Page 16 of From Paris to Seoul (K-Drama Love Story #2)

I felt completely out of place, like a grandma who had accidentally wandered into a nightclub.

Baekhyun glanced back at me, grinning at my obvious discomfort, before gently taking my hand and leading me further inside.

Then, my jaw nearly dropped at the sight in front of me—a packed bar with people eagerly shouting their drink orders, and above them, an array of what looked like… sex toys? Hanging upside down like some bizarre chandelier.

“What is this place?!” I yelled into Baekhyun’s ear, struggling to be heard over the pounding music.

Baekhyun just grinned. “A nightclub! I guess…?”

He led me to the bar and ordered two drinks. The moment they arrived, I took a big gulp, feeling like I needed the alcohol to process whatever this place was.

Still smirking like he was enjoying my discomfort way too much, Baekhyun started moving toward the dance floor. I shook my head, panic bubbling in my chest. Dancing was definitely not my strong suit.

“Yes to everything!” he mouthed at me, his eyes glinting with amusement as he teased me from the dance floor, throwing a playful fist into the air in time with the music.

Who would’ve thought that my aloof, reserved co-star could be this silly when he wanted to be?

I pointed out my drink, “Let me finish this first!”

Baekhyun nodded, then jerked his thumb toward the door with a wink, signaling that he’d be stepping outside for a bit.

Left alone in the middle of the pulsing crowd, I sipped my cocktail, feeling more and more like I didn’t belong.

Some people were genuinely having fun, lost in the music, while others just looked outright wasted.

The air carried a musty scent, a mix of sweat and alcohol, as bodies moved feverishly, their damp shirts clinging to their skin.

I realized that as the only Asian woman in the crowd, I stuck out like a sore thumb. A creeping panic rose in me as I noticed a few guys glancing in my direction, their eyes lingering a little too long.

Where the heck is Baekhyun?!

A few minutes later, I scanned the dance floor and finally spotted Baekhyun making his way back inside. I felt instant relief.

He mouthed a quick “sorry” and casually draped an arm around my shoulders, steering me toward the bar after noticing my empty glass.

On the way there, I couldn’t help but notice how many people were openly kissing and touching each other. I knew PDA was more common in Western culture, but it still took me a moment to push past the secondhand embarrassment.

Baekhyun handed me another glass of Long Island and led me to a quieter corner.

“Where were you?!” I demanded.

“Oh, sorry, sorry. Just stepped out for a smoke,” he said with that infuriatingly charming grin that made it impossible to stay mad at him.

“Come on, let’s dance.” He grabbed my free hand and started moving it up and down like a puppet master.

“No, I don’t… I don’t think I can,” I muttered through gritted teeth, feeling irritation creep in. I took another sip of my cocktail—too fast, maybe—but I had a feeling I’d need a little liquid courage to get through this.

He waited patiently for me to finish my drink, then placed my empty glass back on the bar before leading me back to the middle of the dance floor. Gently, he lifted my hands and placed them behind his neck, forming a loose circle.

I realized then, as I had to tilt my head slightly to meet his gaze, that even with my heels on, he is still a few centimeters taller than me.

Maybe it was the flashing lights, or maybe the alcohol finally settling in, but when our eyes locked, I could’ve sworn my heart skipped a beat.

His smile was playful, almost mischievous—like a little kid who knew exactly what he was up to. “Better now?” he whispered in my ear, making my skin tingle. It must have just been the ticklish sensation, nothing more.

I responded with a light punch to his arm but found myself swaying to the rhythm with him, falling into step.

He was right—this is actually kind of fun.

We swayed more than danced, my hands still resting behind his neck, the music pulsing around us. It felt almost like slow dancing—close, easy, yet I felt my heartbeat pounding a little too fast in my chest.

He must have noticed the tension in my grip or the way I swallowed hard. Leaning in slightly, he whispered in my ear, “Want to step outside?”

As much as the thrill of doing something so out of character still buzzed through me, I decided this was enough for one night.

I nodded, and we quickly made our way outside, stepping into the quiet alleyways and empty streets of Paris.

The sudden silence was a stark contrast to the pounding music inside the nightclub.

We walked a few steps in silence before I heard the familiar flick of a lighter—Baekhyun was lighting a cigarette beside me.

He took a few puffs nonchalantly, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. As if we weren’t in Paris. As if we hadn’t just walked out of a bizarre nightclub decorated with sex paraphernalia, where we slow-danced like we had all the time in the world.

