the sun is still blazing across the sky when you rouse from your nap, a comforting warmth blanketing over your body as you lie on the hammock. you’d be content to stay in slumber if not for the tender weight on your chest, reminding you that lungs need a healthy intake of oxygen.
“yuja-yah, why do you always sleep on me?” you chide, no real bite to your bark, fingers stroking along orange fur, gently soothing the cat awake.
once you’ve convinced her to let you free, you settle for some respite in the kitchen, fixing an afternoon snack out of boredom rather than a rising appetite. there’s hardly any guests around at this time of the day, so you allow yourself to enjoy the slow passage of time, fiddling with the ingredients until the presentation looks just right.
cue the footsteps and foreign voice. attention shifts when you realise you’re no longer alone.
“hey! you’re back early.”
but the suave man leaning against the counter doesn’t seem to share your enthusiasm, so you lend an ear for his troubled concerns instead.
“ah, i’m sorry to hear that.” you try not to look so dejected. futures can’t be so easily predicted and neither can the feelings of a man you’ve only met yesterday. but you can’t help but feel the fault that falls on you for being responsible for his enrollment into a tour he didn’t enjoy. what if this ruins his experience and henceforth, opinion of your hometown? AHHHHH— “um. one moment, please?”
inhale. a breath to settle the mind. exhale. a breathe to soothe the nerves. you find your bowl of yoghurt smiling at you, reminding you to do the same.
“have you eaten anything?” you ask instead. you hope he’d already found time for lunch but the unlikely event that he hasn’t is concerning. “you know what, i’ll make you one too. just a minute!”
and you move as quick as you promised. hands flying over ingredients you’ve fortunately yet to put away. the ease of making something you’ve done thousands and thousands of times restores your confidence. the quickest way to a man’s heart is his stomach — you’ll convince him to see how great jeju is eventually, but first! you have to trap him with food.
“here you go.” you present him a small bowl of the same dish you’ve made for yourself, except for the minor details that mirrors his face rather than your own (like the constellation of moles on his cheek). “a ‘hogurt’. on the house.” you grin. maybe he’s the type to like lame puns. “it’s my specialty. it’ll taste good i promise.”
you motion him to follow your steps and out into the patio. best to enjoy something refreshing out in the open when the weather’s this nice no?
you allow him some time to take in the scenery first. it’s only polite after all. and moments after, you start filling in the silence. “anyways, about your question, we do offer one-on-one tours! i can book you in if you’d like.” and by that, you mean your off-day tomorrow. a small price to pay because you're determined to convert him into singing tunes about the beauty of jeju.
unless that wasn’t the issue in the first place. hm.
“but why did you feel like the guided tour was lacking? if you don’t mind me asking.” blink, blink. maybe you need to gauge him differently. “i thought they went to the popular spots with nice views? was that not what you were after?”
his words seem so sincere. as if he was genuinely sorry that the tour wasn’t what you had in mind. part of you wants to interject. tell him it isn’t his fault but rather yours. that all your experiences abroad has tailored your taste to something more unique. that it was your fault for not being clear last night when you approached him for the first time. in your defense, you were flustered. his eyes were kind, face intimidatingly handsome — the sort of pairing that reduces your brain cells to none. and so when he asked if you were a guest at this establishment you panicked: said yes and signed yourself up for both the tour and a week stay at the bed & breakfast.
it’s not his fault at all.
you hold your tongue as you wait. hoping you weren’t interrupting.
he’s still kind enough to ask you if you’ve eaten. this homestay really has hired caring individuals to uphold their ideals. “um...” you begin, as eloquent as ever, because you ought to mention that you only ditched after the provided lunch. a man’s got to eat right? and local cuisines are essential in getting to know a place.
the other part of you wins. the one that tries to excuse your behavior as trying not to be rude. not wanting to hurt his feelings, et cetera. as if you weren’t blatantly staring at the way he assembles a quick mini meal for you. ( shut up jiseong, don’t read into it. ) wishing it was summer solstice and the air conditioner broke down so you can witness the way sinew becomes defined under skin. map it with your eyes. the flash of silver in his ears: two lobes, one cuff. the confidence that belongs to someone on a runway or the front of a magazine spread—
the bowl before you snaps you out of it. it’s so cute? you look up at him in awe, then back down at your own bowl, eyes flitting to his before returning. near identical images of corn flake hair, raisin nose, and maraschino cherry cheeks on a bed of plain yogurt. except that yours has three flecks of chia seeds to mimic your scatter of moles. you hope the heat in your cheeks doesn’t mirror the cherry red in your yogurt.
and then he makes a pun. as cute as the constructed face that smiles at you from the bowl.
obviously, you should give him a light chuckle of amusement but instead you go for your trademark laugh — the one where your eyes scrunch, mouth opens a bit too wide, your voice gets a bit loud, and you are just shy of slapping your knee from the hilarity. great. blew your cool. he probably finds you weird losing it over a well constructed pun.
“that’s clever,” you try to amend as you follow him out.
early afternoon breeze tousles with his hair. you hide your burgeoning smile with a spoonful of hogurt. “it’s delicious,” as he promised. takes a while for you to notice that you’ve commented. ( this is what months of traveling alone has done to you. dear god. ) twist the corner of your lips up to a smile and thank him internally for the turn of the conversation.
“i would like that,” you say in response to the one-on-one tours.
you are a bit taken aback by his next set of questions. didn’t think he would care. but it’s nice that he does. you take another mouthful as a break to think. hoping you don’t sound too privileged when the answer comes out.
“i don’t mind,” you begin, setting your bowl down between your thighs. you hope your body language comes across as relaxed / open / receptive or something. “popular spots with nice views are nice,” you say, hoping it doesn’t sound like you’re mocking him, “but i’m more of a hidden gem type of person.”
“like i said: experience a day in the life of a local. like favorite morning markets where people buy fresh seafood or hole in the wall restaurants where there is no menu because it depends on what’s available that day. or favorite spots to unwind in the sunset with a can of beer. sorry this is all related to food,” you chuckle. if your hands weren’t around a bowl of yogurt you might have used one to rub the nape of your neck. “but other sights too,” you finish a little generic and vague. the camera you wear around your neck isn’t an accessory and you aren’t a food blogger.
“i haven’t really told anyone this but,” you say, playful, flitting around as if he was privy to this top secret, leaning in to whisper it into his ear: “i used to come to jeju often as a kid. i’ve been to all the tourist spots.” and then pull away with a laugh, praying he doesn’t find you annoying.