Page 48 of From Paris to Seoul (K-Drama Love Story #2)

I nodded, my voice faltering just a little. “I don’t want to keep living like this. I need to break free, to be independent. I can’t let people decide what to do with my life anymore.”

Yae-rin sat beside me, her tone quieter now. “Look, I don’t know if this is the right decision or not. But if you really want to go, then go. Live your life. You’ve always been the one chasing after your dreams.”

I looked at her, a little surprised. “And you?”

She shrugged, her voice distant. “I don’t know. I just… never questioned anything. Stayed here. Worked for the family company. Did what I was supposed to do.”

There was a quiet sadness in her voice that I hadn’t heard before, a vulnerability she hadn’t shown in years. For the first time in my life, I realized Yae-rin might have envied me just as much as I had envied her.

I reached for her hand, squeezing it lightly. “You know, it’s not too late for you, too.”

Yae-rin raised an eyebrow, her gaze lingering on me for a moment, before she gave a small nod and a small smile. “Yeah, well. Maybe one day.”

I nodded, exhaling deeply. “So… you’re not mad at me?”

“No.” She nudged me playfully. “Just don’t come crying to me if you hate it there.”

I smiled, feeling lighter than I had in a while. “Deal.”

***

A few days have passed since I moved into our shared apartment in Fukuoka, and to be completely honest, it’s been harder than I expected.

First of all, the apartment itself isn’t that big—it’s really meant for just one person.

It only has one bedroom, with a small kitchen and living room combined into a single space.

It’s also a bit outside the city center, but conveniently close to the temporary studio where Baekhyun is filming his drama.

Secondly, everything is difficult when you don’t speak the language.

Simple things—like buying groceries or asking for directions—feel nearly impossible.

Visiting a foreign country as a tourist is one thing, but actually living here is a whole different challenge.

There are things I have to deal with that travelers don’t—like securing a visa, getting a transportation pass, and setting up a local phone number.

Still, I give myself time to settle in, doing my best to embrace the slower pace of life. When I’m not practicing piano in our apartment, I spend time outdoors, taking long walks through the park alone while Baekhyun is out filming all day. The silence is unfamiliar but not unwelcome.

It’s not easy for him either. His schedule is so packed that he’s barely home, often leaving early in the morning and returning close to midnight.

He only gets a few breaks on Sundays, but he tells me he’s enjoying shooting the action scenes, and that the good vibes from his colleagues and the drama crew make things easier.

So far, no one knows about this arrangement except for Byung-ho, Baekhyun’s manager.

My parents call non-stop. But instead of answering and arguing with them, I just send a short text: “Don’t worry about me. I’m doing well.”

Then, suddenly one day, the calls stopped. I knew exactly what that meant—my mom had entered one of her silent treatment phases.

I kept in touch with Ji-a and my sister regularly, though.

Yae-rin told me that Mom was still freaking out, desperate to find out where I am and who I’m living with.

But Yae-rin refused to give her any information, worried that Mom might do something drastic—like hire a private investigator to track my whereabouts.

As the days passed, I started to feel more and more certain.

Even without the unlimited credit card funded by my parents, no personal chef at home, or the other comforts I took for granted in Seoul, I still feel like I made the right decision.

Now, I’m living off my savings (thankfully, I have enough to live a simple life for at least a few years), and it feels liberating.

This is my first taste of freedom. For the first time, I can be myself without pretending. No more trying to meet anyone’s expectations—just living for me.

I’m learning to live my own life, slowly but surely. And with that newfound freedom, I start exploring more of the city.

During one of my daily walks, I stumbled upon a small piano school just a few blocks from our apartment. From the faded sign to the weathered building, it looked like it had been there for years.

I found myself peering through the window, taking in the neat rows of pianos inside. After a moment of hesitation, I decided to step through the door.

“Irashaimase!” A woman greeted me warmly in Japanese.

In a mix of broken Japanese and English, I asked about lessons. She nodded enthusiastically, her smile encouraging, and before I could overthink it, I signed up. If I wanted to teach piano one day, I needed to experience being a student again first.

Between my lessons and hours spent practicing, music already filled most of my days. And whenever Baekhyun had breaks between shoots, we made music together—something we both love, something that felt like ours.

But living together also meant discovering new things about each other—the good and the bad.

Like how he had a habit of dodging difficult conversations, changing the subject the moment things got too serious. Or how I struggled with even the simplest everyday tasks, from cooking to doing laundry.

That evening, the rain pattered heavily against our window. I sighed, feeling unexpectedly content just being at home with him, doing laundry—this time, confident I was doing it right.

We were in our home, I realized. It still sounded strange, but this time, things were different. What happened here wouldn’t just stay here anymore.

“I’m telling you, the whites and colors need to be separated,” Baekhyun groaned after the washing machine stopped, pulling out a now light-pink shirt that was supposed to be white.