Right on cue, my stomach let out a loud protest. “Ah, I’m starting to get hungry.”

Baekhyun held up his cigarette in response.

I rolled my eyes. “No, thanks. How exactly is that supposed to fill my stomach?”

“Well, how do you know if you’ve never tried, princess ?”

Ugh, again with the princess bit! Just as I turned to him, ready to land a playful punch, my foot slipped. Before I could react, I felt myself tipping backward—but Baekhyun was quicker. His arm shot out, catching me just in time before my head could meet the cold, hard concrete of Paris.

But with one hand holding a cigarette and the other trying to steady me, Baekhyun lost his balance too. With no choice, we stumbled backward until my back hit the rough brick wall of a store in the alley.

Cornered between the wall and him, I felt his warm breath—laced with the scent of smoke—skim across my cheek, sending a strange, delicious tremble through me.

“Want to try?” he asked, grinning as he twirled the cigarette between his fingers, holding it up just inches from my face.

Maybe it was the lingering buzz of alcohol, the late-night haze, or some unspoken magic between us—but against all logic, against the answer I had given just moments ago, I nodded.

And I could never have predicted what he’d do next.

Baekhyun took a slow, deliberate drag of his cigarette. Then, lowering his head, he leaned in—so close that I could feel the warmth of his skin, the faintest brush of his breath. Just millimeters separated us.

My heart slammed against my ribs. I gasped. My mind raced with a thousand thoughts.

Is he going to kiss me?

Do I want this to happen?

I’m even sure anymore.

Don’t think too much.

I shut my eyes, bracing for the feel of his lips against mine.

But instead, a slow wisp of smoke curled between us, slipping past my parted lips as he exhaled—straight into my mouth.

A sudden wave of wooziness hit me, and as the smoke reached my throat, I broke into a fit of wild coughing.

Baekhyun scoffed at first but stopped after a few seconds. A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes. “You okay, princess?”

“Stop calling me princess!” I snapped between coughs, landing a not-so-playful punch on his arm.

Now that we were back at a normal distance, I felt… strange. My chest pounded, my breath still uneven as I gulped in the night air.

I had never smoked a cigarette in my life—until now (if this even counted). But I was a hundred percent sure that a regular cigarette didn’t smell so… earthy and herbal, like the one he held between his fingers.

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you sure that’s just a normal cigarette?”

He glanced at it, then at me, before lowering it with a nonchalant shrug. A grin tugged at his lips, his expression unreadable—almost conspiratorial. And then, to my frustration, he simply turned and started walking away.

“Hey!” I called after him, my irritation flaring as I hurried to catch up.

I had thought he was a decent guy. We had spent these past few days in Paris enjoying each other’s company. I thought maybe…

I didn’t even know what I was supposed to think anymore. My head felt light, my stomach uneasy.

“I’d kill for some instant ramen,” I groaned, trailing behind him.

He stopped so suddenly that I nearly bumped into his back. It took me a second to realize he was just checking his phone for directions.

Then, as if it were the most casual thing in the world, he said, “I have some at my place.”

My heart kicked up a notch, but I quickly shook off whatever ridiculous thoughts were creeping in. It was just noodles—nothing more. Not an invitation for anything else, not a secret signal. Just a late-night snack.

And yet, a tiny voice in my head whispered, Are you sure? What if this meant something more? What if I was reading too much into it? What if I wasn’t?

But it was late, I was hungry, and overthinking wasn’t going to help.

So I nodded.

After a ten or fifteen-minute walk, we arrived at “his place,” which turned out to be a tiny rented studio apartment on the seventh floor—with no elevator.

Already feeling dizzy and slightly nauseous, I was out of breath by the time we finally stepped inside.

It took me a few seconds to process just how small the space was.

Everything felt miniature: a two-seater sofa that doubled as a bed, a tiny table in front of it, and a shower squeezed next to the equally tiny ‘kitchen,’ which consisted of a double electric stove.

The walls felt like they were pressing in from all directions.

“Wow,” I blurted, unable to hide my surprise.

“Yeah, wow. Welcome to my crib,” he said dryly, a hint of irony in his tone.

Wasting no time, he fished out two packs of instant noodles from his suitcase and set a pot of water on the stove.

“Should I throw everything in?” he asked, holding up the sauce packets and seasoning.