Page 21 of From Paris to Seoul (K-Drama Love Story #2)

If I were being honest, I rarely ate instant noodles. With a private chef at home, I never needed to—except during my so-called rebellious phase, sneaking off to convenience stores just to eat it like everyone else.

But once again, against my better judgment, I nodded.

The noodles were ready in no time, and the first bite tasted like heaven. I wolfed them down, forgetting just how good instant noodles could be—especially when you’re tipsy and lightheaded.

“Ahh, SO good. Why does it taste this amazing?” I groaned in appreciation, savoring the last drop of the soup.

Baekhyun watched me with amusement, and let out a small chuckle. “Is this your first time eating instant noodles?”

I rolled my eyes—though, honestly, it wasn’t far from the truth. But I wasn’t about to give him another reason to call me princess . “Of course not.”

He smirked and went back to finishing his bowl while I got up and wandered around the tiny space. If there was one great thing about this cramped studio, it was the view. The city lights of Paris stretching endlessly beyond the window.

I sighed, pressing my fingertips against the glass. “Maybe I should move here. Lose my passport and just stay. What do you think?” I turned back to him, half-joking.

Our eyes met, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.

“What are you so desperate to escape from?” he asked quietly.

My lips parted before I even realized I was speaking.

“Myself.”

The word hung in the air, and suddenly, I wasn’t sure if I should laugh it off or let the sadness sink in.

Before he could reply, my stomach churned violently, followed by the most grotesque sound imaginable. Oh no. Was it the noodles? Did I eat too fast? Or was it the alcohol? The smoke?

A wave of nausea crashed over me. I gagged, slapped a hand over my mouth, and bolted for the toilet—thankfully, this tiny studio at least had a private one.

Baekhyun followed, his expression shifting to concern. I shook my head desperately, mortified beyond belief, but he didn’t back off. Instead, he hovered beside me, his strong hands steadying my hips just as the inevitable happened—I doubled over and emptied my stomach.

The world tilted slightly as I gasped for air, slumping onto the cold tile like a deflated balloon. My entire body felt drained. Still, Baekhyun stayed beside me, his fingers gently pulling my hair back, keeping it away from the mess.

“Hey, are you okay?” His voice was thick with concern. When I didn’t answer, he tried again, gentler this time. “Do you feel better now?”

I barely managed a nod.

“Here, let me get you some water.” He stepped away to fill a cup from the tap.

I groaned, pressing the flush button. My face burned with embarrassment. “It’s… it’s fine,” I muttered, wishing the floor would open up and swallow me whole.

It rarely happened; I think the last time I threw up was when I was a kid, after catching a stomach bug along with half my class.

Why did it have to happen now—of all times, in front of Baekhyun?!

Well, at least he wouldn’t call me princess anymore, I thought dryly.

“I should go,” I mumbled hastily, pushing myself up. I just needed to grab my things and get the hell out of here. But as I turned, I felt a gentle tug—his hand stopping me.

I kept my gaze fixed anywhere but on him.

“Hey,” he said, his voice calm and steady. “It’s fine. These things happen. Do you still feel sick?”

I shook my head quickly, my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

He rummaged through his vanity case, then held something out to me. “Here. I have a spare toothbrush—you can use it.”

I hesitated, but he pressed it into my hand with a small smile. “Come on,” he added. “You’ll feel better after.”

I slowly turned my head to peek at his face. His expression was gentle, a soft smile on his lips, but his eyes were filled with concern.

“I’ll do it too,” he said, holding up his own toothbrush like he was demonstrating to a kid before starting to brush his teeth.

Reluctantly, I followed suit.

Once I was done, I rinsed my mouth and exhaled. “All good now,” I said, feeling slightly more human again. “I should head back to my hotel.”

Baekhyun didn’t respond right away. After a moment, he said, “I think you should stay here for the night. Paris isn’t exactly safe at this hour. And you might still be feeling a little sick.”

He glanced around the tiny room before adding, “I know it’s small, but don’t worry—we’ll make it work.”

Embarrassment quickly turned into hesitation. My mind raced, weighing the pros and cons.

After a long silence, I finally croaked, “How, though?”

Even though it felt a little awkward—maybe even risky—I had to admit, deep down, I was relieved. The thought of heading back alone past midnight in Paris unsettled me, and I still felt slightly nauseous.

The last thing I wanted was to throw up inside a taxi and get into a dispute with the driver in a language I barely understood.

