into a lopsided half smile. Damn, didn't know Tangerines were your type.
Eugene froze, clutching the blanket with one hand and the poor innocent tangerine with the other, as though either could shield him from what had just happened. For a second, he stared down at the fruit. It was perfectly round. It really had been a beautiful tangerine. Han gave the softest, shortest chuckle, just enough to break the tension. Not mockery. Something else, something gentler. Eugene, despite himself.
Breeze. The next time Han appeared, he brought a dessert, just placed it on the table with both hands, his expression quietly proud. A soft hollow of light hit the glaze just right, casting a gentle Sheen over the tangerine top tart. Eugene blinked. The gesture said more than words. Hun had made something for him without asking. He didn't know what to say, so he didn't. Instead, he picked up the fork, studied the glossy surface, took a bite. At first there was nothing.
Then a jolt. His eyes flew open, the spoon dropped with a faint clatter. He set, frozen in horror, like his taste buds had just stage of rebellion. A sharp, briny confusion spread across his tongue. Across the table, Hun looked up. A pause. Then he frowned, picked up the small container from the prep tray, turned it in his hand, and visibly paled. He pressed his palm to his forehead with a soft, regretful thud and mistook salt for sugar. Eugene didn't respond, not right
away. Stunned by the chaos on his tongue, Hun quietly slid a glass of orange juice toward him. Eugene accepted the glass like a peace offering. The juice was cold, bright, almost cleansing. Hun watched him cautiously. There was a beat of silence between them, awkward, amused, and a little tender in spite of everything. You OK? Eugene blinked once, then nodded slowly. Han winced again, but he didn't offer excuses, only a quiet promise as he leaned back with a smile.
I'll make it sweeter next time. Later that evening, the desert incident was already half forgotten, buried on the awkward cleanup and Hun's quiet apology. Eugene lay stiffy on their own blanket, determined to sleep. But the tangerine wasn't the only surprise of the day. The room was barely wide enough to hold them. A pair of floor beds, 2 bodies, no space in between, and too much lingering awkwardness from the earlier assault catastrophe to argue about sleeping
arrangements. So there they lay, parallel, close, separate. In theory but not in practice. Then, barely a whisper of movement. Something brushed against Eugene's foot. A toe. Hans. Just a small nudge under the edge of the blankets, no real contact, no weight, but enough. Eugene's breast caught. He stayed still, couldn't help it. The air thickened, not with meaning, but it was accidental tension. Beside him, Han was still probably asleep, breezing slow, unaware of the minor panic now
overtaking the foot he touched. Eugene tried to shift slightly to Createspace, but the bedding wore too close. Every small adjustment risked more contact. Then, without warning, Hun shifted again, half rolling in his sleep, his arm draped across the narrow gap. Not over Eugene, not quite, just resting beside him, a hair breath away. No one spoke of it the next morning, but the silence between them carried new weight. Not heavy, not romantic, just dense.
Something had changed. Not much, just enough to notice and enough to ignore. Eugene stood among the trees, half focused, a tangerine in one hand. Sunlight dappled through the leaves. The orchard smells sweet and earthy, like something alive and ripening. Then something hit his shoulder. He flinched. A curl of Tendrin pills slid down his shirt and lended at his feet. He turned. Hun stood a few pieces away, chewing casually, hands sticky with citrus.
No apology, just a faint smirk, the kind that hovered between teasing and harmless mischief. For a moment, Eugen stared. Then he reacted without thinking, without breath. He grabbed the tangerine from the crate beside him and hurled it straight at Han's chest. Han froze mid shoe juice splattered across his shirt. Bits of pulp clung to his chin. For one perfect second, the orchard felt completely silent. Eugene's arm hung limp at his side.
His face betrayed nothing. His soul had already left his body. Han blinked once, then calmly wiped his face with the back of his hand. A breeze rustled through the leaves. Neither of them laughed, not yet, but Eugene's lips twitched. Then Hans did too. It wasn't just citrus that had broken. Something else has cracked open between them, something warmer. The orchard held its breast, and from between the trees a single tangerine rolled gently to a
stop near Hans foot. He looked down, then, without breaking eye contact, he bent to pick it out, weighed in his palm, rolled it once between his fingers, and hurled it back. Direct it. Eugene staggered half a step, clutching his shirt in theatrical disbelief. The orchard fell still, as if the trees were watching. Hunt shrugged, And in that ridiculous silence, whatever it was had officially begun. Days passed.
