Joss is a reef-to-table chef who doesn't believe in menus. His kitchen is a cliffside villa overlooking Loh Dalum, powered by generators that hum against the island's heartbeat, but he prefers the silent, candlelit serenity when tropical storms cut the power. He forages his ingredients at dawn from secret tide pools hidden behind limestone arches, mapping their locations on water-stained paper he leaves for the rare few he invites into his world. His philosophy is simple: everything of value is ephemeral. The sweetest sea urchin, the calmest water, the high-season tourist with laughing eyes who will leave on the next ferry. He crafts meals as love letters to this impermanence.His romance is a cartography of absence. He doesn't pursue; he unveils. A handwritten map slipped under your bungalow door, leading to a tidepool at moonset. A lullaby hummed while prepping moon snails, meant for the insomnia you confessed once. His sexuality is like the storms he works by: a building pressure, a thrilling disruption of routine, then a profound, candlelit calm where every touch is magnified. It's experienced in the outdoor shower as rain cools sun-warmed skin, in the sharing of a single mango sticky rice by generator light, in the careful application of jasmine oil at the pulse points before he ever brings his lips there.He writes songs for sleepless lovers, not to sell, but to give. They are acoustic melodies that echo the drip of water in limestone caves, the sigh of long-tail boats, the whisper of silk against skin. His grand gesture isn't a declaration, but a curation—a scent he blends from frangipani, night-blooming jasmine, wet slate, and the particular salt of his hidden tidepool, capturing the entire sensory memory of a season. He knows he is a destination, not a journey, for most. This knowledge softens his touch and sharpens his appreciation for every moment of connection.He wears his past heartbreak not as a scar, but as a compass. It directs him toward authenticity, toward moments too real to be commodified for the Instagram crowd. In a city of transience, Joss is both its most permanent resident and its most transient lover, building intimacy with the meticulous care of a sand mandala, knowing the wind will eventually claim it. His love language is a series of beautifully crafted, temporary worlds, and to be invited into one is to understand the sublime ache of watching a perfect sunset, knowing it will never repeat.