花 — Foreign words fall from the man’s lips and Jin makes out their meaning but says nothing. Instead his eyes claim focus upon the peasant’s unbecoming act. Was that soil? Was this man honestly picking out dirt from beneath his fingernails here? An involuntary shiver runs down his spine, caressing each crevice with creeping disgust. How indecent.
His mind rolls out hypotheses and deductions from his observations. The other doesn’t appear to be much older or younger than himself. The casual state of dress, the manner of how he carries himself in addition to filth in his nails can only suggest so many options. Manual worker comes to mind but it is banished considering the clothing. Student? Gardening club? Botany? These are more likely.
Not well-versed in social situations. Or perhaps he has a fear of foreigners? Surely, his accent is telling that he is far from being a native of this country.
Nevertheless, Jin keeps to himself and simply hands the bagged product to the other, ensuring that he left more than enough room for the man to grab it without coming into contact with him.
Who knows what these foreign soils hold? What parasites or diseases. The thought makes him move his bag of produce further away.
“Hmph. This much is expected if you are visiting a different country.” Jin didn’t need the compliment to know that he is better off than many of the one or two-word versed tourists.
“Take it. Wash your hands before eating.”
This whole thing was making him feel so small and self-conscious. He could feel how he was being judged by this stranger with every moment that passed, and he could feel himself shrink more and more with each second. At first, his mind was only focused on escaping this humiliating situation, thank the other and leave as quietly and unnoticeably as possible. But when his mind registered words in a foreign language, but nonetheless a language he knew very well, his eyebrows shot up in surprise.
Filthy? Filthy? Of course, he was aware of that his casual approach to his own appearance wasn’t anything special or eye-catching, but that was how he liked it, and it was far from filthy. What gave this man the right to call him that, even though he probably hadn’t expected to be understood? Was it his appearance? His behaviour? His question? Sure, this rude tourist seemed to belong to a different class of people than himself, but filthy? Really? His blood was boiling, but Jihun attempted to cool himself down with a deep breath, collecting his thoughts for a moment. Controlling his temper was something he was good at, luckily.
The next time he spoke, his words came out in nearly fluent Japanese. He had been learning the language ever since he was a little kid; his grandmother had lived in Tokyo most of her life and was more comfortable with Japanese than her mother tongue.
“Of course I’ll wash my hands before eating, thank you.” Jihun reached out to receive the bag, and tried hard to keep his action gentle, brows furrowing. He wasn’t seeking an argue, but the urge to let the other know he had understood that insulting remark was strong. And wasn’t it actually just a kind thing to do, switching to a language the other probably was more comfortable with?
“I do wish to repay you, though. Is there any way I can contact you later to do so?” His voice was still lacking confidence, but he wasn’t going to let his pride seep away even further. He could feel his dignity being torn away from him and stomped on right in front of his eyes. No more.
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