They kept to their routines, swording crates, sharing shade, pretending neither had ever weaponized the tangerine. Things were civil, which was fine, until Han brought out dessert again with confidence. It was mid afternoon when Han placed a plate on the courtyard table. No dramatic reveal, just quiet confidence. Eugene sat across from him, folk already lifted by a habit. The desert was small, delicate, carefully plated.
A citrus glaze caught the light. Eugene took a bite, then paused, fork still raised, chew frozen in mid motion, eyes narrowing slightly, not in judgment but in dawn and confusion. He swallowed slowly, then reached the off screen and returned, holding ajidju tangerine. He placed the tangerine beside the desert. Silent accusation, No words, just that Hun blinked, still smiling. Then the silence broke. You used orange, A beet, you dumb fool. And you call yourself a paticier?
He tapped the tangerine lightly against the side of the plate. Not hard, just enough to make a point. Hun, look from the fruit to Eugene and back again, like he'd been caught in some unspoken culinary betrayal. No one laughed that evening. The kitchen was quieter, no desserts, no dramatic notes. But when Eugene walked out of the orchard an hour later, Han was there, packing crates, and on the step beside him, someone had left the tangerine.
Not just any tangerine. A Jeju tangerine, bright, perfectly round, a tiny heart drone on the peel and pen. Han looked at it for a long time before picking it up, and Han stood with the tangerine in his hand, unsure if he'd just been forgiven or invited to try again. Days blurred again. Then one morning, Eugene found something. It wasn't just dessert. It felt intentional. And a note. No salt, no orange. This was the third attempt, and
maybe the most sincere. He sat down, lifted the cloth, and found the citrus dessert. Glossy, layered, delicate. He picked up the fork and took a bite. The dessert was light, sweet and balanced, and for the first time, perfect. Eugene sat still, fork in hand, smiled, talking at the corner of his mouth. Not because of the desert, but because this time, Hunt had
gotten it right. Two days passed, and then, on a morning warm enough to feel like a spring was cheating its way into late autumn, Eugene found himself holding the base of a wooden ladder. The ladder wasn't stable, not really, but Hunt didn't seem concerned. He was already near the top, reaching confidently toward Tangerine that swayed just out of arm's length. Eugene stood below, gripping the sides of the ladder, more for something to do than for support.
His eyes flicked upwards. They stayed there a beat too long. The light broke through the trees, scattering gold across Hans's shirt, his hair, the fruit above him. Everything about the moment felt too quiet. Then it broke. Hun reached just a bit too far. A branch shifted. The ladder wobbled. He let go to catch the fruit. The ladder tipped. Eugene moved without thinking. There was no time to shout, no time to step back. Just a soft thought. Han landed against him, chest to
chest. The impact was light, but their faces were close, too close. Lips brushed, not on purpose, not even entirely aligned, but enough. Both froze. Eugene's heart stuttered. Han didn't move, didn't laugh, didn't flinch. He simply stayed still. A long second passed, then they tip sideways and collapse into the grass, not speaking, shoulders barely touching. Eugene stared straight up, color rising in his cheeks. Han remained exactly where he landed, like nothing unusual had happened.
Minutes passed in silence, then Han's hand moved just slightly. Fingers brushed against Eugene's, then curled around them, and Eugene didn't pull away. I know you wanted a perfect moment, Han said. There was no reply. There didn't need to be. The moment wasn't perfect, but it was theirs. And in the quiet beneath the tendering trees, something shifted. It didn't shout, it didn't
shine, but it was there. This was chapter 1 of Beneath the Tendering Trees. If you enjoyed the story so far, follow or subscribe so you don't miss what comes next. And if you felt something, anything, leave a like a review or share it with someone who might need a little sweetness in their day. Thanks for listening. We'll see you beneath the tangerine trees. Beneath the tangerine trees.