I winced. “Okay… my bad. I really thought washing everything in cold water would be fine.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s not how it works.”

I sighed, holding up the ruined shirt. “Fine, lesson learned. But while we’re on the topic of things that don’t work… maybe you could actually sit down and talk about things instead of avoiding them?”

His jaw tensed slightly, but then he sighed, stepping closer. “I’ll work on it.”

I looked up at him, surprised. “Really?”

He nodded, wrapping his arms around my waist. “Yeah. But first, I think we need to get you a laundry lesson before you destroy the rest of my wardrobe.”

He landed several playful kisses as his “punishment,” and I giggled, turning back to try and dodge them.

Soon, playful kisses deepened into something more. Baekhyun’s lips trailed along my bare shoulder, and at some point, my shirt had already slipped to the floor. His hands, warm and familiar, traced over my skin, as if memorizing every inch of me.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured against my skin from behind, his voice low and reverent. I wanted to turn around and see him, to embrace him, but he gave me no chance to do so.

Pinned against the washing machine in our living room, I surrendered to his caresses along my back and his touch at my core.

Instinctively, I rested my upper body on the machine for support, giving him unobstructed access to the rest of me.

With deliberate skill, he slipped two fingers inside me from behind, sending a delicious surge of sensation through my body.

“Baekhyun…” I murmured, my voice a mix of moan and plea, begging him to let me turn and reciprocate. I longed to reach out and touch him, but Baekhyun just let out a soft tsk-tsk behind me.

“Not yet,” he said, still pinning me facing the washing machine. “Stay put, or I’ll bring out the ‘buzzing friend’ I used in Paris—the one you liked so much.”

My cheeks burned. I really do want to use that ‘friend’ again.

His touch grew hotter as he repeatedly hit that perfect spot with his fingers. And as if that wasn’t enough, I felt something wet against my core—his tongue, kissing me from behind… down there.

He is on his knees, his lips and tongue moving in rhythm with his fingers as they caress me over and over. Before long, I scramble to the washing machine, gripping it tightly as I erupt in a scream of pleasure.

“Shhh,” he whispered in my ear, now off his knees and standing behind me. “We don’t want to get into trouble with our neighbor again, do we?” Even without turning to look at him, I could tell he wore a smug grin.

Still not letting me turn toward him, he holds both of my hands behind me with his own. I felt his hardness inside me as he took me from behind, and I moaned again—quieter this time—as our bodies pressed together and he moved deeper inside me.

I heard a soft groan from him as he quickened his pace, a sound that betrayed a moment of vulnerability. Finally, he released my hands, giving me the chance to turn toward him. Feeling a spark of playful defiance, I knelt down and promptly kissed him… right where it mattered.

He began to moan and writhe with pleasure, and I felt satisfaction as his hands held my head, guiding my movements while I took him into my mouth.

“Not yet,” he groaned, stopping me. Obeying, I stood up, and when we were eye to eye, I whispered with a smirk, “Not so loud. Think about our neighbors.”

He grinned, growled playfully, and then lifted me, carrying me to our bedroom.

“Tell me,” he said, gently laying me on the bed, “what would you like me to do, Princess?”

I threw him a glare, though I knew that “Princess” had become his cute nickname for me whenever we were alone. “I just want you to love me like you always do,” I replied, meeting his eyes.

Something sparked in him as he pressed his body against mine.

My fingers tangled in his hair as I pulled him closer.

It felt different this time—more than just need, more than mere passion.

It was grounding, reassuring—a silent promise that no matter how chaotic everything else was, this… us… were real.

The sheets tangled around us as our breaths mingled, and in the quiet of the night, with only the sound of rain tapping against the window, nothing else mattered.

Later that evening, as we lay sprawled on the couch, Baekhyun lazily strummed his electric bass. I mentioned that I’d signed up for piano lessons.

“That’s great,” he said, his eyes lighting up. “And Japanese lessons too?”

I nodded. “I figured it’d be easier if I could actually say more than just ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry.’”

He smirked. “Well, those are the most important words, after all.”

I roll my eyes, but a smile tugs at my lips. “Also, I was thinking… since we’ve been working on music together, shouldn’t we come up with a duo name?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Like a band name?”

“Yeah. When our song comes out. I mean, we can’t just be ‘Seo-yeon and Baekhyun’—that sounds too plain. Plus, it’d make it too easy for my parents to track us down.”

He hums thoughtfully. “What about… From Paris to Seoul ?”

I stare at him, warmth blooming in my chest. “I like that.”

He grins. “Maybe we could even try singing a French song one day.”

I wrap an arm around him and giggle. “Or even a Japanese song,” I add, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Whatever it is, let’s make something great together.”

As I curl up next to him, listening to the soft hum of his electric bass, I realize that, for the first time in my life, I’m not just chasing a dream. Even though I haven’t got everything figured out… I’m living it.