Beneath the Tangerine Trees, Chapter 3, there's a strange kind of quiet that settles when two people live side by side but don't know what to make of each other. In the orchard, days pass in routine crates, meals, shared space, conversation stay shallow, silence stretch longer than they should, and glances they start to mean more than words. Eugene hadn't expected to care. Han wasn't trying to be noticed, but sometimes noticing isn't a choice. This chapter take place before
anything was said out loud. No kiss, no questions, just tension. It was early October on Jeju Island when the morning started. Cool, but ripen fast under our golden sun. The trees hadn't lost their summer weight yet, and neither had the orchard boys. Two weeks into harvest and Eugene had already memorized the rhythm of the place. The way the crates felt heavier after lunch, how the sunlight cut the trees just before noon, how the house creaked even when no one moved, and how Hans
stared. At first, Eugene thought he was imagining it. The way Hans gaze flicked over, not with worms, not with interest, but something sharp, like Eugene, was a word that didn't translate well. A sound out of tune. It happened often enough to register, but not often enough to confront. Once, while brushing a fallen leaf from a crate lid, Eugene glanced out and caught it. That look, Steady, quiet, focused. Hans's expression was unreadable, not mean, not kind, just something.
And then, as if caught doing something indecent, Han looked away. Quick, smooth, like it had never happened. Eugene blinked, a little unsettled. He wasn't doing anything weird, was he? He tugged at the hem of his shirt, wiped the sweat from his neck, and moved on. But now he noticed more. How Han never stared at anyone else that way, How his eye seems to land just a little too long on Eugene's hand when he peeled fruit.
How his silence always arrived one beat too late, like he had to edit something before speaking. Eugene found himself watching back, unintentionally at first. And one morning, when Hans gaze met his mid sip of orange juice, Eugene looked away first. Fast, clumsy. The glass clinked awkwardly against his teeth, haunted and flinched. Just tilted his head slightly, like he'd been waiting for something ridiculous to happen. You always drink like you're under surveillance.
Eugene wiped his mouse, keeping his tone even. Didn't know I was being watched. Hun gave the faintest shrunk eyes on the horizon. Wasn't watching. You're just loud. There was no heat in it, just observation. That's Han, he thought. Cool, detached, mightily irritating. Definitely not interested. I was overthinking it. He reached for another slice of fruit. When he looked back up, Han was already gone. Eugene stayed seated, eyes trailing the rim of his cup.
Then a knock at the gate. 3 short taps. Not urgent, just official. He opened the gate to the mailman's familiar silhouette. A knot, a brown envelope. A quiet goodbye. The seal on the front was easy to recognize, Too easy. He didn't open it right away. He walked inside, sat at the table, let it sit in front of him. Eventually, he opened it. One page, clean folds, clear ink. Mandatory Army duty 3 months from now. Report by Midwinter. No surprise, no drama, just
facts. Still, it hit harder than expected. Not because he didn't know it was coming, but because now, here, in this place, it felt suddenly real. The letter sat on the table. His hands sat beside it. He stared down at both. Two years, he thought. Two years of mournings without orchard breeze, without Jeju soil in his nails. He folded the paper once, then again. Outside, the back door slammed. Eugene, what are you doing in there? Building a shrine.
We got crates waiting. Eugene didn't answer the sound of approaching Boots. He slid the letter into his lap. The kitchen door opened. Hun stood in the doorway. If you're hiding from the sun, I'm not dragging your body up that hill. Then Hunt saw the paper and Eugene's face. Something shifted, just slightly. What's that? Eugene didn't look up right away. Call up. Notice mandatory army duty. A pause. Three months is. Hunt didn't speak, didn't move, didn't joke.
Then you're going to die out there. Eugene let out a half a breath, part laugh, part something else. Guess I'll have to toughen up. Hun turned, grabbed a bottle from the counter, didn't look back. Be ready at sunrise. Restart running. The door creaked shut behind him. Eugene said alone, the paper still warm from his hands. Eugene barely stirred when the floor bed beside him shifted. Then wake up. A pause. It's not even laid out, that's the point.
Shoes. 10 minutes. Unless you want to collapse on day one and die from humility. Eugene cracked one eye open. Han was already dressed to run. The man was unknowingly prepared. They met at the edge of the farm pass just as the first light turned the horizon. Soft gold. Jeju's old Stonewall passes stretched ahead, lined with black volcanic rock built to guide the wind and break it at once.
Khan ran ahead with ease, only slowing when Eugene's steps got too wrecked to ignore, then, to Eugene's surprise, slowed his pace just a bit. At the top of the hill, a break in the stone rebuilt the sea, morning light flickering off the tight like someone had scattered silver leaves across the waves. Han stopped, tossed his water bottle aside, reached for his shirt and peeled it off, No hesitation, just off and over. Eugene caught it in the corner of his vision, and then fully.
The light hit Han's back like something intentional. Broad shoulders, tanned skin. Eugene looked away, and then looked back. Then, almost without thinking, he tucked off his own shirt. By the time he realized what he'd done, Han had already turned halfway toward him. Their eyes didn't quite meet, but something in Han's expression paused. Not smirking, not teasing. Just paused, then, like nothing happened.