Baekhyun started unfolding the double-seater sofa, turning it into a makeshift bed. Then, he grabbed a duvet and spread it across the narrow space left between the couch and the table.

“You take the bed, I’ll sleep on the floor,” he said matter-of-factly.

“What? No way! That doesn’t look comfortable at all,” I protested. “I already trashed your toilet—I can’t take your bed too.”

“Well, it’s either this,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head, “or I take a taxi with you back to your hotel and come back here after.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You’d actually do that?”

He shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course. But then, by the time I drop you off and make it back here, it’ll be what—3:30, maybe 4 AM?”

I glanced at my phone. It’s 2:15 AM. He wasn’t wrong.

“It’s still way better than when I was stationed in Nonsan during military training.” Baekhyun nudged the floor setup with his foot and nodded. “And believe me, I can sleep anywhere.”

He dug through his vanity case, then unzipped his suitcase and handed me what looked like stomach medicine and a fresh T-shirt. “Here, take this—and this. If you want to change into something more comfortable,” he added casually, flashing that innocent grin again.

A few months ago—hell, even just a month ago—I would’ve flat-out refused. Sharing a tiny room with a male co-star I barely knew, after getting wasted at a nightclub and ‘smoking’ a questionable cigarette? Absolutely not.

But ‘yes to everything’ was my new mantra. And even though, so far, nothing particularly good had come out of it, I couldn’t deny that I felt more real. These experiences—good, bad, ridiculous—felt like they were mine and mine alone.

Not something expected of me by my parents, my company, or society. Just me, making my own choices.

“Fine. I’ll go back tomorrow morning,” I relented, accepting the medicine and T-shirt with a small, grateful nod before heading to the toilet to change.

When I stepped back into the studio, Baekhyun had already changed into his pajamas, looking surprisingly comfortable on the floor with just a duvet.

“See? It’s just like sleeping on a traditional futon,” he said with a smile. “And it’s actually good for your back.”

I scoffed, settling into the sofa-bed. “Young people like you don’t know anything about back pain yet.”

He let out a laugh before standing up briefly to turn off the light. The only illumination left came from a small gap between the window and the curtain—the soft glow of the Parisian night spilling into the tiny room.

A moment of silence passed before he spoke again. “Hey, Seo-yeon?” His voice was quieter now. “I’m sorry about earlier… for giving you that cigarette. I think that’s what made you sick. I have to admit, I was a bit high. That was a shitty thing to do.”

High?

Oh.

So it wasn’t a normal cigarette after all.

“It’s fine,” I replied after a pause. “I said yes, so it’s not entirely on you.”

And besides, for the first time in a long while, I had felt truly alive—caught up in sensations I never imagined possible.

But was it really the cigarette?

Or was it Baekhyun—his lips, his breath, the way he had ‘transferred’ the smoke to me?

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t just the cigarette I had wanted.

I had wanted his lips on mine.

Desperate to distract myself, I blurted out, “Do you get high like that often?” Even as I asked, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

“No, it was my first time,” he admitted from beneath the sofa bed. “I bought the cigarette from some guy outside the nightclub. I shouldn’t have—who knows what he put in it?”

I sighed, relieved that he wasn’t some kind of addict. Thinking back to the past few days in Paris with him, I realized, “I haven’t actually seen you smoke that much.”

“Yeah, I only do it occasionally—kind of like drinking. A social smoker, I guess,” he replied. “It’s silly, really. You burn your money and your health… I should probably quit while I can.” He let out a small sigh.

“My dad was a heavy smoker,” I said. “Then one day, he had a health scare—almost like a mini heart attack. The doctor told him he had to quit, or he wouldn’t make it. He also had to give up red meat, which was probably the hardest thing he’s ever done,” I added with a scoff.

“That’s lucky for him… and lucky for you too,” Baekhyun murmured sleepily. A pause. Then, softer, “I just wish I could see my dad again. Even just once…”

His breathing slowed, turning steady. He must have been exhausted.

I peeked down and found him already asleep. He really could sleep anywhere, couldn’t he? “Good night…” I whispered, closing my eyes and hoping sleep would find me too.

***

I woke up suddenly to the sound of muffled voices and faint music from next door. For a few seconds, I couldn’t understand why I was hearing other people’s conversations in my room. But then it hit me—I wasn’t in my room. I wasn’t even at my hotel. I was in Baekhyun’s tiny studio. In Paris.