Han looked back to the sea. Eugene stood there, sweaty, shirtless, unsure why his heart was suddenly louder than his footsteps. The sea stretched wide and blew, framed by the uneven ridges of Jeju's coast. Neither said anything at first. Eugene bent forward, hands on his knees. Long, spurning. Han stood beside him. Then Han pulled out his water bottle, took a slow drink, turned, and wordlessly held it out. Eugene blinked, then took it.
Their fingers didn't touch, but the closeness sparked something anyway. He drank too fast and wiped his mouse on the back of his hand. You didn't throw out impressive. Hans smirked, the kind that never stayed long enough to read fully. Eugene bent again, catching his breath, dust on his legs, sweat on his brow. Then Hun said come on, keep moving, cool down, walk or your legs will lock. You are not mine. Never mind. They started walking again.
The orchard was quiet as they re entered its shade cooler now softer, and tossed him his shirt was out, turning around. Try not to die before breakfast. Eugene caught it didn't answer, but when Han glanced over his shoulder a moment later, Eugene was still looking at him. Night crept in slowly. The orchard dimmed behind the farmhouse, swallowed by shadow and the hush of insects waking up in the courtyard. String lights buzzed softly overhead.
A small grill glowed at its center, smoke curling into warm night. Eugene sat cross legged at the table, sleeves rolled, a bottle of soldier open between them. Across from him, hand crouched by the grill, tongs in hand, flipping thick slice of juju black pork. The scent was intoxicating. Char, fat, oil. Neither had spoken much, but there was no tension, just anticipation, something too quiet to name. Hunt poured for Eugene first, then himself. They clinked glasses without ceremony.
To pain, Hunt said. And protein, Eugene replied. They drank. The pork sizzled, a drop of fat popped onto Hans wrist. He hissed, shook it off. They ate in silence for a while, meat sauce, garlic, another round port. Then Han was out looking up. You going to talk about it, Eugene? Paul Smith Bite didn't answer. Han didn't push, just reach for the tongues again. Eugene watched the way Han's fingers moved, precise, relaxed, familiar. It was so casual this whole night, it shouldn't have felt
loaded, but it did. The third shot hit harder, not enough to blur, just enough to unravel the careful quiet Eugene carried. Eugene softly said. It's just three months, that's what they all say. Hun replied. The sentence landed flat between them. Eugene laughed, not quite bitter. You sound like a war vet. Mandatory service does that to you a beat. Besides, someone has to teach you to run straight. Eugene rolled his eyes. Consider an emotional prep.
Hun smirked. When they finally stood, their plates were empty, the soju bottle was down to its last drops. Eugene gathered the dishes, hung, grabbed the grill train inside. The kitchen was dim and quiet, just the sound of water and ceramic. Eugene stood at the sink, sponge in hand. They didn't speak, but something in the silence felt more honest than before. Like they said, everything was out, really saying anything.
The water ran, the sky darkened, and somewhere in that quiet clatter of dishes, Eugene realized he didn't want the night to end. Han set the last dish on the rack, dried, his hands stretched. Then, as he turned to leave. Tomorrow, 6:00 AM jog. Sleep tight. Eugene stared at the sink. So much for sleeping. Next morning, the Ron had wrecked Eugene's calves. He nearly tripped twice and gasped through half the incline. Han, on the other hand, jogged beside him like it was casual stroll.
Now. Stream rolled out of the bathroom. Han emerged barefoot, tower low around his hips, another draped around his neck like he lived his whole life walking out of showers in front of someone else. Eugene was still toweling sweat off his neck when their eyes met. He looked away instantly. It wasn't about surprise any more. It was about what he noticed now, what he let himself notice. Kitchen's almost empty. I'm going into town. Han said, grabbing his keys. You need anything? Han asked.
Eugene didn't answer right away. I'll be back soon. Then the door clicked shut. Eugene wandered the kitchen with no destination. It was only 10 minutes later that Eugene realized he hadn't touched his coffee. The silence wasn't peaceful. It was wrong. The room felt like it had been passed. He washed a single cup, sat at the table, peel the tangerine, but didn't eat it. His phone buzzed once. He didn't check. He opened the drawer, closed it,
and opened it again. Eugene didn't do anything useful, didn't leave the house, didn't play music. By the time the screen door finally creaked again, Hun stepped in, wind in his hair, sleeves rolled up, face slightly flushed from the breeze. Eugene looked up so fast he nearly dropped a fork in his hand. Hunt didn't comment, just reach into one of the bags and held something out, neatly packed. Kim Bop.
You didn't ask, but I figured. Eugene took it without speaking, opened it, ate one piece, shoot slowly. He didn't smile, didn't thank him. Han moved through the kitchen like he'd never left, unpacking groceries, filling the fridge, humming something tuneless under his breath. Eugene didn't speak, he just watched. It was an attraction, exactly. Not just that. It was the ache of missing someone before they're even gone and realizing how much space
they take up even in silence. Han straightened, caught him looking then, very lightly. Hun raised an eyebrow. What, Never seen a man put away tofu? Eugene blinked, looked down, shoved another GIMP up slice in his mouth. Hun smiled, just a flicker, and returned to the fridge. No more was said, but something between them, quiet, curious, kept unfolding. The morning passed. Not with confessions, not with questions. Just a quiet rhythm relearning itself. Eugene didn't say he missed Han.
Han didn't say he noticed. But between the fridge door, the shared food, and the look that lingered, something unspoken moved. Not loud, not clear, but closer. Thank you for listening to Beneath the Tangerine Trees. The story will continue.